The Cost of Protection

There is a darkness in our world that I have been very fortunate to mostly avoid. Saint
Mother Teresa said, “if we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten we belong to
each other.” I have always experienced being the recipient of belonging. First, in my
family, and then in my larger communities, I have been remembered and known, and
usually, (although it feels like I am not supposed to care) usually I am liked. Foster care
has brought me closer to the darkness in our world more than any other experience. I
am disliked, and even hated, just because of the role I’ve taken on as foster parent. At
3.5 years in, I think I can finally speak about this experience in a way that isn’t
romanticized or hypothetical. I’m far from being a seasoned foster parent, far from being
an expert, but the honeymoon period I was blessed with in the beginning, is over. I don’t
do conflict well. Partly because I’ve rarely had to. Foster care involves conflict by nature.
Whenever people discuss children, emotions can run high; when multiple people who
feel a claim to a child discuss high stakes decisions…well, I’m sure you can imagine the
intensity. When we welcome a child into our home, that child brings all of themselves-
physically they bring their whole body with any genetic predispositions, any illnesses.
Caring for a child is intimate by nature- it’s holding close for comfort, it’s food, baths,
diapers, boogers, saliva, vomit. The child also brings their history, those memories they
remember consciously and those that exist at a deeper level. They bring the pieces of
their story they will be told and will have to process through what that means for their
identity. And, because truly, no man is an island, they bring their whole family and
community. I was really excited about this aspect when we began. I felt ready to partner
with the family of the foster child, to be the village that the family, obviously, doesn’t
have. I have been able to have some really amazing relationships with some of the
family members of each of our foster babies. However, letting the darkness surrounding
these innocent children into our world is one thing, letting the darkness of some very
broken, unstable adults into our world is something else entirely.

Towards the end of my time in Honduras, my community was discussing putting up a
barbed wire fence. We had been stolen from before and it was pretty typical of our
neighbors to have such a fence. I was adamantly opposed and, thankfully, was
comfortable enough with my community at this point to say so. I hated the optics of it. I
hated the metaphor of it. It felt like we would be putting barbed wire around our hearts to
protect ourselves, which, put that way, felt outrageously in opposition to our mission. My
beloved sister of community (who had lived there much longer than I) struck the nerve
in me, that I’d always been sensitive about: “We can’t all live in the land of rainbows, like
you do!” she said to me, in a mocking tone. I had experienced violence firsthand there,
so I knew she had no right to accuse me of not living in reality, but…I was leaving that
reality soon, she was not. Maybe, I didn’t have a right to argue about someone else’s
feelings of security.

