I am a CHANCE

I am a foster mom......................

Chances are you don't know me, chances are you don't know a foster child, chances are your thoughts on children in foster care do not amount to much. Chances..........one word but so many different ways to look at it.

If you had a good CHANCE to win a million dollars, would you try?
If you had a good CHANCE of getting cancer, would you try to not?
If you had a good CHANCE of going to college, would you go?
If you had a good CHANCE at a really good job, would you apply?

If a child had a good CHANCE at a life that wasn't abusive, or neglectful, or destructive, would you try to help?

Every child in foster care wants so many things, they want normalcy, they want to be loved, they want to not be hungry, they want to not be hurt, they want clean clothes, they want an education..........they want a CHANCE.

Until last year I never gave foster kids a second thought, I never gave the children in Haiti a second thought, I never gave God a second thought.  And all the while God was trying to get my attention.  He was throwing things at me to make me stop and ask Him for His help. Destructive relationships, Hate filled thoughts, Anger, Resentment, Hypocrisy and Negativity. Every day I was bombarded with negative things happening to me. Every day God was saying "Hello, I am here, turn to me, lay it at my feet and I will redeem you." But I didn't hear his knock, I was to busy listening to my own self pity screaming at me from every possible angle.

I had starting going to church mid way though 2012, my dad told me I needed to go back to church. Frankly, I didn't think that was the answer to my problems. My problems were the only problems in the world, well MY world. Now I know my problems are not even a piece of sand in the scope of the world's problems. I really had no true friends, and the one person I thought was my friend was killing my spirit one minute at a time, while claiming to love me like no other. While robbing me of money, trust, love, security and hope. Crazy thing, he is the one that got me to walk into Calvary Chapel Sawgrass in August 2012. For that one thing I am thankful to him, for all the rest I have forgiven him 7 times 70 times.

There was a guy there, his name is "Jay" his real name is Jonathan, I am not changing his name for he deserves every tear of joy and every hand shake and every possible fist bump available.  Most of us call him Jay, Pastor Jay, I met him day one at church.  I shook his hand hoping he would not notice my sweaty palms from fear of going into a church, fear of another failure.  I hoped he would not hear the tremble in my voice as I meekly answered his questions. I hoped I would not crumble into a crying heap of woman and bare all of my problems to him because I needed to tell someone. I didn't know he was a pastor, I thought he was just this big dude that played piano and sang in the "choir".  It's called a worship team, I learned, and for a long time they were the best part of going to church. Every time we went he said hello, we developed a friendship.

My relationship was failing at an alarming rate, I tried to be strong, I tried not to cry, I didn't want others to pity me. I still went to church, alone, but I went.  I started making friends, female friends, I joined the Women's Ministry in order to make female friends, I was giving myself a CHANCE.  I was praying, I was listening to God, I was listening to people at church talk and share their testimonies. I was realizing that God is my ONLY chance. No one else, not even myself can help.  The I listened to an invitation, well of sorts.
"You should come to Haiti with us." Jay said it, kind of as we walked past each other.  I paused, just long enough to think, "wait, what?"  Then I opened my mouth and said "OK, I will". And I did, I went to Haiti on a mission trip, with MY church. What a CHANCE that was.

There is no way to describe going to Haiti, there are no words, you honestly have to go there and witness it first hand. But I can say this, the group of people I went with will be my friends for as long as I live, and their spouses and children are included in my life as well. Pretty much once I committed to going things started to happen in my life, in my dreams, in my thoughts. I was excited, I was nervous, but I was confidant about going. I started having thoughts about orphans.  I chalked that up to Jay and his wife adopting two girls from Haiti, after all what else could it mean? Orphans, Orphans, morning, noon and night.

Mother's day 2013, I bribed/guilted my daughter to come to church with me. Kathy gave the message that day. She told us about orphans in Broward county, our county. She told us about the need for Foster parents. Click, click the puzzle pieces matched. Orphans, Foster children, Foster parent, it all fit. The next few months were filled with applications, background checks, finger prints, classes and getting my house ready for inspection. By the end of September 2013 I was licensed and had two brothers living in my house with me. Ages 4 and 2-1/2. I thought my life was hard before..........no, this was hard. This was eye opening, this was heartbreaking.  This was by far the hardest thing I have ever done, including giving birth to an all but 10 pound baby with no drugs!

There is a saying.......... Fostering isn't for sissy.  Oh how true they are. These children come into foster care because something bad is happening in their family.  It can be neglect, abuse, abandonment,  it can be so many negative things, but they are not removed for anything good. These children have been living in a world none of us would chose for ourselves. Or chose for anyone we love. When I was in my MAPP class I had visions of babies, and rainbows, lollipops and unicorns. About half way through the ten week course I realized none of that was going to happen. It was going to be babies, yes, toddlers, children, pre teens and teenagers.  All of them carrying their own baggage, and I do not mean clean clothes and new shoes. Their baggage is emotional, it's physical, it traumatic,  it left scars and it is real so very real. They come carrying head lice, ring worm, pink eye, snot that never seems to end. They come carrying anger, fear and confusion.

When you get  that first call you jump for joy - "YES - it is official I am a Foster mom". But as you drive to SafePlace you realize that your excitement is because a kid just had one of the worst days of his or her short life.  Not only have they been living with a parent or parents that hurt each other or hurt them, that do not or cannot feed them, that do not or cannot love them, that have substance addictions, that can not or will not take them for vaccines, that cannot or do not send them to school, that just cannot take care of them the way that is required, but then they were TAKEN from the only family they know or have. So as I stood outside that door with a friend waiting to meet these two boys I would be caring for it hit me..........WHAT HAVE YOU GOTTEN YOURSELF INTO? The door is locked, the entry is small, it is an efficient operation, provide your ID, sign a paper and wait. Then they call you back to sign more papers, papers that officially declare you responsible for a child or children that you have not planned for, that you have never met before, that until right now you did not realize even existed.  I took my friend along, I had the foresight to realize I would be in shock and she could ask the questions I could not even form in my mind. Then you leave..........with new children.

