One week later, the ring is still missing. I finally told Craig about it, who promptly said he’d replace it (as though such a thing could ever be replaced). Then I went online and bemoaned my fate. “St. Jude … help!”

Moments later, I saw with crystal clarity the cultural and theological “devotional divide” that splits my circle of friends and family.  The camps were fairly evenly divided between unequivocal support (“Tony, Tony come around . . .”) and chastisement (a.k.a. “Don’t you know you can go straight to GOD for this kind of thing?”).  Theology, Facebook style.

Didn’t I know I could pray directly to God? Uh-huh. Well aware of that. God and I have been on regular speaking terms for about forty years now. That doesn’t stop me from calling in reinforcements. The last time I lost my ring, I asked my guardian angel to go and sit on it until I could find it. When Craig and I discovered the ring in the middle of a snow-covered strip mall parking lot, the ring was centered in a heart-shaped “bald patch” on the asphalt. As though the angel had literally sat upon it until we arrived.

Friends in High Places

For centuries believers have sent their petitions in care of Mary and the saints, confident that those perfected in heaven are in a better position to pray in a way that is consistent with the will of the Father. Here on earth, so much obstructs our view: selfishness, pride, and weakness keep us from persevering in the battle as constantly and vigorously as we ought. The saints do not have this problem; the “cloud of witnesses” of which Scriptures speak (Hebrews 12:1) provide essential spiritual reinforcement.

The Catechism (2683) says:

The witnesses who have preceded us into the kingdom, especially those whom the Church recognizes as saints, share in the living tradition of prayer by the example of their lives, the transmission of their writings, and their prayer today. They contemplate God, praise him and constantly care for those whom they have left on earth. When they entered into the joy of their Master, they were "put in charge of many things" (Mt 25:23). Their intercession is their most exalted service to God’s plan. We can and should ask them to intercede for us and for the whole world.

Does God care about the little details of my life, including missing wedding rings? No doubt.  He is big enough and wise enough and all-loving enough to handle this and every other crisis that comes my way. And yes, because I am a daughter of God, my every need is only a whispered prayer away from the ear of God.

So why bother to ask others — in heaven or on earth, for that matter — to take up my intentions? Why are we commanded to confess our sins and to pray for one another (James 5:16), and why do the prayers of the saints ascend to the throne of God (Rev 8:4), if each believer has within himself the power to get everything he needs directly from the throne of grace?

Could the answer be . . . because we are a Body ? Because the God who created us, made us to be in relationship with one another? When Jesus returned to heaven, He did not leave behind a book but a group of men to guide His Church. And when He spoke of being the Vine (John 15:5), He said that those who continued to “abide in me” would bear “much fruit.”

Nowhere do the Scriptures say that we get cut off from that Vine when we leave earth. Rather, the ongoing teaching of the Church has always been that the faithful are perpetually connected in Jesus.

The Church, in Christ, is like a sacrament — a sign and instrument, that is, of communion with God and of unity among all men." The Church’s first purpose is to be the sacrament of the inner union of men with God . Because men’s communion with one another is rooted in that union with God, the Church is also the sacrament of the unity of the human race . In her, this unity is already begun, since she gathers men "from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and tongues"; at the same time, the Church is the "sign and instrument" of the full realization of the unity yet to come (CCC #775).

When we include the saints in heaven in our intercessions, asking them to join our chorus of adoration, petition, supplication, and blessing — from heaven — we bear witness in a particular way of this unity, which will be perfected in heaven.

It is this witness , this acknowledgment of our utter dependence upon God and our need for one another, that is the real need for prayer. Not primarily to get us the parking space, or to find the ring, or to get a temporary reprieve from illness or pain. But, in the words of C.S. Lewis:

I pray because I can’t help myself. I pray because I’m helpless. I pray because the need flows out of me all the time…waking and sleeping. It doesn’t change God. It changes me.

“God of the Gumball”

This realization — that we are in fact in need of changing — is something we as human beings are prone to forget at times. We want God to change our circumstances : find the parking spot, heal the disease, find the wedding ring. We forget that it is precisely through these little struggles that we are forced to grow stronger and taller in grace.

