God Loves Us a Million-Zillion-Trillion

Last night my little un-churched boy attended youth group at a church we do not belong to.  I say he is un-churched because he has not been enrolled in Sunday school, and we actually avoid taking him with us to church.  My husband, daughter and I usually take turns staying home with him on Sunday mornings because he is so naughty in church.  But that's another story.

I took him to this youth group because a couple of friends of mine keep telling me what a wonderful program this church has on Wednesday evenings, and I thought it would be good for him.

Ok, that's not the real reason.

I took him there because my friend has a group of ladies to her house one Wednesday a month while her kids are at youth group.  There's wine and delicious food and the special treat of socializing with other women.   I didn't have a babysitter, so I took him to this youth group rather than miss out on the fun.

But to redeem myself a bit I can also add that my son's former physical therapist, who is a wonderful person, is the leader of the group for Teddy's age.  That's why I was able to feel comfortable leaving him there for two hours.

When the evening was done I asked Teddy what he had learned at the group.  He told me that, "When we go to heaven God will be so happy to see us.  He always forgives us no matter what bad things we do, because he loves us a million-trillion-zillion."  I was so happy that the message had not only been very positive, but also that Teddy seemed to understand and believe it.

Then Teddy added, "Even if we say, 'What the F***', God forgives us.  I told the teacher that."  Such a proud parenting moment.  I'd say he's on the path to holiness.

Venturing Cautiously Into Tiger Mom Territory

There's a book titled  Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mom, which I have not read.  But I did see the author interviewed on television, and I read an newspaper article about the book, so I think I've got the gist of it.  The author is raising her children the way her parents raised her, and calls herself a Tiger Mom.

A Tiger Mom has her children study the violin or piano from a very early age.  They are expected to practice every day and excel.  A Tiger Mom expects her child to receive 100% on every paper and exam in school.  The child will often be studying in an after school academic program such as Kumon.  They aspire to Ivy League schools.

The child of a Tiger Mom might do martial arts, gymnastics or figure skating, but rarely team sports.  Excellence is expected and there is normally rigorous practice involved if the child is in a sport.

Television, video games, birthday parties, and play dates are discouraged or nonexistent in the life of a Tiger Mom's child.  Family time is important, as well as structure and routine.  Most of all time is spent on study and practice.  There is little time to be wasted for a child who is expected to achieve highly in several disciplines.

The author, Amy Chua is a professor of law at Yale and her oldest child was studying at Julliard at the time of the book's release.   I'm sure that I have not done the book justice in my description.  I really should have read it for myself before writing about it, but it came to mind last night as I was making our summer plans.

I have signed Teddy up for Karate, Suzuki Violin and Kumon tutoring.  I immediately thought of the Tiger Mom.   It made me laugh.  I'm really quite far from that style of parenting, but apparently I'm at the point where I've decided that Teddy needs more structure and discipline, both of which he resists.

Whereas last summer I was thrilled that he had so much unstructured time, this summer I am focused on his growth and accomplishment.  I have a long way to go before I achieve Tiger Mom status, and I'm pretty sure that's not my goal, but if my instincts are right about this boy of mine he's ready for some higher expectations.

I may throw in the towel by July and let him dig for worms all day, but I'm hoping that a couple of hours of focused effort everyday will benefit him.  After all, someone has to fill those spots at Harvard in 2024.

You May Call Me A Christian

Too often lately Christians are associated with messages of hate.  One poll of Americans in their twenties, reported that the first thing those polled thought of when hearing the word "Christian" was anti- something.  Anti-gay, anti-women, anti-abortion, anti-birth control, anti-Muslim... The second word which reportedly came to the minds of those who were polled was judgment, and the third was hypocrisy.

Some "Christians" have gotten to the point of shedding the name.  They may say that they are followers of Christ but not the church, or that they believe in spirituality but not religion.  Some say that the younger generation is lost to the church.  They won't buy into it, and will seek other spiritual paths, or none at all.

Many stay, half-heartedly.  They feel uneasy with what church leaders say and do.  Yet they find grace within the church as well.  There is community, there is meaningful worship, there is doctrine in which they believe.  And yet there is also a rigid lack of acceptance of different of opinions.

