Toughen Up

 A friend recently asked if I blog anymore... apparently not in the last ten months. There have been so many occasions and experiences that I could have, should have. Like everyone else living through this pandemic, life has changed in numberless ways and countless times. 

Here we've seen some hard times, again, just like every other person in every other family. So maybe I hesitated to write about it because what's the point of saying what everyone else is experiencing? And for sure there are families struggling more than we are.

And we've had some really great and unexpected good come of this time. But posting about that seems somehow callous to friends who are not feeling or seeing the positive.

Since I find writing cathartic and since I may be the only reader of this writing, and with the gentle prompting of my friend, I offer these thoughts.

My New Year's resolution is to pray for God to soften my heart. 

Right before Christmas our family was faced with a disappointing and concerning situation. I prayed about it, asked others to pray. And then I fasted - something I hadn't done on a personal level for a long time. During that time I heard God give an answer and was able to know his peace. Two days later the answer was confirmed and the disappointment and concern were lifted.

That answer to prayer posed a question for me: For what else should I be praying and believing?

And the answer was: For my heart to be softened.

We've quarantined seriously. We don't go out unless we have to and don't have anyone in our home. We don't go to church in person. Our college kids are not on campus. Our high school kids go to school from their beds. So we see a lot of each other. And we get tired of each other. And sometimes my brain and my heart close up and turn off.

Insignificant things irritate me. Messes made and left behind cause resentment. Tones and attitudes of teenagers grate on my nerves. My heart has hardened.

But holding onto my experience before Christmas, each morning (and usually every night; and often throughout the day) I am reminded to pray and believe that God will answer this prayer. If I would only get out of the way and let him...

Raising kids who have experienced and lived trauma is exhausting. And yes, it's a different kind of exhausting from raising kids who have had healthy childhood, infant, and even prenatal experiences. And the more years of trauma, sometimes, the more difficult and heart wrenching the growing up.

These past twenty-some years have taught me to believe little of what I am told and to question and be suspicious of the rest. For me, that is where the exhaustion sets in. My heart has been trashed and smashed many times because it's the mom's job to believe only the best about her children; to see past the behaviors to the hurt; to know that 'this time' things will be different, better, the child will finally feel secure enough to be honest and vulnerable. 

Currently we are working with one of our kids (well, all of them really, all the time, but for now focusing on this one) on earning trust and how easily it is broken and how long it takes to restore. Despite candid conversations about how "things were when I lived with my mom," and how those things maybe weren't good choices or healthy habits, our child uses this as a default excuse for lies and deceit. We acknowledge that there was a time when stealing was necessary for survival - to feed the younger siblings left in their care, and when lying was safer - it kept them from being beaten and abused. Our hearts break for what most of our kids have had to endure.

And so things have been rough and emotional as we walk through this; lots of tears and pleading and begging for things that have been lost and need to be earned back. Because "if I was still with my mom, she wouldn't care; she would let me watch whatever I want." And that is true. As sad as it is, it is true.

Yesterday the child was able to have a bit of freedom with an electronic device, and fifteen minutes later was found to be misusing it. Loss of freedom. Big attitude. God soften my heart.

In his infinite patience (and maybe humor) God reminded me of that prayer this morning directly after I had prayed it when my young friend came to me to request use of the school laptop (another electronic device) a full half hour before school started. My soft heart should have said, "Sure, here you go! Have a great day at school!" 

Instead, out of an abundance of suspicion, my toughened up heart said, "Why? School doesn't start for half an hour? Why do you need it now?" A pinch. God soften my heart.

Turns out the request was a ploy to get on the computer early to play games with friends. It gives me absolutely no pleasure to confirm my suspicions. And it gives me even less to know that we still have so much work to do. God soften my heart.

Day 17

I've had time to think. Some snippets in between calls for my attention to "do this," or "get that," or cries of "can I have another snack!" Bedtime is a glorious thing! Time to bask in quietness until the pull of exhaustion overtakes my will to linger in aloneness.

Fellow travelers, friends of Jesus, followers of God, this is where my scattered thoughts have been landing these last few weeks of isolation:

I have been longing for "back to normal." You, too? I and my household had a bumpy start to adapting to the "stay at home" rule; it was, still is, a burden, an uncomfortable and unwelcome twist to our very happy and fairly uncomplicated lives. Maybe you, too?

The longing I have for our wonderful regular rhythm and routine to our days and our busyness is at times an ache, at times an anticipation. Life before quarantine was far from perfect, but we were able to move about with freedom. Able to interact and visit and work and talk and see and do things that we enjoyed. Things that we are now strongly advised against; even restricted from. 

I wonder if this is the kind of longing I should have had all along for the things of God, of heaven. 

My own regular, comfortable life. Is it all that I think it is? Is there more? Do I become so consumed with routines and schedules and to-do lists that I forget that there is more?

My thoughts on this are still scattered, and the parallels are not perfect. But this has been a challenge for me. The challenge to realize that these government imposed restrictions
for this short season are not unlike the ones I place upon myself when in daily regular life I choose to be short-sighted and selfish.

The challenge is this: that whenever back-to-normal resumes, I will remember the deep longings for more. And that I will seek to follow those longings by following more closely after God's kingdom which is all more I could ask for or imagine - even more. 

Finished

Today was a snow day. There were kids playing outside, families enjoying time together, relaxing, cozy, warm and fuzzy. 

Then there was our house.

Warm and fuzzy, happy and positive days are at a premium. Kids who need consistency and lots of support to regulate don't do well with snow days. We operate under the premise that routine is our friend; unexpected changes are not.

Last night, in anticipation of a snow day, I didn't sleep well. Thoughts of what time the younger kids might get up and make "all that noise" and wake up the teenagers, and worries about whether I would be awake before that happened; grandiose ideas of activities we might try, trouble-shooting for the unavoidable sabotage; plans of games, and stories, and movies... and how to navigate the bickering and arguing that would be guaranteed. 

I am almost proud to say I wasn't too much off the mark, and that, therefore; my sleep deprivation was not in vain.

With one meltdown before breakfast - or what should have been breakfast but ended up being a stand-off of wills between me and one of them - the younger ones were able to move ahead with their day before most of the teenagers were rudely awakened. Upon completing the required daily twenty minutes of reading - YES, EVEN ON A SNOW DAY! - and the requisite pouting that accompanied it, the child with video game privileges enjoyed a hour of screen time. Two siblings desperate for that opportunity (because yes, even on a snow day the consequences stick) looked on longingly, offering unsolicited comments and advice. After repeated requests and reminders to move away from the television, three of them found a way to entertain themselves AND elicit the sought after attention. These kids are multi-taskers all day long!

About that time the teenager who lost phone privileges for twenty-four hours, wandered into the kitchen to scrounge some breakfast and badger me about the phone. Following a brief conversation, that child found somewhere to be away from the fray; only to appear soon after to vie for a turn with the television - to watch something on Netflix that was not rated for younger viewers. Somehow that became my problem since the phone was not available - which was also my fault. 

