Most things in life require sacrifice of some sort. To get one thing you naturally have to give up another.
I knew that going into foster care. Obviously this was going to require a lot of everything. A lot of me. Of Jonathan.
Some of that came easily. Buying more tube yogurt and less Greek yogurt didn’t take much effort.
Other parts were a stretch. My body just doesn’t love mornings. And for some reason, kids’ bodies do.
Thank you God for coffee.
However easy or ugly the shift, many of these changes to parenthood were expected. But caring for children not my own adds an extra twist. Trauma.
And trauma requires more. Of everyone.
And that’s where it hurts. When I’m not just asking of myself or of Jonathan, but I’m asking of others for these precious kids.
Where I change plans with friends. Disrupt holiday traditions with family. Cancel backpacking trips with sisters.
But then in the midst of rainchecks and wasted plane tickets, they respond with messages like this:
Hey, I know you’re just as bummed as I am about missing our weekend. It’s big of you to give up what we were so looking forward to for these kiddos that need you right now (even if they don’t know about or appreciate the sacrifice ;)) fostering isn’t easy; this is just one small way we feel an unfair loss and it’s a good reminder of the unfairness the kids live with every day.
Wow. And all of sudden my guilt and fear turn to thanksgiving and renewed strength. My village is with me. My village is with these kids.
We get to do this together.