One young couple left their church and never went back after a pastor gave a sermon based strictly on politics.  Another family left their church when the front yard was used for a mass of lawn signs promoting a political point of view.  Others have left the church because their gay friends or relatives are not welcomed and loved there.  Gay people themselves have left the churches they grew up in, finding they were no longer accepted.

Women in the younger generations are disillusioned with their lack of opportunity for leadership roles in the church.  Some of women most filled with a love of church and a passion for ministry, ultimately leave when they realize that their gift is not welcomed.

Telling someone that I am a Christian, conjures up feelings of shame.  I feel shame for all those who are homophobic, misogynistic and otherwise hateful, but claim the name of Christian.  But that's not all that it conjures up for me.  The word Christian also brings to mind those I know who do so much good in the world.  Those who minister to prisoners and patients, the hungry, homeless and dying, all in the name of their faith.  Those pastors who give every drop of themselves for their congregations, those martyrs who have lay down their lives in service of others.

I think of those Christians who work tirelessly on issues of peace and justice, sometimes against the wishes of those in their own church.  I think of the Saints, living and dead who are examples to me of real love.

But mostly I keep in mind Christ.  I call myself a Christian because I am a follower of the teachings of Christ.  I am not a follower of other Christians, nor am I called to be.  I live in fellowship with other Christians, draw strength from them and accept their support and encouragement.  I try to be a support in return.  I try to emulate virtues I see, I become inspired by good work which they do.  I learn from other Christians, but I do not follow them.

That is why you may call me a Christian.

Back to Dandelion Wishes.

I'm back to writing on this blog.  The transition to another blog site hasn't gone as smoothly as I had hoped.  Someday maybe I'll hire a professional to do it for me, transferring all my previous posts and followers.

For now, in order to preserve my posts in one place, I'll have to live with the name Dandelion Wishes, which I had hoped to be rid of.  It's not a bad name, but it's not unique to my blog. 

Anyway, all posts will be here now.  Thank you for sticking with  me.

On Being a Foster Parent, by Anonymous

I was going to try to write a persuasive post tonight, about why a person should consider doing foster care.  Then I looked at my comments on yesterday's post.  This comment is a post in itself.

Anonymous wrote:
I enjoyed your post. I have been fostering for over 15 years and we have cared for over 200 children. Of course we have learned many important things over the years but that very first placement is so fresh in our minds. 2 little boys, one with asthma and he did have a nebulizer. Something I have never dealt with. The social worker did not know how to use it so I was on my own to figure it out. Thank goodness for my mom who came right over to teach me. I also could not believe that they would just drop off these little boys and we heard nothing from them. How do people just drop off kids and not call and check on them? This was so new to us, parents that would just disappear and never come back. Social workers who would bring us a 2 year old who could not even sit up by himself and say he was a perfectly normal little boy with no issues. Babies being left home alone at night! Babies being born with drugs in their system and screaming for days on end because their little bodies are going through withdrawl! Toddlers with injuries that are so appalling that you can't even mention it to someone else because it is hard enough for you to sleep at night knowing this little one suffered so badly by the hands that were suppose to protect him or her. This is why we do this. This is why foster parents are needed, to care for the children who are suppose to be cared for by their parent but for some reason something went wrong...

What I Wish I Had Known Before Becoming a Foster Parent (re-post)

Re-posted for Foster Parent Appreciation Month.

I assisted at a training for potential foster parents recently.  Near the end of the two hour session, one of the participants raised his hand and directed a question to me.  He said that he felt that the trainers, all caseworkers except me, were glossing over the real challenges of foster care.  He wanted me to tell him what I wish I had known before becoming a foster parent.

My answer to him was incomplete.  I had no time to really ponder all I've been through and learned.  Since then I've contemplated the question and what I would share with potential foster parents in the future.  But only by going through it could someone understand that in spite of all the unexpected difficulties, the rewards are far greater than the cost.

The main thing that I was unprepared for was how alone my husband and I would feel when we received those first few placements.  A traumatized, perhaps sick or nonverbal child is dropped off at the door.  A protective services worker knows absolutely nothing about the child, and not a whole lot about the parents.  The worker hands the child over and makes a quick exit, before you can ask more questions that he can't answer.

What kind of formula does this baby take?  Does the child have drug or food allergies?  Has the child's cough been checked out?  Who is the child's pediatrician?  How long will the child be here?  What is this toddler's sleeping routine?  Is he still in a crib?  Does she wet the bed?  Does he have developmental delays?  A chronic illness?