In between there was an accusation of "somebody touching my stuff on the top shelf in the bathroom" and a missing item. A real life game of Clue ensued. There were tears and denials, shouting and finger-pointing; and an hour later there were still four culprits and one disgusted victim. 

Then lunch. Leftovers. Seems simple enough. But there are kids who are keenly aware of how much food is on each person's plate. And when there are so many variations on plates - it's much easier when everyone has one hotdog, a handful of chips, and a scoop of baked beans - there's tension around the table. It's not a cozy, snowed-in kind of scene.

 Several of them asked to play outside. One of them is allowed to be outside without supervision, but of course wants someone to play with. In the process of gathering outdoor clothing and figuring out who could come out with my supervision, there came a revelation of the missing item from our earlier Clue game. One of the four suspects had found the item in the bedroom of one of the other suspects. Plot twist. Why would that child have been in someone else's bedroom when we strictly adhere to the stay-out-of-other-people's-rooms guideline? Oh, they were standing in the doorway and saw the item. Then why not come and get me to show me what you saw? Oh, you were afraid the other child would move it before I got there. Why do you have a way to rationalize every question? 

So... we never did get outside. Well, the one that was allowed out without me was... for about two minutes.

Someone has a math test tomorrow. Stan worked from home today, in the coziness of our bedroom, just him and his laptop.  Sounds blissful. Anyway, he and I have an unspoken agreement that he helps with math homework and I help with reading and english. Stan invited the math student to sit with him (as he worked) to review for the test. I'm not sure, but from the amount of fussing and pouting, the child may have also had to hand over his right hand and a kidney. We have several children who do not do well when held responsible. There is always someone else to blame, or something to throw at my head, instead of taking ownership.

Our working teenager went to work this afternoon. I was nervous. The driveway was a mess with the possibility of the road not being much safer. For a few hours I hoped for a reassuring text, but was able to relax when they walked back in the door for dinner. 

Which was late getting on the table because the assigned table-setting kid was busy pestering a younger sibling. And by this time in the day I was done putting myself in the middle of arguments and done settling squabbles. And good golly, only ten minutes later when the table-setter saw me sitting with my feet up, they hopped right to it.

The timing of dinner isn't usually an issue. But tonight one of the kids had earned a bedtime that was forty minutes early based on their level of cooperation last night. So even on a snow day, when we had done basically nothing all day and this child was "not even tired," we needed to get through dinner to get to bed. Since I've been writing, another one of the kids has come to tell me that the early bedtime kid has been in and out of bed for the past half-hour. That's okay, there's always tomorrow night to try again with the early bedtime. 

This is how it is. How we have found it needs to be. The best way we know how to help our kids find stability and regulation.

There are a few more to get to bed and then this snow day is history. There is hope that we will all sleep a bit sweeter tonight because in and around all of the busyness and blessings of today, all of the kids granted my request that they each wash their bedding. 

Another day finished.

This Life

This life. It's full. It's got all the feelings.

If not having been chosen to live life this way, I am entirely convinced that I would be only simply existing and missing out.

This morning was court. As usual there were vague ideas of what might transpire, mostly nothing. One parent might show up, the other probably not. While in the waiting area, Probably Not presented themselves to the child without warning. Bewilderment and confusion took over the face - and heart,  I'm guessing - of my unsuspecting little friend. What to make of this appearance after almost two years of absence; how to process the explanations and the stories we were hearing. Requests for visits and outings and parties and phone numbers. Too much, too late. Other parent also attended and is awaiting trial in criminal court, as well as awaiting the arrival of a sibling for my little - who knows nothing of that situation. Small sibling may be joining our family provided further details are obtained and the arrival is announced to the agency. Also, provided that parent is not incarcerated.

While waiting for the hearing, a chat was had with another case worker regarding our second little friend whose case will be heard next week. More news. Birth parent has Facebook-announced their brand new marriage - to someone with a criminal record. Hmmm. Married to someone who could prevent the reunification of this family. Not sure if my mind or heart twisted harder. Oh, and there's a chance that this birth mom could also be expecting.

This family had a visit today; our friend looks forward to this time with their family. At pick-up time today, birth mom was ready to end the visit early and told me about how out-of-control the kids were today. Oh dear mother, they are little and so very excited to see you and each other; they don't know how much longer this will last; they can't trust your promises that they'll be "home soon;" you are late to arrive and early to leave. Yes, out-of-control. Everything is out of their control.

In between visit drop off and pick up, we had time to get home to start dinner and check email - a message from a teacher informing us that our student has a 35% in class and is missing multiple assignments - one of which I specifically checked in with my student about just the night before. At that point, with full eye-contact and not a flinch, I was assured that that specific assignment had been completed and submitted. A bold-faced lie. Without flinching. No hesitation. From my child who just Monday convinced a school counselor that they are "being more honest and open with my mom." Tuesday was a missed bus and a call from the school nurse. Wednesday, a detention to serve. There's not a sigh big enough. How long will I have to watch my child face consequence upon consequence? When will they get tired of staring at the walls of our house while the rest of our same-aged kids enjoy freedom and friends? 

Within the space of an hour (between visit drop-off and pick-up, starting dinner, checking email, and attempted conversations about honesty) both of our moved-out kids called. One called to share two bits of exciting news: a new job and a recent honor and recognition. One called to say they would no longer be sharing anything with me; that I should consider myself out of their life; that choices had to be made and I had apparently been the lesser preferred option.

Confusion. Frustration. Excitement. Desperation. Hopefulness. Amazement. Hurt. Sadness. Helplessness. Protectiveness. Joy. Weariness. Guilt. Wonderment. Compassion. Loss. Overwhelming love.

Tomorrow's opportunities are endless.

Joy Comes

Some time ago someone commented to me that I seemed to always be weighed down and  to lack joy. While I don't remember the exact circumstances surrounding that time, the comment was probably not without validity. The truth is that I often feel burdened; but I also often feel, no, I KNOW joy. Perhaps knowing joy does not particularly result in a bouncy step or a radiant countenance. 

Today there is a burden. 

Just before Thanksgiving the phone call came: a Childline referral regarding our family had been submitted. The Child Protective Services worker gave a sketchy description of the concerns and proceeded to ask questions. At the time of the call I was in the car with three of the kids, trying to remain calm and talk in code. The call concluded with the worker informing me that we could expect to hear from our local police department as they had received the referral as well.

Later that evening I was able to share the burden with a few close friends. There is joy in knowing that God has provided us with precious souls who walk where we walk. There is joy in knowing that we have a Friend who sticks closer than even those friends.

But still the burden remained. Waiting for the detective to call, wondering who instigated the report, sifting through recent conversations in which I may have given a wrong impression, casting suspicion onto our children - several of them are off the chart attention suckers (yes, suckers; having blown way past the level of mere attention seekers years ago.) Living under a cloud, knowing that once again our parenting choices and skills may be called into question.

