Katy Rose Collection: Art, Words
On Love & Fear: What Is True for the Brokenhearted
"Oh I could never do foster care, it would just be too hard on my heart.
I would get too attached and be heartbroken if they left."
Over the past decade, kind-hearted folks have said this to me more times than I can count.
And what I want to say is, Yes. That's right. You get attached and your heart breaks. Mine too.
But! Don't deny yourself that gift, that joy, that opportunity.
And more importantly, don't deny a child a love that would be so intense as to break your heart. Isn't it a tragedy to think of such a love lying untapped? While so many children stand in the midst of chaos, wondering where they belong?
Isn't it the case that Jesus took on the sorrows of the world on the cross, bore our burdens, and knew rejection because of love?
Heartbreak can actually be a gift.
You're right. You might not be able to do it. Neither can I. That's the essence of life in Christ. Why would we claim reliance on a Savior if we reject opportunities to actually rely on him when we are absolutely being torn apart? That's precisely when He promises to be our strength.
My awareness of my need for the Lord is never greater than in these moments of helplessness.
I do not believe every family should foster. It can be strenuous and difficult and messy. But I do believe many have the room in their hearts and homes to serve in this way and fill a major gap that currently exists. If the fear of loving too much or the fear of ending up brokenhearted is truly what drives many families to discount fostering as a viable option, may the Lord push our hearts forward into the realm where we are more dependent on Him. These are exactly the families that are perfect to engage in foster care. Hurting children caught in the midst of a furious storm need those safe-haven homes to step into and be loved while their storms settle.
I know what it's like to get a dreaded call, cry while you pack a baby's bag and set it by the front door. I've counted down the minutes until I had to say goodbye. I've written that baby a note about his worth and strength that I had hoped someone would show him one day. As I walked around the house I noticed the tiny things that would be left behind as heartbreaking memories, but couldn't deny they made our home all the more beautiful.
(But, as it turned out, those people never took him away. I unpacked that bag back into his little drawers, and I slipped that note into his baby book to read to him myself one day.)
Yes, our hearts will break. And as they break they will open up to all the hurting people who form this whole broken system, like the birth parents who have lived their own trauma and grief. We might be able to even advocate for them and help them in their own healing journey, to care for their child in the meantime, and help carry their burdens. We will see more clearly the truth behind all our broken stories and we’ll gain the gift of empathy.
I think the reality is that while many of us fear heartbreak, what we might fear even more are all the unknowns linked with bringing a stranger into our home. In fostering we are forced to live open-handed. If we really think about it, it's not our own heartbreak we most fear, but welcoming another person's broken heart in. But that's precisely what can lead us to some of the most joyful work we'll ever encounter.
Don't Reject the Significant for the Sensational
We've added a fourth child to our family since I last wrote in July, hence the reason I haven't written.
Life with four little ones under five is fantastic and challenging and insane and a dream come true. However, I haven't figured out how to "do it all," nor do I intend to. So a good number of things, like writing, move to the back burner while I press in here and focus on the items high on my priority list.
To have the opportunity to raise our little blend of biological, adopted, and currently fostered children (a true coming-together of several hopes and passions) is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and my commitment to running this stretch of my race well only intensifies with time.
Of course, I fall short of "well" every day, and occasionally hide in a locked bathroom. My days are far from glamorous. But glamor is for the birds. Give me fortitude and perseverance and patience.
My husband and I have a mantra: Don't reject the significant for the sensational.
When days (or nights) are spent on this work that feels tiresome, repetitive, meaningless, and totally unnoticed, there's this unique opportunity to see a gift. There is great value and beauty in the humble and small things in this life.
And of course, the real truth is that the work of raising tiny humans to grow into kind, brave, compassionate, thoughtful, engaged adults (Lord-willing) is not at all a small thing. It's not menial work below an education level or pay-grade.