I had one little girl who was dropped off to me and I was told she was a "normal, healthy" five year old.  This child was severely cognitively impaired and almost deaf.  She functioned like a two year old I realized over the next few hours.  There was another small girl with a history of running away.  I seemed to be the last to know when the police brought her back and told me this was the third time that they knew of.   Another little girl had a severe asthma attack.  It would have been good for me to know she had asthma and have her medication on hand.

Almost worse than not knowing anything about the child is that it seems no one is concerned about this fact.  After the first child was dropped off at my house I somehow expected that there would be a caseworker calling or visiting to check on how things were going and give me background information on the child.  No one called for four days.  In later cases there were up to two weeks before a first phone call to see how the child was doing and to fill me in on the case plan. 

Not only do I not know anything about the child many times.  I also know nothing about the goal for the case.  I don't know if the child may be leaving in three days to go to a relative, staying for a year to be reunited with the parents, or eventually available for adoption.   I don't know if I should run out and buy clothes and enroll the child in school or keep his bag packed by the front door.  Things happen suddenly and unexpectedly, or nothing seems to happen for a very long time.

Finally, I didn't know how to get my urgent questions answered.  Caseworkers rarely answer the phone, and many are not good about returning calls.  It took a while before I learned who is a good ally in the agency, who would go above and beyond to get me answers, and the fact that I could call a supervisor if the case worker didn't return my calls.  Over time I have formed good working relationships with many caseworkers.  Some have given me personal cell phone numbers and told me to call them at home.  But in the beginning it felt like no one in the agency was easily accessible, even when I had an emergency. 

Overall, more than feeling overwhelmed, I would say that feeling alone was the biggest surprise to me when I began fostering.  I had expected to be part of a team, assisting and supporting the caseworker.  Instead I felt like I was 100% responsible and trying to get a little bit of support from the agency.  I thought that the caseworker would tell me about the child.  Instead, I tell the caseworkers about the child.  I now realize that the child is in my home, and in my thoughts 24 hours a day.  For the caseworker the child is one of thirty or more cases, often with multiple children in a case.  If the caseworker has 60 foster children on her caseload, and works 20 days in a month, each child is relegated to about two and a half hours worth of work per month.  Almost all of that is spent on paperwork, in meetings and in court.  Very little time is spent with the child or on the phone with the foster parent. 

The positive side of all of this is that I have a great deal of autonomy and much more privacy than I had anticipated.  I can make many more decisions on behalf of the child than I had expected.  I can choose the doctor, the school, the therapist, the extracurricular activities, the religious practices, the rules and expectations for the child, without consultation with a caseworker.  I can truly treat the children as my own, for as long as they are with me.  From that comes the greatest reward.

Beginning the Job Hunt

I've been home from Guatemala for a month, and it's taken me almost that long to get fully back to the business of living here, where I am, where I belong.  I've finally stopped thinking about the children in Guatemala constantly, and I've finally stopped scheming about how to get back there soon.  I've finally stopped obsessing over fundraising ideas and get-rich-quick-to-give-it-all-away schemes.  I've finally come to grips with the fact that there's not a lot that I can do for those in Guatemala right now.

This means that I'm finally able to get on with doing what needs to be done in my life.  Mainly, I have to work toward getting a job by the fall.  I've been unemployed for much of the last two years.  It's been really good to have this time with Teddy and I hope that I can be home with him this summer, but in the fall I need a job.

I'm hoping to work in the social services field, possibly in foster care, adoption or children's protective services.  Foster care is never far from my thoughts, and although it's not best for my family that we take in more foster children at this point, it is where I'd love to be of service.

I partially dread the thought of having a full time job.  I love the flexibility I have right now, the ability to be involved in Teddy's activities at school,  the time for homemaking projects and writing.  It will be an adjustment to lose all this "freetime."  But I know that the structure will be good for me in some ways.  I tend to drift and procrastinate without firm deadlines and time restrictions.  Lots of open time overwhelms me, and I lose focus. 

It's a hard time to look for a job, particularly where I live.  It's going to take some effort, some patience and some prayer to find one close to home.  I'm going to have to reign in my tendency to get distracted from the task at hand by things I'd rather do.  Having a target of Labor Day to find  job will give me plenty of time but keep me from putting it off, I hope.