"She's ready to be picked up."
Words that I've heard a hundred times. As a foster parent of almost nine years, this phrase is nothing new to me. It's what we do. There's a call, there's a need, we can fill it, we pick them up. However, this was so different. This was for Bithiah's House. This would be our very first Bithiah's House resident. Trying to sound calm and confident, certain the social worker could hear my heart thumping through the phone, I cheerfully said, "You got it!".
As we drove down to get the baby, my head was a movie reel of the past two years. Fundraisers, interviews, frustrations, answers to prayers, support from strangers, waiting, questioning, preparing, and more waiting. This was it. This sweet babe that we were about to pick up was the culmination of years of preparation. We were more than ready.
As we headed back to the facility, my heart swelled with gratitude. And brokenness. It shouldn't be this way, Bithiah's House shouldn't have to exist. Foster care shouldn't have to exist. Although so thankful that the baby was safe and would be so loved on and spoiled by the staff, my heart was broken for her that she even had to arrive there in the first place. It seemed so unfair.
The first week of officially being open was a whirlwind of appointments, paperwork, calls, and scheduling. Our staff has been the rockstars we knew they would be.
Exactly a week after little miss arrived, Bithiah's House added another sweet little resident. His story is much different than hers and our staff has done an incredible job at navigating through his trauma to make him feel safe and loved.
This weekend brings another little to the house. Bithiah's House is steadily filling up. We are starting our therapies, and settling into our routines. Though still very much a whirlwind, we can see that there is greater purpose to the chaos. Little fingerprints on the table, sweet babies falling asleep while being rocked, and nightmares being calmed. This is it.
Though we should not have to exist, I'm so glad we do.
Thursday, February 23, 2017
Monday, January 2, 2017
Light at the End of the World's Longest Tunnel
Ok that title might be a tad dramatic. In the scheme of things, 18 months is not terribly long. In fact, it's pretty fast considering all that was accomplished. A nonprofit started, a house found and furnished, a staff of 20 hired and trained, a program established, support gained from LA county, licensure and certification with the state, and license approval is quite a lot for a measly year and a half.
Over a month ago, we received our license. We were beyond overjoyed. Words cannot express our relief that the long wait with the state was over. We were ready and waiting to start taking the precious babies that we have worked so hard for. After all, they were our sole motivator throughout this entire process. They were worth every frustration and delay. Nothing could stop us now. Our intake cell phone started ringing off the hook with possible placements. This was it! It was time!
Suddenly another snag. We were discouraged, stressed, and worried. Another hold up that wasn't our fault? We hustled, prayed, emailed and did all we could to clear everything up. We spent every waking hour of the last two weeks doing everything possible. Last Wednesday, we received the most amazing news. We were licensed AND we could start taking babies! The relief was unexplainable.
We are so ready for 6 little loves to come to Bithiah's. We can't wait to meet them, hold them, and love on them for the short time that they stay. This is the week. The light at the end of the tunnel.
We truly feel like Bithiah's House is a result of a community coming together. We have been completely overwhelmed with everyone's generosity. Friends and strangers have worked, donated, cleaned, prayed and walked with us every step of this journey. We have never felt so loved and supported. Not only are the babies going to be loved and cared for in amazing ways by our staff, they are loved and prayed for by hundreds of people who will never even meet them. They will be wrapped in blankets sewn for them, wearing beanies knitted for them, sleeping in nurseries with art that was painted for them, eating food from a garden that was planted for them, and experiencing care and therapy from people who truly love them.
So while our eagerness and excitement occupies our mind, we are keenly aware of the tragedy and brokenness that occurred for them to come to us in the first place. We are excited to welcome them in, yet mindful of the depth of the hurt. We will not stop fighting for the ones that have no voice. We would travel the world's longest tunnel over and over if it meant that we could make a difference for just one of the many. This week is a week like no other.
