they're not lucky

"She's so lucky to be with you!"

"She's blessed to be in your family."

"That's one lucky baby."

Every one of those phrases, and many more like them, were said to James and myself when we welcomed Baby Girl into our home. People have great intentions. What I think they mean when they say these things, if I can be so bold as to decode their words to reflect what I'm assuming are their thoughts, is something more like:

"You have a great family, and I'm sure she'll be safe & well-loved with you all."

But every time someone says one of these well-wishing, congratulatory phrases my heart cringes because of the words.

Children in foster care are far from "lucky." 

Are they lucky that their moms and dads couldn't or wouldn't care for them properly? Are they lucky to come from generational cycles of abuse or slavery to addictions? Are they lucky that they have been ripped away from their loved ones [however many bad choices their parents make, they are still their parents, and children love their parents]? Are they lucky to have had their worlds turned upside down by a government agency that they don't understand? Are they lucky to be dropped off at a stranger's house, by a different stranger, where they are told they will live now for an indeterminate amount of time?

No.
They're not.

Foster children really don't feel lucky, or blessed, or even better off to be shuffled into even the best of foster homes.

They feel small.
Without control or voice.
Confused.
Out of place.
Like they're forced to live with strangers.... because they ARE.

We know that these situations are safer, healthier places-- but they don't. Being fed a vegetable for the first time in their lives might be horrific and awful for them. Sleeping in a bed ALONE [which is a CPS requirement] might feel lonely and terrifying for children who normally sleep in a bed with their parents. Your dog might scare the dickens out of a child who grew up in a home without one.

It's foreign. It's traumatic. It's uncomfortable. It's not their choice.


It wasn't too frustrating to hear this first time through though, because this baby doesn't know any better. I wasn't angry or upset that people said it, because I didn't have to be.... this time. Baby Girl came to our home straight from a hospital, in one of the heavy, striped, ubiquitous swaddling blankets we all know so well, with little plastic bracelets still on her ankles. She never really knew much besides us, and she was too young to register the words being said around her.

I praise God that she was spared from the experiences that her biological siblings endured before they were removed and her family was offered help. Coming to our home probably wasn't much different than what all babies experience when they leave the hospital and head home for the first time. She was sleepy, strapped in a car seat, likely told goodbye by her young Mama who bent her sore-from-having-a-baby body over her to give her one last kiss, then she later awoke in our home to the sounds of paperwork shuffling and the blurry figure of a bearded white guy changing her diaper on our kitchen table at 2:30am.

So really, the words weren't wounding for us or for her. But they did make me want to rant a little cringe.

If you greet or try to encourage a foster or adoptive family in the future, especially if the child is present, please choose different words. Don't say they're "lucky" or "blessed." They're not.

Children whose parents love and care for them by making healthy, responsible, and safe choices are lucky and blessed. 

Foster children are smack dab in the middle of a world of brokenness and hurt. Instead, ask the foster parents how you can help. Welcome the child with a smile, learn his or her name, pray for that child, and think about how this strange new life must feel to them.

For now, we're the lucky ones. The blessed ones. Lucky and blessed to get to squeeze and love this juicy little baby for today.