A few months ago, one of our friends at Children’s Division asked if our church would be willing to spruce up the supervised visit rooms at their office. These are rooms where parents can spend time with their children who are currently in foster care while under the supervision of a case worker or parent aid. The visits are incredibly important in their reunification journey, so having a space that fosters a healthy and safe relational environment is crucial. The rooms hadn’t been redone in a while and needed some updating, so our life group jumped at the chance to help out. We spent a Saturday painting, assembling new furniture, and making them as cozy as possible.
As we worked that day, I couldn’t help but think about all the families who would find themselves in those rooms. You don’t end up having a 2 hour supervised visit with your child because your life is rainbows and butterflies. You find yourself there because the opposite is true. The stories are messy, the situations are complex, but the thing they all have in common is the brokenness that marks them. I’ve seen a lot of these stories during my time in the foster care ministry, and truthfully, they never get easier to watch. Every one of them, no matter how different, is heartbreaking. There is nothing joyful about seeing a family that was knit together by God now being torn apart by trauma, addiction, and pain.
I’m not naive enough to think that a fresh coat of paint and a comfy new chair will fix all the problems in the foster care system. I know that the issues run deep and a lot of families are trying to break generational curses that began long before they were even born. However, as we worked in the rooms that day and I saw my friends serve with hope in their minds and joy in their hearts, I couldn’t help but believe God was doing something bigger with our efforts than we ever thought possible.
Maybe it was just a rocking chair being assembled…or maybe it was the place where a new mama would hold her tiny newborn, look into her eyes, and be reminded of why she’s fighting so hard for her.
Maybe it was just a rug being laid…or maybe it was the fibers that would feel the first steps of a toddler, inspiring its parents to stand back up and keep going even when it feels like every odd is stacked against them.
Maybe it was just a couch being set in place…or maybe it was where a teenage boy would share his struggles of school and friends and sports with his dad, and the connection between them would be made even stronger.
While these rooms can hold moments of hope, we also know they hold moments of unbelievable pain – of final goodbyes, gut-wrenching regret, and darkest despair. As we worked that day, my prayer was that in these moments too, God would bring the comfort only he can – That new crayons would not simply be an art supply to be held but would be a mighty tool in a tiny hand used to express grief that words could never articulate. Or that a new children’s book would not simply be a fairy tale to be read, but would be a reminder to a parent who has lost all hope that their story is not over yet.
My prayer is that in every one of these moments – the good, the bad, and the ugly – God would remind these families that he is in the business of making all things new, that he would continually draw them nearer and nearer to him, and that he would redeem everything that has been broken.
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