Over a month ago, we received our license. We were beyond overjoyed. Words cannot express our relief that the long wait with the state was over. We were ready and waiting to start taking the precious babies that we have worked so hard for. After all, they were our sole motivator throughout this entire process. They were worth every frustration and delay. Nothing could stop us now. Our intake cell phone started ringing off the hook with possible placements. This was it! It was time!
Suddenly another snag. We were discouraged, stressed, and worried. Another hold up that wasn't our fault? We hustled, prayed, emailed and did all we could to clear everything up. We spent every waking hour of the last two weeks doing everything possible. Last Wednesday, we received the most amazing news. We were licensed AND we could start taking babies! The relief was unexplainable.
We are so ready for 6 little loves to come to Bithiah's. We can't wait to meet them, hold them, and love on them for the short time that they stay. This is the week. The light at the end of the tunnel.
We truly feel like Bithiah's House is a result of a community coming together. We have been completely overwhelmed with everyone's generosity. Friends and strangers have worked, donated, cleaned, prayed and walked with us every step of this journey. We have never felt so loved and supported. Not only are the babies going to be loved and cared for in amazing ways by our staff, they are loved and prayed for by hundreds of people who will never even meet them. They will be wrapped in blankets sewn for them, wearing beanies knitted for them, sleeping in nurseries with art that was painted for them, eating food from a garden that was planted for them, and experiencing care and therapy from people who truly love them.
So while our eagerness and excitement occupies our mind, we are keenly aware of the tragedy and brokenness that occurred for them to come to us in the first place. We are excited to welcome them in, yet mindful of the depth of the hurt. We will not stop fighting for the ones that have no voice. We would travel the world's longest tunnel over and over if it meant that we could make a difference for just one of the many. This week is a week like no other.
Thursday, September 22, 2016
Hurry up and Wait
"Our willingness to wait reveals the value we place on the object we're waiting for"
-Charles Stanley-
For the last year and a half, Keith and I have been in a state of rush. We rushed to launch our non profit. We moved as fast as we could to fundraise. We worked quickly to complete the program and submit to the county for approval. We rushed to find the perfect house for the sweet babies. We raced to decorate it and make it as perfect as possible. We interviewed, discussed, interviewed again, prayed, and found the most PERFECT staff. Things were moving quickly, almost seamlessly and we were getting so very excited. We submitted our facility program to the state for what would be the last and fastest (or so we were told) step.
Then we waited. And waited. Here we are on our fourth month of waiting. It seems as though we ran our fastest marathon, and on the very last mile, we have slowed to a crawl. Nothing more can be done on our part, we simply must wait. Every piece of information has been submitted, analyzed, reviewed, resubmitted, reviewed again, and documented. We have done our part. Each time we try to move things along quicker we are reminded that there is nothing left to do but wait.
The state has been so wonderful about keeping us in the loop and communicating with us, however, we can't help but to feel restless and anxious. Don't they know that there are babies needing a place to go? Don't they realize our staff is amazing and is so ready to love on and help heal the little ones? Do they understand that we have amazing therapies and services planned, ready to go? Do they even care that every month that goes by without our doors open, means countless babies being moved around while they search for a foster home? Our quiet waiting has turned to restless frustration. We trust the state when they say we have to "trust the process" and wait it out, but we can't help but let the irritation get to us every once in awhile.
So as we (not so) patiently wait, we try our best to quiet our hearts and place our focus on what we are waiting for. The waiting will make our time when they finally come that much sweeter. We know that a year from now, this waiting will seem insignificant in the whole scheme of things. We are choosing to wait with grace and be joyfully expectant at what is to come.
Tuesday, August 9, 2016
A letter to my Daughter
My sweet girl,
You celebrated your second birthday last month. And in a couple of weeks, we will celebrate two years of having you in our home. This is HUGE. This is extremely emotional. This is a post I NEVER thought I'd be able to write. You see, you were only supposed to stay in our home a short time, weeks at most. We were okay with that because that was the norm for us. Babies would come, stay awhile, we'd spoil and love on them like crazy, then they'd leave. It was the rhythm of our house. It worked well.
