The Strengths of Others in Our Weakness

My clock showed just after six in the morning — approximately twelve hours after we’d said yes to the placement of a six-year-old boy with high needs. This stranger was the fifth social worker to enter our home since the boy had arrived.

It is often the smallest of steps that bring us to places we couldn’t have imagined going. The first decision was to answer the unfamiliar phone number on my drive home from work. The call came shortly after 5pm because this little boy’s agency had been working all day to find a home for him in their region. Once five o’clock hit they had to expand the search further across the state.

I imagined what the day might have been like for him. Was he bored or scared or both sitting in the office? I wondered what the day was like for his agency worker. Was she increasingly discouraged after hours of trying to find a fit with the time getting later and later? Were there kids waiting at home for her?

That night, we put fresh sheets on three beds for him and the social workers (his were Spiderman-patterned) and settled into our usual Tuesday routine. By the time he arrived, only our nine-year-old was still awake. As I opened the door, the first words I heard were, “Okay to release the harness?” followed by, “Yes, the exterior door is secured.”

The boy quietly explored our home, quickly finding comfort in its layout, which while cozy, does allow for laps to be run through all four rooms of the first level.

The only word we heard our new friend say was “Hey!”. Our son was happy to volley this word back and forth as many times as he would like, and tossed a foam ball which resulted in a grin, and both boys engaging in non-verbal play. As a fostering family, it is our children who have been the best ambassadors to other children. Just as if I were traveling to another country, it would be helpful to have a local guide who spoke the language and understood the customs. They don’t express hesitancy or worry if they are going to make a mistake, they immediately embrace an opportunity to relate in ways that come naturally without the overthinking that can be my default setting. They are strong where I am weak.

After the social workers helped our guest get settled into bed, my son invited them to play a card game. I am confident they each must have had mountains of paperwork they could have used the time for, but instead, they chose to invest their attention in another child.

Later, as I tucked my son into bed, he beamed, “Mom! We’re practicing hospitality!” The words from Romans 12:13, a verse we recite each week at the start of our Sabbath practice: “Share with the Lord’s people who are in need. Practice hospitality.”

Then this child who had been adopted from foster care himself asked me, “Why can’t he be with his parents?” Having no knowledge of why, I could honestly answer that I didn’t know. My son responded, “That’s sad that he can’t be with them”. And I could honestly answer once again that it was. But I also saw something beautiful — brokenness interspersed with the care of people who showed up in the middle of it.

Back downstairs, I marveled at how relaxed the social workers seemed in this circumstance. How readily on behalf of this child they walked into our home sight unseen.

As an introvert, I refuel my energy and enjoy being alone, but this was one of the least alone I have felt in the best way. Just as my son couldn’t resist the opportunity to play cards, my curiosity peppered them with questions about why they chose to do what they do, and what they did and didn’t like about it. I was encouraged by their presence and wanted to encourage them that there was immense value in how they were showing up for this child and for our family.

At 9:30pm, my up-at-5am self was ready for bed. I said goodbye, knowing they’d be gone before I woke up. I asked them to show the next shift where the guest room was, since I wouldn’t meet them. I was struck by the dedication of these workers to sleep in a stranger’s home alongside a child who had to do the same.

Upon waking is when I saw the stranger in my hallway. He had arrived moments earlier, just before the prior shift packed up their things from our guest room while the little boy continued to sleep. This new worker was ready to receive him and help him move to the next step on his path; a residential care setting in another state. They were both gone within the hour before several of my children were even awake.

In twelve hours, six social workers had cared for this child, which highlighted the inherent worth of this individual created in the image of God.

Each treated him with the utmost respect, and didn’t posture themselves in a way that suggested how they were spending their time was heroic. They weren’t looking for a thank you, but I was deeply grateful. Their presence meant there was never a moment when I felt unequipped to provide care. They made that night easier for him — and for me.

I felt a weakness to provide for him beyond a bed, a roof, and bananas which the workers told us were his favorite. My son was the one who made him feel welcome by finding a way beyond words to communicate. The workers anticipated needs and were steady guides in our unfamiliar home. God used their strengths to meet my weakness. 1 Corinthians 12:12 says, “There is one body, but it has many parts. But all its many parts make up one body.”

During that night my role was to be an elbow or armpit, as these agency workers served as hands and feet.

A week later, our guest room welcomed a 14-year-old girl with Down syndrome who spoke only Spanish. This time, no social workers stayed — and none of us were fluent. But once again, my son stepped in with his bright smile and, “Hola, Amiga!”

This time, the church responded to my weakness.

On her second night with us I watched as this teenager’s shoulders visibly lowered when a native Spanish speaker from our congregation spoke to her with familiar words in our living room, sat next to her while she ate dinner, and guided her through the steps of a bath from the other side of a shower curtain. The next night another church friend originally from Mexico brought her own teenage daughter to our house and helped her get to sleep.

Meanwhile, I was experiencing weakness in how best to meet the needs of our five-year-old son. He was having trouble regulating his emotions and my toolbox of trauma informed strategies didn’t seem to be working. This teenager was able to snuggle him with a momentary presence that was not complicated by any of my future facing fears or frustrations.

Through these encounters, agency workers, the church, and children embodied Ephesians 4:9-10, “Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their labor: If either of them falls down, one can help the other up.”

Motherhood has manifested in many different ways for me. I have carried a child in my womb for the thirteen weeks that she lived. I have been the first person to be called Mama by a little girl who would leave our home a year later. I have been handed three-month-old twins with three days’ notice, and an adoption certificate for them when they were five-years-old. I have been a mother to a child for only a few hours, and to the four children who have formed our family through birth and adoption hopefully for the rest of my life.

As a foster parent, I don’t know who else will call me Mama in the future, but I can attest that I have never had to do it alone. You don’t have to be a foster parent to ensure that parents, children, and agency workers aren’t experiencing foster care alone. There are many ways to share your strengths in areas where others are weak.

During this month of Mother’s Day and Foster Care Awareness, consider how you might be the church to someone in the foster care community.