It looks like a theater for the toddler set in my living room. Five convertible carseats face my coffee table, marked and waiting for foster families from my foster mom support group to come pick them up. You see, I have the luxury of serving as a foster parent in Lincoln, Nebraska, which means that I can utilize the Foster Care Closet. It is my understanding that the typical foster family in the United States has to run out and buy new clothes—and everything else a kid might need—every time a new child comes through their doors. But in Lincoln we’re blessed with the Foster Care Closet, which means we can get five sets of clothing, diapers, winter coats, carseats, strollers and other miscellaneous items for FREE when a child enters our home.

Leigh Esau is the big heart and hard worker behind the Closet, which she began in her basement. Leigh’s got a fascinating story all her own. She has not only opened up her doors to foster children in Nebraska, but she’s adopted several as well. Her passion for children is now funneled into the Foster Care Closet where she and other works do their very best to serve kids in the system.

Today I don’t have to buy a carseat for our always-growing foster son. And neither do 12 other members of our foster support group. What a HUGE blessing this is to our families! Our foster children can ride safely in our cars and we don’t have to bear this financial burden as we seek to love these kiddos who need an extra doses of safety, permanency and security.

The Foster Care Closet is looking for folks to partner with them to the tune of $120 a year. This could be a one-time gift, or it could come in the form of $10 each month (aka two Starbucks lattes). Every bit of money that goes to the Closet will help support the needs of children who are wards of the state. Not everyone is called to have extra kiddos come live in their homes, but certainly there’s something each of us can do to help the children in our own cities. Supporting the Foster Care Closet is just one awesome way you can help.

Foster CARE Closet
643 S. 25th St. Ste 8
Lincoln, NE 68510
402-617-0667

www.fostercarecloset.org
fostercarecloset@fostercarecloset.org

*Mention my name when you make a donation and… I’ll be really proud of you. Yeah, nothing else will happen.

Did you ever go to camp as a kid and make friends that you felt would last a lifetime? Or maybe you went on a missions trip or overseas with friends and you achieved this incredible bond. Perhaps it wasn’t a summer experience, but it was a semester or two or three with an amazing person in college. Whatever it is, you can recall that feeling of great camaraderie that perhaps led you to write back and forth for years, or ask them to be in your wedding party, or maybe even put them on your will as a godparent. In the same vein, maybe you’ve really gotten attached to a child you babysat on a regular basis or a friend’s child you watched for a weekend while they were out of town. You are connected still to that little one and enjoy watching them grow, perhaps liking all their pics on Facebook, or if they are old enough, now watching them develop a life of their own.

I’ve sensed others misjudging what I do and who I am as a foster parent, and so it’s my desire to clear a few things up. Those feelings of camaraderie and affection and enjoyment I described above are simply a reminder of what it feels like to care deeply about another person. We’re all capable of those feelings and most of us experience them. Some of us are parents or aunts or nannies and we intimately understand that deeply powerful bond you can have with a child. And that, my friends, is exactly what it’s like to be a foster parent.

Being a foster parent is not like having a job. As in, I don’t punch a time sheet and put on my Foster Parent apron and get to work on this kid. No, being a foster parent is fully parenting, going in the deep end of child-rearing with a child that more than likely will never bear my name, a child that will be reunited with his mother or father and then grow into adulthood in a house that is not mine. I don’t parent a foster child in a way different from parenting my permanent child; I can’t do that. It’s either all in or all out.

I’ve had people give passing glances to my foster baby and then ignore him. I’ve had people boldly inquire about my permanent child and not about the foster one. I’ve had people make assumptions about him and assumptions about the way our family operates. So let me unmuddy the waters: this kid is fully part of our family. We fully love him. And we fully support the efforts for him to be reunified to his biological family. We are not confused about that.

I shop for clothes for this child and I dress him multiple times a day, always wrestling him down to put on shoes and socks because holding still is apparently the Worst Thing Ever for a walking 10 month old.

I wash out those five Avent bottles a bazillion times a day—or so it seems—and they dry alongside the pink plastic cups and wine glasses the rest of the family uses.

I call and make a WIC appointments because formula is expensive and the state helps pay for his nutritional needs. I visit the health department every few months, sometimes disrobing the little dude and discussing his growth with a registered dietician. I then load up seven canisters of formula and 16 plastic cartons of fruits and veggies and then remind a Super Target employee how WIC checks work.

I sing hymns and lullabies to him at night because I want him to be comforted with music. I pray over his blessed baby head and ask the Lord to keep him safe always. I rock him in my arms and delight in those baby snuggles that come only when he’s tired enough to hold still. And I settle him in his bed at night, worry about the room temperature and will he be warm enough on this cold Nebraska night? I listen to the cries of rolling over and the sharper cries that summon me to his bed to pick him up and cuddle him once more.