Five days later, the day before Thanksgiving, the detective does his duty and interviews us - the parents. Fortunately, I guess, although it's sort of embarrassing to reveal, this detective knows our family quite well. He's been in our house a half dozen times for this same sort of meeting; also for the handful of runaway situations we've navigated. After asking us the required questions, he discloses the source of the report. Another burden. Our own child has had a hand in it; because of that child's lack of judgement we are now having to demonstrate to this officer that we have a safety plan in place to protect our children.

Gratefully, the detective is gentle with us and affirms our efforts in being vigilant parents. He leaves with an assurance that he will communicate with the CPS worker that he has no concerns. Those words bring feelings of joy; although, even throughout the questioning I have known joy - a confidence that we have done our best and that truth will prevail. Not a smiley-face joy, just a peace and calmness underneath the burden because we had not yet been cleared of the allegations.

More waiting as CPS is swamped and our case is not urgent. More living in uncertainty. More burdens as we attempt honest conversation with our child who we now know is involved in putting us here. Conversations are very one-sided and run up against much denial and some anger. It is a heavy thing to realize that my reputation, my family could be jeopardized by some careless choices and hurtful words - by my own child. Where to find joy in that?

Today was the day of the CPS interview. This morning felt burdensome as I waited for this afternoon, playing and replaying how I anticipated the meeting to unfold. Wondering how closely we would be scrutinized. Hoping that the two little extras in our home - little people who had been removed from unsafe environments and placed in our safe home - would be shielded from re-traumatization by realizing the reason for this new and different case worker in our home.

With joy - a lightness of heart and peace of soul - I am able to report that the meeting went as well as it possibly could. Short and sweet, with grown-up talk behind a closed door; the little ones had not a clue. The worker left with words of encouragement and thanks and even a "God bless you." The case will be closed. No further action is needed.

So then, the burden is gone, lifted, dissipated... No. My heart is heavy. There is much rebuilding and restoration to be done. Relationships - already tenuous - have been shattered. Trust is obliterated. It must appear to those looking in that I am weighed down, without joy.

This is the way we live. The way God has chosen to remind us of how desperately he longs for reconciliation, and how heavy his burden must be when we willingly walk away from his love. Joy comes from being obedient through the burdens.

Learning A Lesson

Lately I have had some conversations with some of our kids about my job as a parent, and how I am doing at doing my job. At the top of the list of job requirements is safety; I point out that as foster parents we have been given the high privilege of keeping other peoples' children safe. So it frustrates me when it appears that I am failing at protecting any of our kids. 

What makes it even harder is when there is a need to protect my child from their own choices. The more they grow in independence and knowledge and wisdom, the harder my job gets.

Today one of the kids is serving a suspension. While in school, this child of mine was found to have contraband on their person. After initially being questioned by school security and then a principal, my student was assigned the consequence for this choice. Those are the undisputed facts. 

Here are the rest of the facts. 

My kid was not the owner of the contraband, but had gone into the bathroom with a group of friends. Another kid brought out the item which the group immediately realized was prohibited in school. The owner of the item is a long-time friend of my child and is a student who is already serving severe consequences for prior poor choices. In what seems like a split-second decision, my child put the item into their pocket so that when a security guard arrived on the scene, it was my child who had the prohibited item on their person. 

The decision wasn't haphazard or spontaneous; my child knew that if the friend, the owner, were to be caught with the item that student would probably face expulsion. When confronted by the security guard, my child said the item was theirs. When questioned further by the principal, my child relented and reported that the item belonged to a friend, but refused to give the name of that friend. According to the principal, my child was extremely respectful in stating why they were not willing to provide the name of the owner. The school had no choice but to serve my child with the consequence spelled out in the school manual of discipline. My child's response to the principal and to me was, "I understand, and I'll take the consequence."

My child sacrificed - their unsullied behavior record; perhaps their standing with that group of friends for being "stupid" enough to have this on their record; possibly their reputation with teachers as a respectful and responsible student; potentially the loss of a spot on athletic teams. 

My first statement to my child that day was, "I'm not angry with you, but I also don't agree with your decision." I wish I could take that back. 

That came from a place of wanting to protect, wanting to undo or re-do what seemed to me to be a snap judgment; not well thought-out with regard for the future - you know, as kids sometimes rush into situations first and think about the consequences later. 

My kid saw past the situation in a way that it took me a day or two to see. They saw a friend in need of more than just a spontaneous save or freedom from a school expulsion. They saw a person in need of hope.

That my child has been a friend to the student who caused this situation, speaks to their desire to respect and treat everyone with care. That my child did not just walk out of the bathroom that day, but chose to stay with his friend demonstrates their sense of loyalty. That my child is unbegrudgingly serving a suspension today for a 'crime' he didn't commit, is an amazing example of forgiveness.

Added to the parent job description is: always be ready to learn a lesson from your children. Thanks, kids! And to this kid - I'll be watching...

Who's Your Mama

We didn't get into this to adopt. We thought: If there's a need for a safe place for kids to stay while their families do what needs to be done, then sure, we can be a safe place.

We went through the classes and trainings and understood that the purpose of foster care is family reunification. Having just had our first born child, and knowing that there might be more on the way, we thought the timing was right. Our house was plenty big enough and Stan's job provided so that I was able to be a stay at home mom.

On December 1, 1999 our first placement arrived - a fourteen year old girl. And then two days later our second placement arrived - brothers, ages four years and nine months old. Going from one child to four in three days. We pretended like we knew what we were doing.

The initial weeks were spent learning - about the school system, how to shop with two non-walkers, to prepare meals for six instead of three, the schedules and needs of these new little ones, that the foster care system is complex and a challenge to navigate.

Birth family visits were eye-opening; not exactly how they had been presented in our neat and tidy hand-outs, in the bright and shiny, well organized binders, in the sanitized setting of the foster care training classes. Right away it became apparent that visits were anything but neat and tidy.

At first the two boys visited with their mother at the agency. That went okay, except for when we were accused of putting them in bath water that was too hot and burning their hands. That accusation came after we had provided various candid snapshots of the boys. The photo in question showed two little boys splashing in the bath tub. They were laughing and smiling, not crying out in pain or trying to escape the tub. That was the last time photos were sent along to visits.

After a year, the younger brother was reunified with his birth father. Having a different father, the older brother stayed with us and continued to have visits with his birth mother. As the plan progressed toward reunification, visits were moved into the community where she and I would meet and sometimes have a bit of conversation during the visit. While we were friendly and I hoped to appear supportive, I had nagging doubts that she would struggle to take care of her son for more than the several hours that comprised the visits. Her comments and reports to me about her social and home life were concerning; but not concerning enough to the agency to halt the plan. And so weekend visits started and quickly moved to reunification.

