I've now lasted two months as a
personally-selected foster Mom to a 15 year-old boy. He asked, I
prayed about it, and I think God said “yes.” Why am I bringing
this up? I don't know. And that brings up another point: I have
realized these days just how much I don't know. It's so super easy as
a single person (and this is such common knowledge that I know it's
trite, but I'll say it anyway) to see how others raise their children
and say, “What a rotten job they're doing, I would Never have
children like that.” Until you find yourself in that role of trying
to predict the unpredictable. Of facing odd silences and wondering if
you said or did something to offend. Of wracking your brains and your
heart trying to figure out how to teach things like respect,
gratitude and responsibility without making someone feel small or
humiliated. Of trying to teach ANYTHING at all without making someone
feel stupid. Do I teach anything, or do I just shut up and love?
What about when he comes home waaay too late from school, doesn't
listen when you call and has that look on his face when asked to wash
the dishes once in two days... after you've started cooking 6 days a
week, looking for likes and dislikes, and have yourself washed a pile
more dishes than normal just because you now can't eat bread and eggs
three times a day? After you've given up freedom and a self-oriented
schedule, stayed up late to make sure he ate when he got home from
school at 10pm, only to wake up again at 3:30am to get ready for the radio
program at 5? Invested money, time, prayer and as much love as you
can possibly pour into someone, only to be met with ingratitude,
rebellion and indolence?
Sometimes. And other times he opens
his heart and pours out confessions of past sins, future hopes and
present dreams. Or when he prays daily for your parents and Gram
because he knows she fell and broke her hip. When he grabs the broom
and sweeps without you telling him. When he accidentally lets your
backpack slip from the back of a motor car, and your laptop gets run
over, and he tells you with tears in his eyes that he wishes it'd
been him under those tires (believe me, I knew he'd had disciplined
himself enough in that case, and it was a great chance to show him
unconditional love and forgiveness... though I confess in the first 3
minutes after I found out, my heart went through the
mourning-anger-blame process as quickly as it possibly could, begging
God silently for grace and the right response). I wrote in my
journal this morning that I feel over-worked and under-appreciated...
and then I laughed out loud. I think that most Moms of teenagers may
possibly feel just that way. Parenthood. Even temporary
foster-parenthood... what a beautiful mess.
Maybe this is why the sunsets seem
more vibrant these days, the stars a bit brighter, the birdsong a
little sweeter and my other worries or disappointments a little
duller. Having something or someone to give to, beyond yourself is a
very good thing. Especially if that someone is close enough to live
in real relationship and not a convenient “when I feel like it, we
can hang out,” sort of deal. It keeps you real – or points out
your hypocrisy very quickly. Busy neighbors, fair-weather friends,
and possible cardboard cut-out suitors on e-harmony aren't as helpful
when it comes to that. So I admit, I'm bursting right now with
gratitude to God for this sometimes-laughing, sometimes-jokey,
sometimes helpful – and sometimes sullen boy who has been lent to
me for a season, however long or short that season may be. And if you're reading this, I admit to being extra-eager for your prayers.