This thing I do, this foster parenting, it is not somehow a separate conversation from my everyday life. It IS my everyday life. This child is as real a family member as any of us. Can you see how his life is not worth less than another Tredway’s life? He is real. And he is a foster child. Both things are true.

So whether you’re a visitation worker or a caseworker, a family support specialist or the head of a fostering agency, a friend or a neighbor, know that this child is part of our family. Know that he is fully embraced as one of us and that in our hearts he is our son, our brother, our grandson, our cousin, our nephew. He is our people, our clan. We will shower him with love as well as with ridiculous amounts of attention and praise. He may be here for a short time, but he is LEGIT. And whether you have advice on how he is raised or what kind of diapers he should use or feel like you should be allowed to touch his cheeks because they are full and chubby, please respectfully remember that you honestly cannot love him more than we do. For a time, we are his parents and sister and grandparents and aunts and uncles and we are committed to all that entails.

Today’s picture made my heart melt into a puddle. It’s not technically something I love, but the subject matter trumps all technicalities. This before-school bottle brought to you by Livia and her giant heart. Though I thrive within a planned out day-to-day schedule, sometimes the baby wakes up and is hungry before the clock says it’s time. And when such a thing happens it’s incredibly helpful to have a sweet-hearted fourth grader around. Not only did the Babe get fed, he enjoyed lovies in the process. We believe in lovies around here. In fact, I have a Babe and a Pooch that beg at my knees for lovies on a regular basis. Oh Livia, you who made me a mother and showed me how big my heart really was—you’re the best.

These images are almost a year late because that’s how things role in the world of foster care. No exposing a child’s face, careful preservation of anonymity as the child is a protected state ward. So there’s a certain joy when one is adopted and we can show her face to the world once more! Adoption was the path to family life for this little girl who I photographed last November as a one week old. Maralee brought her up to my bedroom for a quick photo shoot. I remember having a really bad head cold and feeling overwhelmed with the two little boys who had been placed in our care the previous week, but I knew this was a special moment with a special baby and I shot her one week pictures that night.

Little teeny Carrie. Little girl who is toddling around the house like she owns the place well before her first birthday. Happy girl with the big smile and even bigger eyes. You are loved. You are cherished. God made you and he adores you, little one!

I really don’t care if a book is written specifically for my kid or not. I’m a fast reader and a quick editor and all my theater talents of days past are now poured into reading aloud for my family. Each time I open a book, it’s my own personal stage. So when I read Max Lucado’s Just In Case You Ever Wonder—the board book edition—to my foster baby this morning, I wasn’t offended that it didn’t fit our little guy’s life whatsoever. I altered the words a bit so they were true and kept on reading.

I wasn’t offended by the words. I was broken by the reality that these words expose.

Just In Case You Ever Wonder is a charming and sweet book meant to remind a child that Mom and Dad love them, always, and are on their side. It’s a beautiful little book with big, gigantic, earth-shattering truths about who we are and who God is.

Long, long ago God made a decision—a very important decision… one that I’m really glad He made. He made the decision to make you.

The same hands that made the stars made you.
The same hands that made canyons made you.
The same hands that made trees and the moon and the sun made you.
That’s why you are so special. God made you.

Can you feel the power-packed punch of these words, oh adult who is reading this blog post? I can! These words clearly aren’t meant just for the little people in our lives, they are meant for us as well.

Lucado writes more of how special our children are, pointing out that “you were made like no one else.” And then I flip the page and land on the sentences that stop me in my tracks, that make me grieve for the foster kids in my city, that make me weep over the brokenness that exists in our world.

And since you are so special, God wanted to put you in just the right home…
where you would be warm when its cold,
where you’d be safe when you’re afraid,
where you’d have fun and learn about heaven.

Does your heart get heavy like mine does? Do you feel the incredible injustice of what it might be like to not be able to live with your parents—for your parents to not be able to provide a warm and safe home for you? It might actually be your parents who are causing your harm, or it might be that they simply can’t protect you from it for now. Either way, a child is deserving of a warm, safe home with the parents that gave birth to them, and the reality of this world is that brokenness exists.

The book goes on to detail how the reading parent will be there for the child. As you grow and change, I will be there. As you get scared—of the monsters in your closet or in your imagination, or the meanies on the playground—I will be there. Basically, as you experience the trials of life, I will be right there to hold you and teach you and love you through it.

