They Weren’t Prepared

I’ve been in a church since I was very small. In my household growing up, we were in church 3-4 times a week.  Choosing which church I would attend during my college years was a priority. Being a part of a church was just completely the norm. 

The last few years, that part of my life has been flipped upside down. Of course there was the global pandemic that played some part, but it was just one bump on the journey we’ve been on ….that I have been on for the past five years. 

I will outright say that this post is not a deconstruction post. While I do feel I have deconstructed some of my prior viewpoints, my faith has never been deconstructed. The foundation of my faith has remained the same and this journey has probably deepened my relationship with Jesus. 

When we decided to foster, I had no idea what I was getting myself into. Growing up, we had people in our circles that both fostered and adopted. What we saw on the outside and what was talked about was the expectation I entered our own journey of foster care with. That fostering and adopting was hard but I had no idea what that really meant. The first time (that I remember) hearing about trauma was when we were taking our classes to be foster parents. Even then, I thought it genuinely could not be as bad as our instructors were talking about. 

Over three and a half years, and eight placements later, I finally understood that trauma really was as damaging and intense as we learned about, maybe even more so. I was not sure where to turn in the beginning. But, my instinct was to turn to the church. To find solace and peace in the church. To find comfort and hope. So we ran to those in our circles looking for those things. 

This was problematic. 

Why? 

Because the church wasn’t ready to hear it. 

(I want to take a quick pause here to say that I’m not blaming or shaming the Churches that we have been a part of. I’m not casting judgment on this or wanting to alienate any group of people. In most circumstances, it was not due to lack of wanting to support us. It was not due to lack of care or anything personal. I’m not speaking about or too one particular church, I’m referring to the greater “big C” Church)

The church wasn’t ready to hear about hard things because it’s uncomfortable. We learned pretty quickly, the (big C) Church was not ready. 

They weren’t ready to hear about the stealing.

Or the smearing.

Or the physical aggression. 

Or the night terrors. 

Or the food insecurity. 

Or the effects of drugs on small kids. 

Or the screaming that lasted for hours. 

Or the broken system. 

Or the injustices our kids faced. 

Or the attachment struggles. 

Or the uncertainty. 

Or the lack of sleep. 

Or the anxiety attacks. 

Or the loneliness. 

They weren’t ready. We heard things that were said with great intentions, but missed the mark. 

I will admit. I got angry. I was hurt. I felt isolated. I misplaced my anger on situations and people that didn’t deserve it. We retreated. We found solace in other places. 

We ended our journey of foster care after almost four years and two adoptions. The thing about trauma is, it doesn’t magically get better when you adopt. Or even with time, because time does not in fact heal all wounds. Our family is still very much affected by the nasty T word on a daily basis and that is true for all of our friends that have also adopted from foster care. All of our kids have invisible (sometimes visible) wounds they will carry for life and thus we will carry it with them for life. 

Over the last 6-8 months, I felt a pull back to organized worship spaces. Spaces I grew up going to multiple times a week. Spaces and people I’ve known for years and knew Ryan and I before we were even married. Before we ever provided foster care. It felt both familiar and unfamiliar, both comfortable and uncomfortable. 

It doesn’t help that I’m an extremely socially awkward and have pretty significant social anxiety. My walls go up pretty high and I am on edge. I’m never fully at ease EVER in those spaces. I have to remind myself constantly not to zone out or have RBF. I’m aware I’m very difficult to love. I also bring my kids, because I believe the kingdom is for them too. 

Sometimes it went okay. Sometimes I wanted to run out because the anxiety was too much. Sometimes a kid struggles, which happened a few weeks ago. 

Except it played out differently than it would have a few years ago. 

I was extremely hurt and sad. But, God gave me peace and it wasn’t felt by a specific person or group. It was the situation. I didn’t feel alienated or different. I felt cared for, heard, and loved. My kids felt loved. Which is the fastest way for me to be comfortable with you. To love them and not judge them. To love them and welcome them. 

I would say Jesus won that day. The church was ready to love that day. I was ready to receive it that day.

I think my journey with organized religion still has a ways to go. I still have healing to do. I still have forgiveness to seek. I still have hurt to move past. I still haven’t found where I belong or where I fit in. But, for the first time in years, I don’t feel completely hopeless in that regard. 

If I could give myself advice back then, I would say to take a deep breath and remember that Christians views and opinions are not the views and opinions of Christ. They are human. I am human. I would tell myself to not back down when advocating for my kids, but also to have more conversations. I would tell myself it is okay to feel hurt but it’s not okay to be angry. 

I’m comfortable with where I am right now. I know God has had us experience really hard things and we survived. Perhaps we experienced those really hard things to help other families. I do believe there was a reason for all of the hurt. 

With Love, 

Koko