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Adventure Asks No Permission

Posted by Priscilla on September 8, 2014

Nine months ago, I posted my last blog. And then silence. For nine months.  That is no way to gain readers, I know. And really, what happened to me? Lest you think I suddenly died, let me reassure you that I am very much alive. I still read. I still write (on occasion).  But three days after I wrote the December 9, 2013 blog post, my normal life exploded and I, along with my family, was thrust into an adventure of a lifetime.

On December 12, we received a call from a foster care agency asking if we would take two boys, ages eight and ten.  We had signed up for emergency foster care and had been told we would be given a baby.  Eight and ten?  With baggage?  All right, we said, and then waited with trepidation for their arrival.  They came that night.  The next day was the most exhausting I had had in a very long time, for the boys stayed home from school.  What did they do?  They followed me wherever I went in the house, sticking as close as they could. I fell into bed at 9:00, hoping to get enough sleep to recharge so I could get through one more day, then another, and another.

The bed shook.  “Pris?” From somewhere deep under I heard my husband’s voice.  I sat up. “The agency just called. The boys have a younger brother and sister who are being kicked out of their foster home. They want to know if we will take them for the weekend.”


So. On December 13, little 1 year old and 3 year old arrived at 10:30 pm with only the clothes on their backs: pajamas and boots for one, a too-tight sweater and pants for the other. They stayed longer than the weekend, of course, for we were their fourth foster home in a year and a half and they desperately needed to know they were safe. Their forever family knew by the second day that they wanted the little ones, so four months later, our little boy and little girl moved for the last time, having spent week after week learning to love their new mommy, trust their new daddy, play well with new brother and sister, and reach out for new aunts, uncles, and grandparents.

Our eight and ten year old boys became nine and eleven. Court dates came and went. One summer day, they became available for adoption, and so, since this adventure has become the new normal, we decided to adopt them. Do we have trepidation? Of course. But because we have chosen to walk this adventure, we face the unknown willingly.  And we face it with the promises (see letter below) we speak to our boys as often as possible.

An Open Letter to My Boys

I did not ask for you. I never expected you, for Miss Jen told me they’d give us a baby.

Whatever,” I said, never realizing that God might take that throwaway word, tossed off with a shrug, to mean so much more than a desire to end the conversation.  He took it as permission to send me you.

So one cold night in mid-December, your social worker drove up with two scared boys. I remember you, Beloved, sliding out of the car with a black trash bag holding all your clothes. You stood looking at me, wondering what to do, but I didn’t even have to think. I hugged you and called you by name.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw you, Fearless Protector, round the back of the car and stumble. Your trash bag was too big. You got a hug and a name, too. Little did you know that night that I was as scared as you. You were ten and eight. Who knew what had happened to you in the past? Who knew what you struggled with or how you would act? Or why you were in foster care? Could we give you what you needed? Demanded? Would we get hurt, too? We had no idea.

But this we knew: when the call had come, we had said, “Yes.”  Every day since then, we have said, “Yes.”  Yes to DHS, yes to the judge, yes to you.  Yes to foster care and yes to adoption.  We say, “Yes,” each day and will say, “Yes” for the rest of our lives:

Yes, you are good.

Yes, you are loved.

Yes, you are gifted.

Yes, you belong.

Yes, You are safe.

Yes, you can.

God put an eternal yes over your life on the day you were born. Can we do any less?




Posted by Janet Erickson on
What a surprise to see The Writer's Manor in my email list! Let's see... who is this...? Oh, Priscilla!! Where has she been?? Ahhhh. Wow. Thank God for you and your family being "the place" where four children could find safety. So glad to hear from you and about you.
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