But you were different. Almost instantly, our entire family fell in love with your crazy rockstar hair, your deep brown eyes, and your sweet disposition. We felt this need to wrap you in our arms and protect you. We claimed you as ours, although you were weren't.
The next few months turned into a battle. A battle to keep you safe. A battle to keep you in our home. A battle to have your voice heard and to have those that would be making decisions about your future look out for your very best interests.
Those months turned into more months, then a year, then a year and half. We were weary. Tired of repeating ourselves. Tired of mourning your impending departure. Tired of getting a pit in our stomach every time the phone would ring. We were scared. We were so scared that you would leave. Scared for our sadness and the pain we would feel, but even more scared for you. We were so worried for you. The worry made a pit in our stomach that made it almost impossible to look at you without getting scared and panicky all at once.
As we approached the almost 2 year mark of your sweet little life, a true miracle happened. We saw hope. We heard a judge's voice speak up for you. We heard a room full of people in agreement. They all confirmed that you were safest and best off to stay where you were at. We were in shock. We let out a breath of air that we didn't even realize we had been holding for the past 22 months. You were going to be ours! Our second daughter and fifth child. Ours!
We went from being to scared to think of your next birthday for fear you wouldn't be with us, to dreaming about your future. We pictured what you would be like as an adult. We finally inserted ourselves into those dreams. Your future had us in it.
I'm not sure if you will ever understand how very much we love you. All of us. Your brothers and sister love you so fiercely. You are protected and cherished and safe. We will not forget the fear we had. The pit in our stomachs. The sleepless nights. The begging, pleading, and bargaining with God to keep you safe and in our home. We will not forget that moment we realized that you would be ours forever.
We love you so much sweet girl. We are forever thankful that you are in our family.
You are ours.
Love,
Mommy
You celebrated your second birthday last month. And in a couple of weeks, we will celebrate two years of having you in our home. This is HUGE. This is extremely emotional. This is a post I NEVER thought I'd be able to write. You see, you were only supposed to stay in our home a short time, weeks at most. We were okay with that because that was the norm for us. Babies would come, stay awhile, we'd spoil and love on them like crazy, then they'd leave. It was the rhythm of our house. It worked well.
But you were different. Almost instantly, our entire family fell in love with your crazy rockstar hair, your deep brown eyes, and your sweet disposition. We felt this need to wrap you in our arms and protect you. We claimed you as ours, although you were weren't.
The next few months turned into a battle. A battle to keep you safe. A battle to keep you in our home. A battle to have your voice heard and to have those that would be making decisions about your future look out for your very best interests.
Those months turned into more months, then a year, then a year and half. We were weary. Tired of repeating ourselves. Tired of mourning your impending departure. Tired of getting a pit in our stomach every time the phone would ring. We were scared. We were so scared that you would leave. Scared for our sadness and the pain we would feel, but even more scared for you. We were so worried for you. The worry made a pit in our stomach that made it almost impossible to look at you without getting scared and panicky all at once.
As we approached the almost 2 year mark of your sweet little life, a true miracle happened. We saw hope. We heard a judge's voice speak up for you. We heard a room full of people in agreement. They all confirmed that you were safest and best off to stay where you were at. We were in shock. We let out a breath of air that we didn't even realize we had been holding for the past 22 months. You were going to be ours! Our second daughter and fifth child. Ours!
We went from being to scared to think of your next birthday for fear you wouldn't be with us, to dreaming about your future. We pictured what you would be like as an adult. We finally inserted ourselves into those dreams. Your future had us in it.
I'm not sure if you will ever understand how very much we love you. All of us. Your brothers and sister love you so fiercely. You are protected and cherished and safe. We will not forget the fear we had. The pit in our stomachs. The sleepless nights. The begging, pleading, and bargaining with God to keep you safe and in our home. We will not forget that moment we realized that you would be ours forever.
