Even on the hardest days

A year ago today I awoke with a strange feeling in my chest. When I came downstairs for breakfast, I told Clint, "something is going to happen today. I'm saying it out loud so it's on record." He’s used to my premonitions, and has experienced enough of them being accurate to know I’m not completely crazy. At 1:45 that afternoon, I called and told him I discovered the cause of my weird feeling.

That afternoon, a conversation we had many times before was coming true; we were becoming foster parents and we were taking in three teenagers for emergency placement. The kids were siblings, ages 12, 13, and 14. I had known them for years through school, but Clint had never met them. He agreed to take in three kids he had never met. Bless that man. My heart still swells with love when I think about that day and how quickly he said “Of course we’ll take them.”  

Our "kids" were only in our home for a week, but it made a lasting impact on all of us. We tried our hardest to make the best of a bad situation, knowing that they were likely enduring the toughest situation of their lives. From transiency to homelessness to hunger to their parents’ substance abuse, being removed from their family was the worst of the worst. I am thankful every single day that they wanted to come with me, and that we could provide them with a safe and comfortable, temporary home.

In seven short days, we made memories that will last us a lifetime, even if the kids won’t remember them. We went from a quiet family of three to a boisterous family of six overnight. We went from early bedtimes to family evenings watching The Flash on Netflix. We ate family dinner at the kitchen table, a norm for us that was not normal to the kids. We had hurried mornings of showers, lunches, breakfasts, and piling into the car for school. We had evenings where “the kids” put Holt to bed, all four of them snuggled up reading his bedtime story and singing songs.

We started with three teenagers who were hesitant to eat full meals because they feared feeling hunger. We ended the week with kids who couldn’t put enough food in their lunches to keep them full all day, and kids who actually had second helpings at dinner.

We started with three teenagers who were not comfortable sleeping alone or in beds because they had rarely had such a luxury. We ended the week with Christmas lights hung around the bedrooms for nightlights.

We started with three teenagers who did not want to talk about what happened. We ended with long conversations about their unjust situation and talked candidly to help them process the reality of it all.

It wasn’t a perfect week. There was anger, and lying, and disappointment, and resentment, and crying, and pink eye (why is there always pink eye??). There were sleepless nights and hours of worry about what to do next. But there was also love. So much love that it still resounds in my chest and makes my heart ache. I am so lucky that I get to see two out of the three kids at school every day this year, but I still miss them.

I miss the busyness of my home during that week. I miss how good it felt to have a big family. I miss the dinners at the table, ever-so-reminiscent of the relationship between my brothers and I when we were growing up.

I miss them, even though I know they are exactly where they need to be. I want them to be okay. I want them to be happy. I want them to have a good life. I want them to have the guidance to make good choices. I want them to be everything. I want them to know their worth. I want them to know that they changed the life of three ordinary people in the best possible way and made us better. I want them to know they are totally, and completely, loved.

We took a family photo on their last night with us. I had it framed and it’s hanging in our stairwell. Even on the hardest days, it’s a helpful reminder that, for a brief moment, we had our large family and it was as beautiful as we hoped it would be.