When we lose sight of this, we begin to serve the “God of the Gumball Machine”: put in a prayer, get out what we want. A deeply felt sense of failure washes over some Christians when they ask God for a specific intention, and the answer is not what they’d hoped.  Some see it as a signal to pray even harder… or to give up altogether, as though the battle has no intrinsic value.

The Catechism offers a third perspective:

"Pray constantly . . . always and for everything giving thanks in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ to God the Father." (1 Thes 5:17) St. Paul adds, "Pray at all times in the Spirit, with all prayer and supplication. To that end keep alert with all perseverance making supplication for all the saints." (Eph 6:18) For "we have not been commanded to work, to keep watch and to fast constantly, but it has been laid down that we are to pray without ceasing." (Evagrius Ponticus, Pract . 49: PG 40, 1245C.) This tireless fervor can come only from love. Against our dullness and laziness, the battle of prayer is that of humble, trusting, and persevering love. This love opens our hearts to three enlightening and life-giving facts of faith about prayer (#2742).

The Catechism defines these three facts as follows:  (1) It is always possible to pray; (2) Prayer is a vital necessity; and (3) Prayer and the Christian life are “inseparable.” Furthermore, John 15:16-17 shows that there is an intrinsic connection between asking the Father . . . and truly loving one another.

Never Walk Alone

Is there ever a time when we should just hunker down on our own knees, and abandon ourselves to “the Great Alone”? Absolutely. The intimate conversation of Father and child is an indispensable part of family life. And yet, it is not the only part. Most of life is spent in the company of one another, helping each other and conversing with one another.

To abandon oneself to Divine Providence in abject humility and deliberate solitude, is one thing; to suppose oneself not to need — or be in the invisible company of — other members of the Body is a prideful delusion.  Just as the Trinity is an eternal flow of love from one divine person to the next, so the Church — the Bride of Christ — is sustained as a Body with an eternal infusion of Spirit.

The “Jesus and me” — devoid of any other spiritual attachment — that predominates in some Christian communities has no more to do with true spiritual intimacy than a teenage crush has to do with married love. True attachment is anchored in family; isolation produces delusion, confusion, and death.

This revelation of unity is more important than any earthly possession. So when I ask the saints to help me find my wedding ring, I’m simply asking my big brothers and sisters in faith to give me a hand. And like any good parent, the Father smiles to see His children working together, and loving each other. He doesn’t worry that they aren’t focused totally on Him. He just sits back and enjoys the camaraderie.

Are we never to approach God on our own? Can we not speak to Him, heart-to-heart? Will He not hear our prayers? Of course we can, and do, and He does.

As does the entire company of heaven, who intercedes on our behalf.

In this sentimental story of second chances, Esther Hobbes (Ellen Brye) was happily married to a wealthy man for thirty years when suddenly she found herself widowed and penniless. Her friends evaporate, her assets liquidate and all she has left in the world is a pile of clothes, three porcelain dolls and a dilapidated old home several states away. When her taxi pulls up outside the “Old Boarding House,” its current residents – Tony and Ramona and their five foster children — are understandably resentful of this “rich lady” who has come to evict them. In reality, they need each other more than they realize.

I watched this movie shortly after seeing America , the Lifetime Channel movie starring Rosie O’Donnell -– which frankly may be too much stark reality for most families. By comparison, The Lost and Found Family is the heartwarming family-friendly version (rated PG for certain mature themes) of life in a foster family – for every tear, there is someone to wipe it or hug it away. Frankly, I wish that were the case . . . and I’m hoping that, by watching this film, more families will be encouraged to invest themselves in the life of a foster child.

In some ways, the film paints a much rosier account than many foster families experience. The kids in the cast of this movie are undeniably cute;  despite their troubled pasts they are remarkably well behaved. My favorite was little Crystal, who hates her own name but figures out in the first five seconds of the movie that Ester’s dolls (Lilac, Olivia, and Violet) spell “LOVE”. The foster parents, Tony and Ramona, are generous and kind (Ramona bears a striking similarity to Rosie O’Donnell). Even at their worst — such as when the teenage girl hands her pills over to her brother for safekeeping, and their little brother accidentally ingests some of them — the consequences of such bad choices are often much more drastic in real life.

