The Parable of the Dog Poop

 

                During the summer before our first foster baby arrived in our home, I had been working towards participating in my first ever 5K run.  This was the summer after I had my pulmonary embolism episode, in which my doctor described my lungs as “showered with blood clots.”  After a traumatic 9-day stint in the hospital, I was left feeling weak and defeated in mind, body, and spirit.  I spent the ensuing fall and winter on blood thinners with strict orders to rest and let my body heal. 

                The following spring, my mom encouraged me to get out and walk in the evenings with her several times a week.  Grudgingly, I accepted the invitation, and we would meet at a park nearby and my two kids would play while my mom and I walked the cement path around the perimeter.

As my body got stronger, and the walking got less difficult, I decided to set a measurable goal for myself.  Our city just happened to be advertising its very first annual marathon and I signed up for the 5K, which would take place in October of that same year.  It turned out to be great motivation because I had to pay for my registration, and I didn’t want to lose that money I had invested.  I was also secretly terrified of coming in last place and having to drag my own carcass across the finish line.

                By the time the kids started school again in the fall, I had lost 20 pounds, we had our first foster baby, and I was one month away from my 5K goal.  I was in the habit of walking and didn’t want to let the back-to-school routine and the new baby slow my momentum, so I went on walks with the baby after the kids left to school.

                On this particular day, I was walking a 2-mile loop through our neighborhood.  This was before I owned a smartphone or other portable device with music, so I used my walking time to think and ponder.  As I was pushing the stroller with foster baby down the sidewalk, I noticed a dark lump of dog poop right in the middle of the sidewalk.  Scanning ahead, I discovered that I had a few choices if I wanted to avoid the obstacle.  I could go around it by steering the stroller out into the street, or veer onto the grass beside the sidewalk, or remain on the sidewalk and try to straddle it between the wheels of the stroller.  Not wanting to be bothered with walking into the street and around a parked car, or four-wheeling my stroller through uneven grass, I opted to straddle the poop and stay the course. 

                I pushed forward, gauging the distance between the stroller wheels and the malodorous hazard, and confidently strolled over the poop, glancing down to make sure I didn’t step in it after it had cleared the stroller.  My glance down, however, revealed that one of the wheels had gone right through the offensive deposit, leaving it smaller than before.  Stunned at this turn of events, I inspected the front wheels to discover the missing portion of poop, now mangled between the double wheels on the right side.  Apparently, the distance between the two front wheels was shorter than the distance between the two back wheels.  In short, rather than taking the time and making the effort to bypass the obstacle in my path, I had simply plowed right through it.

                Crap.

                With the sharply unpleasant aroma of dog feces, now unleashed and wafting up from the wheels, I heaved the stroller through the bumpy and uneven grass along the sidewalk to try to clean off the poop, only to have it pushed further in between the double wheels.  Frustrated, I stopped and searched for baby wipes in the stroller caddy so I could clean the wheels but found none.  I was only a quarter of the way through the loop, and I didn’t want to turn around and go home, so I pressed forward and resumed my walk.  I was reminded of my poor choice every thirty seconds or so as the pungent perfume of eau de poop penetrated my delicate senses.   

                As I continued to walk and ponder, cursing my laziness and poor judgement skills, the Spirit worked on me, opening my mind to a teaching moment.

                First, this was not a permanent thing.  I would not always have dog poop stuck to the wheels of the stroller.  I would be able to clean it off when I got home.  It would be smelly, unpleasant, and take a bit of time and effort, but it would not be impossible. 

                Second, I had gained knowledge.  I knew now that the distance between wheels in the front of the stroller was narrower than the distance between the back wheels and I would use this knowledge in the future to make better choices.

                Third, I had gained perspective.  I knew now that if I had taken the time to avoid the poop, no matter how inconvenient, I would have consequently avoided the unpleasant odor and cleanup.

                Then the Spirit gave me an “ah-ha” moment: 

                There will be many times in my life that I will see metaphorical poop in my path and have a choice to make.  I can try to plow through it and hope to not have it stick to me, or I can avoid it altogether by choosing a different path, even if that path is inconvenient or more difficult.  Avoiding the poop is easier than having to live with the smell and then putting in the work to clean it off.

