For the Forgotten Ones

Sometimes I find myself afraid to let my own heart soften when I hear stories like this. Worried that if I meet the desperate eyes of a homeless person, he'll "con" me out of money, I sheepishly smile and look away, telling myself he would just spend my money on alcohol. 

I am not rich by any means; graduate school has cleanly eliminated any such risk. But this summer has molded and enlarged my heart in a way that happens only rarely, and it makes me want to give as much as I can. I spent the summer working for the Congressional Coalition on Adoption Institute (CCAI). As expected, the internship involved informing Congress about the latest adoption legislation, but it also involved working extensively with one of CCAI's programs--the Foster Youth Internship. CCAI takes several former foster youth from across the nation who have successfully navigated a competitive application process and provides them with paid Congressional internships, resume and career training, and the opportunity to write a policy paper to be presented at a briefing before Congress.

For these young adults, the policy paper is a challenging process. Working after hours to finish drafts, many of them choose to delve into their own painful pasts in order to furnish ideas to present before Congress on how to change the child welfare system. They tell their stories of hurt and pain in beautiful, vulnerable ways that lay bare the legislative flaws in our system.

Adoption was a commendable idea for someone else to consider. I was awed and inspired by families that undertook the foster care or adoptive process, but after I served as a team member on a trip to this wonderful foster home in Beijing, China, which helps pay for medical expenses for some of Beijing's most vulnerable and medically-needy children, adoption became an actual consideration. Still, I had never looked to our own child welfare system. I knew babies from the United States were in high demand by adoptive parents, and I had never considered caring for older children, though I commended those who did. 

Peter (Beijing)

Yet, working with these industrious and kind students with such painful pasts tugged on my heart in a way that few experiences can. One intern told me how her foster parents would lock the refrigerator door, and another foster home had twenty children; she said it's not like that any more, but there's still so many improvements to be made. One explained how she knew many people who said, "Oh, how could no one adopt you? I'd adopt you in a minute!"

No one did.

Others told me how some of their siblings were adopted, and they were suddenly and wholly cut off from these relationships. Their siblings moved to another county or state, had their name changed, and had their birth family identity cut off. Still others mentioned how their adoptive parents, not expecting the emotional trauma these children had in their pasts, could not handle the pain and, as a result, went through what is called "adoption dissolution." In other words, they were sent back. Each of these young adults wanted someone consistent to care, to love unconditionally as a parent, and to treat them as a son or daughter. Yet many still have no family to call their own.

Most tragic for me to realize was how many foster children "age out" of the system. Sure, they're 18, or 21 in some states, and thus considered fully capable to care for themselves with some economic assistance from the state. But aging out means they are no longer up for adoption. These teenagers, suddenly pushed out of the foster care system, have no family and only a slight chance of ever being civilly adopted.

Once a child turns nine, his or her chance of finding a "forever family" decreases significantly. Age nine: can you imagine? That's the age of running after the ice cream man. It's the time when a child should be on the swim team, learning how to roller blade, and acting in the school play. Children should be painting, selling lemonade, and jumping on the trampoline, not desperately wishing they had a family. That's the age of my youngest brother, whose biggest goal is to make 125 free throws by the end of the summer.

the lil' bro

My heart aches for these young adults who have nobody to return to. They have done well and they have conquered the statistics that so consistently dictate against their success, but I long for each of them to have a family, even yet.

Suddenly, the homeless man I see on my walk to the subway each day becomes someone I can smile at. Since I see him every day, it has become a ritual. I wait to catch his eyes if he isn't sleeping on his suitcase, and I give him a little grin, and he smiles back. He has demonstrated so clearly that it is not money or even food he craves, though I learned to carry extra water bottles and energy bars to share if I have the chance. It is connection, relationship, and love.

You probably are not rich either, but let your heart soften. There is such significant hurt and need, and something so affordable as a smile can truly make a difference. At first it will seem strange. It can be a bit awkward to purposely catch a stranger's eye and smile. But it is worth it. For the overlooked and the hurting, it means more than you can know. Hear me, though. The overlooked and the hurting are not just the woman holding a cardboard sign. Your co-worker and your next-door neighbor might be struggling or suffering too. People will give you signs: don't miss your chance and make your ten-o'-clock meeting at the expense of someone's spirit.

Please consider adopting, mentoring, or serving as a CASA (court-appointed special advocate). You do not have to possess special skills; kindness and determination is enough. Let these people change your own heart as you change their lives.

And of course, if you're in the D.C. area, come to the Foster Youth Internship briefing on Tuesday! I'd be happy to tell any of you specifics if you'd like. Feel free to comment about ways you've found to share joy and life with others.