We love you so much sweet girl. We are forever thankful that you are in our family.
You are ours.
Love,
Mommy
Monday, June 6, 2016
I guess 8 months is enough time for an update...
To say blogging has been a struggle lately would be a gross understatement. It's not that there hasn't been anything to blog about, because there certainly is- it's that life is happening so quickly, and time seems to be slipping away.
Let's do a quick recap of the last 8 months....
1. We found a house for the facility! It's a darling 4 bedroom house in the heart of Walnut. Nestled in a golf course community, this house is perfect for a treatment center. We have two cribs set up in each room and it is the perfect space for babies.
2. Our House Mom/Facility Manager moved in! She truly is the perfect person to run this facility. Not only is she amazing with children, she has such a leader's heart. She is training and running our staff with ease and has so many wonderful ideas.
3. We hired our caregiving staff! These 12 are truly the cream of the crop! Not only are they educated and intelligent, they have a heart and passion to help others. Watching them interact and share their stories is so incredible to see.
4. We have submitted everything to the state and county! It truly is just a waiting game until we open. Unfortunately, we can only move as fast as our Licensing Analyst moves. While we wait, we are finishing up training our staff and prepping and organizing the house for the final walk through.
We are so thankful to everyone who has come alongside of us on this journey. There have been so many who have come to the house to help at workdays, bought us items for the babies, given financially, and supported us through prayer. We feel overwhelmed and blessed by everyone's outpouring of love. People truly have been the hands and feet of Jesus.
So as we (not so) patiently wait to open, we pray for the babies. We pray for their little hearts and bodies. We pray that we would be well equipped to help heal and care for these precious ones. We pray that though their time at Bithiah's will be short, we would be able to have a lasting impact on their lives. Our love for them already runs so deep and we cannot wait to hold them and love on them.
Let's do a quick recap of the last 8 months....
1. We found a house for the facility! It's a darling 4 bedroom house in the heart of Walnut. Nestled in a golf course community, this house is perfect for a treatment center. We have two cribs set up in each room and it is the perfect space for babies.
2. Our House Mom/Facility Manager moved in! She truly is the perfect person to run this facility. Not only is she amazing with children, she has such a leader's heart. She is training and running our staff with ease and has so many wonderful ideas.
3. We hired our caregiving staff! These 12 are truly the cream of the crop! Not only are they educated and intelligent, they have a heart and passion to help others. Watching them interact and share their stories is so incredible to see.
4. We have submitted everything to the state and county! It truly is just a waiting game until we open. Unfortunately, we can only move as fast as our Licensing Analyst moves. While we wait, we are finishing up training our staff and prepping and organizing the house for the final walk through.
We are so thankful to everyone who has come alongside of us on this journey. There have been so many who have come to the house to help at workdays, bought us items for the babies, given financially, and supported us through prayer. We feel overwhelmed and blessed by everyone's outpouring of love. People truly have been the hands and feet of Jesus.
So as we (not so) patiently wait to open, we pray for the babies. We pray for their little hearts and bodies. We pray that we would be well equipped to help heal and care for these precious ones. We pray that though their time at Bithiah's will be short, we would be able to have a lasting impact on their lives. Our love for them already runs so deep and we cannot wait to hold them and love on them.
Sunday, October 11, 2015
A Word from the Bios
Our biological children are 6 and 8. They were 2 and 4 when we got our first placement (who we would later go on to adopt). I would be lying if I said I was never worried about how our decision to do foster care or adopt would affect them. While we were in the process of getting licensed, I would have these panicked moments where I would envision them in therapy someday lamenting about how their parents took in children and it destroyed their life. I could picture them saying that they never bonded with the adopted or foster children, and how they wished they were never part of our family.
