Foster Care.

For numerous reasons, I have grown up afraid of it, afraid of them. They were in it. 

They were kids at school, siblings in church, and the people who lived down the street from my best friend in elementary. They were always around, but sadly, I never found myself entering their world. It was unknown. And unknown is scary. Since I am one to cry when fish or turtles die, I am NOT one for unexpected goodbyes. They could just leave; they could disappear with absolutely no explanation.

There has been a day or two during work when I can hear my dad’s voice repeating what he said to me when I told him and mom I planned to major in early childhood education...

“Madison, you can’t take them all home with you.” 

A small part of my heart said, “Why not?” 

The other part of my heart said, “Dad, do not worry. I’m too scared to enter into THAT world. I always have been.”

Nearly two years in the classroom, I can say I have only experienced one moment where my heart broke into a million pieces over one of them. The fear of the unknown and the goodbye kept me from investing in, caring for, and loving on them before. Until an unexpected goodbye happened…a goodbye I did not even know about until it had already taken place. I had told them I would see them tomorrow, but I would not. I did not know my goodbye would be forever. Tears flowed for weeks on end. I cried for months at the mention of their name. I cried myself to sleep for a week straight because I could not figure out what I could do for them. Then, the Lord told me to be still. I finally made myself still and He gently whispered, “You introduced My kind of love. You did your part. Continue on.” What I feared the most was over. Though it deeply hurt, it was the first time I allowed myself to not ignore their situation as a whole, but enter right into their mess and distress.

“We can’t let the fear of loving a child that might leave us deter us; we must let the fear of a child never knowing our love drive us.” ~Jason Johnson

Adoption is not always the answer for them. No, it is usually always more difficult of a process than that. If it was a simple process, I can assure you my husband and I would already have a house full. Unfortunately, foster care is much more complicated. After several months or years, sometimes one party says reunify; another says terminate rights. What the system sees as a success can quickly become a failure that begins the entire process all over. These poor children are stuck in a limbo for a large portion of their lives. They move from home to home. They did not ask for it. They find themselves in the system because of others' poor choices. Situations are nasty. Stories are heartbreaking.

Children in the system, though, should not be what I had made them out to be. A little girl who calls me “My Nadi” is opening my eyes to all things foster care and has been for roughly four months now (I am by no means close to an expert). Ryan and I are not her foster parents. We are just two people that bounce in and out of her foster parents’ home because they happen to be my sweet family that live 8.2 miles up the road. If there is one thing I have learned by knowing this precious princess and her brother, it is that a person does not have to become a foster parent to be involved in foster care. You just have to care; you wholeheartedly care for the children in the system. (If you feel at all interested or led to foster care, though, please check into Oklahoma Fosters or the child protective services in your state).

Why enter into their mess and distress? Why not run for the hills out of fear? Why not remain indifferent? The main reason—Someone entered directly into our distress 2,000 years ago to offer hope. Except our messy situation was our own fault. We had been living in an open rebellion against God for thousands of years. Jesus came as the Redeemer. Jesus rescued us. The cost? Giving up His life on the cross as the ultimate sacrifice for all of humanity’s sin. Jesus came to heal what was broken—the relationship between man and Almighty God. He invests in, cares for, loves on, and enters into the world of all those who repent.

Foster care brings hope.

Foster care exists to mend relationships. 

Foster care helps rescue children from danger. 

Foster care begins the healing of what is broken. 

Foster care reflects Christ's love.
Foster care is a sacrifice. 

The sacrifice can be great or small.

The sacrifice can be giving up your comfortable life to foster.
The sacrifice can be saying goodbye unexpectedly.

The sacrifice can be offering babysitting or grocery shopping to foster parents. 

The sacrifice can be granting extra patience to the foster child in your classroom.

The sacrifice can be laying down all pride to ride a motorized cow around the entire mall with a 3 year old. 

Whatever the sacrifice, it is indeed worth it. Jesus thought we were worth entering into the world for. I know He thinks foster children are worth entering into their world, also. 

He showed me by introducing a princess named “Z.”

"Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after widows and orphans in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world." James 1:27. (emphasis added)

Sole Purpose.