If, despite my efforts to avoid it, I find myself with poop clinging to my shoes, I have another choice to make.  I can curse God or those around me for the poop that has soiled my footwear, or I can ignore it and hope it goes away on its own, or I can buckle down and clean it off.

                 I heard someone once say something like, “You can’t walk through a barnyard without picking up some poop on the way.”  So, I guess if I want to avoid poop, I shouldn’t don’t go to places where I know there will be poop. 

                There are many beautiful and wonderful things to experience in this mortal life, but like the barnyard, we are likely going to pick up some poop along the way, no matter how careful we are.  Our loving and understanding Father in Heaven has provided us a Savior, knowing that we will need His cleansing power to become clean again.  I hope I have the clarity of mind to intentionally choose to utilize that gift, rather than to wander through life with poop on my shoes.

I Don’t Judge

Today is adoption day. 

In the foster care world, we tend to celebrate this day with family, friends, and food (usually in that order).  It’s like celebrating the birth of a child.  It is anticipated, exciting, and full of love and uncertainties. 

Everyone offers their congratulations.  Everyone celebrates. 

Well, mostly everyone. 

There are always two sides to a story. 

Especially an adoption story.

It is easy to forget that other side. 

I don’t believe that anyone truly enjoys dwelling on unhappy things.  No one celebrates loss with food and festivities.  It is human nature to shy away from unpleasantness.  So, while we are happily celebrating our joyous occasion, we neglect to recognize that somewhere there is another family that is grieving a loss just as profound.

Let me clarify my title. 

The bible tells us that we should “judge not.”  Then it goes on to tell us how to judge others and cautions us to be fair in our judgement and to judge righteously.  It then gives us a warning: God will use our example in how fairly we judge others, to determine how He will judge us.

Ouch.

That’s a pretty hefty warning. 

How do we judge righteously?  It seems correct to assume that a righteous person prays to God for guidance.  It can be concluded that if you wanted to judge righteously, you need to include God in your attempt to judge.  He knows all.  He is the perfect judge.  If you ask Him, he will guide you in your judgements. 

And then He will watch you. 

According to scripture, He will take note of how we judge our spiritual brothers and sisters and then offer us the same measure of fairness (or unfairness) when it is our turn to be put on that heavenly trial for our life decisions.

That’s awesome.  And a little scary.

I try to teach my children that the parents whose children come to our home are not bad people.  We talk about how good people make bad choices sometimes. 

We all do. 

We talk about how our choices affect others, for better or worse.  We talk about how some choices are difficult to stop making.  Especially when our choices lead to bad habits or addictive behavior.  I try to stress to my kids that we need to be slow to judge.  We don’t know the whole story.  There’s no way we can.  Only God knows all and only He can judge correctly.

When a caseworker calls me about a child who needs a foster home, I am told the circumstances surrounding the case so I can make an informed decision about caring for that child.  As the foster parent, I am told the bad choices the parents have made and how those choices led them to losing guardianship of their children. 

Let me repeat myself:  we all make bad choices.

I’ve made some pretty bad ones myself.

So who am I to judge?

Who am I to say that parents whose children are in foster care deserve to lose their rights as parents? 

Who am I to say that some children are better off living with strangers than with their biological families?

Don’t misunderstand me.  I recognize that children need to be cared for and nurtured in a safe and loving environment. 

I get that.

I’m just saying that we need to judge with some caution and a lot of love.

Today we are adopting the child of a dear friend. 

And in a few months, we will be adopting another of her children.

I.  Love.  This.  Woman.

I have seen her at her worst. 

I have watched her grow and change.

I have grieved with her.

I love her as my own sister.

I cannot celebrate this day without acknowledging the grief that she is feeling. 

Terrible grief.

The loss of a child.

Of two children.

Here are the answers to your questions:

Did she want them?  YES

Does she love them?  YES

Didn’t she do what the state wanted her to do so she could get them back?  YES

Does she deserve to have them?  YES

Would they be safe with her?  Would they have thrived under her care? Would she have raised them to be good and contributing citizens of society?  YES, YES, YES

How does this happen??  I don’t know.

