There are 27 kids on my family picture wall. My wife Grace gave birth to 1 son. A judge gave us legal custody of another. A foreign exchange program gave us 3 exchange students. The foster care system gave us 22 others. And we love them all the same.
Some of my kids have been easy to love; others have been much more difficult. Some of them have been through light trauma, others have experienced severe trauma, but they’ve all known the pain of a broken world. Our exchange students included a Catholic boy, a Muslim girl, and a Chinese atheist who spoke very little English.
We’ve celebrated birthdays, facilitated visits with biological parents, and graduated kindergarten a dozen times. We’ve laughed over silly games, wept over broken hearts, and endured countless tantrums. We’ve lived with alarms on doors, slept on air mattresses in the living room, and stayed up all night looking for a runaway.
The past 17 years have left my family with both fantastic memories and lasting scars. And over that time, I have been asked the same question countless times: “Why do you put your family through this?”
In attempting to answer that question, I have pointed to a variety of reasons: Kids in foster care have lost the innocence of childhood. There’s a big gap between an initial trauma and joyful reunification. The Word of God calls believers to care for orphans in their time of need (in this case, foster children are emotional orphans, cut off from everything they ever knew). Of course, there are statistical reasons as well. For example, my state (Missouri) is the 18th most populous state while having the 7th highest number of foster children.
“I have been asked the same question countless times: ‘Why do you put your family through this?'”
Those are all great reasons and have served to keep us focused on the foster-care journey. However, I recently heard Jim Collins, author of many books including Good To Great, articulate the question that best defines our foster care journey: “What do you want to be responsible for, for which you get no credit?” Here are the three responsibilities which answer why we became foster parents.
1. I want to be responsible for giving a family to someone who feels family-less.
When a child moves into my home, our first order of business is to take a photo, have it developed and allow the child to choose the frame that will hold it on the family picture wall. Then we take time to tell the story of the kids who are already on the wall, and we issue this promise: “Once you go on the wall, you will always be family.”
Kids tend to remember that promise. I’ve been contacted years later by past kids who are having babies of their own. I’ve welcomed reunified families into our church. Just this past Halloween, we were visited by a past kiddo and her family, who were excited to see the family picture wall they had heard about.
Many of the children joining my family have never had a family like mine, where we love, forgive, and care for each other. They’ve never experienced family lunch after church. For that matter, they’ve often never been to church. I want to be responsible for giving away the best version of family that I know, even if the kid never thanks me for it.
“I want to be responsible for giving away the best version of family that I know, even if the kid never thanks me for it.”
2. I want to be responsible for offering hope in a better future.
When kids move into my home, I recognize the look in their eyes. There is a lot of anxiety, a decent amount of fear, and a strong dose of sadness, but lurking just around the edges is a glimmer of hope. It’s almost as though you can hear them whispering, “Are things better here? Is it safe? Can I relax?”
When you feel isolated, endangered, and forgotten, it’s difficult to imagine your condition ever getting better. Sadly, most of my kids feel all alone in a world full of adults who offer empty promises and broken dreams. Knowing that, my desire is to point them to Jesus as the answer to every problem they face. I never claim to be perfect, but I do know the perfect King and I want to be responsible for passing along hope that every promise Jesus made is true.
3. I want to be responsible for allowing healing from a traumatic past.
My wife and I never intended to adopt as foster parents. Many do—we have plenty of friends who have fostered to adopt—but our goal was to become a bridge of healing, helping kids move from trauma to stability. Until you’ve held a child who has been crushed by an unforgiving world, it’s impossible to truly fathom the pain of a completely broken heart. But once you have sat in that space, with tears soaking your shoulder and moans tearing at your heart, it feels impossible to choose any other path.
Broken hearts don’t mend easily, and broken kids don’t heal quickly. Some days feel full of hope, and others offer mere glimmers in the distance. However, I choose to be responsible for giving a space that allows for transformational healing to take place.
“Once you have sat in that space, with tears soaking your shoulder and moans tearing at your heart, it feels impossible to choose any other path.”
Grace and I never expected to receive praise for loving our kids. We never asked for pats on the back. We never searched for public affirmation. We simply chose to be responsible for loving the most vulnerable members of our population, no matter what.
What about you? I’m curious how you might wrestle with that defining question: What do you want to be responsible for, for which you get no credit? Is there a space you and your family might be able to offer that brings healing to forgotten people?
