Tonight Jonah and I start a new little journey. Well, actually the journey began in our hearts several years ago while we were still courting. I remember laying in a field on our backs, looking up at puffy white clouds and a blue sky, both of us dreaming about the future and speaking about what it might look like. We discussed having 8 kids (lol, NEVER going to happen), buying a cute house, hiking all the time, never falling out of love....we poured out our hearts talking about orphans, America, kids in America who need families. We talked about fostering.
Today must be "the future". After being house parents for 6 months this past Spring, Jonah and I cannot stop thinking about what part we are supposed to play in the lives of children who don't have a family. We cuddle in bed at night and whisper about "the boys", the ones we had to leave at the childrens' home because our season there was up. We tear up as we discuss what their futures may hold and who they might become one day. We reinvent programs and make plans for the group home every night.
A couple nights ago, upon returning from church, we ran into the police, well actually 4 police officers. We were going up the steps with a little girl who we have been taking to church with us, thinking we were taking her back to her grandmother to get ready for bed, but the police were in their "apartment" (if you can call a 10x10 bedroom with a closet an apartment) searching the room. We had to leave her there, despite her asking to please come home with us. The fear in her eyes scared me. What must be going through her mind? 8 years old and the police are searching through your most private possessions. We got home and the police came by to speak with us about 30 minutes later. Allegations of abuse had been made. Could she stay with us if neccessary? Of course.
We haven't seen her since Sunday night. She does not come running to our house as soon as we get home. She does not peer out the window when we walk our dog. She does not laugh and call us Crazy Jonah and Miss Sarah. She does not come over hungry and eat our PB&Js. She does not jump on our beds. We haven't seen her since the police left her in that room with her grandma.
At home, I cry. I ask my husband what we are supposed to do. I blame the government. I blame the Church. I question God. I wrestle with guilt as I eat and live and feel comfortable and safe.
Tonight we begin classes to become foster parents. I am not sure if this is just to remedy our own shame at living so joyfully. I am not sure if we can really help any children. I am not sure I can be a good mother. I am not sure that I can wake up at 2am and care for a sick little one. I am not sure we have the money. I am not sure we are worthy.
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