The thing about putting barbed wire around your heart for protection is that the wire
pierces both ways. Starting in college, I began to work with kids who had barbed wire
around their hearts. They had not experienced belonging in their communities or, even,
their families. It showed in their behavior. It never took long to identify some of the kids
in the classroom who had experienced pain to a degree they shouldn’t have- they were
aggressive, defensive and reactive- and the worst part about it was that their behavior
caused others to react negatively to them, and the barbed wire doubled up. “Nobody
likes me!” one shouted. How are you supposed to respond, when the child’s outrage is
kind of true? Their own defensive behavior causes others to respond harshly to them.
How are you supposed to untwist the kinds of sharp tangles that have wrapped around
the barbed wire of other people’s hearts? Sometimes, the wounds were already too
deep and the “protective” hooks too ensnared, but sometimes I witnessed little miracles.
Slowly, through confidence, honesty and love, some kids were able to untwist the
tangles little by little. It is a vulnerable and brave thing, indeed, to have a heart that is soft. Later
on, I met adults with rusty, old layer after layer of barbed wire. I saw my former kids in their now
grown-up faces, so I could still feel sympathy for them. But sympathy can only go so far
when they are inflicting their pain on others. I am a hopeful person. My favorite stories
are the ones that have a redemptive ending when it seemed like all hope was lost. I
don’t believe anyone is beyond redemption. But, what can be hoped for in a person who
has experienced decades of tightening and encircling and layering of so much barbed
wire around their heart? All they have known is pushing others away, all they have
experienced is rejection, goodness itself is scary to them, darkness and numbness is
their only security. Then they have a child, a little ball of light and joy, but, of course, that
too is taken from them.
This past winter I realized, painfully, I was the enemy in multiple people’s stories. I had
always believed in “killing people with kindness.” It hasn’t always been healthy, as I
have been a doormat at times in my life, but, for the most part, it has always “worked.”
People’s meanness and ire would halt when it was headed my direction. People would
respond a little bit softer when they were talking heatedly, and then I joined the
conversation. This past winter, though, I found that even kindness can be threatening to
those lost in their own darkness. First, I received multiple messages that were filled with
anger and hate, and were the right combination of words that just plain really hurt. If
they had been a different set of words, maybe I could have shaken them off a bit better.
But these messages poked the insecurities that already exist in my mind. Have I loved
these foster babies correctly and appropriately or have I been possessive and
overstepped my role? Have I rooted for the parents correctly or is there a part of me
hoping they fail? What is the appropriate line between helping and enabling? I am being
purified through foster care. Of course, I don’t love perfectly, and I never will. But, these
experiences are forging through fire a more pure heart. Soon after these messages, an
investigator and a police officer showed up unannounced at my home to investigate lies, that a different person lost in darkness, had said about me. Throughout the winter, the
sound of someone driving down our driveway or a message from an unknown number
would make my heart beat faster and my stomach tighten. Any upcoming, possible
interactions with my accusers would send my nervous system into fight or flight mode. I
even caught myself checking my surroundings in public spaces for fear of running into
them. I put a layer of barbed wire up and experienced how easily it happens. It took a
handful of words and one big lie for me to withdraw, to harden a little. My accusers have
suffered far more than that! But, how can I bring light to their world, when I feel their
darkness sucking me in? I can’t.

As I have experienced many other times in my life, His grace is sufficient (2 Corinthians
12:9). Words came to my mind unexplained and filling me with a peace. The verse, that
kept returning to me in particular was, “The Lord will fight for you, you need only to be
still” (Exodus 14:14). As I was waiting for a meeting or a court hearing to begin and
feeling my body tighten, that verse came to me. As I was waiting to pick up a child and
wondering who might accompany the moment, that verse came to me. I’m not a fighter,
never have been, even when I probably should have tried to “fight.” It felt like such a
relief to hear these words in my mind. I don’t need to “fight” the system (though maybe
some people should). I don’t need to fight to control other’s accusations- I have nothing
to hide. I don’t need to fight to make happen what I think is the right thing with a child,
because I don’t actually know what the right thing is! I just need to stand still. As I said
already, usually I am liked. When Jesus said, “Blessed are you, when others insult and
persecute you. Rejoice and be glad” (Matthew 5:10) I never gave it much thought. Now,
I felt seen. I felt like someone in the crowd listening to those words who also felt seen,
and suddenly, a few mean words and a lie seemed pretty insignificant as far as
persecution goes.
It is only now that I’ve found the time to put the darkness of the wintertime into words. I
didn’t want to let it pass without doing so, however, I’m in such a different season now
literally, and metaphorically. People often respond to foster care by saying, “I could
never do that. I’d get too attached.” I want to respond, “getting attached, or in other
words, loving a child, is the best part of foster care.” Loving a child and expanding the
circle of people that you love, is the surest way to bring joy to your life! Don’t put barbed
wire before the possibility of getting attached! We were driving away from spending
quality time with family members of our current foster child, and my son said, “I just
realized something: each of our foster babies has made us make new friends.” My heart
filled with joy, and I was grateful that the fear of enemies has not made us protect our
hearts from the joy of new friends. The darkness, though real and scary and painful,
can’t come close to overcoming the light.