I’ve never cried harder than when they came to take away “our” little girl. My family and I wept as they walked out the door with a baby we had been caring for over the previous two weeks. The love we had for her outweighed the time we had with her. It was a stark reminder that in foster care these children are not our own.
Before we became a foster family, we were adoptive parents. When our adopted daughter turned six, we opened our home as a foster care family. During that time we had a handful of kids come and go. Receiving each with the motto: “We will love them as long as we have them.” After the first little girl came and went, my daughter, my wife, and I would do our imperfect best to open our hearts in vulnerable love to each child. Knowing that in foster care the goal is reunification with the birth family. We attempted to love unconditionally, with no expectations.
We recently adopted our second daughter, a child who initially came into our home as a foster care placement. By way of a winding path, our home has now become her home. Permanently.
We are a transracial family. My wife and I are white, but our two adopted daughters are beautiful brown skinned girls. Tight curls, natural hair. One with skin the color of a chai latte and the other milk chocolate. They don’t look like my wife or I. Our family is multi-hued and lovely.
Throughout our foster care journey, I often found peace and strength in a centuries old catechism. A portion of it hangs above the bed in my daughter’s bedroom. We memorized it together over the past few years.
The first question of the Heidelberg Catechism asks: “What is our only comfort in life and death?” The answer? “That I am not my own, but belong—body and soul, in life and in death—to my faithful Savior, Jesus Christ. He has fully paid for all my sins with his precious blood, and has set me free from the tyranny of the devil. He also watches over me in such a way that not a hair can fall from my head without the will of my Father in heaven; in fact, all things must work together for my salvation. Because I belong to him, Christ, by his Holy Spirit, assures me of eternal life and makes me wholeheartedly willing and ready from now on to live for him.”
Those foster care kiddos that came and went didn’t belong to me, but neither do my adopted daughters. Because I am a steward, not an owner. A steward cares for what is entrusted to him. They receive everything as a gift, they receive responsibilities, they exercise provisional authority. Parents, pastors, poets, prophets are all stewards. No person is an owner, all people are stewards.
The Psalmist proclaims, “The earth is the LORD’s and the fullness thereof, the world and those who dwell therein, for he has founded it upon the seas and established upon the rivers.” (Ps. 24:1-2) Everything belongs to God and He is gracious to allot portions to people(s) in order that they might image Him through faithful stewardship and care. In light of this, it’s best to understand “mine” as a word that signals what has been given to us in light of God’s provision and generosity, rather than something we have earned, are entitled to, or possess by right.
This doesn’t just apply to objects or places, but extends to people as well. Even our very selves. The answer to the question doesn’t belong out there, but right here at the self: “I am not my own, but belong to…my faithful Savior, Jesus Christ.” I don’t belong to myself - and this is good. My children are not mine by entitlement - and this is good. They have been entrusted to my care, but they belong to God. This is true of all children. If you gave birth to the child in your home, are fostering them, or have adopted them - your children are entrusted to you, but you do not own them. They belong to you by grace, but they belong to God by right. They are His own, even as they are under your stewarding care.
This reality, at first blush, can appear harsh and calloused, but it is a path towards freedom. Surrendering the illusion of self ownership and autonomy requires us to believe big things about God and counter-intuitive things about self. As a parent, I have found that it is just as costly to surrender the notion that I can dictate how my family receives and directs the gift of children.
The Heidelberg Catechism might be centuries old, but the truth of its first line still cuts to the quick. Has there ever been a time since the tree in the garden when we haven’t yearned to own ourselves and the world? The illusions have become quite captivating, but they remain as hollow as ever. My daughters aren’t “mine.” I am not my own. I belong to God and so do they.
Every child we received before our last was a child we were told was likely headed towards permanent placement in our home. All of them left within three months. Each departure was joy coupled with grief. They were not ours, they did not belong to us, and we surrendered them with sweet sorrow. Our hearts grew tired of saying goodbye.
We were just about ready to close our home as a foster family when we got the call for a little girl who needed a transitional home for a few weeks. The case worker told us that she knew we were close to the end of our journey, but as we prayed, my wife felt the Lord’s confirmation that we should provide care to this baby as our last act as a foster family in this season. At this point, we had already provided transitional care to a handful of kids, and our hearts were exhausted with saying goodbye.
The next day we welcomed a baby girl into our home. Her body was weak and malnourished. She came to our home straight from the NICU and we are the only home she has ever known. After a year of serving as her foster family, we were given the unexpected opportunity to adopt her as our daughter. She is our daughter, as if she was born to us by blood, and we love her.
But even now, after the paperwork has been approved, the judge’s declaration made, and the celebration with family and friends; yes, even now, my daughter isn’t “mine.” I seek to steward what has been entrusted to my care. I do not own her, no man or woman ever will, for she belongs to God. And this is good.