Rich in Love: When God Rescues Messy People (18 page)

Sometime afterward our worker called and said she was coming over with Tony’s worker. When they arrived, I knew something was wrong. They both went into the bedroom with him, and when they came out, I gave him a peanut butter sandwich for lunch. “I don’t want it,” he said. “I want some
taquitos
with
frijoles
and
chillito
.” I laughed to myself and looked at his worker, thinking she would be smiling as well. Instead I detected anger.

She later rebuked us because we didn’t give him what he wanted for lunch. Can you imagine what things would be like if we fed all the kids what they wanted? This is not a restaurant, and I don’t know any households that cater to their kids like that.

Well, this boy and his worker were really testing my patience.

Another day my husband called me to the front door. A social worker was standing there, talking with him. My heart started beating really fast, and my stomach felt like it leaped into my mouth. I knew we were in trouble for something, but what? My mind raced as I tried to think what we could have done wrong now! Were they going to take my kids?

I lived with this fear all the time. I don’t know why, but so many people wanted us to fail. I got so tired of parents, attorneys, and even some social workers who continually made allegations against us.

As we invited the social worker in, I asked God to protect us. I hated that I always felt so much fear about what was going to happen next. I’m always thinking the worst, and Domingo continually reminds me, “Trust God and do the right thing, and whatever happens will be God’s will.”

I wish I had the trust my husband has.

The social worker said Tony had apparently shared with his worker that our kids were mean to him, George hit him with a stick, I beat him, the kids ganged up on him, and we told our kids it was okay to hit him.

“There is some truth about the kids defending themselves,” I told her. I thought it was funny—it was documented that this boy was a compulsive liar and mean to other kids, yet these people didn’t seem to expect him to act that way with us. Domingo and I shared our side of the story.

After the social worker wrote some notes, she asked if she could meet with Tony and the other kids alone. One by one she met with each of the kids. Can you imagine how this terrified them? But it had to be done. After she was in the bedroom for a while, she came out with Tony. “So,” she said, “I heard the boy had pizza and soda for breakfast this morning.”

At the same moment, both my husband and I said,
“What?”

The social worker winked at us and said, “Okay, Tony, go get the soda you had for breakfast from the refrigerator.”

He went to the refrigerator and opened the door, but there was no soda. He looked at the worker and said, “Someone must have stole it.”

We sat down again, and she told us he had these fascinating stories about all of us. Tony has the gift of gab and can make up some very believable stories. He told her how mean we all were and that he was even afraid of little Rose.

She said, “Well, Tony, do you want to leave?”

“No way!”

“But if they’re so mean, why would you want to stay?”

He straightened, looked her right in the eye, and said, “Don’t you know? We Garcias stick together.”

After Tony went off to play, she told us she knew he had been lying and that’s why she asked him what he had for breakfast. “If any of the stories he told me were true, he would have wanted to leave.” She smiled. “But this boy definitely wants to stay, doesn’t he?”

We all laughed. I laughed out of relief that his allegations were deemed false.

chapter 18

Ruth

Elaine and Evelyn were about to go on their first plane ride, and they weren’t the least bit excited. The plan was for them to visit their dad and new stepmom in the southern part of the state for three days. “Mommy” Elaine had never been separated from her baby girl Rose. As Rose’s protector, Elaine couldn’t bear the thought of being away from her. This, combined with the thought of being separated from us, made her miserable. She went to her room and quietly cried.

Since she’d come to live with us, her big brown eyes had slowly taken on a shine and glow. But once this trip was planned, the light in her eyes started to dim, and she began to retreat inside herself again. There wasn’t much we could do except reassure both her and Evelyn.

About a week before they left, I discovered I could attend a color workshop for hairstylists in the part of the state where they’d be with their father. I signed up and told the girls that as soon as their visit was over, I’d pick them up rather than having them fly home. I hoped this plan would alleviate their sadness and fears somewhat. And it did help. They were very excited I would be picking them up.

It was difficult to concentrate on my workshop. My mind was on the girls. I missed them so much and was anxious to hear how they were doing. I was so eager to see them that I arrived at the pickup spot early. I pictured them happy to see me, running to the car with their arms open. Instead, they were so quiet when they got out of their dad’s car, I wondered if they might be upset with me. Instead of the joyful reunion I had imagined, it felt dreary, with something tense hanging in the air.

I encouraged the girls to wave at their father as we drove off. Instead, they cried and said they didn’t want to go back. “Did something bad happen?” I asked, my heart in my throat as I thought about Samantha’s visit.

“No,” they said through their tears. Their dad had taken them out and really tried to show them a good time, but they just wanted to be home with us.

When we got home, I was surprised when they came out of their room with letters they had written to their attorney and judge, asking them to please not make them go to visitation anymore.

