Rich in Love: When God Rescues Messy People (12 page)

Duh
, I thought. How foolish I was. I had been unable to see beyond what I knew, focusing on what the world expected out of a young woman. My job was to teach my daughter godly principles and the role of a woman. In my desire for her to be like all the other girls, I’d lost sight of what God had called me to teach
her
. God would take it from there. And he has.

Esther has been the biggest blessing for Domingo and me. It’s because of her gifts of service and hospitality that we have been able to care for our ten children who live at home now. She helps me by cooking, cleaning, grocery shopping, and driving the kids around. She often invites guests to our home and helps prepare the meals for them.

She was a part of God’s plan for this family from the beginning. And this family was part of God’s plan for her from the beginning.

Ephesians 2:10 says, “For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand so that we would walk in them” (
NASB
). God created Esther for a purpose and for his good works. I just thought I had to figure that out for her. But I had to stop worrying about her future and believe that she was God’s child, created for God’s good works. Like all of us, she didn’t have to be intellectual; she just had to be obedient.

baby George

Marie got in contact with us again and then came home. She had just started to do well when she met up with an old friend. For six weeks they got high on cocaine, and she ended up pregnant. I was so ashamed of what she had done until I remembered being fifteen and pregnant. I understood how my mom must have felt.

Marie came home, and we told her we would help her and take care of her during her pregnancy. However, I held tight to my feelings, determined not to let her hurt me again. When she had started running away, I wanted to die because the pain was so tormenting. I felt so roughed up inside. Nothing soothed my wounds. For a while I even stopped praying—I was so bitter and resentful toward God. Her continual running away and coming back had so deeply hurt and wounded me that I didn’t want to give my heart out again.

The day Marie went into labor, Esther was scheduled for surgery. Domingo felt he should be with Esther and I should go with Marie. My daughter-in-law was her birthing coach, so I could go in and out of her room to see how she was doing. Honestly, it was so difficult for me to be with Marie. That day I really struggled with my emotions. I loved Marie, but I really felt I needed to keep my distance from her and the baby, to hold on tightly to my heart because it could so easily break. I knew that if I let my guard down, I would fall madly in love with her baby.

At one point as I started walking out of the room, the doctor said, “The baby is coming any minute. Aren’t you going to stay?”

What could I do? I wanted to run but felt too embarrassed to leave, so I did what most moms do—I sat and waited. As I sat there, watching my daughter give birth, I felt a deep sadness. Don’t misunderstand me—I was happy that this baby was being born, but I knew he would have so many obstacles in his life. As I sat in the room, the only thing I could think of was that I was going to end up being the one responsible for this child. That was the last thing I wanted. I didn’t want another child. I had three teenagers who were using drugs. I was so worn-out. I was done raising someone else’s kids. I had nothing to give; I was on empty.

But Domingo had reminded me that Marie could’ve chosen to have an abortion; instead she chose life. That stopped me in my tracks. He was right. An abortion would’ve been easier for her; no one would’ve ever known. I was eternally grateful she chose life, so for that I praised God.

Now I was sitting in a hospital room, waiting to see life in its beginning stages, praying all would be well for this child as he entered this world.

All of a sudden the labor room turned into a delivery room, and I was overwhelmed by the elegance and tenderness of a mother giving birth. Then this fascinating little creature appeared—and in an instant my soft feelings were again hardened with fear. I felt a cold rush go through my body as I noticed that the baby was blue.
Oh God, he’s not crying!
The look of alarm on the faces around us brought a strong sense of panic over me. I started praying as I watched the doctor and nurses work on the baby. It seemed like an eternity, but finally the blue started to turn pink. He was alive!

As I peered over Marie’s shoulder to look at the baby swathed in her arms, he looked into my eyes as if he was saying, “Please don’t go. Stay.”

Marie brought her baby, George, home to live with us. My husband was so excited to help her care for him. I, on the other hand, was reluctant. I had decided I did not want to get attached to this boy. I wanted my daughter to be responsible for him. I was afraid that my holding him or caring for him would take away from my daughter’s bonding process. So I stayed away for the first few days, both physically and emotionally closed off.

