Beauty for Ashes

I've been a foster mom of five for officially one week now. After two months of house and logistical preparation, many lessons in patience, visits to the orphanage and a very tiring and often agonizing fight, I was finally able to bring my five oldest kids home. The way it all happened was quite miraculous actually. I went to bed on Wednesday night crying tears of defeat and honestly feeling hopeless about the situation, asking those close to me to pray that God would give me a will to keep fighting in faith for the homecoming of these kids. I woke up the next morning, went to go visit my kids that afternoon, heard for the 1,000 time that "no you cannot take the children today". Went back to SCH, had a small emotional breakdown at Sarah's desk, prayed together, and almost five minutes after we prayed, we got a text message saying I could take the five oldest. Two hours later, the six of us were driving home together.

When I went to pick them up from the orphanage, they all came out to the lobby with their backpacks on and excitement on their faces. One of the hidden blessings in waiting so long to take them home was that we built a relationship in the orphanage when I came to visit. When they saw me standing there ready to take them home, they knew who I was and they were happy to see me. But when it was time to actually leave? They froze for a moment. They looked at my hand extended to them for a second and contemplated taking it. I could see fear of the unknown in their eyes. But they took my hand. They stepped outside those doors, this time with no plan of return. They were leaving for good now and they knew it. My oldest three cried as they said goodbye to the only life they had known for so long. And then they did the bravest thing of all- they got into the car, they waved goodbye to one of the only things they knew to be a constant in their life, and they followed me with nothing but trust into the unknown. I can only imagine the way the must have felt in that moment. My girls are so strong.

The girls have adjusted surprisingly well and have completely soaked in this new life. Our first week at home together has been nothing short of beautiful. We have played with toys, snuggled and watched movies all together on the couch, colored, listened to music and danced, hung out in our hammock, taken a walk to the park, eaten ice cream, taken auto rides to visit schools, run around on the rooftop at dusk and hung out with new SCH friends downstairs. The kids have adjusted in a way that is almost too good to be true and they have already made themselves comfortable in this new home of theirs. I can't complain about a single thing and I know that life together will only get more beautiful as we share more days together as a family. 

Every night, after the girls are done washing their faces and brushing their teeth, I tuck them all into bed and give each of them a hug and kiss. The first few nights, they all hid their faces away from me in uncontrollable laughter. I think it’s such a foreign thing for them- to have someone actually put them to sleep every night, kiss them on the cheek and remind them that they are loved. Each night as I do the same bedtime routine I see how they become more accustomed to this thing. One week later, I get more hugs and kisses on my cheeks than I can count handed back to me. Those are the moments I have dreamt about. Those are the moments that will keep me here, waking up to the sound of yelling kids playing with toys and going to sleep more exhausted than I've ever felt at the end of the day.

I’ve been surprised at my natural response after I walk out of my girls’ room every night after tucking them all into bed. It’s usually the only time of the day I have a moment to myself…where I can finally be alone with my thoughts. And when I am alone at the end of a long day of mothering 5 orphaned girls who have been rejected by their society, have endured trauma that I have yet to discover, and have managed to survive years without love or nurture… let me tell you, its not pretty. I try really hard not to compare my childhood experience to theirs because it just makes me feel too sad. One of the greatest pieces of wisdom I’ve ever heard is that “comparison is the thief of joy”. It’s so true because when I think about what my life looked like up until I was 10 compared to my 10 year olds, it takes my joy away. It robs me of it like a thief. It comes at me like a gust of wind and makes me weep. It makes me mad. It angers me that my kids are just now feeling the warmth of a mother. It pains me to think that I missed so many years of their life, the years where they suffered the most. If I really love these kids like they’re my own then I am outraged with the way this world has treated them. And I will grieve over the moments I couldn’t be there when they needed someone the most. 

I pray that I will never stop looking at my children and being broken for them. Because without brokenness there can never be any redemption. And one day, my kids will be redeemed. On this side of heaven or not, they will be whole. Their past will be wiped clean. And their tears will be no more.