At the pickup, I sensed their dad’s sadness and disappointment with how the time with his daughters had gone. Most parents don’t understand. They come out of prison and expect to start where they left off when their kids were taken away. It’s hard for them to understand that their kids have moved on, adapting to their new situation. Most kids will change after a few years, but parents still remember them the way they were and expect to go right back to how the relationship was. They forget they’ve missed so much of the child’s life. So many of the small milestones that are crucial to a child’s development.

welcoming Ruth

One morning when I was in the kitchen, I got a call from the county. It was unusual for the county to call me directly since it was protocol for it to call the agency we worked with and let them contact us.

The county worker told me she wanted to talk to me about taking in Mac’s sister so they could be together. I knew he had a sister, but I didn’t know anything else about her. I had no idea she was in a temporary shelter.

Tony had come to live with us just a month before, and believe me, he was out of control. Domingo and I had learned that every time we took in a new child, our household would be chaotic for about six months. I was afraid Tony would cause chaos for years. We were in over our heads with problems again.

When I told her I didn’t know if we could handle Ruth, she became very persistent. Somehow she knew how we felt about Mac and threatened to take him out of our home.

We knew this wasn’t an idle threat. It made sense that they would want to put both children in a home together. But Mac’s leaving would be detrimental to him because of his attachment to Domingo. He was finally starting to respond to us, and he was getting comfortable with our routine.

This was one time we were not ready to take in another child. Mac was a handful, and we were having major problems—Elaine, Evelyn, and Rose’s mom was causing issues both in and out of court, and Tony had the social worker at our home a lot because he kept lying about things she had to check out. We got on our knees, and yes, we pleaded for wisdom.

So many forks in the road, so many life-changing decisions needing to be made in an instant. “Oh, dear God,” I pleaded, “I am your vessel for you to use, but sometimes I feel broken and in dire need of repair. Please, God, fill my cracks so I can be useful for your service. Give us the wisdom to make your decision, not ours.”

I called the social worker to get more information, and she told me Ruth was a good girl and pretty normal for a child who had been in placement. She told me Ruth had done very well in the shelter. She also made it clear that if we said no, Mac would have to leave.

Domingo and I discussed it. Social workers are required to disclose all they know, and this one said Mac’s sister was pretty normal. And there was a calmness about Mac, so we figured, how bad could she be? We agreed it would be best for Mac if we took her in too. I must confess that if I’d known what she was really like, I probably would have said no because we were already submerged under so many burdensome situations.

I went to pick up Ruth from the shelter, and four girls came out at the same time. There was an older girl and three younger girls. I knew Ruth was four, soon to be five, so I tried to figure out which one of these younger girls was Mac’s sister. I picked the one who looked rather shy and timid like Mac. When I said hello, the older, bossier girl who seemed to be in charge was the one who gave all the girls a hug and then walked over to me. She was matter-of-fact and said, “I’m ready.” She was very tall for her age—probably about a foot taller than her friends. Of course, I should have guessed she would be the biggest of the bunch.

Before we left, I spoke to the foster mom to get all the information I needed about Ruth. After giving me the usual types of basic information, she handed me a bottle of pills.

“What are these for?” I asked.

“To help her sleep. Just give her one at night.”

This didn’t sound right to me. Why would a child need sleeping pills? I figured I’d talk to her worker in the morning and get it all figured out.

When Ruth got into the car, I could see some resemblance to Mac. She wasn’t the least bit shy and talked to me like she had known me for years. She asked about her brother, then she said, “Did you know he ate my mom’s pills and almost died?”

I nearly choked.

Ruth proceeded to freely tell me her version of the story—and it didn’t quite line up with her mother’s version.

Mom had blocked Mac in a very small area between the sofa and coffee table and chairs—which she did frequently so he wouldn’t get into mischief or get in her way. He didn’t have room to do anything but sit. She left her drugs within reaching distance on the coffee table in a plastic bag. Ruth came into the room and saw him eating them from the bag. She told him to stop, and he passed out. Ruth tried to wake up her mom, but she wouldn’t wake up. Some man who was there called the ambulance. Paramedics performed CPR. Then, Ruth remembers, the police came.

“I thought he was going to die,” she said between her tears. “I was so scared.” She was only four. I can’t even grasp what she went through that night.

Her story coincided with what the psychologist had told me—that Mac had stopped breathing and for a time had no oxygen to his brain, which most likely caused brain damage. Ruth told me he had never walked and didn’t know how to talk. Her story made me believe that he was delayed before he ate the drugs and that the overdose made it all worse.

As I pulled into my driveway, all four of my girls were there, waiting to check Ruth out. The moment Ruth got out of the car, the girls took ownership of their home.

It was pretty funny to watch. Elaine laid some ground rules, and Evelyn told Ruth they were not allowed to wear heels, so she hoped she had some real shoes instead of the heels she had on. They continued to lay down the law, doing my job to make sure she knew what was appropriate in the Garcia household. I wasn’t sure if they were being cautious or jealous.