I clearly remember the day that the worker came to pick up this little five year old boy. He was so excited to be going home. I was so afraid of what he might face. We smiled as he climbed in the car; and then cried as the car turned the corner. My parting words to the worker were, "When, not IF, but WHEN he comes back into the system, please call us."

Our phone rang eighteen months later and he was back that afternoon. Visits started again, but since this was round two in the system the plan for reunification was less aggressive and moved rapidly toward the termination of parental rights. We were able to adopt our son about two years later.

Since he and his birth mother had a connection, we decided to enter into an open adoption situation - not legally binding, but rather a gentleman's agreement guided by what we all felt was beneficial for the child. Birth mother was permitted to visit our son at church at scheduled times and for various activities. We followed this plan for more than a year until her visits became inconsistent and caused our son to become anxious and worried - "Is she sick?" "Do you think her car broke down?" "Maybe she was in an accident." And the unspoken, "Why doesn't my mom want to see me?"

Contact was modified. We allowed our son to reach out his birth mother through letters and phone calls. Visits were ended and she was not to initiate contact. After a few months, our son opted to stop all contact. We continued to send her a card every Mother's Day and Christmas.

Last year our son moved out. He was tired of the rules and expectations of our family, and wanted to be more independent. After a year of trying and learning that all families have rules and expectations, he has recently had to move a second time.

During the past year, he has reconnected with his birth mother. He was very excited to tell me that he had "found her again," and also adamant that she is his mother and I am not. Hard to hear, but not hard to understand. As far as he is concerned, he was taken from his birth mother for "no reason" and made to live with us - the people who have unrealistic rules and expectations. On the very rare occasions that he did call me, he referred to me by my first name and his birth mother as "mom."

For the past few months there have been visits with his birth mother, and even opportunities for him to stay at her house for short periods of time. He called me a few weeks ago to say that he hoped to move back home with her after a meeting at the beginning of October. He made sure to let me know that I was not invited to this meeting.

This week I received a phone call - due to his choices he would need to find another place to live; and his birth mother has decided that he will not be able to move in with her.

So now my son, who does not want to live here and who does not consider me his mom, has moved yet again - not back to his birth mother as he had hoped. He spurns the support and guidance of this mom in favor of the friendship of his birth mother. A friendship that has not been healthy or helpful.

This is hard. That we have come through so much already gives me hope. There have been other hard times. We are still here.

Try Again

My heart hardly raced at all when I called the police this week. It has become almost freeing to be able to depend on someone else for a bit. 

One of the kids decided that somewhere else would be better than here, walked out of the house, and hopped on a bike. This kid indicated that they would be leaving the property, so I stood in the front yard and watched as they headed up our long driveway and then called the police.

God provided a neighbor to stop this kid as they were walking the bike along the road. The neighbor asked some great questions and got this kid to sit on their back porch and notified me. The police and I arrived at the neighbor's house at the same time. After checking in with an officer, I proceeded to visit with my neighbor and let the officers do the work. Several minutes later they informed me that this kid agreed to go back home and stay there. 

Once back our house this kid refused to go inside and insisted that they were going to stay in the garage "until tomorrow morning." Exerting verbal pressure only served to entrench their position further, and I had dinner to get on the table for the rest of us.

Several hours later this kid came inside and went directly to bed; got up the next morning and acted as if nothing had happened. Then after school made an apology something like, "I made a bad choice in how I acted." I agreed and thanked the kid for the apology (as it were.)

Later that day this kid refused to turn off the television when asked as well as flat out refused to follow the boundaries set down due to the police involved incident. As I reminded this kid of the apology that was offered just that morning, they countered with an argument that the apology "doesn't have anything to do with" respecting boundaries and our authority.

This is what attachment issues look like for us.

This was another in a string of events this past week.

On Sunday this kid came to me with a bead bracelet they had made and asked me to try it on, so I did. I remarked that it was a little loose on me so that it might need to be adjusted if whoever they made it for was smaller than me. This kid said, "I made it for you." I said, "Oh, thanks!" I haven't seen the bracelet again.

We went to a school sporting event this week. I took a blanket for us to sit on, and this kid and one of the other kids helped to spread it out over a sparsely grassy area - mostly it was dirt and rocks. Me and my other kid settled onto the blanket. This kid sat RIGHT BESIDE the blanket in the dirt. 

The connection that we have with this kid is tenuous at best. There's hardly anything there because this kid cannot handle it. This kid truly might feel better in another family because there are no expectations from a fictitious, unknown family. Whereas there are clear expectations here and it's hard for this kid to deal with the expectations of: boundaries, respect, genuine care and concern.

This kid doesn't understand remorse and consequences; or at least doesn't see the connection. This kid lives - I make a poor choice. I say sorry. I make a poor choice. I say sorry. I make a poor choice....

Expectations go deeper than this kid is able to go. Trust goes much deeper.

We expect an apology and a changed attitude. But this kid can't trust that we actually forgive and will show grace.

It's scary for this kid to risk giving me a bracelet. What if I don't like it? What if I laugh and make fun? What if am demeaning? What if I don't value their gift? Too scary, so they avoid it.

It's scary for them to sit on the blanket. That means that they are dependent on me. But if they depend on me that means that they trust me. This kid doesn't even trust me enough to sit on a blanket to stay out of the dirt.

It's not always like this. There are days and weeks at a time that seem blissful. Connections are made - rather superficial, but at least pleasant. 

Then some sort of a warning seemingly sounds for this kid and the tiny bit of trust and connectedness is shattered and sabotaged. And I am weary and wondering how many more times we will need to call the police and start over and try again.

This Is Why

By my own admission, I have recently become a cranky foster parent. I am irritated and irritable. 

Today was to be the day that the parental rights of OT's birth father were to be terminated. That is not going to happen. Yesterday we found out that the hearing has been rescheduled for October 10. And it hasn't been rescheduled as a termination hearing but as a status review, which means that nothing of legal consequence will occur; the facts of the case will be stated and the judge will get an up-date from all attorneys and then will set a date for a termination hearing. That date could be set for a month or more after the October 10 hearing.

This is why I am cranky.

Foster families - friends of mine - have been waiting for the better part of a year for adoption paperwork to be completed and filed so that a petition can be made to the court for finalization dates. These families have inquired about the progress of the process - because as far as they know they have completed and returned everything they were responsible for - and receive no answers. Instead, blame is shifted between agencies.

This is why I am cranky.

Families caring for kids with challenging behaviors need support. All of our friends who are foster families have wonderful support systems and are a part of a great group of fellow foster families, but also need to rely on the professionals to access needed services. For one particular family, after months of reporting difficult behaviors and challenging circumstances, little to no support has been offered by the professionals. Meanwhile, this family continues to struggle to maintain the placement out of concern for the child. Only when the situation escalated to crisis-level did the professionals get involved. And then proceeded to blame the foster family for allowing the situation to become a problem.

This is why I am cranky.

