A year or so before the actual arrival of our first foster child, we began “the process.” After 30 hours of training, paper work, phone calls, paper work, interviews, advice from other foster parents, home studies, paper work, and then … well, some more paper work, THEN the day actually arrived. During those pre-arrival days, I sometimes wondered if we were embarking on something I would regret. No matter what aged child came into our home/family, it would change the dynamics. We had somewhat of a routine going. A plan and a way of doing things. We all knew what that was and we were, you know, comfortable. I think that all along this journey, I’ve been the most hesitant one, although it wasn’t something I was talked into doing. It was a responsibility (and service) I definitely felt was given to us, as Christ followers, by the Lord. But as the days became months of getting ready, it seemed like it was a distant event that may or may not happen one day. But then it happened. It was the week of the arrival of a new little person into our lives.
The few days before the arrival of that 2-yr old were spent preparing our home and the family for what it may be like with another sibling. Nat and Josh were “ready”. Every day they ask when they would get a brother or sister. They had not thought of any of the negative possibilities I had thought through. Or if they did, they had no intentions of those thoughts interrupting this challenge! After all, we had talked about this for a long time. All of us. Whatever was coming, I was part of a family united and willing to serve an orphaned child.
Buddy walked in the door the morning of February 8. He was supposed to arrive the day before, but a few gliches to the process added a day. Becoming the parent of a 2 yr old in one blunt day was more adjustment than that which I was originally prepared. By week two, I was very aware of the 24-7 of it all. Especially since that little guy became very ill and the full nights of sleep I had come to know vanished into thin air. There was a day or two in there, I was so thankful he was a foster child and I could “return” him without many questions … ’cause I realized I had bitten off much more than I could chew, and at this point had already swallowed.
And swallowing without chewing was wreaking havoc on my insides …
(Part Five: What Now?)