Safe Families: Where Christians, Christ, and Our Culture Intersect

God sets the lonely in families.
Psalm 68

    I am a Safe Families Host Mom. I am one of many moms in the Willamette Valley standing with Safe Families. Our families, stand with and for the orphan and the widow; we stand with the fatherless. Indeed, Safe Families and our families desire to push back fatherlessness, but we can only continue this work if the Church is standing behind us, and so I ask: Is the Church standing behind Safe Families?

    Our family joined Safe Families because Safe Families is Christ's power at work to prevent homelessness, divorce, drug addiction, abuse, and many other wounds that trouble our communities today. Let's face it, these wounds trouble our families.

    And we ask: Will today's children see the Church as relevant in their future? It's a very real fact that while generous, participating in backpack give aways, Sunday School, and coat collections will likely not be enough to keep my children focused on Jesus. The very lives Christ breathes into, so often are blown away by the winds of our cultures' brokenness. For many, current church programs are band aids on the wounds of the world, not radical acts of healing offering relational depth.

    Safe Families offers hope through Christ for families by families. Safe Families is Jesus' saving grace at work through Jesus' hands and feet: you and I.

   I'd like to invite you to look through the looking glass of some Safe Family Children we have hosted.

    I am Jose. My mother left me, and my father's in jail. Adults think my mom did drugs when she was pregnant with me. I'm seven, and I've been sexually abused by someone close to me. I'm too young to understand what happened, but I'm working on it. My doctor says I have ADD, and I take medicines to sleep at night and concentrate during the day. A Safe Family took me in for the weekend, so my aunt and uncle could go on their first date in three years. I played outdoors all weekend. We went for a hike at the Basket Slough, and I ate some new foods. I overcame fears, like the whirring of the bathroom fan, and I went to bed on my own. I didn't even cry myself to sleep; I was so tired. The boy I stayed with, we share the same birthday. They said it was one of those “God-things.” What's that?

    H.E.N.R.Y. I'm Henry, and I'm three. I talk a lot. I like words. I'm working on saying M.i.s.s.i.s.s.i.p.p.i. I can spell it, and one day I'll be able to say it too. I can count to 50, and I know all my letters and sounds. You said I was super bright. Did you mean like a light? I heard you talking about something called preschool at a nearby church. I'd love to go. I like to read! Could you tell mommy how to take me there? Here's my new book from Sunday School. It says, P.S.A.L.M. 9.1 on it. I like my name on my book! It's mine, but I'll share!

    I'm Gunnar. I'm the oldest brother in a bunch of boys; They are really my half brothers, but I love them a lot.

    I didn't see this coming. I didn't know about foster care and DHS. I'm glad a Safe Family offered to keep us.

    I was pretty anxious, but I did my best to hide it. I worked hard to use manners. I wanted to impress you. You treated me like one of your kids. I liked going to soccer with your son, and doing all the stuff you do. Thanks for listening and not laughing, when I cried about my mom. Thanks for telling me about all the problems your family has overcome. It made me feel okay.

    I am still wondering about a few things. Like, do I really need meds? My mom didn't mean to forget them when she packed us up and took us to the hospital with that note, but I learned I was okay without them, at least for awhile. Maybe some day I could go off them. I thought it was weird you don't have tv, but I did fall asleep without it. Listening to P.G. Wodehouse can make anyone fall asleep! I learned to pray, and I think God might actually listen to me.

    Thanks for taking Henry and I to church. I'd like to talk about that sometime. I hear Christians talk about getting saved. I don't really get it. You say it's when Jesus moves into your heart, but didn't Jesus save people with His hands and feet?

    Isaiah 58 calls us to repair broken down walls, and to be a restorer of streets to dwell in. Safe Families invites you, needs you and your Church to vote for Jesus with your hands and feet, not just your hearts, and to participate in the building and rebuilding of our streets and neighborhoods. This is Kingdom work, peace making work. If our children one day call the Lord blessed, if they dwell in peace, it will be because we put our hands and feet to the same tasks our Lord lived. 

*Shared at a Safe Families Faith Forum in Salem, Oregon July 2015 

We Wish

    We wish upon dandelions, and watch their seeds float away. You are the seed. Will you take root somewhere and thrive? Will you be hardy or hardened to your world?

  There are no words for the gut ache one feels when sending children off into a world where they are not safe. Not unless the One watches over them and leads them through. Saves them.

   After eight days and goodbyes, my heart is a jumble of, "Why and what are you going to do about them God?" I'm reminded of the answer we got months ago which was, "You. You are what I'm going to do about them." And it hurts to have your heart broken. It's hard to let go and let God, knowing the future of precious ones is in His hands, and so often those hands are on human flesh and are part of broken world systems.

   You child, are a seed buried, in what's going to be really rough ground for awhile. The slope is rocky and the ascent is up. Pray for wings.  

"Give them wings, God. Give them wings to soar."

   I realized this weekend that when we gather with others who are also making a difference for kids, who also are involved in their communities, I find it's easier to talk about broken systems and poor communication than the children. It's easier to talk about anything but your brothers and you, and all the children just like you. Children who may well be fighting for safe their whole lives.

   We certainly don't sit around the dinner table and talk about what we whisper in your ear in sacred moments. We don't mention sacred conversations where we pray, where we hope that hope was imparted. Yes, we are trying to whisper "hope" with every breath.

    There are dreams and wishes we wish for you. Sometimes, I think we are afraid of talking about them lest the power of the dreams and prayers fall away as you go. The wishes we wish for you feel like wind, so easily slipping through our fingers, just as you do. I have no clue where you are going, and you float off too soon.

   The quiet moments with you are the most difficult to reflect upon. Moments where we sought to throw you an anchor in the storm of now, and also an anchor for the stormy days ahead. This time around, nothing prepared me for how I need my own anchor at your going. The questions toss me about.

   Will you remember this is not a lesson for you? You wanted to know if it was all a lesson for you. "No, this is not a lesson, but yes it's an earthquake right now. The ground is shaking, but God is in your shaking world. He is with us. He promises not to leave nor forsake us." Will you remember the prayers spoken over you? Will you remember the broken oak? How her heartwood just split in two, but that the potential for even more life comes from those twisted limbs on the ground?

   Will that trip to OSU mean anything to you? Will all those machines, gadgets, and people become an embedded memory that one day leads you to wide open spaces of learning? You were wide eyed with wonder. Might you be college bound someday because of one short visit to see an Engineering Expo? Will that math dictionary stay with you? Will you use it? Will you remember, “You are strong, good, loving, and going to be a great builder with your hands and be a leader of people?”  Can words overcome the mess of your daily world?

   As a writer, I ask, "Are words enough?" Immediately, I know they are not. Words are powerful only when framed with a hug, a laugh, a bowl of food, and a warm bed. Words are powerful only when embraced within the gift of presence.

   We offered presence as best we could, now I will hold close sacred words and secret conversations, while the bars rattle all around you. I will keep praying for you and your brothers. I will write your names down in my book of remembrance. From a distance, I will keep speaking into your fears and pushing them back.

   Remember child. Remember us. Remember God cares. Remember this is not a lesson for you. This is not your fault. Remember we are praying. Remember you are going to change your world with that beautiful broken heart. Remember to guard your heart.  Remember to dance.