On Temporary Mothering

This week, I said goodbye to my first foster child as she joined her forever family. It was a first experience for both of us as I prepared her in the days leading up to her parents arrival to India to get her, dressing her all up for her big day, helping her say goodbye to all her sisters, her room and the home she lived in with us. And when it came time for me to say goodbye to her, it was the first time my heart felt something it hasn’t before.  

I knew that Piper was in the final stages of her adoption when she was transferred to us and that she wouldn’t be in my home for long. I think instinctually, my heart told me not to get attached. But I quickly found myself falling in love with her silly, big, animated personality the way I do with all of my other foster children's unique personalities. I didn’t really care how long she would stay…any child that comes into my home becomes a child I love like my own and that’s just the way it is. I’m not sure if I even want to try to convince my heart otherwise.

I didn’t think it would be hard to say goodbye-how could it be when I was walking into one of the most important, life changing days for her? I couldn’t believe this little girl, who has been one of so many orphans in this country was about to become someone’s daughter, sister, and significant member of a family. There is no doubt that adoption is truly one of the most beautiful things in this world. I felt so lucky that I got to witness such a small little part of it from such a unique perspective.  

Our end of the road looked like this-when it came time for me to leave, right before her parents showed up to get her, she looked at me and cried. When I came home and saw her pajamas lying on the floor, I cried too. 

I was surprised, honestly, by my feelings of grief over such a joyous occasion. I felt guilty for feeling sad when I should really be rejoicing for such a miraculous event. But our house just didn’t feel the same anymore and I couldn’t help but think that this is just the beginning of watching my children off to their forever families.

It was kind of a smack in the face, really. Because the reality is that I am not their mother. I am not their biological mother and I am not their adoptive mother. I am their foster mother and that title comes with the word “temporary”. I am the middle woman who picks up the pieces of their biological mothers and helps prepare the way for their adoptive mothers. I stand in the gap. I don’t know how long our time together will be. And while my heart loves, protects and cherishes them like they’re my own, I cannot doubt that it is only for a time.

The mother in me is broken a little bit by that. As much as I feel like a mother to these children, there’s the budging question of “when will it all be over?” that interrupts that feeling often. Sometimes, I don’t want to be the temporary mother because it’s too vulnerable, too complicated and it hurts too much. Sometimes, I question if the risk in loving these children wholeheartedly is worth the pain I know I will feel one day when it’s time to say goodbye. Sometimes, I don't feel like a real mother because when I look at my children the amount of love I have for them frightens me more than it comforts me. Sometimes, I want to turn around on the road I’ve found myself on that often only looks hard, painful and burdensome. The future is so unclear and I cannot even begin to put my hands around it. That alone keeps me awake at night.

Being a foster mother has humbled me in more ways than I can count. It has challenged my theology on what it means to really love someone, has caused me to go back to the ultimate example of love and then strive to practice it in my own life. My relationship with these children is complicated and my gosh, does it feel like it comes with such a high cost at times. But this all apart of the deal. When God put my butt on a plane to India to be a mother to 10 abandoned children, He didn’t ask that I would love them with restrictions and conditions around it so that I wouldn’t get hurt. I’m pretty sure the only way I know I’m doing this loving thing right is if it does hurt. I will never find a reason to regret loving these children with everything on the line and I am convinced the reward will always be greater than the sting of pain.

Whatever He puts in my hand, He asks that I hold it openly, palm facing up. It’s all from His hand first, anyways.