The Life of a Foster Child....

THE LIFE OF A FOSTER CHILD…

One of my very first jobs was at a treatment facility, where I worked as a Residential Counselor.  I was a young, single mother, and worked the graveyard shift so I could be there for my kids during the mornings, days, and evenings. The hours were horrible; I never slept, but it turned out to be one of the most life changing jobs anyone could ask for.

We basically worked with young individuals who ran away from their foster parents or group homes, and were in need of emergency service (C.H.I.N.S).  When there were no emergency foster homes available and the individuals had juvenile histories, the police often dropped them off with us.  This job was a ministry opportunity in so many ways, but I will never forget meeting one young girl who forever changed my life.

She could not read or write at the time, having been denied any proper education.  I remember sitting in the office, taking my pen, and writing down her feelings as she spoke. We wept together, and I remember apologizing for all the injustices that had taken place in her life. 

This was basically her response.  (Yes, I added my own dramatic effect!)

The Life of a Foster Child...

They took me away from my family, my friends, and my belongings.  

I didn't ask to be born into this family.  

If I had a choice, I'd probably not want to be born at all.  

I didn't ask for the parents that I have.  

It's not my fault for all the hurt their parents caused them.  

So why am I paying for their sins?

They put me in a foster home, where there are new parents and rules.  

They expect me to just adapt.  

They wonder why I am so scared.  

They wonder why I defy them.  

I didn't ask to be placed in this home.

I sometimes think it was safer living in my biological home, rather than living with complete strangers. 

 Now what's really hard is when there are no homes. 

 And there is no one who is willing to take me. 

 Being afraid that I may have some kind of disease, or be too much trouble.  

So where do I go?  

A shelter or a group home is what they like to call it.  

An orphanage prison is what I like to call it.  

It's a facility with a lot of cold walls and beds.  

I've spent many cold nights on an office floor because these homes are overcrowded, all the while wondering... Why Me?

I wear donated clothes that aren't even my size.  

I eat expired donated food.  

I would give anything for a birthday present.  

Forget the present; I just want someone to hold me.  

I am denied certain toiletries because they are afraid I will commit suicide with them.  

They put me on medicine.  

They say I am depressed.  

How could I not be?  

They say I can never see my parents again.  

What am I supposed to do?  

I love them! They are my parents.

I have no one…I have nothing.  

They say I have a purpose on this earth.  

How am I supposed to know what that purpose is?  

Maybe I won’t amount to anything.  

But can I at least have a chance?

Please, please hear me,  

I AM THE ABUSED

I AM THE MOLESTED

I am the waiting child…in a shelter…that just wants a home.

I am living in your town.

I am right down the street.

I AM THE UNLOVELY

I AM THE BROKEN

I AM THE WOUNDED

I AM THE INNOCENT CHILD WHO DIDN'T COMMIT THE CRIME

I AM YOUR FUTURE

If you’re wondering, yes.... I ended up taking in this young girl!  She was able to reunite with her biological parents who ended up giving me their blessing.  It was the realization of a dream that for so many is denied, and the promise of a chance at life, the abundant, fulfilling life that each of us have been freely given by our Savior.

The thief comes not but for to steal and to kill and to destroy the sheep; I come that they might have life and that they might have it in abundance. – John 10:10