When the professionals elicit feedback and input, and seemingly hear and respect the perspective of foster parents, and then no apparent improvements are made; and instead of clear and honest communication there are excuses and insults... And then we are implored to go out of recruit our friends to do this.

This is why I am cranky.

The system is broken. I am a part of the system. I am irritated - by the bigness of the system and littleness of the funding; by the lack of training because case worker turn-over is so high; by too much to do in too little time; by the smallness of my voice even though I desire to advocate in huge ways; by my own crankiness.

These past few weeks have set me to considering and reconsidering if we are done fostering. Maybe I'm tapped out. Maybe we've got enough going on here. 

Or maybe I  just need to get over myself. Maybe I've gotten a little too big-headed and small-minded. My focus has shifted from the day-to-day care of the children in my home to big picture problems. 

So we have decided to take a bit of a break. With OT on his way to his new family - even with all of birth dad's shenanigans - there is a natural breather before we open our home to more children. Perhaps this breather will alleviate the crankiness and allow for clear thinking to move ahead.

Six Months Later

The child abuse report of six months ago was unfounded. Our T was returned to our home after twenty-one days. And now he's getting ready to leave again.

During the time of the abuse investigation, the case worker for the agency that has custody of OT changed - again. This was the third worker for this case. The hand-off between case worker number one and case worker number two had been problematic; whereas number one was loud and brash and pushy, number two was a push-over. We went from poor communication to almost no communication which was precisely what led to the ludicrously false allegations made against us.

The second case worker had allowed the birth father to run the case. Dad wanted to have unsupervised visits, so we had to drive OT to his father's door and then back again to pick him up; dad had no responsibility for transportation. Then birth father requested that birth mother's supervised visits take place at Chuck E. Cheese's - every week, for three hours. Then dad bullied his way into getting full weekend visits. When he was forty-five minutes late for meeting for the first visit, we were told that we needed to work with him. And if we reported that he was late and he was reminded to be prompt, he would retaliate by complaining that I hadn't fed OT, or I had cut his hair, or he was dirty, or didn't have proper clothing.

Enter case worker number three. She was handed the case by worker number two with the comment: "This will be an easy case. The kids will soon be reunified with birth dad." Her first home visit to our house was during the twenty-one days that OT was not with us. For more than an hour she listened to me relate the journey of the previous year; the lack of communication from the workers, the obvious manipulation by birth dad, our frustration of no one listening to our concerns for the safety and OT and his sister. 

This worker wasted no time. She stopped all unsupervised contact; all visits were moved to the agency office to be supervised by the same worker so that documentation would be consistent. 

She contacted the therapists who had completed assessments and treatment for both birth parents, and found that birth dad had been lying to his therapist for the past two years - having never told the therapist that he had children, let alone children in the system due to the near fatality of OT.

This worker refused to answer dozens of texts from birth dad; something that worker number two must have been afraid to do. She has been threatened and harassed and toted - by this birth father - as a tyrant; unfair and unreasonable. He has complained to her supervisor, the agency director, and anyone who happens to pick up the phone; he has tried repeatedly to have her removed from the case. And several times she has called to tell me she just can't "do it anymore." And I beg her to not to quit; remind her that these children need her to advocate for them.

After two months on the case, the new worker presented these issues and others in court. The judge scheduled a full day hearing for August 15 for Termination of Parental Rights. 

On August 15 birth dad entered the court room, announced that he had just fired his attorney, and requested a continuance until he hired new counsel. The judge told him that this announcement (and manipulation - that's not what the judge said, but that's what I think birth dad was doing) would only serve to prolong the inevitable, and that he had thirty days to inform the court of his new attorney. The hearing proceeded for birth mom and she lost her parental rights that day. The Termination hearing for dad was rescheduled for September 28.

As part of the preparation for the Termination hearing, the case worker needed to identify permanent placements for OT and his sister. Of course we were asked if would adopt them. And we said... no. Because he is two years old and we are no longer young parents we felt it best to have the foster family where OT's sister had been living adopt them both. Until the beginning of September that was the plan. But birth dad continued to manipulate; he knows where OT's sister goes to school and was able to find their home address. So that family, for safety reasons, decided to not move forward as an adoptive resource. 

And here's where you have to know it's all God.

The family that OT had been placed with initially, where he went from the hospital after suffering traumatic head injury and required multiple specialists appointments and early intervention services; where a brand new foster mom was faced with aggressive and hostile birth parents and an agency worker who blamed her for those issues, and after months of feeling helpless decided that another family might be better suited to handle the craziness and stress - THAT family had recently moved into a larger house, THAT family had become good friends of ours, THAT family had been praying all along that OT and his sister might become available for adoption.

And so it has been that every weekend for the past month, OT and his sister have been able to stay with their new family. And that after the hearing to terminate birth dad's parental rights, they will be able to officially be placed with their family. And so six months from now I will hopefully be able to report that an adoption date has been scheduled.

Stay tuned...

My Pleasure

Our littlest left for a family visit last Wednesday. On Saturday I answered a phone call from the County Department of Children and Youth Services. A report had been made alleging that I had harmed Our Littlest. In between sighs and eye rolls, and then some nervous laughter, I explained that OT had not been in my care for the past three days and that when I dropped him off on Wednesday he had a scab on his elbow. After a bit more conversation the worker discovered that she would not be able to investigate the case because our agency contracts with her agency and so a 'conflict of interest' comes into question. The worker thanked me for my time and said she would pass the report back to be given to the regional state office for investigation.

I hopefully waited for a call from that agency, but no call came that evening. Or the next day.

While I was waiting for that phone call, another call came through on Sunday morning. Our agency was told that OT could not return to our home following his visit later on Sunday, but would have to go to a respite foster home for the duration of the investigation. An investigation which as I far as I knew hadn't even begun.

Crazy. OT was being disrupted due to false allegations that hadn't been addressed yet.

Thankfully he was able to go to another family where we knew he would be safe and well cared for.

Finally at mid-day on Monday the investigative worker called and scheduled to come to our home on Tuesday - the day of the predicted epic snowstorm. On Tuesday he scheduled to come on Thursday. Then on Thursday, since he hadn't yet been able to dig out his car, he scheduled to come on Friday. That is tomorrow.

Since this was our third conversation, I felt comfortable enough to keep him on the phone with some questions.

Had he seen OT?  - Yes, on Sunday.

Was OT okay? -  Yes, in the situation in which I saw him.

How long would it take to complete the investigation?  - I have sixty days to complete it.

You realize that that is ridiculous since everyone knows the allegations are false?  - That is how long I have. When I get a case that appears to be simple to close, I work on it first to get it off of my desk.

His last statement gave me some hope.

I hadn't planned to stop and write until the investigation is over.

I had thought that this time would be different since I know how ridiculous the allegations are this time around. The report did not match the actual situation. The child had a scab.