I was most intrigued by the main character, Ester Hobbes (Ellen Bry), who added such dignity and grace to the film. Ellen was kind enough to talk with me about the development of her character. When I first saw the movie, Ester’s plucky “can-do” attitude bothered me — how could a pampered society girl endure such profound loss with such calm, patient optimism?

“[In playing Ester Hobbes], I wanted to look at some of the overall themes that were part of her journey,” says Ellen. “The more she divested herself of material goods, the more she let go of her fears and opens up to change and to God. As her faith and trust in God awakens, the more she can let go, the more love comes into her life. Forcibly removed from her protected, insular, cushy life as a suburbanite in a little bubble, she is thrown into a completely foreign situation. She has to learn how to survive in an alien territory. She decides to go with the idea that her husband must have had something in mind… God closes one door and opens another.”

We find evidence of this in a message Ester’s husband left her on his last seconds on earth: “What impresses the eye is never apparent at first glance. But shut them, and see what lingers there, seared on the retina. …How you linger, year after year on my closed eyes, in the unprotected space of my heart. In the whites of your eyes glow dark, flickering promises like hallucinations on the edge…”

These flickering promises, banked on the hearth of her soul, sprang to life only after the ashes had been ruthlessly, unexpectedly blown away. Only then could she fulfill the unspoken promise her husband had seen in her. Jesus said it best, “Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.”

The Lost and Found Family is directed by Emmy-nominated television and film producer Barnet Bain (What Dreams May Come, The Linda McCartney Story ). The DVD debuts nationally on September 15, 2009. Groups specializing in outreach to teens, the bereaved, or anyone needing to come in from the margins will find a rich story and grounds for important conversations. Any family will find The Lost and Found Family an evening enjoyably spent. The film retails for $24.95, and is available at the movie’s website or wherever movies are sold.

From time to time, people ask us why we chose charter schools for our kids. We have several good Catholic schools nearby, and the two public school systems near us have solid reputations. We also know several families who have chosen to home-school their children. However, we live about a mile from the second-highest-ranking charter school in the state of Michigan, which has a dual focus on academics and character formation in the “global virtues.” To us, the National Heritage Academies were a natural choice.

In the four years we’ve been a part of this school, we’ve been increasingly impressed. The families who attend want to be there, minimizing behavior problems and maximizing parental involvement. The waiting lists are long. (My son wound up 90th on the kindergarten waiting list, and got the last open spot in his class by winning the “academic lottery” on the first day of school. Because her big brother was already enrolled in the school, Sarah easily won an open slot two years later.)

There are drawbacks. There is no bussing, so each year there is a scramble for carpooling. Some kids are less-than-thrilled with the dress code restrictions (my daughter routinely expresses her individuality with brightly colored toenails under her sensible shoes.) Even younger kids have considerable “homework time” every night.  And because we don’t receive the same government funding as public school kids, fundraisers are a fact of life. But parents persevere, too, because it’s in our children’s best interest.

What Are Charter Schools?

Charter schools are publicly funded schools that are typically governed by a group or organization under a contract (charter) with the state. In return for funding and autonomy, the charter school must meet accountability standards to retain its charter. According to MAPSA, 223 of the 4136 elementary schools in Michigan are charter schools. The National Center for Educational Statistics reports almost 1.2 million students were enrolled nationally in 4,132 charter schools (2006–07). And the demand is growing. The US Charter Schools website states: “In the past four years, 1,600 new public charter schools opened and 500,000 additional public school students chose to enroll in public charter schools.”

Not all charter schools perform equally well, and charter schools do have detractors in both the public and private school sectors, as schools must compete for students and funding. In an article in its recent Catholic school education issue, “U.S. Catholic” featured an article that stated “Charter schools are ‘one of the biggest threats to Catholic schools in the inner city, hands down’” (pg. 17).

Yes, the existence — and increasing popularity — of charter schools does have very real implications for other institutions of learning. However, charter schools clearly offer an attractive alternative to traditional public schools, especially for poor and minority families who cannot afford parochial school tuition (NCEA puts the median annual cost of parochial school tuition at a little over $3,100 per student, less financial aid). Sixty percent of public charter school students are minorities; 52 percent are eligible for free and reduced-price lunch. (By comparison, the NCEA website indicates that minority students represent only 29.3% of parochial school enrollment.)