Domingo took that boy in his arms and never wanted to put him down. He tried to get me to hold him and feed him, but I couldn’t. One night my husband came to our room as I was sitting on our bed. He held the baby in front of me and said in a tiny, sweet voice, making the baby’s hands move, “Mimi, look at me. I ate all my food. I’m a good boy, Mimi. I’m a good boy.”

I tried to be strong.

“Mimi, look at me. I’m a good boy.”

I broke down and cried and took George from Domingo’s arms. Even as I write this, tears roll down my face.
You fool!
I thought as I held this precious child.
What were you thinking?
In a flash, as I held that sweet child in my arms, I knew I would commit my life to helping raise him.

George was a difficult baby for many reasons. He was very sick and ended up in the hospital a few days after being born. When I went into intensive care to see him, I broke down. He was so tiny, so little, lying in what seemed to be an enormous crib. The doctors had him hooked up to scary monitors, and he had tubes traveling into his nose and mouth. I wondered if he would survive. He looked so weak.

We learned he had a hole in his heart and a bad valve that would eventually have to be repaired. This was a lot for all of us to process. What we didn’t know was that this was just the beginning of George’s many hardships. I was in no way prepared for what was ahead of us.

I came home from work one day and found Marie sitting on the floor. I could tell she had been crying. “It’s all my fault, Mom.”

“What is, Marie?” I said as I sat on the floor with her.

She took a deep breath and cried some more before she could speak. “It’s my fault George is sick. If only I hadn’t taken all those drugs …”

“That might be true,” I said softly, “but you chose life. And I am so proud of you for that.”

She sat there, staring into her lap, not looking convinced.

“Marie, you need to look to the future and not the past. What’s important is that you’re doing the best you can for him right now.” I leaned over and gave her a hug.

George was soon diagnosed with Noonan syndrome, which brings with it many medical issues, including slow growth, swallowing difficulties, and heart problems. He would be small and he would struggle with surgeries and many other things, but we loved our boy and didn’t care what his medical issues were. He brought so much joy to our lives.

The dark years slowly began to fade as God used this boy to bring light to my life and to soften my hard-bitten heart. I enjoyed every waking day with him. I looked forward to our time together.

My daughter was a good mom, but I could tell she wanted out. The demons in her life were rising to the surface. She had been mishandled and ill-treated as a child, and she was wrestling with those hurts. The few times George had been hospitalized, she had been unable to cope. I told her that if she wanted to leave we would care for George. But there was one catch: if she left, I could never give him back. I told her it wouldn’t be fair to him. He needed stability.

He was three the day she left for good. He chased her out the door, crying over and over, “Don’t go, Mommy, don’t go. I be a good boy.” I didn’t expect that, and I don’t think my daughter did either. It was heart wrenching to watch.

One afternoon I heard this little voice saying, “Mommy, Mommy.” It was a strange sound. I thought only George was home, and he called me Mimi like my other grandchildren did, so I knew it wasn’t him. But I went upstairs, and there was George sitting on the top step, saying, “Mommy,” over and over. When I picked him up, he looked up at me with his deep brown eyes and asked, “Are you my mommy?”

Attempting to share what I felt is extremely perplexing. I was increasingly becoming aware that this boy was special, and I believed wholeheartedly that he was a remarkable gift to us.

I held him tightly and said, “I will be anything you want me to be.”

He fingered my hair, looking intently into my eyes. “Can I call you Mommy?”

My heart melted. “Of course, George. You can call me anything you want.”

George was such a wonderful boy, but his sicknesses were hard on us emotionally and physically. Noonan syndrome brought many issues with it, and we had to deal with each one in turn. At the age of six, George had already been through four surgeries, two of which had not gone well.

You know the funny thing was, we were able to handle all of it. I learned from his big brother Joseph’s death that God’s grace doesn’t come before or after a trial—it comes in the middle of it. And God kept us strong and focused and able to deal with every different thing that came along with George’s health. And what we learned with him would help us in the future with other kids. We just didn’t know it yet.

chapter 11

opening my heart

I had been so negative for so long, closed off to being a foster parent ever again. But my boy George began filling my dry, empty cup.

Even though he was often sick and needed many surgeries, he was such a joy. After the tough years in our home, our personal engines needed major tune-ups. God used this little pip-squeak of a boy to fix us and tune us up.

