I watch as he abandons the thing he has been so engrossed in, his army guys all set up in a row, his Lego village, or his project that he wanted nothing more than to finish after school. He abandons them all, just to be with his little brother. “Kid!!! Play!” the toddler yells. And “Kid” plays. Over and over again, he sacrifices what he wants to do what the toddler demands. Not because the toddler is loud or because I make him do it, but because he doesn’t want the toddler to be sad. He cannot bear the thought of someone being sad or even disappointed.
She hears his call and runs to him. He tells her to sit and play and eat. She giggles as she sits next to him, the relentless toddler. But in his defense, she created this, the toddler boss. She plays this way with him, letting him lead, teaching him to take turns. She tells him stories and sings him songs. She longs him to call for her, to need her, to want her attention and time. She graciously obliges to his wants and needs. Sacrificing often her own desires and time.
This is how they know love. I’m not sure I’m the one to have taught them. She was four and he was six when they came to me, these love notes were written in them long before they came home. It begins in the womb, I’d like to think their love began there. It was watered when they were rescued, a mere baby by the river, abandoned and alone and a toddler, defeated and desperate, abandoned in the streets. It was nourished in the foster home and fed by the promises of God. He came home with stories of Jesus and rescue and prayer. He came home with love already attached at the heart, embedded in his brain, thriving in his soul. She came home with love. Love so easily given to siblings and babies and children. Skepticism and doubt for us, these adults that took her away from the only home she had ever known. She was much too young to remember anything before that foster home. But that foster home taught her love and worth, value and sacrifice. We had to reinforce that love and make it grow. Through time and consistency. Through hugs and smiles and laughter and teasing. Through dance and play and gifts and time. Through listening and storytelling and over and over again pulling close when pushing far is the first inclination.
He came home with fear. Fear of loss and rejection and abandonment yet again. With no understanding of foreverness and family and unconditional love. How did he ever accept us as his own? How did he trust us to feed him and care for him and protect him? Ever?
Time and time again, we fed his hungry belly. Time and time again, we answered his questions with patterns of love. Time and time again, we had to prove our love. Prove our love right out of our comfort zone, right out of the overflow of God’s love for us. Prove our love, not demand theirs. Consistency and prayer. Patience and determination. Sacrifice and surrender. All in the name of love.
But we are far from perfect and we’ve failed a whole lot. We’ve been impatient and said the wrong things. We’ve coasted and triggered and neglected to do the right things all the time. It’s hard because we are human. Life is messy. Bodies ache and people get sick and stress piles high. And sometimes we just simply grate on each other’s nerves. Because we are human. And I know I annoy my kids and I come across harsh when it’s meant to be helpful. They come across disobedient when they are trying to just understand.
We are simply imperfect parents trying to raise good enough kids. We are trying to be kind so that they grow up to be kind. We are trying to be loving so that they know they are loved. We are trying to be patient so that they, too, grow in patience. We fail. They fail. We forgive. They forgive. We all get back up, keep going. We are on the same team. Fighting for the same outcome. We all want to win. Win at life by being sweet. Win at life by knowing God. Win at life by sticking together.
I have learned so much by watching them. Watching them love each other. Watching them love a baby brother. They nurture and care and pour out what they have known. Their kind hearts are proof of kind hearts halfway across the world. Kind hearts who were willing to take in two kids, abandoned and alone, unknown and unseen. I imagine they had the same fears we have here. Will this hurt? Will our biological kids be scarred? Will this cause physical pain? Is this dangerous? Will I love them? Will they leave me?
Maybe it did and does and will. Maybe they loved them well just to have them fly halfway across the world to join a new family and be forever far away.
I am so, so very thankful. Because of them, our kids are here. They are kind. And loving. And generous. They know Jesus. They know love. Because of this precious, sacrificial foster family, we have the family we have now. And endless amount of praise to the Lord who orchestrated it all, who made a way, redeemed the broken. Thank you, Lord for family. For foster parents. For sacrifice. For love even when it hurts.