The hard part of fostering is, once again, upon us.  In eight days, we will go from a house of nine to a house of seven. We will say goodbye to one set of sweet sisters that God has allowed us to love on for 15 months. Their foster care journey will end with reunification as they head back home to their father.  A comment I hear often from others continues to echo in my mind today as I try to come to grips with the fact that I must let go of two little girls whom I have grown to love—two little girls who call me momma.

“I couldn’t foster because it would hurt too much to let them go.”  Yes, I am at that part of fostering: the part that hurts so very much.  

And now, knowing they are leaving soon, I find myself acutely aware of all the little things they do (and we do together) that I will miss. 

I will miss their fighting with each other over who gets to pray over our meals.

I will miss Little-Bit crawling into my lap, wrapping her arms around my neck and spending time with me when she could be playing with the other kids. 

I will miss their hugs and kisses in the morning as they leave for school.

I will miss the way we three sing “sleep tight and don’t let the bed bugs bite” to each other as part of our bedtime ritual.

I will miss putting their hair up in ponytails every morning.  

I will miss coming home from wherever I have been to see them running through the hall to greet me.

I will miss our “I love you more” competitions.   

I will miss them singing at the tops of their lungs to K-Love as we drive to and fro. 

I will miss their sweet smiles and their infectious little laughs.

I am just going to miss them.

For a year and three months, I have been their momma. I have potty-trained Little-Bit. I have helped Miss-Priss learn to read.  I have nursed boo-boos, and I have calmed tantrums.  I have celebrated birthdays and played the tooth fairy.  I did everything for them that I would do for my own children.  That is because for over a year they have been two of my own children.   

And now I have 8 days to reconcile myself to the fact that I am no longer going to be momma to these two girls. My head understands that this is part of the process, but my heart is having a hard time accepting that in a week two of my babies will no longer be living with me.

I won’t know when they are sick. I won’t know how their school day was.  I won’t get to see their excited little faces on Christmas morning. I won’t know if they are safe. I won’t know if they are happy.  

I wonder if they will think of me much in the weeks to come? I wonder if they will miss me when they are sick or sad? I wonder if they will remember me after a few years or more have passed? I wonder if I made an impact on their lives? 

...because they made an impact on mine.

So I have eight days. I will hug them a little longer and a lot tighter. I will soak up all of their preciousness. But most of all, I will cover them in prayer.  And before I know it, next week will be here, and my sweet little girls will walk out the front door for the very last time and out of my life for what is probably forever. 

No Whining Today!

Right on the heels of a day filled with frustration, Philippians 2:14 came up in my morning study of the Word.  As I sat at the dining room table still salty about yesterday’s mom woes, I read “do everything without complaining or arguing.”  Yikes! I was instantly convicted of my attitude because I had done the exact opposite.

Spilled tea on freshly mopped floors.  Socks and shoes in front of the couch. Toys in the hallway and foyer.  Empty cups and snack wrappers on the end tables. The list goes on and on.  It feels like the harder I work to keep the house clean, the more they mess it up.  So what comes naturally for me? Grumbling.  I complain about their disrespect and laziness, they blame each other or get sassy with me, and before I know it, an argument has ensued.

It isn’t just at home that my grumbling occurs. It happens at work, too, with new procedures, helicopter parents, and students not living up to their true potential.  It happens in traffic, at the doctor’s office, and at the grocery store.  It is so easy to voice my dissatisfaction about the issue of that particular moment.

We are told in James 5:9  “don’t grumble against each other…” and in 1 Thessalonians to “give thanks in all circumstances.”  What? In ALL circumstances?

James 1:26 says “if anyone considers himself religious and yet does not keep a tight rein on his tongue, he deceives himself and his religion is worthless.” Ouch!  Keeping this tongue in check is hard, especially when I am hurt, angry, or frustrated.  I want to vent--- to my friend, to my mom, to anyone who will listen.

But I shouldn’t.  As Christians, what we say in the presence of others is so important (Ephesians 4:29).  This is most important to me as a mom.  I want to teach my children to watch their words, but to teach this, I have to do it myself.  

So today, I am committed to not complain or grumble even once! Can I do it? With three girls out of the house for a few days at camp, it should be a little easier, but I also have an appointment at the chiropractor and then at the DMV.   We shall see……

Olivia

Olivia turns 11 today. Eleven! I still remember the night that she came to us.  We got the news around 4 pm that we were officially licensed for foster care.  The phone rang again around midnight with our first call from placement: “Would you be willing to take a 3-year-old little girl?”

Too excited to sleep, Caylee got up and waited anxiously with me as the rest of the family slept-- oblivious that a new houseguest was on her way. About an hour and a half later, Olivia Grace walked up to our front porch. I opened the door to greet a sweet little blonde-haired, blue-eyed doll who had the cutest little nose that I had ever seen.

 

I expected to hold a distraught little girl in my arms the rest of the night, but that wasn’t the case. She grinned from ear to ear as she snuggled up on the couch to watch Mickey Mouse. She seemed as giddy about her strange, new environment as we were about having her stay with us.

And she never left. Our first foster led to our first adoption. 

Her back-story is one of the saddest that I have encountered so far as a foster parent, but that was only the first chapter in the book of her life, a book that enthralls me daily as it unfolds before my eyes.  Olivia is smart, funny, and beautiful. She loves robotics and golf and the beach. She also is into cooking and baking. She is artistic and enjoys painting. She loves being an aunt to Em and El. She is full of spirit, but best of all, she is so kind and gentle.   

Not only is she a great kid, but there is also one more thing that makes her extra special to me.  Olivia is my child who has changed me the most.  1 Corinthians 13 kind of change. She has taught me more about love than any of my other kids.  You see, it is easy to love my biological children.  What is hard is to love others outside our tribe--- strangers, foreigners, people not like us.  Over the last seven years, Liv has taught me about unconditional love, about grace and mercy, about kindness and empathy.  God didn't give me Liv because she needed a mother.  God put her in my life because I needed her.    I am better mom---a better person--- because Olivia came into my world.

Love is patient, love is kind....

It always protects, 

always trusts,

 always hopes, 

always perseveres.

 Love never fails.  

I Corinthians 13:4, 7-8