Little man is scared of fireworks. So, New Years Eve was honestly pretty horrible. He was awake well past midnight due to the loud celebrating in and around our neighborhood. He just wanted to be held. He just wanted to hold my hand and be sung to. He just wanted to be close as he has much of the last 14 months.
Last night, the reality of our future with him hit me like a ton of bricks. The fact that he may not live with us forever has always been true, but as I sat and held him, I looked around the room. I saw his crib with his favorite blanket hanging on the side. I saw a basket full of his clean clothes that I had folded. I saw his police car toy on the floor. It hit me hard as it does every so often, that those things may not be his much longer. It hit me that he may grow up in a different room in a different house on a different block in a different neighborhood. That is so hard to swallow.
The goal of foster care is reunification. In Little Man’s case, this goal was legally unachievable. It is impossible and he was made legally free for adoption nearly 6 months ago. Still, at 14 months old, his future is unknown. His permanency and future are still caught in limbo by a corrupt and deeply failing system.
We were chosen to foster him at one week old. That means we are licensed by the state of Iowa and assigned by the court as a safe and loving temporary home for him away from the unstable and unsafe environment he was born into. If we are selected, it is no secret we wish to be his forever placement. We desire more than anything else to be his family. There is still no guarantee that he will become a Murphy.
There is no guarantee that he will grow up with our nieces and nephews as cousins or our parents who deeply love him as his grandparents. There is still no guarantee that we will get to walk with him to his first day of kindergarten or celebrate his first lost tooth. There is no guarantee that we will get to teach him to drive, graduate from high school, or bring him to college. There is still no guarantee that Ryan and I will have the joy of seeing him choose a bride and start a family of his own.
We desperately hope and pray for these things, and we love him now as if all of these things are certain. In reality, we have no guarantee. We have no certainty that he will ever know how much we love him or how much we prayed for him to be ours. It is still a reality that he could grow up and not know who we are. That is painful.
We do have one guarantee.
God’s ability to love and provide for him is far greater than anything we could ever do. No amount of “good” we can provide him can compare to the greatness that papa God provides. There is no guarantee in foster care–except whether he is a Murphy or part of another family, it is the same God that will love him, provide for him, guide him, and sustain him. God is good all the time. He will be good to little man always and no matter what. He will be good to little man in whatever crib he sleeps in and whatever arms he falls asleep in. God is still good.
Foster care is hard. You willingly choose to potentially have your heart shattered in a million pieces. We chose the pain of possibly knowing he will leave if that means that he had the stability and love that we are able to provide him for his entire life. We have willingly chosen the sting of an extremely significant and painful loss if it means he knows what it is like to be loved with everything we have. While we prepare ourselves for the possibility of him leaving we willingly accept and choose the deep privilege of loving him with everything we have for every today we get with him.
Ryan and I both fully understand what could come, but we don’t like to talk about it. It is much too difficult to speak about. Selfishly, I know what we can provide him. We can provide him a safe and loving home. We can provide him grandmas, grandpas, cousins, aunts, and uncles that are crazy about him. I know we can provide him opportunities and a history that he may not get in another place. I know that Ryan and I would continue to protect and shield him from things he shouldn’t have to experience with every ounce of our being.
Yes, I still desperately pray and hope that he will be my son. But in the end, it is my duty to love him with my entire being for today. It is our job as his foster parents to incur any cost so that he will gain and receive. It is our job to absorb any pain so he doesn’t have to. This life demands potentially a painful and costly love so he can gain everything we can give to him. He is worth it. They are worth it.
So, I will rest with that one guarantee. Despite the fact that we may have to endure an unexplainable loss, he is worth it. We have to rest knowing that God will protect him wherever his journey takes him, while still praying it is with us.
We are still fighting for him and will continue to endure and fight because he is more than worth it. Thanks for those that are fighting with us.
Koko