Charter schools are not for everyone. Review your options and weigh the needs of your own children, then make a prudent decision. Some parents choose to home-school, while others feel a parish school is truly the best choice for them. Still others monitor their child’s progress in the local public school, and find their children’s needs are being met there. All these are viable options, so long as we do not abdicate our responsibility as our children’s first and most important teacher, especially in the areas of faith formation and moral development.

I didn’t become Catholic until I was 30, so I don’t have a built-in bias toward parochial education. Craig was also educated in public schools. So when it came time to choose a school for our kids, Craig and I considered our options, then we set our sights on the charter school down the street, which advertised a “private school education at a public school price.” The cost of tuition was just one of many factors we considered — we were impressed with its academic achievements and appreciated the close proximity to our home. We liked that parents frequently volunteer in the classroom. After four years, we believe we’ve made the right choice for our family.

Are Catholic Schools Always Best?

In reality, there is no perfect choice, as each has its strengths and weaknesses. Catholic school parents can sometimes fall into the trap of “catechesis by checkbook,” assuming that sending their children to parochial school absolves them of any additional responsibility to instruct their own children or engage them in the learning process. In her article published at Catholic Culture entitled “The Parochial School,” author Mary Reed Newland observes, “Teaching nuns and Brothers are not the equivalent of parents, and no parochial school can substitute for a home or the example and teaching of parents. Together, the home and the parochial school can work into a whole piece the two phases of life which do the most to make the man.” This is as true today as it was in 1961, when the piece was written.

Catholic school and even homeschooling parents also need to guard against a kind of creeping elitism that effectively prevents their children from interacting in meaningful ways with families who don’t look and think exactly as they do. We experienced this “ghetto mentality” a few years ago when we enrolled our (then) foster son in a nearby Catholic Montessori preschool. Within a few weeks a small group of “concerned parents” confronted the teacher about the negative influence Christopher had on their children. Recently separated from his birth parents and older brother, and already demonstrating signs of the learning disabilities with which he continues to struggle, Christopher was undeniably rambunctious. He used words like “dead” and “kill,” and didn’t have nice table manners (I had only recently managed to get him to stop hiding food in his closet and smearing unmentionable substances on the wall).

As Christopher’s mother, I found myself shut out of this discussion. Only one other parent — herself a foster mother — had a kind word of encouragement for us, and only one parent had the courage to invite us on a play date and talk with us directly about her concerns. Others banded together to build a solid case, then badgered the teacher until — faced with the real possibility of losing the other students — she called a conference and suggested mildly that we needed to work on our parenting skills, and urged us to reconsider Christopher’s readiness to be in a formal program.

Feeling humiliated and betrayed by these “good Catholic families,” we withdrew our son, and enrolled him in a local preschool co-op a month later. Christopher thrived in this classroom — a more play-based environment. The teacher was surprised when I told her our son had been removed from the previous program. “But your son is such a sweet boy. Active, but then all children are at that age, aren’t they?” I could have kissed her, and I redoubled my efforts to help her in any way I could. I would teach my son about his faith — as I always have. But his early school experiences would be positive ones… and he would always associate “Catholic education” with acceptance and love, rather than rejection and criticism.  I would make sure of it.

Today Christopher continues to struggle at times; both kids have special processing challenges that make it difficult for them to focus in the classroom. But at National Heritage Charter schools, teachers work with parents to help students reach their full potential — both academically and morally.

So this year when the leadership team of the South Arbor Booster Club introduced its “Boosters Plus” fund drive, I was the first to whip out my checkbook. I believe in the goals and values this school has set for itself, and I want to be a part of that vision. Later this week, I’ll also write a check to our church to pay for their religious education instruction. The checks are roughly the same amount (actually, the religious education costs quite a bit more when you factor in the at-home resources). But then, the return is… priceless.

Catholic social teaching has consistently proclaimed that human life is to be respected and protected from conception to natural death (CCC #2258). Consequently, to be truly pro-life is to be pro-family; to respect the dignity of life is to believe that families must be able to provide for their basic needs, and that women in crisis pregnancies must be supported in their efforts to plan for their child’s future, whether or not they choose to parent the child themselves. Only by attending to both these issues can we ever hope to permanently and completely eradicate abortion.