As I write, heated times are escalating in our Nation. Yet I believe hate is combated when we each steward well that which is entrusted to us by promoting and exemplifying love. I am committed to dedicating significant effort towards raising children who pursue compassion, look for the needy, sit with the hurting, live generously, and default to seeing others' worth.
And if those lessons begin with my example before them- in the changing of diapers, rocking away tears, listening empathetically to fears, apologizing when I'm wrong, welcoming folks into our home, and serving up yet another meal- then I commit to persevering with constant prayers for strength, finding the joy that is promised in the midst of it all.
I will no doubt look back on this season as an exhausting and rigorous one, yet one so uniquely full of beauty, depth, and growth. I may feel like I daily reach 'empty,' but the Lord is always, always faithful to sustain me, fill me, and strengthen me again.
A Startling New Christmas This Year
Something unexpected continues to give me pause as we care for our foster son. It's his vulnerable dependency. Like any newborn, he's dependent on us to sustain his very life. This responsibility on our part has felt weighty and joyous and full of privilege.
Even when I think back to the first time our stories intersected, his has been marked by helplessness and dependency.
I saw our foster agency's name on my phone and I felt a surge of nerves.
"There's a newborn at the hospital. He's been in the NICU and they are ready to discharge him. They're looking for a family. That's all I really know right now."
She mentioned a few more details about his situation and condition.
"Ok, yes. That sounds good. We'd love to."
Heart racing.
"Alright, I will let CPS know you're interested and I'll call you back if it's approved."
I called my husband immediately to let him know. So many emotions accompany this journey.
We started listing all the things we needed to do to prepare.
I called a handful of friends nearby who had offered various baby items should we receive a call about a baby. My sister in another city posted a request for items on a Facebook group and within hours had tons of generous responses, people offering everything from bottles to beds.
The next 24 hours were a blur as we had caseworkers through our home and friends providing all kinds of help. We ran to grab diapers and groceries.
When you receive a referral call for a foster child, you likely only get about 5% of the information that will later come to light about their situation. It's not that information is hidden, just unknown. Nothing is simple. There are lots of questions and few answers.
30 hours later I found myself walking alone into a hospital, empty carseat in hand. I made my way to the NICU and was directed over to a back corner.
And there he was. A real human life, living and breathing. He had overcome so much already and he didn't even have a clue about all that was ahead.
He just lay there, completely dependent on other's for his care and well-being, for his very life.
The next several hours were filled with a frenzy of information. I fought really hard to hold back tears several times at the overwhelming nature of it all. Stress tears, not joy tears.
Some strange things happened that night and we had to come back the next day to get him instead.
We carried him out into the light of day for the first time. We fastened him into the car and drove him home.
I sat in the backseat staring into his little face. My heart ached for him. He was depending on us now for everything.
It's been a fun and festive Christmas season though almost nothing has gone according to plan. We had all our Advent activities set out on the table but actually only read it about four times. I didn't get around to Christmas cards, and I wish I spent more time on gift purchasing.
But somehow my mind has still settled in on this: baby Jesus -- a baby whose dependency was a chosen path of humility in order that we might understand the Kingdom of God.
As I've reflected on our foster son's dependency, it has really hit me. Jesus' decent to earth as a baby? It's radical. It's counter-intuitive. It's a startlingly humble move.
It's startling because this King, this Ruler chose a weak and dependent form.
And it's startling because we can take on this same posture -- humble and dependent, completely at rest in the arms of the One who loves us.
This year, no matter if we've been the Martha Stewart of Christmas, or whether we've failed at everything we had hoped to accomplish, there is such reassurance, rest, and peace in this baby's staggering dependency.
A humble descent is what Jesus chose, and humble dependency is where we can lay it all down this Christmas.
I’m taking a few minutes to really read this in full, taking in the picture of humility:
“Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves.
Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others.
Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men.
And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross.
Therefore God has highly exalted him and bestowed on him the name that is above every name, so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.”
Merry Christmas, friends.
May humility be our prayer, our act of worship, and our gift to others this beautiful season.