I do know this:  I am a better person for knowing her.  She and her children have been a great blessing in my life and in the lives of my husband and children.  I will forever be honored to call her my friend. 

God had a hand in bringing our families together.  In His wisdom and His love, our paths have connected and will be forever entwined.

So what exactly DID happen? 

Well, that’s her story to tell.

For the rest of us, we need to remember that it is not up to us to place final judgement on anyone. 

“Judge not, that ye be not judged.  For with what judgement ye judge, ye shall be judged; and with what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again.”  (Matthew 7:1-2)

“Judge not according to the appearance, but judge righteous judgement.” (John 7:24)

Today is adoption day.

I can’t judge.

It's not like...

It’s not like they were one of your own kids…

It’s not like you were going to keep them…

It’s not like you didn’t see this coming…

It’s not like you were their real mom…

These statements come from well-meaning family and friends.  People whom I love and respect. 

And I get it. 

They love me.  They don’t like to see me sad or hurt.  They don’t understand, and how could they, really?  

So, they try to put things into perspective and comfort me with the words, “It’s not like…”

But it is.

It is EXACTLY like.

The foster children who come into our home are EXACTLY like our own kids.  They get hungry, tired, scared, lonely, hurt, happy, and loved. 

Just "like" my other kids.

I know that we won’t be keeping all of the kids we open our hearts and our home to, but we treat them as if we will.  We don’t hold anything back “just in case” they aren’t a permanent part of our family. 

We can’t.

I can’t.

If I keep these little ones at arm’s length because I know their stay with our family will be brief, what good will that do them?  

Or me?  

If I treat this like a babysitting gig, I will get tired of them or frustrated with them.  And then, what?  If we get the call that we are keeping them, do I turn around and give my love to them “like” my own kids?  

Nope.  

That’s not how it works.

From the moment we get the call and accept the placement, they are mine.  

Just “like” my other kids.  

I feed them, clothe them, entertain them, teach them, love them, worry about them, and pray for them. 

What do I get in return?  

More laundry to do, more appointments to go to, more paperwork to keep track of, more sleepless nights, more food to prepare, and more messes to clean up.

Just “like” my other kids.

I also get more sticky kisses, more crayon portraits, more cuddly snuggles, more spontaneous hugs, and more unconditional love. 

Just “like” my other kids.

So, the next time I send one of these little ones on to their families, please omit the phrase, "not like" from your vocabulary for a few weeks.

Because...

It is like they were one of my own kids.

It is like we loved them as if we were going to keep them.

I may have known this was coming, but in all honesty,

It is like I was their mommy.

If only for a little while.

Well, That Was Short

We just sent on our shortest placement.  We got him three weeks ago, and now he is with family members while his parents work to be reunited with him.

I didn’t expect to cry.  I didn’t expect to hurt.  I didn’t expect the gloom to come again.  But it did.  And that surprised me.

I guess it shouldn’t have been a surprise.  This is not just a job to me.  Despite what TV shows and movies portray, these kids are not simply “a meal ticket.”  These are my children.  When they come into my home, they are mine. 

My mom once told me that it was good to hurt when they leave.  She said it was a sign that I did all that I could for them.  It proved that I loved them with my whole heart and held nothing back. 

These children need a mother, not a babysitter.  I am their mother while their biological mother works to get her life in order so she can care for her child again.  I do not try to replace their biological mother, no one can do that.  But I do my best for the children who come through my door.

Every child is suffering in some way when they are placed with a foster family.  We have decided to take children under two years of age.  The children we care for don’t have emotional baggage from years of abuse and neglect.  There aren't behavior problems or disrespect to deal with.  If there are any developmental delays, they usually haven’t been noticed yet. 

The children we have cared for have come from abusive homes or have been exposed to drugs.  These little ones are scared.  They don’t know what is going on and they miss their parents, regardless of how they have been treated.  It takes time for them to adapt and adjust to living in our home.  They usually don’t sleep more than an hour or two at a time the first night, or even the second or third.  I typically spend the first week just holding them and feeding them. 