I told Domingo that I simply couldn’t take one more stressful event—and then
bam!
one more thing happened. Things got so difficult for me at our church, I asked Domingo if we could find a new one. There was one in town, quite close to us, with a pastor by the name of Francis Chan, who I had heard speak at a graduation ceremony.

We began to attend there, and his sermons were powerful, his passion and excitement for living a radical life catching. It wasn’t long before we were involved in starting a special-needs program for disabled kids and a support group for their parents.

Still, I kept my heels dug in. I wasn’t going to go back to taking care of foster children. My heart had been broken too many times. I was tired. My knees were literally worn out.

Then our pastor went to Africa. When he returned, his passion for the needy and the orphans exploded. He shared about the poverty and the orphans in Africa, then challenged us as a congregation to make a difference in eternity by helping them.

As he spoke, God nudged me every time I heard the word
orphan
. I squirmed a lot. I didn’t want to hear what God might be saying, because I didn’t want to have to obey once I heard.

I loved teaching young college girls. I felt God had put that desire in my heart because I was completely in my element when I taught his Word. Yet deep in my heart I felt it was time to roll up my sleeves and get back to work; the vacation was over. I cried. I didn’t like what I believed God was telling me. “I want you to take on a harder task,” he said. “I want you to take in orphans and teach them. It will be through them I will teach you who I really am.”

“I can’t,” I protested. “It’s too hard.”

“It’s going to get harder. And when you say you
can’t
, I’m going to keep putting burdens on you until you see it’s my power that gets you through.”

I finally surrendered and began to ask him to put the desire for orphans back in my heart.

The next Sunday during the sermon, there was a deep stirring in my soul.
Yes, Lord!
I leaned forward in my seat. What was God going to ask me to do? My heart began softening and opening again. I believed there was something more for Domingo and me. Sure, we were in our fifties, but does age really matter to God? We had much of a life of faith left to live. We didn’t want to stop serving as so many others in our age group had. I started to pray for God to take us on a big adventure. I began to go into my room, get on my knees, and pray, “Lord, change our lives dramatically for you and your cause. I want to be like Paul and finish the race. I want to run until I drop and receive my heavenly prize. Put us to work where you need us most. Move us somewhere far away.”

I knew that by this time, Domingo was tired of owning his own business, but I didn’t think he would want to leave. So I also prayed, “Lord, put the desire in Domingo’s heart to move.” Every day I prayed these things, eager to see what God would do. And every Monday, while Domingo was at work, I prayed and fasted. But I never told Domingo about my prayers. I wanted to see God move without my “help.” I can tell you I was very excited. I knew in my heart we would soon be doing God’s work!

A few months later, our son Anthony called from his new home in Northern California. He wanted to let me know that there were advertisements and signs everywhere in the area announcing a desperate need for foster parents. “Mom,” my son said, “this is where you and Dad belong.”

My persistent son sent an ad from a Christian foster care agency that caught my interest. At the time, the county he lived in was number one in the nation for meth abuse, and the result was that kids were being sexually and physically abused and neglected. We discovered that there were over 450 kids needing placement in that small community alone! Talk about a change of heart! Now I was praying specifically, because I knew that was where we needed to go.

a big move

About a year after I started praying and fasting, Domingo came home and told me there had to be more to life than what he’d been doing. I hadn’t shared my prayers with him, so it was almost unbelievable when he said that maybe we should think about moving. It was thrilling seeing God work in his heart too! Being in our fifties and owning a business, we knew it wouldn’t be an easy transition. But we also knew that if God wanted this, no one could stop it.

We decided to follow up on our son’s invitation and took a trip to Northern California to explore the area and meet with the Christian foster care agency. As we drove up the mountain, we had a sense of excitement mixed with fear. Our meeting with the Christian foster care agency went well, as did our time looking at properties. We discovered a house on three wooded acres outside town that had much potential for a large family. By the end of our stay, we knew this was where we needed to be.

Domingo and I drove home, giddy with excitement and spilling over with ideas of what we would do. We weren’t sure we could afford the house. The price difference from what we thought we would receive in equity from our house sale in Simi Valley and what this house would cost was significant. We certainly didn’t have jobs lined up in the area, and we knew the house would need a lot of work to make it more suitable for taking in kids, so we had to be extrawise with our finances. However, we knew that if God wanted us to move north and have this home, he would work it out.

