Foster Care Is A Never-Ending Placing Of Your Child In Someone Else’s Hands

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Eliza Murphy: Mar 07, 2018Updated: May 10, 2023

“You know the old adage, ‘Never wake a sleeping baby?’

Well, whoever said that, they didn’t have a baby with an early morning, court ordered visit with biological mom.

I just woke baby boy, two hours earlier than usual.

I dressed him in his best, the perfect outfit that perfectly says: ‘I take perfect care of your child.’

I packed his bag, complete with our back-and-forth journal and newly printed photo album of her child.

I did all the right things, pulled all the stops that show, ‘I’m for you. I support this.’

And, in theory, I am and I do.

But for all of my ringing the bell of pro-biological-parent, pro-reunification, I just don’t want him to have to go through this today.

My boy, the one who cries the entire ten minute trip to Target, will make the two hour drive to his visit; spend three hours in a place that I, myself, would be terrified to walk into; and then drive/cry another two hours home again.

He will, most likely, spend the majority of the next seven hours crying.

I feel sick. Like, my stomach actually feels ill.

I want to cry. Like, tears are actually edging out of my eyes.

And yet, somehow in the midst of the stomach turning and heart aching, there’s this rest and peace that just shouldn’t make sense.

This foster care life is a constant placing of your child in someone else’s hands.

Literally and actually, in workers’ and judges’ and lawyers’ hands.

And it’s the placing of your child, figuratively and spiritually (but also, in a very real way, ACTUALLY), in God’s hands.

Oh, I wish I were in control.

I wish I could slam the door in the worker’s face.

I wish I could tell the judge, ‘So here’s what you gotta do.’

I wish I could just change mom with a snap of the fingers.

I wish, so deeply, I wish.

But then, actually, I don’t.

Because me, I’m limited in my wisdom.

I’m short-sighted in my understanding.

I’m self-seeking in my planning.

I’m not all that great in my goodness.

But my God–this little boy’s God–is good.

He is wise. He is loving.

He is all-knowing. He is in control.

And so, as reluctantly as I may place him in someone else’s hands, I whole-heartedly leave him where in reality, he’s been all along. In God’s Hands.”

This story was submitted to Love What Matters by Jamie C Finn, a foster mother and founder of FosterTheFamilyBlog.com. Be sure to subscribe to our free email newsletter for our best love stories.