And boy how I was wrong. There is a brotherly/sisterly bond like no other. They defend one another, love on one another, and pick on each other as if they were all from the same womb. They have loved and lost, and have come out standing. They have joined us in prayer for our foster babies, pleading with the Lord to keep them safe or asking for favor from the various judges. They have raised their hands at their brother's and sister's adoption hearing and taken an oath to love their new sibling as a forever member of the family.
It hasn't always been roses. There has been jealousy, fighting, and harsh words spoken. In the beginning, there were moments from my oldest where he has shared his frustration about how difficult it was to love a foster sibling when there didn't seem to be any love given in return.
I thought I would interview each of my biological children to see what they really thought of our foster care and adoption experience.
Me- "Do you boys know what it means to be a foster parent?"
Jack-"It means that we take care of babies that have parents that can't take care of them"
Ty-"It means that we get babies and sometimes we get to adopt them"
Me- "What is your favorite part about adopting some of your siblings?"
Jack-"That they will never leave our house"
Ty-"When they give us a teddy bear at the adoption"
Me-"What is the hardest part about foster care?"
Jack-"Sometimes the babies cry a lot"
Ty- "When the babies leave"
Me- "What do you wish you could change about our family and how we take in babies?"
Jack;" I wish that some of the babies wouldn't have to leave and I wish we would adopt a couple more"
Ty- "I wish you would let us get 1,000 more babies but you always say no"
Me-" What are you most excited for about us opening the shelter?"
Jack-"We could work there and help the house"
Ty- "I could put all the babies in their jammies and lay with them on the floor"
So while the years of adoption and foster care haven't always been flawless, I'd say we didn't damage our kids in the way we had feared. I'm sure they will be in therapy someday for something else from their childhood, but I don't think it will be from us adopting and stepping in to fill the gap with foster care.
And boy how I was wrong. There is a brotherly/sisterly bond like no other. They defend one another, love on one another, and pick on each other as if they were all from the same womb. They have loved and lost, and have come out standing. They have joined us in prayer for our foster babies, pleading with the Lord to keep them safe or asking for favor from the various judges. They have raised their hands at their brother's and sister's adoption hearing and taken an oath to love their new sibling as a forever member of the family.
It hasn't always been roses. There has been jealousy, fighting, and harsh words spoken. In the beginning, there were moments from my oldest where he has shared his frustration about how difficult it was to love a foster sibling when there didn't seem to be any love given in return.
I thought I would interview each of my biological children to see what they really thought of our foster care and adoption experience.
Me- "Do you boys know what it means to be a foster parent?"
Jack-"It means that we take care of babies that have parents that can't take care of them"
Ty-"It means that we get babies and sometimes we get to adopt them"
Me- "What is your favorite part about adopting some of your siblings?"
Jack-"That they will never leave our house"
Ty-"When they give us a teddy bear at the adoption"
Me-"What is the hardest part about foster care?"
Jack-"Sometimes the babies cry a lot"
Ty- "When the babies leave"
Me- "What do you wish you could change about our family and how we take in babies?"
Jack;" I wish that some of the babies wouldn't have to leave and I wish we would adopt a couple more"
Ty- "I wish you would let us get 1,000 more babies but you always say no"
Me-" What are you most excited for about us opening the shelter?"
Jack-"We could work there and help the house"
Ty- "I could put all the babies in their jammies and lay with them on the floor"
So while the years of adoption and foster care haven't always been flawless, I'd say we didn't damage our kids in the way we had feared. I'm sure they will be in therapy someday for something else from their childhood, but I don't think it will be from us adopting and stepping in to fill the gap with foster care.
Tuesday, August 25, 2015
An open letter to the Donut Store Lady
Dear Donut Store Lady,
I love your donuts. They are as close to perfect as can be. Your fast service, crushed ice, and vintage video game machines are the reason we come back week after week. It's because of you that we have deemed Friday, "Friday Funday" in our house. We drive to your store, get our donuts, spend three quarters on games and head off to school. You even know our order! We don't have to even tell you anymore! You just start naming off our donuts! You were the first to notice when I had quit Diet Coke. Although I miss your crunched ice in my extra large Diet Coke, your Iced Tea has suited me just fine.