[deep sigh]

A parent loving a child and providing the best for this child, this is the way life should be. If this is the way your childhood was, praise God for that. If this is the way your children were raised, or are being raised now, praise God for such blessings. At the same time, know that the provisions of a roof over your head, food in your pantry and a soft place to lay at night are not the reality for many people around you.

There’s a fine line to walk between getting all preachy and just sharing the truths I experience. I see that and I’m aware of it. So let me say a few final things about what I see right now. I see what might possibly be the cutest baby on the planet and he’s rolling around on my living room floor. He’s putting blocks and books and maybe even a little dog hair in his mouth (this after repeatedly grabbing the dog’s tail). He’s sitting up and falling over. He’s making hilarious growling noises and he’s drooling all over everything. He is LOVED. His mom loves him. His dad loves him. His foster mom and foster dad love him. He’s got some good things going on in his life right now and changes are being made every day to ensure he can go home again soon. He is doing well because someone intervened in his world to help. To encourage. To bless. To provide. From police officers to caseworkers to extended family to the friends and family members of us, his foster family, people have intervened. People have stopped, they’ve asked questions, they’ve pursued righteousness and goodness for this little one who cannot pursue such things on his own.

Sure, this world is marred with brokenness. But there’s always the work of redemption. Keep working, keep redeeming your own little corner of this world. And just in case you ever wonder, yes, Someone does love you.

I’m a planner by nature. If I could I would order my world so that I have the perfect amount of busyness and free time, the most delightful blend of scheduled expectations and margin for spontaneity and fun. But that isn’t how life works, is it? We aren’t machines that can be programmed. We don’t know what unexpected twists and turns life will take and frankly, people are messy. If you are a people-person then you know well that you cannot put people in boxes to control them like objects. So then plans have to be a bit fluid. We have to learn to go with the flow from time to time. The best laid plans of mice and men…

I had ordered my world for Fall 2014 pretty well, I thought. I could give so much to ministry at Redeemer. And so much to Livia’s school. And there’d be time for photography, too, even though I wasn’t sure exactly what form that would take. But then there’s foster care. You want to talk about messy plans and messy people, then let’s talk foster care! This summer we were very close to fostering a toddler and there was great potential for us to parent him long term. Like adoption long term. We were within 24 hours of picking up this little boy—I was literally on the way to buy whole milk from the store—when all plans were called off. It was hard. I am very slow to set up a room for a foster child, but this one was ready to go with new gray chevron sheets in the pack n’ play and a specially purchased stuffed animal waiting for a little person to love. I was disappointed. It felt crushing at the time, and then slowly life returned to normal and we all carried on.

Three weeks ago we fielded two calls for babies. We said yes, as we almost always do, and lo and behold one child ended up in our home. The baby that I’ve deeply hoped for and wanted is now in our house! He is amazing and chubby and wonderful. He is ours for the meantime, yet he belongs wholly to another family who loves him to the moon and back. We are standing in the gap for this little one, claiming him as part of our family by cuddling him, teaching him, feeding him, clothing him and doing all the things parents do for a baby. But we do it for God’s glory. We do it because this little one is worthy of such attention. And we do it because it’s good for this other family who needs a helping hand right now. He both is and isn’t ours to claim, yet we will love him because he exists. If you could see what I see and know what I know, then you’d love him, too, knowing full well your heart will feel empty when you hand him back to his mama someday. You can’t love this little guy halfway.

So life is indeed messy. My carefully planned margins have been written in and stomped on and woken up in the middle of the night at 2 and again at 4:00 am. My time has been less about fall plans for women’s ministry at Redeemer and more about how to get enough sleep to be something of a competent person during daylight hours. Instead of editing photos and booking shoots I am trying to figure out how to give my 10 year old some semblance of normality while figuring out team meetings and court dates and a feeding schedule that makes sense for a baby. Why share all this with the world? I suppose I am asking for grace. My world has gone topsy-turvy for a time and I’m treading water. Every single meal brought to our house, every encouraging email or text, every small gift given to my family gives me just the boost I need to keep walking forward in the mess. Knowing that our friends and family are flexible and that they support us allows me to take on the bumps and bruises of the unknown twists and turns with their love and grace as the buffer I need. Thanks to each of you who understand this journey we’re on. We are so grateful for you! Scratch that, it’s more than gratitude. We could not do this without you. Period.

This little one, placed in his adoptive parents’ arms as a newborn discharged from the hospital, was adopted today! He turns two in a few days and, my goodness, this is an amazing birthday present. Happy adoption day to our boy Joe! We love you and your family so much and praise God for the joy you’ve brought to all of our lives. [Photos taken Fall 2013.]