Many of the people at home quickly dampened our excitement. When we shared our new venture with them, some thought we were nuts and discouraged us from following our convictions. Thankfully, our close friends embraced and encouraged us. Even so, we wanted to be sure we weren’t being foolish, so we went to talk to our pastor and asked him if he thought we were being sober minded in our thinking. Francis’s encouraging and enthusiastic response of “Yeah! Go for it!” really sealed the deal for us.

As the excitement wore off and the tasks of moving so far away cluttered my to-do list, I started to get cold feet about using all our money for this venture. It would mean not putting away any money for retirement. People’s comments about the foolishness of our choice added to my concerns. A sweet friend waved off all the negative comments by saying, “Irene, you are investing in eternity. Your return will be from God, and it will be huge.” Perfect words at the perfect time. God would take care of us as he always had.

Before we could go anywhere, we had to sell our house and our business. We spoke to a broker, and he told us it would take at least a year to a year and a half to sell the business. The residential real estate market in Simi was good.

The first day our house was officially on the market, we held an open house. Seven groups of people came through, each one putting in an offer, and each offer higher than the last. All the offers were much higher than we expected. The difference between what we thought we’d get for the house and what we did get was, of course, the exact amount we needed to get the house up north. Then our business sold right away as well.

With packed boxes piled high around us in our Simi Valley kitchen, we began to fill out our application for foster parenting. George was very excited because he was tired of being the only child in the family and had been praying for new brothers and sisters for quite some time.

We sent our application ahead of us, finished our packing, and made the big move. It had been only six weeks from the time we made the decision to move. Only God could have orchestrated that. It was hard for even us to believe, and we were right there, watching it all happen. Now, more than ever, we knew God had a plan for us up north. And we felt privileged that he was going to use us.

The first week in our new home, we met with the social worker. I reminded her we wanted only short-term kids who we could help in the reunification process with their parents. I made sure I emphasized the fact that I didn’t want long-term kids. I didn’t tell her that was because taking in long-term kids was too risky. I didn’t want to fall in love with them. And I
really
didn’t want to adopt.

In anticipation of the kids to come, we bought bunk beds for two rooms and moved Esther to the loft that later became our schoolroom. Because Domingo now didn’t have a job, I planned to keep mine in Southern California for at least a year. Sure, it was a long commute, but I’d drive down on Wednesdays and drive back on Sundays.

The day I drove down for my first commute, the social worker brought a sibling group of four—one boy age nine and three girls ages seven, five, and three—to Domingo. Thankfully, Esther, now twenty-two, had moved with us and could help Domingo with the kids.

How did Domingo do? Probably better than I would have. He’s always been marvelous with kids. Even more proof of God’s good work in this man’s heart.

Domingo was never one to sit still. The house needed so much work, and he didn’t waste a moment getting started. Every time I came home from Southern California, he had done something new. I’d come home to find a tractor. Then the next time I came home, the tractor was gone, and a section of the property had been cleared. The next time, there was a playground. And when I was home, he worked in his new handyman business.

When the first sibling group left after about five months, saying good-bye was extremely agonizing. As we watched the car pull out of our driveway, we were all sad—almost brokenhearted. So much for not getting attached. This was lesson 101 in foster parenting. We were definitely learning—and not liking it very much.

After the kids left, George started praying for brothers and sisters. And a few kids did come, but not as many as we’d expected when we started this journey. They’d come one at a time and be at our home for a week or two.

Although I’d planned to commute to Southern California for a year, the distance and amount of work to be done at home began to take their toll on me. The owner of the salon was very gracious to release me from my obligations in September. I was so grateful. However, I didn’t have a job near my home and knew I would need to find one as soon as I could. It didn’t take long before I found a small salon where I could begin my work part-time.

That fall, siblings Bobby and Missy arrived. They were a handful at first. Missy was three, soon to be four, and boy, did she have the gift of gab. Bobby was about seven, was tough, and kept an eye on his little sister, sweetly taking care of her. They had separate visits with each of their parents. Mom was usually high and despised us, and Dad was kind, thanking us for caring for his children.

We were settling in to our new home. Domingo and I were a lot stronger and were ready for our new venture, praying for the children God was going to bring us. We knew Bobby and Missy would be leaving soon; their reunification process with their dad was going well. They would be leaving to go live with him in a few months.

Then one cool September night, the phone rang.