Foster care - if you know, you know.

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This is a tough one to share. We failed big time. Some of you can relate. Just know you're not alone. 

We began to consider opening our home to kids in need. We talked and wondered to each other, what if it was more important for us to love a child in need rather than to have a miracle birth story of our own? That thought became a conversation, and that conversation grew into the reality of Julia and I getting certified and registered as foster parents. The lagging items in our home remodel were finished with a renewed excitement, as we had to be ready for our home study. Fire extinguishers had been purchased, guns locked up in a new safe, smoke and carbon monoxide detectors installed literally everywhere, as we waited nervously as the foster agency workers walked methodically through every inch of our home, scrutinizing every corner. We knew they would certainly find some hazard that had escaped us and that they would disqualify us due to our terrible home condition. How dare we even offer to put a child in such conditions! But they didn’t freak out on us. They weren’t even disappointed. They … approved us. We passed our home study, and we were going to be foster parents with a focus on kids who were likely to adopt out of the system! We were so elated.  

 

The questionnaire was exhaustive. How many kids? Will you take a sibling group? What ages? What ethnicities? What should your ideal foster child look like? So much to consider. Julia and I both worked full time, and the plan was for Julia to stop working once we had a placement. We felt that we could handle a pre-school-age child to an infant. Gender and ethnicity were no issue. We didn’t think we could handle a sibling group but we were open to the probability should the need present itself. No sooner had we been approved than our phone rang. “Yes, we can take a placement.” Julia began her conversation, “How many? Three” How old? Okay, can I talk to Dave and call you right back?” She just stared at me with a little fear but mostly excitement, “Three brothers,” she said. “The oldest is four, and the youngest is 18 months.” Four? Well, we did say pre-school. Three? Could we handle three boys? It didn’t seem to matter; our hearts began to swell with love. We called back to get specifics. We learned that the eldest was in a Head Start program, and a bus would come by to get him daily. The other two boys would stay with Julia during the day. What about our inexperience? We were assured that we were the perfect family for these sweet boys, and we really just needed to drive in and grab them. I still remember meeting the brothers in that DCFS office. There was a dirty tub full of broken toys to occupy kids, and the youngest had taken to those. The older boys sat quietly, looking very unsure but equally as brave. The little man let me sit on the floor with him and play with a pterodactyl toy. The older boys slowly acclimated themselves to the sad little office building while the social worker shuffled papers and spewed information at Julia. Part of the information gathered was their “grade.” These kids are graded in a system that identifies the level of care needed for them based on social and psychological needs. If the grading system was 1-10 these boys would have been graded at a two—sweet kids who just needed a few nights in a clean, safe environment. There was a used car seat that we were allowed to take, and each of the boys was allowed to take one toy from that box. They had the clothes on their backs and a few more items in their backpacks. We loaded up and headed back north towards Merrillville. A sincere and confused question came from the eldest from the back seat. “You my daddy now?” My heart swelled until it broke. Broken kids coming into our broken hearts, and it seemed like a pretty good fit.  

 

On the way home, the boys were hungry and asked if we could get some chips and pop from the gas station. Instead of chips and pop, we treated the boys to some Pizza Hut meat lovers provided by our church family when we arrived home. The boys ate like they hadn’t eaten in a week. Hand over fist, they shoved pizza down their sweet little throats. We laughed and had a good time, … and then everyone threw up. These poor kids just weren’t ready for a big meal like that. We got everyone cleaned up and ready for baths. Bath time was something else. The water was absolute mud after washing their little bodies, and I hadn’t even gotten to their hair yet. I scrubbed it and scrubbed it, but I didn’t feel like I was doing anything right. The next day we went to Walmart with the boys to get some essentials, and thankfully we lived in a very diverse area. I was able to find a mom in the shampoo aisle who could tell me how to care for these boys’ hair. There in the aisle at Walmart, I got a crash course on washing, oiling, and caring for these sweet boys’ hair. We were well on our way to being good foster parents. The baby was incredible. He didn’t know what to think of all of this, but he enjoyed his bath, he enjoyed his lotion, he enjoyed his new diaper, and he fell right into the cuddle routine like a boss. He was a lover, and he loved being loved on.  

Our church rallied around us, the ladies at my bank chipped in to provide clothes and toys, and the entire community seemed to support this supposed bold venture of ours. As the days progressed, we were provided with clothing vouchers, and the boys received brand new wardrobes from local stores. As they became more relaxed in our home, we started to realize how radically unequipped we were to handle such a task and how unique these boys really were in the depth of their struggle. The Head Start bus wasn’t actually able to come and pick up the eldest for his learning, and we learned through their state social worker that they had been graded far too low. These boys were actually much higher on the scale than we had been told. They were identified as having significant issues in their past, causing them to be graded as such. These boys are precious, and at the time of this writing, I believe they would be about 11, 9, and 8. I won’t go into the specifics out of respect for these kids, but Julia was in tears every night when I came home from work. I think the boys were probably exactly what you would expect from displaced kids from a dysfunctional background. Through no fault of their own, we proved to be completely incapable of caring for them. After multiple attempts to get some kind of help and multiple attempts at different strategies, it was determined that the boys would not continue to stay with us. We knew we weren’t the right home for them, and our hearts were broken as we cleaned and packed all of their belongings, waiting on the agency to come to pick them up. We held the baby and played with the boys hoping for a slow and easy transition into the social worker’s car. Our doorbell rang, and I am not exaggerating when I say that they left our home in less than two minutes. A lady literally grabbed the baby from Julia without even saying hello and walked out. The manager of the agency literally threw bags into the car while rushing the boys to get in and buckle. I regretted everything we had done at that point. How could these boys ever have a normal life? I was incapable of helping them, and my inability was leading to their confusion, hurt, and displacement yet again. I want to say that state workers were wonderful to work with and very honest. Our problems centered around the agency we were with. When we tried to address the issues, we were told to keep our mouths shut, or we would have our foster care licenses revoked. We were broken. Some reading this may be immediately judgmental of us in this. That is a fair assessment. I’m not writing it down as a proud moment. I am writing it down like a piece of our journey that is relevant to our story as a whole. We aren’t model parents now, and we certainly weren’t model parents then.  

