If I had a dollar for every time someone said the following words to me, we could probably pay off our house:
"I could never do foster care because I'd get too attached."
I used to say that, too.
And then we did do foster care. And I could think of a billion reasons not to do it anymore, but getting too attached was not one of them.
Can I be honest for a second? It is really hard to love a kid who is not your own.
There was something different about adopting our oldest, P, from birth. I fell in love with that girl the moment I saw the top of her head in the delivery room and have loved her more every day since then. When our foster daughter, K, walked into our home on January 6th, I immediately felt compassion toward her, but I did not feel love. She has been with us for 107 days now, and on exactly 107 mornings, I have had to make a conscious decision to show love to her, even when I don't feel it.
People are quick to dish out advice, reminding me to love K the same way that I love my own children. But here's the thing: She is not one of my own children. I can treat her equally, sure, but I cannot force myself to feel a certain way. When my own girls have meltdowns, refuse to obey, or scream in my face, I am most definitely annoyed and frustrated. Sometimes, when K has done similar things, my blood has been absolutely boiling. On the surface, my response is always the same, but inwardly, I have felt frustration with K to a far greater degree than I do with either C or P. The inherent love that breeds patience isn't there with her.
For many weeks, I have been ashamed to admit this. What is wrong with me that I am not attached and connected to her? Am I cold-hearted? This seems to come so easily for other people. The problem lies in the last statement. I cannot compare myself to the perception I have of other people who may or may not have ever been in a situation even remotely similar.
Foster care is one giant question mark. Whether or not K will be with us in a week, a month, or a year is undecided, and we are just along for the ride. Lately, though, it seems as if K may be moving on soon, and I've been a wreck. The thought of her not living with us anymore has made me come to an important realization: I do love K!
Love is not a feeling. It is absolutely, one hundred percent, a choice and a commitment that must be made over and over and over again.
I don't get the warm fuzzies with my foster daughter like I do with my adopted and biological daughters. But I do want the very best for her, and I'd give up almost anything to ensure that she has a happy, safe, good life with people who want those same things for her.
Loving my foster daughter has been anything but natural. Love has not come easily, but perhaps the challenge of loving K has made my love for her more beautiful. This love that has slowly developed over the last 107 days is deep and abiding, unchanged by her frustrating actions and by my feelings of irritation.
We will likely only be a stop along K's path in life. My hope is that K has experienced love in a very real way while she has been in our home, but even if she hasn't or doesn't remember ... I have.
My own kids make me happy, and of course I love them. (That's easy.) But loving a child in foster care has made me understand Christ in a way that loving my own never could. He gave his very life for infinitely frustrating people like me. My own calling to love K pales in comparison. So tomorrow, for the 108th time, I'll choose to wake up and commit to loving my foster daughter once again, even when love doesn't come easily.