This parent is desperate to have their children. This parent does not like me because I am the wrong color. This parent was seeking revenge for an action by the agency. This parent seems to think that if the foster parent can be seen as unfit, then a judge will send the child back to the birth parent.

Meanwhile OT is probably wondering why he is not home. He might be scared or confused. This situation definitely works against the stability and consistency we are trying to build and maintain in his little life. How is this parent demonstrating the capacity to be a good parent?   A stable parent? A loving, compassionate parent?

I have gone out of my way to be in communication with the agency and OT's attorney every day. Just so they don't forget I'm here... and he's not. Just so someone in this big, overworked, under-staffed system remembers that there are actual children involved and foster parents who lose sleep over them.

The silence from the placing agency is astounding. Just as it's been for the past year of this placement. Case workers have changed three times, with the most recent being right before this incident. This newest worker seems to understand after just a week that something is seriously wrong with this case. She asked me, "Who gave the birth parent all this power? Whatever they want they get? Why are there these unsupervised weekend visits? Who is following up?" My answer, "Your agency."

The agency has allowed this parent to bully their workers - calling the emergency number every weekend multiple times, texting a worker up to fifty times a week, complaining to the workers about how I cut OT's hair (which I haven't cut, ever) and other trivial - and usually untrue - matters.The foster parents have also been bullied; OT has a sister with another foster family - we've been told to wait thirty to forty-five minutes to meet for a visit, we've been yelled at and degraded. When we asked to have an agency worker available at the visit transfers, we've been denied. This parent gets to say and do whatever they want with no accountability.

And now this. Now my character and parenting are being called into question by this person. Now OT's life is in confusion. Now another foster family - who was given little information - is being expected to step into this mess. 

Yesterday I sent an email to the case worker, the supervisor, the supervisor's supervisor, and the person above that. In it I stated that this case has not been managed well and that this birth parent has been given permission to wield all sorts of crazy power, now manifested in these lies of a child abuse report against me. I requested that OT quickly be returned to our home and that going forward unquestionable boundaries would be in place to ensure the stability of these children and the safety of the foster families.

I ended by saying that it is our pleasure to continue to care for OT. And it is. In the waiting and frustration and disrespect and questioning and scariness and uncertainty... it is my pleasure.

Best Laid Plans

Life with teenagers.

Laughter, sadness, joking (sometimes turning ugly), questions, answers (sometimes turning ugly), debates, arguments, accomplishments, privileges, technology, discipline... and that was just this morning - or at least it feels like it most mornings.

We are less than a month away from having our last "permanent" kiddo round the corner to thirteen, which will bring the grand total of teenagers in the house to six. Lots of new emotions, strange smells, and uncharted territory. It keeps a mom on her toes and awake most of some nights, thinking through ways to help navigate these incredible young people through this crazy world.

Navigate. That's the word I've landed on. For some time the word had been "battle," because honestly, that's how it plays out in many situations. A battle against my kids, yes, occasionally; but more often a battle FOR my  kids against everything and everyone who does not love and want the best for them as deeply and passionately as I do.  And sometimes it's a battle against myself to want to exert my rightfully earned mom-power and ultimate control - ha! - clearly faulty thinking...

This morning one of the kids came to me with a request which due strictly to time constraints, I denied. It was a reasonable request, but just couldn't be honored in the 23 minutes before the bus came. This child - who lately has done a fabulous job of taking "no" as an answer - compliantly returned (I thought) to the task of getting ready for school. Some minutes later this child appeared to me in the hallway dressed in pajamas and announced, "I am not going to school today." 
When I inquired as to why, the answer was, "I just don't want to go. Call me out sick."
"Are you sick?" I asked.
"No. But I am not going."

Navigation mode. It looks like this: I walked away.

Within minutes my child - still in pajamas - found me in the kitchen.
"Can you drive me to school?"
" Why do I need to drive you? You have time to catch the bus."
"I don't want to ride the bus because I don't want to go to school. I don't want to see anyone."
I dropped my guard and answered, "Well, you don't have to want to go, or have to want to see anyone. But you do need to get an education." Left myself wide open there -
"I don't NEED an education! If you don't drive me to school, I'm not going." Stomp, stomp, stomp, SLAM!

Twelve minutes until the bus came. I began to tackle the mountain of crusty pots, pans, and baking sheets in the sink to keep my hands as busy as my brain. This child is blessed with overwhelming tenacity and determination. I had to stick to my navigation plan of "no questions; no answers." But what if that wasn't enough? What if this child really did miss the bus? There were plans for my day, appointments to keep and errands to run. Leaving this child at home alone was not an option. Getting this child to agree to get into the car was something I couldn't envision. Did I have time to call a babysitter? Who would I feel comfortable enough to put in that position? Should I just compromise and drive to school and come up with a creative consequence later? What is REALLY going on?

As I scrubbed and thought and watched the clock, other kids called, "Bye, Mom!" as they headed to the bus stop. I'd better have a plan in place.

Three minutes later this child came downstairs, dressed coat to sneakers, and said,
"The bus has passed. You need to drive me to school." No answer.
"If I leave now, the bus will be gone already." No answer.
"If I miss the bus then I'll just walk to my friend's house." No answer.
"And I know that will be skipping school." No answer.
"I don't want to go to school." No answer.

A slow, sneaker-dragging thirty seconds later, I heard the back door open and then slam shut. I hoped that meant what I thought it meant, but waited for an explosion back into the kitchen. It didn't come. And fifteen minutes later, all was still quiet. And forty minutes later there was no call from the school reporting my child absent.

Plan unnecessary. Navigation successful.

How's the Weather

This morning I had the privilege of attending a meeting at the school. A privilege because many people who were invited attended out of sincere concern and support.

The past six weeks have been more of a challenge for this student and the teachers are feeling confused and discouraged. Methods that work for other students - positive peer pressure, pep talks, offers of extra credit, due date extensions, opportunities to advocate for assistance, and even failing grades - go unheeded by my student. The history teacher, who has assigned the standard research project, has gone to great lengths to "chunk" (per the IEP) what can appear to be an ominous and overwhelming task into smaller, manageable steps. This teacher has also provided personal cheering and prompting for my student, which this teacher had observed as having some positive influence with my student only to be faced with the harsh reality that my student hadn't actually done ANY of the work toward completion of this major project which is due tomorrow.

An email from this teacher earlier in the week afforded me the opportunity to shed some light on my student's life situation. In my email response I briefly assured this teacher that the situation with this project was not unexpected or unprecedented. Today I continued in that vein of conversation.

Of the six teachers seated at the table, only one of them was aware of my student's history of trauma. And I'm honestly not sure how I feel about that. My student's history is THEIR history and, unless my student chooses to share it, is personal and confidential. But when teachers are genuinely confused and concerned, and openly express their distress - one of them used the word "distressed" - then it seems that sharing my student's history, or at least the parts that directly impact the current situation, is helpful and right.