I have a calendar from Livia’s first year of life that I used to mark all her “firsts.” Across the weeks in the month of June 2004 there is one word: waiting.

First week of June. Waiting.
Second week of June. W a i t i n g.
Third week of June. W a i t i n g.

Then during the fourth week we got the call, the go-ahead and on June 26 Livia was laid in our arms for the first time. June 26 is our Gotcha Day, lovingly referred to as “Livia Day” in our house. And if you think we celebrate June 26 then you’d be right.

I recently came across this calendar and smiled upon those weeks of waiting. Compared to international adoption where you get a picture of your child and then wait a really long time for placement, those weeks seem short indeed. But honestly, the heart knows nothing of a short wait. Each month, each week, each day, each hour can feel very long when you are waiting for something so specific and so specially good like a child. Time seems to unfold in a mysterious fashion and the only thing I can compare adoption waiting to so that the general public can understand is to ask if you remember your wedding date.

Do you remember the weeks and months leading up to that day? Do you recall people asking you about your planning and how things were going and sometimes you honestly couldn’t concoct an answer because the whole process was very much “hurry up and wait”? Though you’ve found a florist and ordered the flowers, you can’t actually pick them up until the the day of the wedding. You’ve got an appointment to get your hair done and you’ve got the final fitting arranged for your wedding gown, but again, you can’t do those final things until your wedding is actually happening. So in the meantime, it’s hurry up and wait.

That’s very much what life is life for a parent waiting for a child to come home.

And then when you’re a foster parent, there are a few more twists and turns to expect.

It’s still hurry up and wait, but with a few major caveats. Hurry up and wait… and don’t get too excited because this kid might not ever set foot in your door after all. Or hurry up and wait… but be prepared to fall in love with this child while at the same time cheering on his biological parents and preparing for the day their family is reunited and your family lovingly grieves the loss. Or hurry up and wait… but there will be no welcoming baby showers or gifts freely given because no one expects this child to stay. Or hurry up and wait… but start tentatively planning for questioning looks and unique conversations you will have when this child is actually part of your family. Not only will you need to fairly represent him as a foster child, but you know you’ll actively try to present your own personal longing for permanency while balancing the reality of the tenuous nature of fostering. Deep deep down in your heart you have hopes and dreams, but they aren’t allowed to take root just yet and you need to give lip service to working in the system for as long as this case calls for. So mama, hurry up and wait already.

Waiting.
W a i t i n g.
W a i t i n g.

Oh, the intricate joys and pains of the waiting process.

What holds me back from telling you how I really feel are a thousand little voices on my shoulder. One voice says that I’m a bleeding heart and I should shut up. Another voice says that the only reason I’m here is because I haven’t been able to get pregnant and sustain a pregnancy. Yet another voice says that it’s annoying to sound this trumpet over and over again, that people don’t want to hear it. And still another says that if Jeremy and I are this scared every time we get a phone call, every time we say yes, then who in their right mind would willingly join up?

The voices are going to take a back seat for a minute. I have something to say.

The need for loving, mature and capable foster families is huge. It is huge and it is real and it is not going away anytime soon.

As soon as one family takes in a kid—whether for a short duration or a long one—another child is in a bad situation and will need a home. As soon as one bed is filled, another bed is needed. We could talk until we’re blue in the face about why this is. Why does foster care exist? Why are people so terrible to their children? Why are people irresponsible and why does the government, of all entities, have to step in? We could get absolutely lost in those types of conversation and then miss the fact that the most vulnerable in our society still need beds and warm showers and three square meals a day and, oh yeah, adults who love them.

When you read a story in the newspaper about a drug bust where children were present, you can bet a foster family is getting a call that very night to take in those children. When you hear a story on the news about an infant found in squalor in an apartment, perhaps with roach eggs on his feet, you know a foster family’s phone is ringing. When you hear that a parent is cited for neglect because their five year old was found wandering downtown streets at 11 o’clock at night, you know a case is being built and perhaps that child will need another home for a time until their parents can figure out how to parent a little bit better.

The need is real. The need is huge.

There are stories we all hear, but then there are actual phone calls I get. I recently got a call to take a one week old infant and had to say no. It broke my heart to say no, but with our health concerns, I simply couldn’t tend well to the needs of a newborn and still tend well to my own needs. This was wise, but it was sad, too. Awhile back I got a call for two little sisters. Their mom had lots of services to help support her family but she still chose not to protect them from dangerous people. They needed a place to go. Another call involved sisters again who needed a home while their mom went into drug rehab and yet another involved little boys whose mother constantly neglected them. One series of calls revolved around a baby boy whose outlook for life was pretty rough after he sustained tremendous abuse from an adult in his life. Did this little guy need a lot of care? Absolutely. Is he worthy of care and respect and love as long as he needs it? Again, absolutely yes.

