Where’s the Peace?

I try to be careful not to say or think things that will make me feel foolish in hindsight.  As a foster parent, that means I don’t make predictions about the future.  I don’t speak in “what if’s” or assume I know what God is doing at any given moment.  So many times I’ve wished for a direct line to God’s purpose and plan.  I’ve longed for a glimpse into the future, and I’ve struggled to trust that any future for myself and the kids can be good- good like those songs we sing on Sundays.  You know, the ones that talk of God chasing us down with this intense, reckless love.  Can I really hold out faith for that reality for the kids?  For myself?  Is that kind of goodness more of a fair-weather friend than a certainty?

This week we brought our foster daughter across country with us to attend a family wedding, and she met my husband’s extended family for the first time.  It felt good to have her there… almost dangerously good.  I was struck by how much she was loved without question, even despite her plucky stubbornness and high-pitched shrieks of protest at things like car rides and not letting her wobble precariously at the top of the stairs.  We were miles away from home in a place where no one knew us and the foster label wasn’t stamped on our foreheads when we went out.  We could just be, and that felt good.

On the last day of our trip, we were visiting a relative in a nursing facility when I got a call that brought me back to reality.  In a warm room surrounded by family, I was on the phone with a social worker who informed me that the case, which had been at a standstill for months, was moving forward.

This may very well be the beginning of the end.

I thought I was at peace with all this.  I thought reason had won out in the battle of mind vs emotion.  I know children should be with their parents.  I know no one is too far gone that they don’t deserve a second chance.  I know change is possible, and I know the kids aren’t mine.

And yet, sometimes you just have to feel.  Later on, when the kids were down for nap and I was all alone, I gave myself a couple minutes to cry in the bathroom.  Despite everything I know, I still don’t want to lose the kids.  I selfishly want today and I want tomorrow and I want every day I can get.

This is the crux of foster care: supporting reunification and simultaneously crying in the bathroom over the thought of goodbye.