So I began my tired old speech about trauma and how it can affect the brain, and how unless the trauma is processed the child remains "stuck" - emotionally, intellectually, socially, academically, functionally - at a much younger age, often at the age when the trauma occurred. One of the teachers remarked, "Fascinating. I never even considered that." I continued to explain that my student has not taken advantage of the many attempts at various types of therapy and in fact adamantly refuses to participate in any activity or situation that might require even touching upon the past trauma.

One teacher remarked, "What frustrates me is - I was very firm and called your student out for lying about an assignment. It was a very heated discussion. Your student refused to speak to me; they just stood and stared at me. But a short time later when I passed your student in the hallway, they called my name, smiled, and waved at me."

What a great comment to springboard into some information about attachment issues. I explained that my student can charm the pants off of anyone, unless or until that someone places expectations on my student. Part of what seems to be happening these past six weeks is that teachers are no longer falling for the charm AND the expectations have ramped up. This research project is something that my student has been vocally protesting against for weeks at home: "I'm not DOING this. No one can make me. I don't CARE if I fail. I hope I fail." Because if my student fails, it will not be their fault; it will be the fault of the library being closed, the fault of the teacher not telling them what to do, the fault of the sister for interrupting, the fault of the radio being too loud, the fault of the computer 'glitching.' Kids with attachment issues do not attach. They fight against attaching - it's scary and it can't be trusted.

My student is not attached at home. What appears to people in the community as friendly charm, is really just superficial nice-ness that my student can pull off because there are no expectations. My student will hug a dozen people at church, but not have any meaningful conversations - that would require an uncomfortable level of trust.

At home we work on building trust. And the vicious hamster-wheel-like trust cycle has become predictable: just the time my student builds up enough trust to be out of our sight, someone gets hurt, something goes missing, or there is destruction of property. It's too scary to trust, so my student just refuses to take responsibility. And without responsibility, there are few privileges. And without privileges, life can be pretty miserable. And if life is miserable, my student can blame mom and dad. And blaming mom and dad does not promote attachment because we can't be trusted.

It's exhausting to live this way. It's exhausting to explain that we live this way. It's exhausting to help teachers understand that no amount of them bending over backwards and giving my student the benefit of every doubt will result in sudden changed behavior. It's exhausting to try and try again and believe that THIS time things will be different, that THIS time my student will feel safe enough to trust.

This evening my student and I were occupying the same space doing our own things. It's a simple, non-threatening way to build attachment. I was intentionally silent, just letting my student know that we could be near each other. After ten minutes my student took a risk and said to me, "I wonder if we'll get snow this weekend." Because that's about as deep as my student can go with me - small talk, water cooler comments - the weather.

In Honor

On February 1, my mom flew into the arms of Jesus. She had battled cancer for about two years, and after three hospital stays in January, she made the choice to go into hospice care on January 27. We were blessed with four precious days in which we shared memories and laughter and lots of tears.

Today we celebrated her life well lived and her reward of eternal life. This is what I shared in honor of my precious mom.

As we were sitting around my mom’s bed on Tuesday morning, I got to thinking about how special my mom was and in how many ways. Here’s what I told her:

“So mom, I’ve been sitting here with all of us and thinking about how incredibly special you are; so special that there is no one else like you and that in order for your legacy to continue you needed five children. You have given each of the five of us something special of yourself. Here is what I see.

I’ll start with Linda since she’s the youngest and I usually start with myself. Linda is like you in the way that she is able to just roll along with the tides of life. Like you, she goes where she needs to go and does what needs to be done. You became a pastor’s wife and made a home wherever God led you and dad. And it was a happy and warm and safe home. Linda and Juan lived in the city, because that’s what needed to be done. She doesn’t complain or draw attention; she just quietly goes about doing what is needed. That’s you mom.

John is strong and steady. He works in the medical field like you where that kind of steady strength is necessary. But you and he are both strong and steady in the course of life. There’s not a lot of emotional drama or second guessing. Although dad was always the up-front pastor, you were serving along beside him. You were strong and steady in the course that God laid out for you. John is like you as he lives his life in all areas as a steadfast and dependable source of strength.

Karen got your amazing creativity; she is able to make something out of nothing – just like you. You made beautiful quilts out of scraps of fabric and lovely blankets from bits of yarn. You made our clothes and doll’s clothes and Barbie doll clothes with those tiny little buttons.  In the past several years you have learned to crochet and knit and you’ve used those skills to make blankets from odds and ends of yarn to share with the people in nursing care. Karen’s hand-made cards and scrapbooks are works of art. She is so creative, just like you.

Donna is fair and just. All week she has been making sure that everyone has coffee. When we were kids she made sure we all got a candy bar out of the pack. She likes to make sure that everyone is okay and taken care of. That’s you mom. You are always looking out for others, making sure that everyone is treated fairly. The reason we could engage in our silly, ongoing banter about who was your favorite child was because we all knew that we were each your favorite.

And me, I got your love for children. I just love kids. Just like you. You were a foster mom and now so am I. I never really wanted to be anything except a mom and I expect that’s because you made it look so wonderful. And you have taught so many children about the love of Jesus by living the love of Jesus. Each child knew that you valued them.”

Karen reminded me that there was one gift that you gave to each of us – the desire to serve. We watched you, mom. We saw you serve our family and love us, we saw you serve the church family, we saw you serve in your job as a nurse, we saw you love on the kids in your day care. We knew how much you loved dad. And so we each serve our own families, and churches. Some of us serve in our occupations. We serve our in communities and in missions. Just like you.

Thank you for these gifts, mom. We promise to use them wisely in honor of you.

The End

All kids in foster care are traumatized.
Some before birth due to poor prenatal care, domestic violence, substance use and abuse. Some after birth - abandonment, abuse. All suffer from the trauma of the loss of their birth families - for however short a time. Some are more resilient, some seem virtually unscathed. But it's there. Trauma. And it manifests in as many different ways as there are different kids. And it's there for a lifetime. Some process and manage and develop amazing coping abilities. And hope.

There is always hope.

Earlier today I discovered that One Kid had been destructive. A Christmas gift had been dismantled, destroyed, and hidden. The value of the item was not the issue - we've learned the hard way to thoughtfully and carefully allow OK to have a few nice things only when fully supervised. Along with routine checks of OK's bedroom, back pack, coat pockets, laundry hamper, trashcan - of which OK is fully aware - this plan has been somewhat successful, and has led to incremental increases in trust.

Finding the ruined gift today sends us back to ground zero with trust. And I knew that a hard conversation was going to have to be had. And without fail this type of conversation has led to further break-downs in our always tenuous relationship. So after I confirmed with Stan that we needed to plan for a private conversation with OK, my insides began to react - knotted stomach, achy heart, pounding head, racing mind... fight or flight.

To fight FOR - not against - OK.

To fight FOR our relationship.

To fight FOR an understanding of trust.