 

Boys, if you ever read this, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry Julia and I weren’t ready for you. I’m sorry we couldn’t see how we could keep you. I’m so sorry for the agency that ripped you guys screaming from our arms with no transition period. I’m sorry for the next placements you may have ended up in. I love you guys, and I know that may sound empty coming from the guy that couldn’t keep you, but I regret not having you boys all the time. I regret being so young and incapable. It’s not your fault you were removed. It’s not your fault that you weren’t home with your mom. This world can be really screwed up, and you guys got stuck in the middle of it. I want to save your dignity by not mentioning your names here, but you called your little brother a white boy because he was lighter than you two older boys. The first initials of each of your names are K, K, and A. I miss you guys, and I pray for you often. I hope that you can forgive Julia and me for not keeping you. If you read the rest of this book, you’ll hear more about my heavenly Father. He is so much better of a dad than I ever will be. Some of the happiest memories of my life are sitting on the couch with you guys and watching Good Night Bear and Snowflake Snowflake on YouTube before we tucked you in bed. I love you, boys. – Dave  

 

We were terrified to get back into foster care. We had been told that our file was marked as though we were unfit parents and that if we wanted to foster, we had to use that agency. We were told that if we went through the state, our foster license would be revoked, and we would never foster again. We were paralyzed. We wanted to try again, maybe with younger kids or fewer kids, but we couldn’t see a clear path forward. We decided to turn our eyes towards adoption, and we wanted to adopt from China. How does one even go about that, though? We talked to our families, and a friend of my parents reached out. They said that if money was the only thing keeping us from adopting that we just needed to step out and do it. We started reading stories and learning how to fundraise. I built a WIX website to advertise our journey and help with fundraising. We were all in. We could practically see our little Chinese baby with a cleft pallet or disability. We were so excited to rescue an unwanted child from China.  

 

Still, we hoped and prayed for a biological child as well. By this time, we had stopped all IVF treatments. The stress on Julia’s body was immense, and we all needed a break. This summer, I asked three pastors to pray with us that Julia would conceive naturally with no medical intervention. We all prayed in faith. We all believed that this prayer would be answered.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jeremiah 29:12-14b 

 

12 Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me, and I will hear you. 13 You will seek me and find me, when you seek me with all your heart. 14 I will be found by you, declares the Lord, … 

 

 

 

SEO Type jargon. Move along ...

Hello, and welcome to my not a blog blog!

 

So, I wrote a book, and I want the message of that book to get out regardless of whether or not anyone buys a copy of the book. A blog, so I hear, is a great way to take advantage of SEO and make sure that people who WANT to find content that my book covers will have a clear path to it’s happy little home in the Amazon marketplace and should then be able to walk away with a hard copy, kindle version, or Audible copy of said book. To that end, I will be releasing sneak previews and portions to each chapter over the next several weeks.

 

Can I buy the book today? No, sorry. While it is completed, edited, and proofed, the audio version is currently being recorded by a guy with a much better voice than my own. I have no idea what I am doing in publishing, but I think I want to release it all at once.

 

How did you get your book on Amazon? Well, I am a brilliant author, but I also used Kindle Direct Publishing (KDP) that allows me to manage and upload my own manuscript(s), audio, and artwork.

 

So what is the book about?

 

Sovereign and Gentle is a window into my happy little family for those of you who don’t know us as well as a deeper look for those who do. The book will even be informative to some of my closest friends, as I don’t talk about much of this content often.

 

The book opens with the prospect of either Julia or myself donating a Kidney, follows that painful journey, and then backtracks to cover some of our struggles with infertility, multiple miscarriages, foster care, and adoption. I even sprinkled in some real estate investing horror stories for you guys.

 

The story is framed by key passages from Scripture that have been especially meaningful to me, and the climax of the book seeks to honor and praise God, who has gifted us in all things to be able to serve him in and through our struggles.

 

Did I discuss the big church from college days that laid me off on multiple occasions and kicked us out of a house after the pastor went up the river? I did, and I don’t think I’m bitter… I think... I’m a work in progress there, but I hope that I framed that experience in such a manner that others who have been beaten up by institutions can find comfort in the one who is sovereign over all things and in His ultimate plan.