Led To Care

This is the beginning of my family's adventures into the world of conflicting DNA. It had been my family's desire for a time to help young children in need of a family. While the idea brought chills to my bones, I never considered the possibility until the year of 2005.

Mom had a vision on the way back home. Of a girl with piercing blue eyes and tears in her eyes. The vision was so vivid that Mom was convinced that she could recognize her on sight. Led by the Holy Spirit, and the consistent prayers of my sister Kayt (age 10), Mom and Dad began taking foster care classes through The Farm.

I was age twelve at the time, still in that stage of growth where time seems to creep at the pace of a snail. So, the idea of having new siblings was only a possibility at its best. Possibility became reality when agents from The Farm began inspecting our house for child safety. They combed the house checking the most ridiculous things. Every outlet needed a child proof cover, gas heaters needed to be vented even if they were vent-less (go figure...), and our favorite platform jumping area was needed a barricade. Despite the inspection, our house passed and my parents received a temporary license.

While we were going into this as an adoptive resource family (meaning that we would only consider kids who's parent's rights had already been severed), my parents figured we would be able to handle the temporary stays of children taken into police custody. That's when we received a call asking if we could care for a young boy named Shawn for a week.

It was weird, let me tell you, having a complete stranger living in the house. And he had some language that made me cringe. Not that he said cuss words, but it was very colorful. For example, the next day after he arrived at our house, my family all crawled into our white mini van. As I turned to sit, Shawn questioned me, “You know what would be funny?”

“What?” I said.

He held up a stick and said, “If I shoved this up your butt hole!” A grin spread across his face.

My Mom gasped and carefully explained that our household rules prohibited such language. That God would want us to uplift each other rather then put others down. He told me sorry and life proceeded.

Ultimately, I felt bad for Shawn. His agent had told him when he arrived that he would stay at our house for a full week. However, Monday rolled around and he was told otherwise. He was to leave that day and he wanted to stay. He pleaded with his agent to stay, but the system had decided. Despite only spending three days with him, Shawn had saw something in our family that he wanted.

A month later, we received a letter by snail mail from Shawn. Enclosed was a broken arrow head. I still have his token of gratitude to this day. I probably will never meet him again, but perhaps the few days we spent with him planted some seeds that God will water throughout his life.