To fight FOR my child to process the trauma and be able to move ahead with life.

But flight seems so much easier. Just ignore it, throw it away. If I don't mention it, OK never will either. We stay out of each other's way; keep each other at arm's length; avoid eye contact and simple conversation. I'm far from proud to admit that this is sometimes what I've chosen. Sometimes because OK only gets defensive and upset and we end up going nowhere anyway. But most times because I am exhausted and weary of riding this infernal hamster wheel of excuses and blame and the victim mentality.

But today I chose fight. I had committed with Stan and then I went and put it on Facebook - as more of an accountability check for me than for anything else.

So we closed ourselves in a room for twenty minutes. I didn't ask questions. I simply showed and stated what I had found. I said that there would be a consequence, but that I was honestly at a loss and that we would need time to think about it. I said that my feelings were hurt that a gift that we had given OK had been treated with such disregard. I reminded OK that I had once learned at a training - and it made good sense to me and helped me in these situations and so I tend to bring it up frequently - that whatever I, as the parent, am feeling, my child is probably feeling that same way. So I said I was feeling confused and lost about what had happened and what to do next. I asked OK if that was true for them. "Yes, I guess so."

And then we talked. It was slow and awkward and halting. We heard that OK was upset about people making fun of them at school. We talked about stupid kids saying stupid things and having no control over that; but the power we have in taking control of how we react. We talked about how people - OK - who suffer severe trauma are stuck with all those thoughts and memories and feelings until they decide to take control and process and move past those hard and horrible things.

These were all things that I had said before. Today OK seemed to hear them, seemed to understand that we say these things because we care. Today there was conversation - just little bits of it - instead of just me talking.

My last question, "I'm going out on a limb here.... would you like a hug?" Was met with OK immediately coming into my arms and then Stan's and saying, "I KNOW you guys love me."

This really happened. It's really never happened before. I am admittedly in a bit of shock. Not quite sure how to proceed, because usually I'd be sitting here writing out my confusion and frustration at how much I don't know how to help or reach OK... and then never posting it because it's embarrassing to put us all out there, and not at all encouraging to families who may be considering foster care or adoption. It doesn't make our family look good.

Thank you to those of you who supported me with that Facebook post. I know you were praying and I want you to know that God heard and answered. I am grateful. I am excited to see if this takes us further along the journey of healing with OK.

This is the end.... for this time....

Giving Back

Wednesday, February 27, 2013 was the first time I met my son. I didn't know he was my son; I had been led to believe that he would not become my son. But I'll let you in on a little something: EVERYTIME a child comes into our home one of my first thoughts is, "Could this be my next son or daughter? Will this one stay forever?"

When the phone rang that afternoon and we were asked to take a placement, the immediate answer was yes. And then we asked the necessary questions: boy or girl (so we could shuffle bedrooms as needed), age (so we could run out to buy diapers and formula if needed), any idea of the length of the placement.

Late that evening eleven year old MD was dropped off with just an extra outfit in a duffle bag. The first two questions were answered. The third answer was vague - as usual, but fairly definite - a court hearing was scheduled for the following Monday and it was presumed that the family would be reunified at that time.

Five days. MD bunked in one of the other boys' rooms on a trundle bed - which was an acceptable situation for a short-term placement and didn't necessitate a bedroom shuffle. The next day we went shopping for some basics to make life more comfortable for the next five days.

Monday came and with it another phone call. Reunification was denied. The placement would continue. Visits with birth mom were scheduled. We made an appointment with the school district for enrollment. We shuffled bedrooms, slid the trundle bed away, pulled out a dresser and filled it with more clothing.

During the next months Stan and I would occasionally stop and look at each other to say, "Wonder when it's all going to hit the fan with this one..." And then months became a year and more, and this child continued to thrive. And nothing ever hit any fan.

Teachers, neighbors, friends from church all described him the same way - respectful, humble, polite, kind, mature, responsible. He worked hard to overcome educational deficits. He was extremely teachable; and also loved being a teacher and coach. He excelled in art and athletics. And still the other shoe... heck, the first shoe, never dropped. No bumps in the road. Every hurdle taken in beautiful stride.

Visits with birth mom continued consistently for about eight months. Then a period of silence; mom was unavailable, case workers could not find her, messages were unanswered, visits came to a halt. Older birth siblings offered support - maybe one of them would be a placement resource if mom did not resurface. A few quick starts and then dead ends. None of the adult siblings were approved resources.

A few months later, birth mom contacted the agency and scheduled visits. Sometimes she confirmed, sometimes she didn't. Sometimes she confirmed - so we would drive to the agency - and then didn't show up. It was hard to watch my (yet-to-be) son deal with the inconsistency and uncertainty of his family's situation.

Due to his age and the fact that he was not a "troubled" child, the city agency took it's time in changing his placement goal from reunification to adoption or PLC (permanent legal custody) - which is almost like adoption but does not require termination of the rights of the birth parents and is given as an option in the case of older children. So it was that after twenty-eight months in foster care, a judge decided that it was time to move toward permanency.

The case worker presented MD with a choice: he could either remain in our home permanently, or he could request that a search be made for an alternative placement - another family. I was there when that discussion took place, I listened quietly - on the outside; on the inside my heart was crying out to him, "Please choose us." - as the question was asked. His answer was something like, "Why would I want to move now?" I spoke then and affirmed his answer and also vehemently let him and the case worker know that we did not want him to move. I remember saying that I had always considered him my son; and that even if he had chosen to move away, I would still think of him as my son.

On October 19, 2016 - three years, seven months, three weeks, and one day from our first meeting - we were given Permanent Legal Custody of our son. He seemed surprised to see my tears during the court hearing.

The final step for us was to have MD dedicated. Some churches baptize or christen; we dedicate - give our children back to God. We've dedicated each of our kids when they've become legally ours - some as infants, some as toddlers, some as young children. MD tipped the scale age and height-wise. At fifteen years old and almost six feet tall, this was going to be something special.

In explaining the idea of dedication to a friend, MD overheard me use the phrase "give back." He chimed right in and said, "You're going to give me back??" He was kind of kidding and so I was able to answer lightly but seriously, "I will never give you back. You are mine forever." He and my friend understood the symbolism of dedication, and also the importance that Stan and I feel as we are called to raise our children with the support of our God and our church family.

I realize that I have really given MD back, though. God gave him to us. Just as God gave us our children by birth, God has blessed us with children through adoption. And just as God blesses us with material possessions and we are called to be good stewards of all we are given, we are tasked with being good stewards of our children; of our relationships with them, of what and how we teach them, of how we encourage them to live right lives, and nurture them in their strengths and support them in their weaknesses. That is a tall order and it is rather freeing to know that God is doing all that work through us.

On December 11, 2016 we gave MD back to God. We are endlessly grateful that we have been chosen to be his parents - for now, for as long as God will let us do the job. And there were tears that day, too. I think there will always be tears for me in the giving back.