No one asked me, “Want to be this kids parent?” 

No one asked, “Hey do you want to make a life long commitment? Right now?” 

  No one said that. 

  They did ask, “Can you give this child somewhere safe to go?” 

  That answer. That answer was easy. 

  Yes. 

All the questions to come, not easy.

  No one has stopped to ask me, “Is it hard having your family tell everyone that they hope you get to adopt him?”

  No one has said, “We support you, even if you don’t want to make this lifetime commitment. That’s a big thing you should be one hundred and ten percent on.” 

They never say and ask things like that.

Instead I get, “Well why wouldn’t you want to adopt him? God he’s so perfect. You’ll never get another one like him. Better think of how you’ll want to school him. Better plan for this future thing. That future thing. Isn’t he just the cutest? God the system is so messed up. They should just give him to you guys. He’s going to be so messed up if they take him away from you. You’re the best thing he’s ever know.” 

  Shut up.

  For the love of God and all that is Holy please. Shut up. 

I can’t seem to find one person who understands my weird situation. But that’s basically been my whole life. No one has ever really been quite like me.

  I wasn’t ready to be a mom. I’m still not ready to be a mom. For as long as I can remember I had one driving thought, my child will not be like me. My child will be wanted. Completely. Without doubt. 

I have always believed, wholeheartedly, that I would know my children when I saw them. I would see them and my soul would recognize their soul. Like with him. My beloved. I saw him and my soul knew. Even when my mind rejected and the world tried to tell me no. The one thing I was always sure of, it was him. Even when I doubt myself, I remember that my soul knew. 

This little guy is so sweet. He is kind, he is so good, he is adorable. He is all of the wonderful things people say about him. My not wanting to adopt him, right now, has nothing to do with his worth or who he is. So I keep trekking on. 

I am his foster mom. 

This is my role. 

Today. In this moment. 

His future is just as uncertain as mine. 

We are both here existing in this place, just trying to stay afloat. I can’t even begin to imagine the things he has seen, felt, and experienced. He is the child my heart used to, and still, breaks for. The kid that hides in the closet. 

  That is what makes this so hard. Shouldn’t I want to fight for him? Shouldn’t I be willing to fight to the death for him? Or maybe, I know that he is not mine. I could try to manipulate this situation. I could cave under the pressure of my mother and her wants. Or I could trust God. I could listen for his voice above the rest. After all, he never promised that our hearts would not break. He never said that there would not be pain. He never said we would not break.

He did, promise to be there. 

He will be there when my heart breaks. When I question everything. When I feel crushed under the pressure to be something, to measure up. He will be there when I have to face the hollow feeling. He will be there when I don’t know which way is the right one. 

In my bible study today she spoke of a verse in Isaiah.

  “No matter which way I turn my head, I hear your voice guiding me.” 

How beautiful to hear that whisper on the wind, no matter which way we turn. No matter how uncertain we feel, looking back and forth. 

I am learning to listen for the voice. I suck. One hundred percent. My hand still keeps reaching for the volume button. Turn the noise up. Block it out. Block it all out. Unfortunately that has meant blocking him out. It’s time to turn down the noise. It’s time to sit and be with him. In the silence. Dreaded silence. So much lies within the silence. But he is there. There, slowly reaching out. I can feel his warmth, he’s been waiting so patiently.