I could tell Ruth was used to being in charge and getting her way. She had a real sweet attitude, but it wasn’t sincere. It was so fake I wondered if she really believed I would fall for it.
So young and already scheming.
Oh my
,
I thought,
I’m in for it—my days are numbered.
I was definitely on a battlefield. One big problem—I didn’t know anything about the enemy!

Since we really didn’t have much information on her, we had to be careful and watch out for our younger kids. It’s a sad thing, but most girls who come into the foster system have either been molested or been around sexually inappropriate behavior. So for this reason we put her in our daughter Elaine’s room. Believe me, Elaine would watch Ruth like a hawk.

We really wanted to know more about Ruth, but her social worker hadn’t returned my call.

That night after I put her to bed, I heard her crying.

I went into her room and sat on the edge of her bed. “What’s wrong?”

“I hear voices in my head, and they won’t stop.”

“What kind of voices?” I pushed the hair off her forehead.

“Scary ones. They talk to me at night and tell me to do bad things. I’m so scared.”

“Do you know who Jesus is?”

“I think so.” She told me she’d gone to church with someone, so she had heard his name before.

“Well, Jesus died on the cross for all of us. When he lives in our hearts we are never alone and don’t need to be afraid. He is always there to protect you.”

“I want Jesus,” she said, sitting up in bed. “I don’t want to be afraid and hear scary people talk to me at night. Please help me make those scary people go away.” What she said next broke my heart. “Will Jesus take care of me and Mac and feed us?”

I explained that Jesus would use Domingo and me to be his hands and feet. So we would make sure they would eat and be taken care of. “Do you want Jesus to live in your heart?”

“Yes,” she said, her voice quiet but confident.

I knelt beside her bed and held her hand, and we prayed. When we opened our eyes, I tucked her in a little more snugly. “Anytime you’re afraid, pray to Jesus. Now that he’s in your heart, Jesus will protect you. Ask Jesus to take away the bad voices, and he will.”

Later that night when I checked on her, she was sound asleep.

A few weeks after her arrival, I got a call from the health nurse asking me if I was giving Ruth her meds.

“What meds? All I have are sleeping pills.”

The nurse became angry and short with me. “It’s very important that you give her the meds.”

I was frustrated. I’d tried to reach the social worker without success, and the foster mother had given me little information. “This isn’t my fault. No one told me she had meds besides the sleeping pills.”

“This girl is under psychiatric care. Her prescriptions are critical for her mental health.”

“That’s fine,” I said, my own anger growing. “But I am not giving her any medication until I talk to the doctor.”

The woman’s voice rose, and she threatened to have Ruth taken out of our home.

“Go ahead,” I said. “Come and get her. I will not give any child medication unless I know what it’s for and am given instructions by a doctor.” I could hear the boys starting to squabble over a toy in the next room. That did not help my mood any. “It’s a big liability to give a child medication when I don’t understand what it’s for.” What I didn’t say, and wanted to, was that clearly since a few weeks had gone by and the girl was okay, it wasn’t like life or death if she wasn’t medicated. “Look. I promise I’ll make an appointment with the doctor as soon as we hang up.”

She curtly ended the conversation, probably as unhappy with me as I was with her. I kept my promise and called the doctor immediately, taking the first available appointment. I hung up, glad we would soon learn more about Ruth.

As Ruth became more comfortable in our surroundings, she was no longer the sweetheart she portrayed herself to be in the first few days and started bucking every rule. She was strong willed and would throw these unbelievable tantrums. By then we’d gotten through Raymond’s head-cracking tantrums and Evelyn’s earsplitting shrieking tantrums. We’d survived those; we could survive Ruth’s. We decided she won the Academy Award for the most dramatic, loud, physical tantrums. So when she threw one, we all applauded the great performance.

She didn’t like that, so she quit throwing her fits.

She also started acting out inappropriately with the other children. We kept her by Domingo’s side or mine most of the time to keep an eye on her. She wouldn’t listen. We’d give her a task and explain exactly how to do it, and she’d nod like she agreed, and then she’d go and do it in a way that was intentionally destructive. I must confess, I didn’t like this little girl at all. I had to keep going to God and asking him to help me love her.

The day came for my appointment with her psychiatrist. The doctor asked me many questions while Ruth sat quietly on the floor, playing with the toys she’d brought with her.

“How is Ruth’s behavior? Does she follow the rules?”

“She’s wild, mouthy, has no regard for authority, is mean, and has some bad sexual behavior. She steals large amounts of food and eats it all.”

“How do you handle that?”

“We have real tight boundaries on her. We don’t ever leave her in a room alone with the other children.” I paused, thinking. “Other than that we’re doing fine.”

The psychiatrist tilted her head, tapping her pencil on the top of the file. She stopped herself. “What’s her response?”

“She doesn’t like being removed from our family activities, so we use that as one of her consequences. As a result, she’s trying to make changes to her behavior.”

The baffled look in the doctor’s eyes as I spoke made me feel a little uneasy. I finally asked, “Am I doing something wrong?”

She leaned forward a little in her chair. “Do you know her history?”