My request is that you open your eyes and simply do what you can. Don’t pretend like these kids don’t exist or like their lives don’t matter. But do what you can! If you can become a foster parent, sign up for the next session of classes. Babies, toddlers, middler schoolers and high school kids all need homes. Kids without support systems can use your help. If you cannot foster, support these kids another way. Lincoln is full of charities designed to aid kids in need, not just foster kids but other at-risk youth, too. Project Everlast, Lighthouse, Christian Heritage, Cedar’s, City Impact, the City Mission, The Bay, so on and so forth. You can give money, you can volunteer your time, you can rally a group of moms from your school, workout partners from the gym, neighbors and/or friends to do something big together. You can also provide support to foster families you know by taking meals, sending encouraging letters, providing diapers, sharing baby supplies, driving their kids to therapy appointments, getting background checks so you can babysit and so on. Your support is incredibly valuable if you didn’t know it already. That pack of pacifiers or diapers may not mean much to you, but I can guarantee it means a lot to the foster family who is working fast and furiously to prepare for new little people in their home.

If you’ve read this far, thank you. If you’ve read my words and have kept an open mind, thank you. If you’re supporting the kids of my beloved city, thank you a million times over.

I can say with utter sincerity, these kids are our future. They are our most precious commodity. Let’s take care of them.

It’s clear in everything I’ve said to friends and family that I expected our foster sons to stay around for a good while. Maybe a year, I said, envisioning a long settling in process before they’d be allowed to return to their parents. And then I got word last Friday that perhaps this would not be our reality, perhaps something was going to happen very fast. I’m grateful that I heard whisperings through the grapevine as it allowed me to start considering the very idea. Over the weekend I organized diapers, put Thomas the Train DVDs in the proper locations and made mental lists of what belonged to whom.

On Tuesday a judge ordered the boys to return to their home and within three hours they were gone from our home. In that three hours I sorted and folded and packed and created a small mountain of things that belonged to them. (This is not the norm for foster kids, that they’d enter your home with a lot of possessions, but our boys did indeed come with a lot of things.) I cried off and on as I packed up their teeny t-shirts and little man pants, Spiderman undies and the Pull-ups that were our current reality. I prayed and prayed and prayed over these items. And eventually we installed carseats in a new car, added the boys to the car, and kissed them goodbye.

This is foster care.

Jeremy and I never pretended to be the boys’ Mom and Dad. In our hearts and on our lips we were their foster mom and dad. In the practicalities of day to day life, however, we loved them and treated them as our own. Hugs. Tickling. Feeding snacks and meals. Getting drinks and changing diapers. Bedtime stories and morning wake-ups. Doctor appointment after doctor appointment. We loved them. We were the second Mommy and Daddy for them, and they called us Mommy and Daddy because that’s the role we played. We loved them.

You don’t care for someone everyday for almost five weeks and then send them off without your heart being impacted. Jeremy, Liv and I are processing this change differently from one another and since I’m the verbose, emotional one, you get a blog post with a few ideas in it. I miss the boys and the fullness they bring to our house. I do not miss getting up early in the morning. I miss sweet cheeks to kiss and little bodies to bathe. I do not miss the dinnertime ritual (so shoot me, it’s true—dinner is much easier with one 9 year old child). More than the missing, the wondering is what gets to me. It’s testing my faith in new ways, this trusting God with what is best for the boys. I did not approve of their removal from our house, but then again, no one asked me. Foster parents, for those who are wondering, don’t get much say in the legal matters of a case. After caring so intimately for these little people for days on end, they are outside of my control and decision-making. And that’s hard to bear. I hope and pray they are being cared for well.

I wrote about the reality of our 2013 Christmas card and now find myself in a place where I could actually mail it out. But a little bit of my Christmas spirit is lacking now. This is not how I envisioned celebrating Thanksgiving and Christmas will not be what I envisioned either. Going back to a family of three feels normal to me, though, so the adjustment will come and the missing will decrease—I know this much is true.

We were there for the boys when they needed us, and I hope we can be there for them in the future if they ever need us again. As I was putting clean sheets on the now-vacant bed in our foster room I could feel the tiniest spark of excitement at a new body finding it’s way into our home, a new little person who could use a warm bed and a few loving family members. May God use us. May He give us grace to sustain us in sadness and in joy. And may He use normal, tired people like us to love others. Amen.