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Wednesday, January 27, 2010

We received our first foster child profile over email the other day (probably the first of many). It was exciting and petrifying and thrilling and ca-razy all at the same time. It's the longest wait ever for that email attachment to open up complete with picture of Possibly-The One and details about Possibly-The-One. I can’t tell you any specifics of this case, but let’s just say it was an ideal situation…in Oregon. Which means that this ideal situation (child bulletin) was sent out nationwide (that’s how Oregon DHS works). Which means that hundreds – if not thousand(s) – of families will submit their home study for this little girl. (Well, you do know that we’re looking for a girl under two, so that kind of detail goes without saying). Which means that it’s kind of like lottery-playing-chances to get picked. Which means thank GOODNESS I don’t have my hopes up [well, of course I do, a little bit] because we’re so stinkin’ busy [which is true, but I know everything would work out if she was The One for us…but still not ready, not ready, must keep telling myself, we’re not ready. No hopes up. Too busy. We’re not ready.].

The Oregon social worker for this baby has up to a month to narrow down the field to a few families, at which point, the chosen families can get a little more detailed information about the child. And then from that small pool the family is picked. I CANNOT FATHOM being in the social worker’s position. I mean, I know they have training and Social Worker Skills (probably like nun-chuck-skills), but do they feel a little bit like God? They are deciding this little person’s future! Picking their mom and dad and possible brothers or sisters! And the future of the family, for that matter. They are looking at you on paper and deciphering (in this case among lots and lots of great choices, I’m sure) who the best fit is for this child. The pressure!

I know that this process will be an emotional roller coaster, and it takes a serious amount of faith to trust that – if we got really excited/attached to the idea of a certain child being ours and then not getting picked, that that’s how it’s meant to be; that child just wasn’t The One and not to get discouraged, but holy majoly! Sheesh! This could be a wild ride folks. Strap in.

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