I have come to understand and appreciate Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs.  I’ve watched as each of these babies started to blossom as their basic needs were met and they began to feel safe in my care.  I remember the first time our very first foster baby put his arm around my neck and patted my back when I picked him up.  My heart nearly burst!  I truly love these children!

My oldest daughter summed it up pretty well when she said, “It’s not as bad as last time, Mom.  It still hurts, but it’s not as bad.”  And she’s right.  It’s not as painful as the last time, but it still hurts.  I suppose it will hurt every time.

And that’s a good thing.

I am Okay

It has been three weeks since we sent our foster baby to his new family.  Some days it feels like longer, and on others it seems like just yesterday.  Time is funny that way.

I can see that my family is settling into a “new” normal, and that makes me glad.

We are okay.

For the first two weeks I buried myself in genealogy.  It’s a hobby I enjoy and it helped to keep my mind busy so I wouldn't be able to focus so much on my heart.  I slept a lot too.  Not at night, but during the day.  I felt listless and empty.  I was also sick for a solid week, and that sickness cycled through my children and my husband.  Taking care of them helped me to push the heartache back, but it snuck out at unexpected times.

One morning, about a week after he left, my two year old daughter wandered around the house looking for him and asking where he was.  That brought the pain back, sharp and new.  I have been worried about how this will affect her.  She is so young and there is so much that she  doesn't understand.  Every once in a while she asks about him, but she doesn't seem emotionally or psychologically damaged.  She seems secure and happy, despite losing her baby brother, and I am grateful that she is handling this so well.

She is okay.

A few days later, my two older children went into my room to get something and my son reminded his sister to keep the light off in case the baby was sleeping.  But there was no need.  There was no baby in my room.  Ouch again.

My older son has always been able to articulate his feelings well.  He was the youngest for eight years before we became a foster family.  I worried about him and how he would handle the transition from being the youngest to being the middle child.  When we brought our first foster baby home 4 ½ years ago, he told me, “Mom, I don’t know where I fit in our family anymore.”  He was not the oldest and not the youngest.  He was not the baby, nor did he want to be treated like one, but he wanted to know where he fit.  I told him that he had the unique position of sharing “oldest sibling status” with his sister, since they were only two years apart and so much older than our foster baby.  We talked about what he could do to help our foster baby and he was excited to have the title of “big brother.”  Of my four children, he is the one that wears his heart on his sleeve.  His emotions are very much near the surface and his heart is tender.  I have worried about how fostering would affect him and his sense of belonging in our family.  I have worried that dividing my attention between more children would be detrimental for him.  I have cried with him as we have given our foster babies away.  I have been watching him these past weeks to make sure he is dealing with his feelings in a healthy way.  I can see that he is starting to shake off the gloom that has settled on our family since the baby left, and I am relieved. 

He is okay.

Aside from my husband and myself, my older daughter bears much of the burden that comes from caring for little ones.  She changes many diapers, gives baths, puts babies to bed, feeds them, and has fully enjoyed the God-given gift of womanhood and motherhood that is within her.  She cares for and loves these little ones and I know she weeps when they go.  Even though letting go of them is heartbreaking, she is willing to love them and care for them regardless of the pain.  Watching her with them makes my heart happy.

She is okay.

I wondered how our young son would handle the disruption in our family life that would come from bringing in another baby and then having to give the baby away.  He is developmentally behind and I’m not sure all that he understands.  He has many doctor and therapy appointments and needs much of my attention.  I worried that I wouldn't be able to give him the time that he needed each day.  It was difficult to try to make it to appointments with a three year old who couldn't walk, a two year old who loved to run, and an infant, but with the help of wonderful family and neighbors, I was able to do it.  The weeks before and after we gave the baby away were difficult for everyone and I know he felt that something was different.  He wanted to be held and cuddled and wanted almost constant attention.  I know it didn't help much that I was sick, and then he was sick.  But he seems to have settled back into a routine and is his happy self again, for which I am thankful. 

He is okay.