I'm almost hesitant to share with you about our experience. I'm hoping it was innocent and you never meant to make any of us uncomfortable. I'm hoping that you just had curious questions about our family and never meant to bring up any pain.
When you asked me which of my children were real, I wasn't caught off guard. In fact, I get it quite often. People frequently have questions about the makeup of our family but aren't sure how to phrase it. When I clarified to you that you might be asking which one of children are biological, you didn't hesitate to reiterate that you wanted to know which of my children were MINE. After I explained to you that all of my children are mine, but some of them are biological and some of them are adopted, you began to point at each of my children and tried to guess on your own which were which. This is when I shut down.
You see, adoption is beautiful. In fact we celebrate it in our family. It is no secret to my children that some of them are adopted. We even have the most amazing relationship with our son's biological family. However, with adoption comes pain. Especially how the adoption of my children came about. It was through heartache, abuse and neglect, that I met some of my children. And while innocent questions that have no underlying meaning can seem harmless, they can actually be quite painful for my children. It is their story. They can choose when they want to share it and how much they want to share. They might be smiling on the outside as you pry and prod, but inside it might be a trigger to something painful for them. Especially for my son. He is at the age where he just wants to belong and fit in. He's not as quick to shout, "I grew in my mommy's heart, not her tummy!" like he would when we was four.
While I appreciate that you had the courage to ask about our family dynamic instead of making assumptions, I only ask that you would consider the little ones that stand before you as you ask your questions.
For the record, we still love your donut store. We will continue to frequent it every Friday (and sometimes more). We just hope that your curiosity would be shared in a way that was a little more sensitive to my five little donut lovers (and their mom).
Sincerely,
Michelle
I love your donuts. They are as close to perfect as can be. Your fast service, crushed ice, and vintage video game machines are the reason we come back week after week. It's because of you that we have deemed Friday, "Friday Funday" in our house. We drive to your store, get our donuts, spend three quarters on games and head off to school. You even know our order! We don't have to even tell you anymore! You just start naming off our donuts! You were the first to notice when I had quit Diet Coke. Although I miss your crunched ice in my extra large Diet Coke, your Iced Tea has suited me just fine.
I'm almost hesitant to share with you about our experience. I'm hoping it was innocent and you never meant to make any of us uncomfortable. I'm hoping that you just had curious questions about our family and never meant to bring up any pain.
When you asked me which of my children were real, I wasn't caught off guard. In fact, I get it quite often. People frequently have questions about the makeup of our family but aren't sure how to phrase it. When I clarified to you that you might be asking which one of children are biological, you didn't hesitate to reiterate that you wanted to know which of my children were MINE. After I explained to you that all of my children are mine, but some of them are biological and some of them are adopted, you began to point at each of my children and tried to guess on your own which were which. This is when I shut down.
You see, adoption is beautiful. In fact we celebrate it in our family. It is no secret to my children that some of them are adopted. We even have the most amazing relationship with our son's biological family. However, with adoption comes pain. Especially how the adoption of my children came about. It was through heartache, abuse and neglect, that I met some of my children. And while innocent questions that have no underlying meaning can seem harmless, they can actually be quite painful for my children. It is their story. They can choose when they want to share it and how much they want to share. They might be smiling on the outside as you pry and prod, but inside it might be a trigger to something painful for them. Especially for my son. He is at the age where he just wants to belong and fit in. He's not as quick to shout, "I grew in my mommy's heart, not her tummy!" like he would when we was four.
While I appreciate that you had the courage to ask about our family dynamic instead of making assumptions, I only ask that you would consider the little ones that stand before you as you ask your questions.
For the record, we still love your donut store. We will continue to frequent it every Friday (and sometimes more). We just hope that your curiosity would be shared in a way that was a little more sensitive to my five little donut lovers (and their mom).
Sincerely,
Michelle
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