Valentine's Day marked six months into my first year of being a teacher (and when I first began typing this blog...time has gotten away from me, but decided today it needed to be shared); I am now ten days shy of nine months and the completion of my first year. I think I have experienced about all I can--the good, the bad, the fun, and the not so fun. I have learned thousands of lessons, reflected on many situations, made tons of decisions, and had several epiphanies on my purpose as an educator. One of those epiphanies has been stirring around my heart since the AHA! moment occurred. I would say it is my main purpose in the education field. Something so profound, if I recall it in every moment and practice it as my sole purpose each and every day, it will always keep me from simply being just "a teacher".

As early as Kindergarten, I remember being asked what I wanted to be when I grew up. I would simply respond, "A teacher." I could not give anyone a reason for my choice. I had no exact purpose behind the plan. No one in my family was in the education field. I had only been in school for less than a year, but that was what I desired to be. 

There were only three times I thought I was going to change my mind. The first time was in fourth grade. My cousin was graduating from high school and was headed to pharmacy school. I wanted to be exactly like him and someone said something about lots of money. When I found out about all the math and science in my future, I quickly ran back to "a teacher" (no one told me about those lovely elementary math courses at SWOSU).

In high school I deviated from the plan by saying I wanted to go into the medical field. I do not do blood. I do not do puke. I do not do snot. I do not do waste of any kind. (I know, I know. I will have to handle it one day in my classroom and in my own home; the Lord will have to give me the strength is all I can say). After passing out from watching a video of an incident I would potentially deal with in the medical field, I went back to the plan of being "a teacher."

I had a quarter life crisis in the middle of my college years. I changed my major for a whole two weeks to social work because I did not think being "a teacher" was enough. God, in His great faithfulness, put me back on track a couple of weeks before I found out my college was no longer offering a social work degree. That was the end of second-guessing my career choice. I had run out of time. I was going to be “a teacher.”

Looking back, even as far back as fourth grade, I chose another career that the world would deem more meaningful, more important, or more significant. Deep down, I knew that was an incorrect assumption. I knew being “a teacher” had an essential purpose—even if I could not adequately put it into words. After all, teachers do FAR more than just teach. I had seen it first hand. 

As a follower of Christ, I know I am called to ministry--no matter what occupation I have. My mission field happens to be an elementary school in rural Oklahoma. Of all things Christians possess to share and show to the world, the greatest is love.

Had my wedding been normal and not in the middle of a tornado, the familiar love passage would have probably been read. Although, this passage of scripture is not just for the husband and wife. It is for everyday life—including in my workplace, my classroom. (I will be the first to say I am the furthest from perfection in exhibiting this real love to my students. This post is for me more than anyone).

Love is patient and kind…even when I did not receive the amount of sleep I needed, a child is ruining my lesson plan, and the Kindergartener inside of me wants to call names back and throw a fit in the middle of the rug. 

Love does not envy or boast...even when my children failed that test and the teacher’s class next door rocked it, or when my children were perfect all morning. Chances are, it had NOTHING to do with me (and just wait until afternoon).

Love is not arrogant or rude…even when that whole day went just as expected or I have repeated myself one thousand times in the first two minutes.

Love does not insist on its own way…even when it would be easier to go on and pretend they all are listening and understand. I may just need to stop and listen.

Love is not irritable or resentful…even if this is the fifth time to say that kid’s name and it is only 8:20am. I must wipe the slate clean every second.

Love does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth…even when it is hard to discipline. I cannot leave a child where they are; I must teach them the right way.

Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends.

When a teacher shows this real love in the classroom, the children thrive. They know someone will fight for them, believe in them, wish the best for them, and never give up on them. The children will recognize the teacher will ALWAYS love them, even when they are no longer in that classroom.

During my undergraduate studies, a person in the education field tried to convince me that loving children is matter-of-factly not a reason to pursue a degree in education. My argument is when you mean the kind of love discussed in 1 Corinthians 13, there is absolutely no better reason to pursue a career as “a teacher.”

If I have the best classroom management skills, perfectly elaborate and efficient lesson plans, the highest test scores, and countless professional development hours but have not love, I am nothing. My students and I gain nothing. Love is a teacher’s sole purpose.

"If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. If I give away all I have, and if I deliver up my body to be burned, but have not love, I gain nothing. Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends." 

1 Corinthians 13:1-8.

Wild About You!

