Bleeding heart
Last spring, a freckled-face boy found his way to my door. And my heart. This isn't some clever lead into how I adopted a fluffy mutt. This is a real boy that I will call D.
D spends most his days alone, wandering around the neighborhood, hanging out pretty much with who will have him. He is now in second grade, young and vulnerable, with no discernible supervision or rules. He rings the doorbell morning, noon and night.
Once he showed up here with a 3 or 4 year-old in tote and a puppy, in the pouring rain. He was locked out. I still don't know who the tiny tyke was, but the next day, I went to the school and spoke to the school counselor. Her expression betrayed the truth - my instincts were right. He is a boy living a rough life.
He is a foster child. His parents are in and out of jail. He has diabetes, yet is often hungry, missing meals. I give him cheese, hope for the best.
He came to Zack's party, and didn't want to leave. It was the first time a family member came to my door and met me. He hung his Star Wars medal on his wall. He didn't explain to his family that I gave it to him for being a faithful friend.
As I worry, sometimes I resent. I resent the constant interruption. I resent feeling powerless over his situation. I resent the way he doesn't respect my rules, the way he strikes out at my kids when I say he must go home. I resent that he won't go home, not really, but will roam about. I resent my bitter feelings. What kind of mother harbors hardness towards a kid? What kind of Christian?
His sad eyes devour me; he is so lonely. My throat hurts when I think about him.
Summer will be here soon. I pray for patience and wisdom.
Ding dong. Ding dong. Ding dong.
D spends most his days alone, wandering around the neighborhood, hanging out pretty much with who will have him. He is now in second grade, young and vulnerable, with no discernible supervision or rules. He rings the doorbell morning, noon and night.
Once he showed up here with a 3 or 4 year-old in tote and a puppy, in the pouring rain. He was locked out. I still don't know who the tiny tyke was, but the next day, I went to the school and spoke to the school counselor. Her expression betrayed the truth - my instincts were right. He is a boy living a rough life.
He is a foster child. His parents are in and out of jail. He has diabetes, yet is often hungry, missing meals. I give him cheese, hope for the best.
He came to Zack's party, and didn't want to leave. It was the first time a family member came to my door and met me. He hung his Star Wars medal on his wall. He didn't explain to his family that I gave it to him for being a faithful friend.
As I worry, sometimes I resent. I resent the constant interruption. I resent feeling powerless over his situation. I resent the way he doesn't respect my rules, the way he strikes out at my kids when I say he must go home. I resent that he won't go home, not really, but will roam about. I resent my bitter feelings. What kind of mother harbors hardness towards a kid? What kind of Christian?
His sad eyes devour me; he is so lonely. My throat hurts when I think about him.
Summer will be here soon. I pray for patience and wisdom.
Ding dong. Ding dong. Ding dong.
Comments
Hang in there, it must be a tough situation for you--but you may be the only decent adult in his life right now and that's got to make a difference with him. It makes me ache to be able to do something . . .
Have you tried explaining that if he wants to come over, certain behaviors will need to stop? If he really likes coming over he might make the connection and the hassle would be less.
I'm sure Stephanie, Mason, and Paige would love to see you guys, so you can always escape to our 'playground' (ask Zack about the playground in our back yard).
-Stu
I appreciate the offer for playground escapes. I am trying to teach him that we will invite him over and then, do it. Maybe that would be better.