Why Fostering Hope for a Blog Title?

It may seem strange that I titled this blog Fostering Hope when I am talking about hoarding! Clearly, for me, hoarding is not such an issue that tackling it would “foster hope” for me. Well, it does a bit I guess. Especially since I come from a long line of hoarders. I grew up in a home where you could eat off the floor – literally. For my mother and her siblings, hoarding things is truly extreme. It is a condition that is impossibly difficult to understand. I don't even understand why I keep the things that I do, much less the junk that they do. It is kind of like having a parent with any particular malady whether it be a mental illness or a biological one. You fear that someday you may end up suffering with the same thing. That is me with hoarding. It really came to light when my friend, Jodi, told me that she only has three pair of jeans and sixteen pair of socks. It kind of sent me into a panic. Had I become a hoarder-in-denial without even being aware of it? I immediately went to my sock drawer and starting counting! In the days since that friendly intervention, I have come to a balanced conclusion that Mother Theresa would be considered a hoarder compared to Jodi. I have since referred Jodi to social services to see if she qualifies for some kind of assistance so she can get at least another pair of jeans.

Back to the Fostering Hope title. The day I wrote that was the day that my last little foster child went to live with his great-uncle and aunt. It was the first time in my 10 months of being a foster parent that I was without a child in my home who was not related to me by birth. It feels very strange indeed. And, I must confess, very relaxing. It is a reprieve that I am happy to have for the time being. I have no idea what (or possibly who) God has for us next, but I am leaving that in His hands. Since becoming a foster mom, I have come to the conclusion that God truly does know best, even when what is happening is very different from what I would have chosen for these little ones who have temporarily become part of our family. “God knows best” has become a mantra for me during the best and worst of times as a foster parent. When I am holding a precious little one to my chest, not wanting to let go – ever, I have to tell myself that God knows best. And when I am wondering why I ever chose to
become a foster parent in the first place after the 12^th meltdown in one day from a four-year-old with Reactive Attachment Disorder, I have to remind myself that God put that little one in my home, and He knows best.