Almost four months ago now, we received our first foster child. That night, we were awakened by a phone call around midnight and were asked if we’d be willing to accept her into our family for a time.
After some quick prayer and even quicker conversation, we agreed to do it. Less than an hour later, this tired little girl was escorted to our house by 3 people from Child Protective Services.
This past week, we got the news our time with this little girl will be coming to a close come December. They have found a new home for her and her siblings to be adopted together.
All this talk of her leaving, though, has made me do some thinking about her time here with us. Crazy enough, after thinking through much, I’ve come up with one regret that I have about this whole process with her:
We should not have washed the clothes she came to us in.
The night we got her, she arrived dirty. Her clothes were too small, stained with old food, and reeked of smoke. It was a beautiful picture of what we ALL offer in and of ourselves. We bring nothing good to the table.
With our next child, I’d love to keep clothes like that, put them in a ziploc bag, and use them for a huge lesson later in life.
Now with our current foster daughter, she is leaving far too early for her to understand the significance. But for future kids that we might foster, or even adopt, I’d love to keep this in mind.
This is yet another reason why I love fostering and adopting. The gospel becomes clearer and clearer:
We have nothing good to offer God. This is all of us. Our clothes are dirty, torn, ugly, and smelly. God opens the door and invites us in. He comes to each of us, takes our nasty clothes, and offers us clean ones in their place. We come to him worthless, and we leave unworthy.
In a time when many try to work hard to be accepted by Him, it is a visual picture of His grace, mercy, and love. We bring nothing. He gives everything.
This is one lesson I hope to not easily forget.
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Wow. So glad that they found a family to welcome her and her siblings in, all together. What a great blessing for her to grow up with shared experiences with her own family – biological and adoptive. She’s been a part of all of our lives as we’ve watched you guys expand your love beyond your own kids, and pour it out on someone you’d never even met. She doesn’t know it now, or may never, but she’s better for the time she’s spent with the East family.
Thanks Darcie. I have been quite surprised at how much we feel like we have benefited from having her in our home.
Kevin, I have really appreciated watching this journey for your family from a distance. My family fostered for 6 years all through my high school and early college years. Still at least weekly I see parallels for the Gospel and testimonies of lives changed because of it…most notably my own! There’s a strange, piercing yet sweet type of grief that we felt with each child that came and went, but thankfully it seems entirely worth it. You hold a piece of her forever.
This past Christmas we even had the chance to sit down with our last foster baby’s adoptive family and watch home videos that they had never seen of her during her first 13 months of life spent with us. Priceless! Now, 6 years, a new name, new parents, new identity later, she is a thriving, beautiful 1st grader who is more precious to my family than gold! The way we have seen the Lord’s faithfulness and reliability firsthand has been astounding. I hope and expect the very same for your sweet family!
Oh, and we sent her first day, straight from the hospital, preemie clothes home, in a ziploc, with her adoptive family along with a picture of her mom – her only 2 ties to her past on the day she left our home. They are now tucked away in a box filled with pictures and notes that she can discover in the future someday. Not exactly the same, but the best we could do.
That is so great. I love hearing the stories of what has happened in other foster situations. Preemie clothes and a picture of mom. Love it.
Awesome. Love the thought. We have nothing to offer.
Yep. How often we think we do, or try to convince ourselves that we do, but we really don’t. Very humbling.