When I got the text from our foster agency that read, “Check your email for a new CIPR,” I had just gotten back from my prayer walk. I had an unusual desire to cover extra ground this morning and I was tired, but decided the shower I was desperate for could wait.

We had received a handful of these Child Information Placement Referrals (CIPRs) in the month we had our foster license. My heart and mind raced with each one I opened, “Is this our child?” 

This is a very strange question to have become so familiar with. We asked this same question for over a year while we pursued domestic adoption with each expectant mother profile we received in our inbox. 

I was growing weary with the question. I could almost imagine my potential child asking back, “Are you my mother?” just like the little bird in one of my favorite children’s books, A Mother For Choco.

We heard countless “No”s, then in one moment, like a symphony of destiny, came a final resounding “YES!” “Yes,” from the State workers, “Yes,” from my husband, and most importantly, “Yes,” from God.

Adrenaline trumped exhaustion and I went into full nesting mode. I sorted through Finn’s old clothes and washed everything I owned in size 12-18 months. My mom and I cleaned the house top to bottom, praying the whole time that when our foster son entered the house he would feel tangible peace and the presence of God.

“He’s here! He’s here! He’s here!” When Finn and Lucy sounded the alarm just before 5pm, I was relieved that I could finally stop wiping the kitchen counter I’d compulsively cleaned at least five times already. 

We ran outside and greeted the social worker as he got out of his sedan. We had very little information on this precious child and no idea what he looked like. To add to our suspense, there was a blanket hanging over the window blocking his face. The memory plays in my mind in slow motion, the moment I saw our son’s big beautiful brown eyes for the first time. 

I was “too attached” before I even held him.

He reached for me and in one second I had plucked him out of the social workers hands.

We went inside and sat on the couch to go over the case with the social worker. I was hopelessly distracted by the adorable baby sitting on my lap. Finn and Lucy taught him peek-a-boo and he giggled uncontrollably. The social worker said he hadn’t even seen him smile since picking him up from the hospital. Less than a minute at our house and he was already smiling and laughing. God answered our prayers. 

We were relishing the moment when our well meaning social worker reminded us, “Don’t get too attached. We have no idea what will happen with his case.” I respectfully smiled and nodded, but in my heart I completely disagreed with his advice.

I believe getting “too attached” is the point of foster care. 

One of the most common responses we get when people find out we are fostering is, “I could never do that I’d get too attached!”

If you have said or thought that, you would be a great foster parent. The very thing children need to heal is a safe and secure attachment to a loving parent. Our job is to provide a loving, sometimes temporary, attachment to children while their families get the support they need to also heal. 

I may not be able to call this child mine, but in my arms is where he belongs, at least for today.

You better believe we are “too attached.”