Blast Into The Crazy Past: How Fostering Changes Your Life...

Welcome to memories...my memories....welcome to a Blast from my Crazy Past!

It is interesting to see how things change in your life. I wrote this a year ago, in 2015 to read to a few close friends one night. I ran across it recently and decided I would share it here. It was hard to decide whether I should have it go out on Fostering Friday or today since it isn't current events. So I went with Blast Into The Crazy Past.....

Guest Post: Why I Foster

This guest post was written by my husband Peter.

I’ve been asked many times, “Why do you foster?” This question is generally followed up by other questions. “Isn’t it hard? Doesn’t it hurt to let them go? How are your kids handling it, are they okay?” I’ve been asked these questions enough times that maybe I just need to put my answer to paper – for my own benefit as much as yours. 

It all started through a very random set of circumstances. A little baby boy needed a home. His body was wracked by seizures so that he was taking greater than an adult dosage of phenobarbital. He needed a home. He needed someone to love him – no strings attached. I don’t know what my extended family thought – I was afraid to ask. But I couldn’t help myself. His need struck a chord in the deepest part of me and the only response could be to open my arms and my house to give him a life. Could someone else have answered that call? Could they have done a better job? For sure. But someone else wasn’t asked. I was.

The word “yes” is a simple word: three letters, one syllable. Yet it was through the simple, yet profound decision to say “yes” that an entire world opened up to me that I had no idea even existed. Our house has since had many visitors. Some of my fostering experience has been wonderful, and some has been painful. But through it all, I can say it has been worth it. 

We went on to adopt that little baby boy. Though it doesn’t always happen this way, his seizures subsided. We rejoiced the day that he took his last (ever) dose of the medicine that seemed to turn him into an emotional zombie. We’ve watched with awe as he has blossomed into a beautiful young man who has a depth of empathy that I can only begin to fathom. 

Then one day a new visitor came to our house. He changed everything. He taught us to see beyond the surface anger to the agonizing pain caused by neglect that hides just out of sight under the surface. He taught us to speak a new language. I can now understand and translate the language of neglect. I now know that rejection, hoarding, gorging, and tantrums are all cries for help being screamed by a prisoner to pain. 

But the greatest gift he gave us was brokenness. Something inside of me is shattered beyond repair. I no longer find it okay to live in a world where innocent children are tormented by the effects of drug addiction. I can no longer sit on the sidelines and do nothing. When I see a child whose life is being torn apart by the choices made by the adults in their life, there is a righteous indignation that rises up in me something fierce. 

Our visitor stayed at our house for two years, and then it was time for him to leave. Change is never easy in these circumstances, and his preferred method of self-defense was to be as nasty as possible. Perhaps he thought that if he tormented us to the place where we would reject him and eject him from our lives that then the separation would be easier. He was wrong. There is a quality about most foster parents that I admire – tenacity. My family has it, too. But as the days towards his move approached, things began to escalate around our house. So, one Saturday, we decided we needed some family time – time to huddle up, get some fresh air, and regroup. We took a drive into the beautiful southern Oregon wilderness. 

I’m pretty sure I could take you to the exact spot that it happened. Through all of this experience, God had been talking to my heart, but I had not been willing to accept what he was asking of me. Honestly, I was ready to give up. Who wants to have to deal with that kind of pain and drama all the time? But as we drove down the road that Saturday afternoon, God came along, too. In the gentle way that God directs our paths with his still small voice, he spoke to me in no uncertain terms. “You always talk about wanting to be the hands and feet of Christ. If you really mean that, then THIS is your option. Take it or leave it.” God was asking me to continue fostering – continue opening my home to these most vulnerable members of society. What could I say? I certainly couldn’t say no. I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself. 

That commitment has opened still further worlds that were as yet unknown to me. I’ve learned more. I’ve discovered that even though DHS is a government organization that has many flaws, it is filled with some of the most beautiful people who make unimaginable sacrifices to try to rescue victims from suffering. I’ve met brothers and sisters in arms who have answered this same call. Fostering is a world where millions of tiny miracles happen every single day.

More than that, though, as a Christian parent, I have what I would guess are fairly standard Christian parenting goals: I want to be as much like Christ as I possibly can be, and I want to so passionately espouse the gospel in all that I say and do that my children will be irresistibly drawn to do the same. That requires me putting into action the words of our savior when he talked about simple acts of compassion like giving a cup of cold water. It requires the kind of agape love (love with no statute of limitations) that Jesus exemplified on the cross – the kind of love that comes from giving without taking any thought for recompense. 

I can’t think of any time in my life when I have given where recompense was not part of the agreement. Most all of the giving I have done in my life has been in the form of short term loans, or quid-pro-quo arrangements where I give when it benefits me. But then I became a foster parent, and for the first time in my life, I found myself in situations where the people who I was pouring out compassion, effort, and time to have had no capacity (and, sometimes, no desire) to give back. This has created the kind of teaching moment in my home where life values are forged. I’ve been able to explain to my children that this is what it means to love as Christ and give with no thought to recompense. This is what it means to give a cup of cold water. This is what it means to be the hands and feet of Christ to a broken world. 

The beautiful thing is, I watch my children in action, and they are getting it. The light has come on. I watch in awe as they live out those core principles of the gospel that are so often relegated to cliché. They have discovered that family isn’t just who you are related to. Sometimes family includes the people that you choose to embrace. When that becomes your definition for family, then you are never alone. 

How do I sum this all up? I once read where the noted evangelist Oswald Chambers wrote that “God hates sin, and the cross is the estimation of his hatred.” In similar words, I hate watching innocent children be victimized by the effects of drug addiction. My choice to foster is the estimation of that hatred.