Ryan and I have been going nonstop as of late. As much as I have loved the holidays and all that comes with the break, I was close to being exhausted of the continual traveling and lack of normalcy. I missed having my husband to myself. I missed my bed. I missed my dog being able to be free all the time. I missed my routine. I missed my Kinders.

Towards the end of last week, Ryan came down with one of the many somethings going around. All weekend, I took care of him (trying to not get it at the same time). I needed to prepare things for Monday. Even though, I had tried my best to leave my classroom ready for me to walk in the door and be back into our routine we have worked hard to master since August. Every time I sat down to get my last minute things together, as I would on typical Sunday evenings, Ryan would need me (Which I am not complaining about. I love my husband. I hate when he is sick. I try my best to shorten the sickness by helping and serving him). In the midst of the ups and downs, I forgot to make a mental note of books to read to my littles on Monday morning.

I read to my kids often. Personally, I believe it is the single best thing I can do for them, aside from telling and showing them I love them. I read to my students several times a day, and I try to be intentional with the books I read aloud. I try to pick books on topics that my students have shown interest in, books that are apart of our theme, or character building books to have mini lessons with. Sure, sometimes I let my kids pick or I reach back in the drawer and grab whatever catches my eye, but usually, I am intentional. Not today. Nope. That part of my day had completely slipped my mind during the chaos.

There we all are, about to begin Daily 5, on the first day back from a two-week Christmas break, trying to remain in routine as best as possible, and Mrs. Russ forgets to pick a book to read. Way to go, Russ, way to go. I try to not panic and begin to slowly search the rug for the books my students have found to read for the day.

Aha! Wild About You! is sitting in a little’s lap with zebras, giraffes, and monkeys present in the illustrations. "That book goes with our classroom theme," I thought, "making it not completely random." I did what anybody would do in the same situation, I asked the child if I could read it to the class. He gave me the okay, and I took a big sigh of a relief. Those few seconds were too close to ruining my otherwise normally flowing morning. (Side note to my teacher friends that are still reading this: 99.9% of the time I follow the teacher law that demands reading books BEFORE reading them aloud to the class. I know I broke the law this time. I know, and I am sorry. I hope it does not happen again, but it honestly might. I am a first year teacher. It still is all a little hectic).

I open the book and begin reading… Instantly, I am reading about a zoo, a zoo full of babies; every animal has a baby, except for the pandas and the tree kangaroos (whatever those are). The pandas and tree kangaroos are upset because they have not been blessed with a baby. That is, until the zoo gets in an egg that nobody wants. Every bird in the zoo rejects the egg. The tree kangaroos step up. They adopt the egg, watch it hatch into a penguin, and love her completely. They need help, though; they do not have the slightest clue about raising a penguin. The rest of their animal friends jump in to lend a hand.

Later on in our children’s book, the pandas adopt a few kittens. They, too, end up confused and troubled on how to adequately raise a baby that is not at all like them. Again, the zoo friends step up and help them out. After all, it takes a whole zoo to help raise a baby (Or is that how that saying goes?).

Adoption. I, unknowingly, picked a book about adoption, something extremely near and dear to my heart. (Another side note: Usually, I turn into a crybaby reading about adoption. I was in full Mrs. Russ mode. Mrs. Russ cannot cry because then all my Kinders would cry, and we would get nothing accomplished. I chose to hold it together). 

On the way home, I let what seemed to be such a minuscule moment turn into the monumental occurrence that it absolutely happened to be. I have been convicted lately of keeping times like these minuscule, chalking it up to coincidence (like it could just randomly happen or something), not giving praise to the One who is majestically monumental. God sovereignly orchestrates these occurrences for me to slow down, remember why I am even where I happen to be, and praise Him. In these sweet, kind, "small" moments, God reminds me of these enormous, awe-inspiring truths: He is in control. He is sovereign. He sees me. He knows me. He cares for me. He loves me. He is "wild about me." 

I did not really take on a New Year’s resolution, because His mercies are new every single morning, not just on January 1st of each year. Although, after this morning, I resolve to allow the minuscule to become monumental each day, to see His hand in the mundane and the craziness, and to give Him the praise He rightfully deserves even when the instance may seem insignificant. I challenge you to do the same. 

P.S. If you would like to add the book I referenced to your children’s library (parents, teachers, or people of any sort), you can find it here.