What do I say, what is their story, what should I feed them, will my dogs scare them, will work be mad I have to go in late because I have to go to Target to buy them clothes because what they are wearing does not fit. Remember to call daycare right away in the morning, what about the doctor appointment, will they sleep, will I sleep, and again what was I thinking?

It isn't easy, not at all.  You realize your only CHANCE is to pray, and pray a lot. Each of us has our own "first night" story. Mine was classified as a horror story, it has now been rated a comedy, because frankly you cannot make this crap up!  I had the brothers just about four months until they were moved to a place that had better availability for services they required. I started off wanting to help their bio mom, support her as a friend. I sent her photos, I told her about their progress, I tried to help with visits, but it eventually became apparent she was not capable of accepting kindness, or help, or emotional support. Her emotional state did not allow for that. Nor did her support group. All of the tears I shed for those boys and the situation that I was unable to fix were lessons.  Lessons from God, lessons about humbling myself, lessons about prayer, lessons about asking for help, whether it was asking God or asking a family member or friends, lessons that I am not superwoman and I need God in my life every minute of every day.

I needed a break, I decided on a little over a month.  A month to relax, get some things done around the house, sit and do nothing, spend time with my grandson.  A month, yea a month. Six days into my hiatus I got a phone call, my heart skipped when I saw the caller ID, I considered not answering, but God said ANSWER THE PHONE. He is persistent like that. I answered, it was a placement call, she is 13 months, youngest of six, living in a motel room in Palm Beach, would I consider taking her?

There had been a lot of conversation regarding the age range I would take for all future placements. I had decided to go lower in age, I thought the younger the better, they won't have developed the behaviors that were so out of control. So 13 months was in my new range, it was a girl, a girl! I prayed about it, I consulted my daughter, I consulted my friend. No one would tell me what to do.  I prayed again, God told me what to do. Take her.

I waited at home for her caseworker to bring her down from Palm Beach. I gathered diapers and wipes, I got some bottles out and some sippy cups, I wasn't sure which she used. I raked my brain trying to remember what my grandson ate when he was that age, I ended up calling my daughter because I could not think. I waited by the front door looking out the peep hole. Waiting, waiting, calculating travel time and wondering if they got lost, changed their minds, left later.  Then they pulled into my driveway, I went out to help with the baby and her belongings. I was handed a sleeping baby (OK good sign), I was handed her CRR book and I was handed a plastic grocery bag with her clothes. That was it, no tips, no she likes this, nothing. She was sucking her thumb, she was wearing boy clothes, I laid her on the guest bed to change her diaper and put her jammies on. She didn't have any, so I immediately start thinking, do I have any of my grandson's here? I did, OK, not so bad she can sleep in boy jammies it doesn't really matter. I changed her and put her in the crib and stood and watched her, a sleeping baby is probably the most beautiful and innocent thing ever. I grabbed her plastic bag and left the room, I know from experience to wash everything they come with to avoid "things" and smells. She came to me with nothing of use. Again, I hope work doesn't get mad for me calling out. I went to Target got her some clothes, diapers, jammies. Called daycare got her in there and made a trip to my agency to raid their warehouse of donated items. Scheduled her doctor appointment and took her. I felt good, I felt accomplished, I felt more organized this time.  Knowing that different agencies needed to see her, make sure things were going well, etc.

I knew what needed done this time, and I knew what to do this time.  It's kind of like a new mother and her first baby versus the same mother with her third child. There is no more hand sanitizer, they get spit on the finger cleaned, do the shoes match the pants and shirt, third kid - they are lucky to have two matching shoes before they rush out the door to school. It just happens now, yes there are frustrations, but that is normal, they are not your children, there are government agencies involved, there are caseworkers, no one seems to be on the same page, let alone reading the same book, and forget about even being in the same library, there is a saying, to many cooks in the kitchen........................

Fostering isn't for sissys. But it is for me.
I can carry two babies, a diaper bag and push a double stroller all at the same time, I can make dinner, gather eggs, feed the dogs and wipe a snotty nose, I can walk past a mirror and not cringe at the reflection of an overweight woman but think WOW remember to schedule hair appointment, I can go to bed at night and know that I am redeemed by God and that I am doing His work, I can wake up in the morning tired but completely excited for that moment when I open the baby's door and say "good morning" and I am greeted by a smile and giggle and a princess hand wave.

I am not a sissy, I am a Foster mom!

Does this baby have a CHANCE? Yes, she does. She is living now in an environment that is healthy and loving, she is fed and clothed.  She goes to daycare and plays with other children her age.  She goes to a church where people fawn over her. She has people that give her clothes, diapers, kisses and love. Yes, she has a CHANCE.

Would I recommend being a Foster parent? YES, without hesitation, but, you need to have it on your heart. It isn't for everyone, but neither is being a doctor or nurse, or being a teacher, not everyone can open their heart to possible hurt.  If you were given the CHANCE of heartbreak or solitary living, which would you choose?   I choose heartbreak, I choose opening my heart to possible heartbreak in hopes of the return of a child having a CHANCE, I choose GOD in order to get me through every hard, hurtful, scary, solitary step. I choose to ask for help instead of frustrating myself.

I choose taking a CHANCE everyday, all day.