Up to this point, I've been quiet on this blog about the hardships of foster parenting. Honestly, it's because I believe fostering is good, important work and I don't want to scare anyone away from its particular graces because of its particular pains.
But I've decided that it's important for me to own the emotions of this experience, and to tell the truth about things that felt really dark until I processed them with God.
So here's the brutal truth: I feel almost zero affection for my foster daughters.
There are a lot of articles circulating on the internet about how the extensive paperwork, the regular intrusions, and the sketchy system make fostering difficult. There are plenty of people that tell the truth about how fostering blows up your family, incites difficult sibling relationships, requires endless empathy and wears you to the bone. So I saw all of that coming.
But because so many vocal foster parents proclaim deep love for their kids and how they dread birth parent reunification (even if they support it), I just assumed that I would bond quickly and easily with our girls.
They've been with us for four months, and I still don't feel particularly attached to either of them.
So I've felt guilty. MAJORLY GUILTY. Everyone else on the planet seems to easily figure this out, and I've been over here floundering in my efforts to muster up the feels that come so easily with my other two. I've wanted to quit more than once, just because I feel like the girls deserve more than I seem to be able to offer.
Until recently, I didn't realize how much of my innate definition of mothering was reliant on affection. I thought being a mom meant being crazy about your kids, because that's such a huge part of my relationship with Phoenix and Jericho. I think their antics are endearing, that their sweet toes are adorable, that their sleep-sweaty bodies are a treasure. I could stare at them for hours, and that kind of soul-deep tenderness is incredibly energizing. When they are a hot mess, all the warmth that burns for them in my bones makes it easier (though not easy) to teach and love them in spite of themselves.
I just don't have that with the foster girlies. The first time I clipped our four-year-old's toenails was a major exercise in self-discipline. Their little smells (you know, the kind that mommas drink in deeply?) kind of gross me out. And even though they are generally cool kids, the times that I really enjoy them are few and far between.
But, after a meaningful conversation with Josh this weekend, I'm standing a little taller before God and asking for a new definition of motherhood. Turns out, God never asked me to have warm-fuzzy feelings. Even Karyn Purvis, the guru of attachment parenting, says "It's okay not to feel love for your child right now."
Instead, as a mother (biological, adoptive AND foster), God has asked me to:
EQUIP my kids.
ENCOURAGE my kids.
ENGAGE with my kids.
And, most importantly, to INTRODUCE my kids to Jesus, so they can be loved perfectly (with abundant affection) by the tender God who created them.
Seeing the job description written down leaves me sobered by the gravity of my role. But because these tasks are God-assigned, they can be Spirit-fueled. Instead of trying to fabricate feeling, I'm asking God to enable choices that serve Kingdom purposes instead of my own misguided notion of what I'm 'supposed' to feel.
I may be the only foster mom struggling with affection, but, just in case I'm not, I hope this post leaves you feeling less lonely. This is hard, holy work, and all of our imperfection and insufficiency just leaves more space for the glory of God.
