The moment a child walks into my house and takes off her tattered, usually too small shoes, I quietly slide my feet into them. Not literally, of course, but I try to put on their shoes and imagine for a moment what that kid is feeling. I look in her eyes, examine her face, and discern her body language. Does she look anxious? Afraid? Upset? Defeated? I take my cues from her like a director of a play; for a little while I’m on stage and together we are acting these parts. New kid. New mom. I smile at her, me on her level, and make some none threatening comment about her cute earrings or stuffed bunny. I introduce her to Max and he does a wonderful job of breaking the ice with his teethy doggie grin and cross eyes. I smile big and warm and welcoming and walk with her over the threshold into my house. Our house.
Rules can come later. Unpacking can wait till tonight. Right now, at our first moments together, we are establishing a base for what our relationship will look like for the next few weeks or months. I am showing her the value she has in the very way I welcome her in to my home. I show her the important rooms: her bathroom, her bedroom covered with butterflies and flower decals, and of course, I don’t forget the playroom. I’m upbeat, laid back, annoyingly happy and positive. I tell her to make herself at home. I call her sweetheart and honey and kiddo so she knows from the beginning I recognize how special she is and start with my little words and actions to show her she’s loved and valued and belongs.
When she starts to get anxious or talk about past placements and trauma, I calm her with the simple reminder that her job at my house is to be a kid. That’s it. She gets to play and learn and focus on making good choices. My job is parent; to take care of her and make sure she’s safe. Every placement. Every time. This is how we start.
When I first got my license I thought these moments of placement beginnings would be the most awkward. I’m always a little shy around strangers and have my own bag of quirks that follow me around. These kids come from who knows where…with their own baggage…to me. But after 13 foster kids have stayed at least a weekend with me, I’ve got the routine down, and the first day move seems more a part of life than an awkward first meet.
I prayed and prayed verses over my house when I first bought it in 2008. I begged God to make it a safe haven, a place of restoration for all who enter in. So far he has done that. Every single kid that has walked through my black metal front door has almost instantaneously bonded with me. Ones what caseworkers had described as withdrawn and loner have run into my arms and cuddled on my lap before we ever even sat down to do paperwork.
I believe with all my heart that first impressions matter. These kids, at the very least, have experienced very little love. Most of what they know is broken love. So when they walk in a house that has been blessed deeply with the PERFECT love of God, they feel something in their spirit that I believe they have been missing for most of their lives. I hate that every kid that has left me from respite cries or asks why they can’t just stay with me, but I also love it because in a big way it validates what I am doing.
We talked tonight at home group about the parable of the talents and what it was costing us to invest what God has entrusted us with. When I see the way a kid’s smile lights up when I enter a room, the first time she voluntarily hugs me and then gets bashful about it, the first time she includes my name in a heart for a sidewalk chalk masterpiece, I know my talents have not been wasted. From the moment she steps through my door to the moment she leaves, I hope and pray what I am pouring out; the talents that I’m investing, reap an abundant return.
Tomorrow we are going shoe shopping for Annalise. She will throw out the pairs that disgrace her and the ones that show to the world her past has been poor and tragic, and she will buy some new ones. Maybe sparkly and pink, some cute sandals, or a new pair of tennis shoes to make her feet proud. And as her shoes change form and her life begins to transform, I will continue to walk beside her, slipping my feet in and out of all those shoes, meeting her and loving on her right where she stands.