Dear (Foster) Momma of a Stranger’s Child,

You see the looks. You hear the whispers. You watch as others watch you with a bit of a snarling glare. You wonder what they are thinking. The child you are caring for is struggling to maintain any sense of control over his body, actions, and emotions…all while you are frantically trying to get the much-needed groceries bought.

You are on a rush to beat the clock – one kid to be picked up, the other dropped off, one has an appointment, and the baby desperately needs a nap. Yet, here in the middle of the bread aisle is a little soul melting down before your eyes, and in front of a multitude of strangers who do not understand.

You hear someone whisper, “If that were my child, I would….”  Another person kindly suggests, “Spare the rod, spoil the child.”  You keep your calm. You maintain control, and yet, you desperately want to scream out loud, “If you only knew!  I’m picking up the pieces of this broken vessel in front of you!  I’m a foster parent!!”

Dear (Foster) Momma of a Stranger’s Child,

You know it is more than about sparing the rod. You are the carrier of the dark history of the child to whom has made his way to your home. The child in front of you does not need another set of adults disregarding him. The last parents he had rarely used gentle hands when reaching out, a curious and loving ear when listening, or a soft place for the child to land when disappoints came.

The child you are loving on has swallowed a lifetime of grief through the years, and sometimes, it has to come out. It comes out like the ferocious roar of a lion at times. Other times, it comes out in the longing wails of agony that should never come from a child’s soul.

And then, it does not come out at all.

Before you, sits the silence of years long gone. This is probably the part that concerns you. You can handle rage. You can comfort agony, but it is the silence that unsettles you the most. You desperately want to unlock that cage, and let the pain out. You know what could happen if the pain continues to fester deep down.

Still, there you are,

Calm,

Steady,

Cleaning up the mess,

Being that soft place,

Listening with a loving ear, and waiting…

Waiting….waiting for a breakthrough….waiting for a sign that suggests the wounds are being exposed, unplugged, cleansed, and maybe…just maybe, closed.

Dear (Foster) Momma of a Stranger’s Child,

You pray over the children in your care, and for God to be in the midst of important decisions. You petition for Divine intervention. You cry out to the Lord for healing….healing of the children in your care, restoration of their birth families, and mending of your own heart that has been afflicted through the years by this war you are fighting.

Deep down, you know that healing is a spiritual battle. It starts from within. You trust that mending comes from the Giver of Life, the Keeper of Promises, and the One who conquered your own battles. You work to be His hands and feet, but you know your limitations are bound to this Earth. So…you lay it all in His hands, and wait.

Dear (Foster) Momma of a Stranger’s Child,

Stand tall. Put on His armor when faced with the assuming looks of people who choose to judge instead of help. Take deep breaths. Pray with each pore of your being.

Be the constant tower of strength you set out to be.

Take care of yourself. Seek out other warriors who understand the battles you face. Lay your burdens down, and…

Stay calm.

Be steady.

Continue cleaning up the mess.

Remain that soft place.

Lovingly listen.

And, wait….

Wait with expectation, enthusiasm, and hope that comes from the Lord.

Dear (Foster) Momma of a Stranger’s Child,

The next time you overhear someone question your parenting, comment about the children in your care, or glare, remember, it is not in the opinions of others that your worth is found.

The value of the work you do in helping to restore children is not found in the judgmental looks of others. It is not dependent on the meltdowns in the bread aisle, the raging roars of anger, the woeful sobs of sadness, or the still silence.

Dear (Foster) Momma of a Stranger’s Child,

The clock is ticking. You know you have very little time to make a difference. Still yet, you get up each day, ready yourself, put on His armor, and forge onward.

You are His hands and feet when others have chosen to walk away.

You are the calm in the midst of what seems like a storm.

You are steady when no one else has been.

You are the mess-cleaner.

You are the soft place to land.

You are the loving ear who listens.

You are the patient prayer warrior who waits.

Dear (Foster) Momma of a Stranger’s Child,

Your work is not in vain. Yes, there are many…too many…wounded souls who need help, but to the children in your home, your work does not go unnoticed.

It is seen in those miraculous, healing small steps towards wholeness that you witness on a daily basis.

It is felt in the long hugs, or better yet, clinging of the children who once stiffened at your touch.

It is heard in the soft giggles that are starting to visit your home each day.

It is declared in the messages of hope and restoration that are spoken from children who once could not visualize a future.

It is witnessed by watching birth parents, who once battled the fog of addiction, seek clarity about life.

And, 

It is felt in the revival of your own heart that just won’t stop trying to fix hurting children, and working to make a difference in this fractured world.

“Anyone who welcomes a little child like this on my behalf welcomes me, and anyone who welcomes me welcomes not only me but also my Father who sent me.” – Mark 9:37

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Dear (Foster) Momma of a Stranger’s Child 

Dear (Foster) Momma of a Stranger’s Child {letter #2}