My dear husband, though he tries to hold back his emotions, as is expected in our society, is very tenderhearted when it comes to our children, whether biological, adopted, or foster.  He gives his whole heart to the children that come into our home.  He shares in the time and effort it takes to care for these babies as best as he can.  He makes sure he is able to provide for our family and works hard for us all.  He loves to sit and hold the babies when he gets home from work and he even takes a turn or two with nighttime feedings.  I rarely see him cry, but we have sobbed together each time we send a foster baby on to another home.  It breaks my heart to see him weep, but it also swells with love and admiration for the man I married.  He has not been immune to the gloom that has settled in our home the past month, and my heart has ached as I have watched him struggle with his emotions.  But over the past week or so, I have noticed that he seems happier.  We have been working together to help the kids cope with this loss and I am so lucky to have this wonderful man by my side.

He is okay.

I have finally started to make regular meals and tidy the house again.  I struggle with depression daily, and although I work on keeping myself level, these emotionally charged events always throw me off balance for a while.  It has been a difficult month, and it is so nice to feel happy again.  During these dark times, I try to remember to lean on my Heavenly Father and ask Him to help carry my burden.  I am still learning how to do that, and I struggle to let His love help me heal, but I like to think that I am getting better at it.  Time helps to lessen the pain, but it is always there, somewhere.  Last night as I was going through the massive pile of toys that have taken over the corner of my living room, I found two that were his.  They had gotten missed as I had packed up his things.  My eyes burned a little as I set them aside.  

We have done this before and we will do it again.  It will be difficult then too, but I know I will be okay.

I have come to better understand the scripture that talks about mourning with those who mourn and comforting those who stand in need of comfort.  I am so very grateful for the love and support we have received from our family, friends, and neighbors.  I am so grateful for those who have mourned with us.  To you, who have accompanied us on this journey, I want you to know:

We are okay. 

Please, Be Gentle

Be gentle with me today.

My heart is broken and the pain is so sharp.

My baby boy is gone.

I know he wasn't really "mine," but try telling that to my heart.  I've known for a few months that this day would come, but my arms just feel so empty.  And I knew they would.  

The bassinet is empty and his blanket, which I couldn't bear to part with, seems to mourn the loss of his little body, all snuggly and warm.  Some of his clothes are in the hamper, waiting to be washed and folded and put in his drawer.  My shirt still smells like baby, from cuddling him and feeding him when he woke up this morning.  

I am the mother he knows and loves, and even though his memories of me will fade as the weeks and months march on, I hold on to the hope that some small part of him will remember how very much he was loved while he was in my care.

We are a foster family.  This is not our first time caring for a child we would not keep.  But, knowing we had to give him away didn't make doing it any easier.

Being a foster family is bittersweet.  

Well, more like a two edge sword.  

We do everything in our power to provide a happy home, a safe haven for the children we take in.  We treat them as our own and provide for their needs so they can grow and develop and have stability and a sense of security.  We love them and worry about them and pray for them and ache for them, as much as we do for our own children.  

When we get a new little one in our home, my heart can't seem to tell the difference between foster, biological, or adopted.  And while they are a part of our family in every way, the reality is that they are not ours.  

The day will come, as it always does, when we will have to say goodbye.

It may seem that fostering children is like a long term babysitting gig, but nothing could be further from the truth.  While they are in our home, they are ours. And, when they leave, the loss is real. 

Sometimes I wonder if my pain is justified.  After all, if you sign up for a broken heart, can you really complain when you get what you asked for?  I have never lost one of my own children, so I can’t know fully what that must feel like.  But I know what it is to love a child and then have to let them go. 

It is not all doom and gloom though.  We have gotten to know the family he went to.  We love them and we see the love they have for "our" baby.  We see how excited they are to have him in their family.  We see the direction they are taking in their lives and we are excited for his future in their home. 

I know he is supposed to be with them.  I knew it the moment I met them.  So, even though I am mourning the loss of this child, I rejoice for him and the happiness he is bringing to his new family.

The rest of the world doesn't stop, even when it feels like my world has ended.  My littles still need caring for, and my husband and big kids need me too.  Dinner needs to be made and the chores are waiting to be done.  Life will move on, and we will miss him and his happy little spirit.

I know that it won’t always hurt like this, but today it is close to unbearable.

Through the mercy of my Savior, I know I will find peace.

But for now, please be gentle with me.