John 3:8

The wind blows where it wishes, and you hear its sound, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes. So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit.

Monday, August 5, 2013

Foster Belonging

By the end of my first day working in Foster Care, I found myself staring at my notes, straining to remember the details of my next tasks. I had spent 5 hours in court for two of my cases, about which I knew minimal information. It made me thankful for God's grace, and the purpose He gives to these tasks. Foster care is definitely a deeply impactful work and I pray that God continues to sustain me to carry it out so that families may be strengthened. So, needless to say, I have a lot of respect for people who have done this job for years.

Now I've been at my job for 4 weeks and I'm beginning to understand some things that were mysteries at first. Still, I know there is so much to learn. I am constantly asking other people for the answers to questions that I don't know. Some days I just look down at my papers and think "what am I supposed to do next?" I am thinking that 80% of the job is learning to ask the right questions--at homes, with clients, everywhere. The other 20% is a mixture of time management/prioritizing skills. Above these things, I am praying for compassion with discernment to cover it all.

Speaking of compassion, as I sat here typing these words, I heard a song I haven't heard for probably years. It's by Chris Rice, a thoughtful lyricist. The words hit me this time, not in relation to myself, but to the children I see each day in foster care. Their world is quite different than mine has ever been. Their path may be long and hard, but I pray they hear this song being sung over them.

So this drives me to a question--how can we foster a sense of belonging in children's lives, regardless of where they live?


Fading memories ignored, I crawl across the forest floor.
Pool reflects an orphan child; dirty, lost, alone and wild.
Fatherless and nameless still, fallen heart and broken will
there ever be a place where I belong?

I cower 'neath the monster trees, and try to stand on tired feet.
But gravity knocks me to the ground, where I give up and tears roll down.
I claw the dust and beg the end, and curse the day that I began
to hope there'd be a place where I'd belong.

I hear a sound I recognize. You lift my chin and seek my eyes.
Song of Love you sing to me; I ache to sing it back to thee.
Father Love prepares a place, and brother Jesus leads the way.
Follow to the place where you belong.

How did I miss this wondrous song? The forest sang it all along:
"River rinses all your shame, and Father offers you his name.
Father Love prepares a home, brother Jesus leads you on.
Follow to the place where you belong.

Father Love prepares a place; brother Jesus leads the way--
Follow to the place where you belong.
Follow to the place where you belong."

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