March 10, 2008

Why Our Foster Children Left After Three Days

The sweet little girl, "A", and her darling brother, "J", presented with far more difficulties than I could manage last week. It was humbling to me, as a professional MOTHER, to call for help after having them in my home just a few hours. Wow!

I anticipated that "J" was going to be a physical and mental challenge. I fell in love with the little guy, and thought I might be able to help him. The reason I had to throw in the towel was because I could find no way to keep him from being violent against his sister. Whether his autism is a correct diagnosis or not, he just didn't process information the way any of the children I've dealt with in the past have processed. Nothing I tried worked. Wow, again!

I decided I could tolerate the chairs being knocked over and legos everywhere, for now. I could duck the toys flying at my head, because his facial expression didn't show anger or hostility. Perhaps I could help him think of more acceptable games, eventually.

And we would have moments of peace when I was in the middle of the play, but it didn't last. Kicking, hitting, and throwing toys and other objects at her was practically incessant. By the end of the first day I decided he was a terrorist, literally. Sister spent much of her time in contact with my leg, screaming in terror, "he's going to throw that at me!"

It wasn't fair to her to be saddled with a parent who couldn't protect her. So, because of love, I let them go.

I can't say I failed them. I told many of my friends last week that I would endure anything for three days, then I would re-assess my committment. Three days is the amount of time Jesus spent in the tomb before He rose again. The world was totally lost without the Son of God. Three days later the LIGHT OF THE WORLD appeared again!

Anyway, I called the caseworkers the next day and asked them to relocate the children, and they were moved the third day. In answer to my prayers, I was told later that they had gone to an experienced family who had dealt with autism and difficult behaviors before. Thank you, God!

It took days for me to recover. My whole family was "frayed". We gave it all we had, and it didn't appear that we had helped them. Then I realized, as I worshipped in church Sunday morning, that these kids now had a serious "pray-er" on their side! I was so comforted by this thought that I named all my "babies" in prayer - all the children I had ever cared for. Incidently, when I got to the name of the oldest one, a teenager from a totally different race and culture than we are, I remembered that I had dreamt of him the night before. In my dream he was giving me a big, special "mom" hug. I sure needed that...

Thank You for Your comfort, Lord.


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