God as the Orchestrator

The first phone call for potential kids we could take care of, came rather quickly after Mom and Dad received their license to be foster parents. My whole family had sat down around oval dining room table for supper. I was the eldest among my brothers and sister. Kaytlin was next in line, two years younger than myself. My serious minded brother Alex was next, and Cory, the family clown was the youngest.

Mom spoke up and said, “We just got a call, asking us to take in two girls.” She went on to tell us the ages. “There is one issue,” she said, “The parent's rights have not yet been severed.”

This blew it in my mind. Tears creeped into my eyes and I fell apart. To this day, I am not sure why. I ran outside and cried my heart out. In my mind, there was no way I could handle it if I got close to two new sisters and then had to separate from them, because their parents had improved their lives.

Now, I am sure it was a God thing, because my parents would tell you today that my little fit kept them from taking in those two girls. God had a different sibling group in mind for our family, and it was not those two young girls. I am convinced that God works in mysterious ways.



Since my parents home schooled me, I received a health assignment from my Mom that required interview someone from the health department. Being the shy person I was at the time, I could not bring myself to do such an outgoing act. Not my brightest moment in the world...

However, Mom had sympathy on me this once, and said that I would have to go with them to one of the foster care classes instead since they were doing a unit on first aid. We left my sister Kayt and my brothers at Linda Tweedy's house and made our way to the class.

Somewhat vaguely, I remember tinge of disgust that I felt toward one of the teachers that was a smoker. I could smell it on her clothes. Why would God use people such as her to help little kids? Certainly there is someone better than that? Despite the smell of smoke on her, I soon found her heart to be of gold when it came to the children in the foster care system. Being only ten or eleven at the time, I had no right to judge. God is the judge, not me.

Besides the amazingly rich peanut butter fudge I ate at that meeting, I remember nothing else of this episode.