Special considerations arise when unborn children are diagnosed with congenital defects. Current statistics reveal, for example, that over 75% of unborn children diagnosed with Down syndrome are aborted (“Down Syndrome and Beyond” ). This condition gained national attention thanks to Sarah Palin, who pounded the campaign trail with her infant son pressed against her shoulder, his flattened profile drawing much-needed attention to the thousands of Downs children whose parents have welcomed them for the gift they are, both to their families and to the world. And yet, these parents — and their children – also face extraordinary challenges: recent medical advances make it possible for a significant percentage of Downs children to outlive fifty years and more, necessitating long-term adult care.

Handle with Care: An Overview

In Handle with Care, Picoult portrays a Catholic couple facing a different kind of challenge: their child Willow was diagnosed with Type III osteogenesis imperfecta (OI, also known as “brittle bone disease”). In the book, Willow is a precocious six-year-old whose tiny body is so fragile that a sneeze or even a hug could shatter a bone. In six years she’d suffered sixty-eight breaks – seven of them at birth.

Willow’s parents, Sean and Charlotte O’Keefe, love their daughter fiercely, and spend their lives trying to keep her safe and comfortable. But money is tight – Charlotte had given up her job as a pastry chef to tend to her daughter full-time, and her policeman father’s salary is stretched to the max. The money doesn’t cover the many things their daughter needs – special operations, treatments, and living accommodations. It adds up. Sadly, the tensions of their situation manifest themselves most profoundly in their other daughter, Amelia (Charlotte’s child through a previous relationship).

To obtain a measure of relief and financial security for their daughter, Charlotte brings a “wrongful birth” suit against her ob-gyn and former best friend, Piper, arguing that her doctor ought to have recognized what was in store, and counseled Charlotte to abort her child.

What kind of parent would do such a thing? Most parents can’t imagine it -– but then, most people never experience the daily, unrelenting, bone-wearying challenge of parenting a suffering child. While many parents of special-needs children see those children as pure gift, and find great joy in their calling, there is also an undeniable sense of loss and suffering for the whole family – parents, siblings, and even the child himself. There is no glossing over the broken dreams, for the child and for themselves; they must admit – if only to themselves, and to God – exactly what has been lost.

Learning to “Hear” The Language of Loss

One flash back scene in Handle with Care offers a poignant illustration of this. Charlotte and Sean escape a doctor’s office after hearing their unborn child’s OI prognosis. Rushing to the elevator, they encounter a mother and her teenage son. Sean recalls:

To my right was a woman about ten years older than I was, pushing one of those state-of-the-art wheelchairs with a child sprawled across is. This one was a boy in his teens, thin and angular … his tongue — thick and jellied — filled the bowl of his mouth. “Aaaaah,” the boy sang. “Aaaaah!”

His mother touched her hand to his cheek. “Yes, that’s right.”

I wondered if she really understood what he was trying to say. Was there a language of loss? Did everyone who suffered speak a different dialect?

In truth, this passage touches on one of the most profound realities of loss: The language of suffering does not always translate readily from one person to the next. All we can do is listen and encourage, and maintain the connection of community — spiritual family — to the best of our ability.

Sometimes even small gestures can mean a great deal to parents who are struggling in the trenches. On the last day of Vacation Bible School, one mother presented me with a beautiful bouquet to thank me for including her special-needs child. Little “Mikey” was paired up with a dedicated helper, and walked from station to station with the other kids, laughing and singing and giving hugs with great gusto. Frankly, I didn’t need the flowers — his presence had been gift enough. But his mother had been grateful that we made a point of including her son, and giving her a break for a few hours each day.

The special needs of children touched by adoption and foster care, who speak their own “language of loss” also present unique challenges to their parents. I’ve experienced this with my own children, who (like many foster-adopted children, who remember their first parents) continue to grieve the loss of their first family. This week at EMN I give one such example.

The prospect of having to deal with this “language of loss” overwhelms some prospective parents, who are fearful of getting involved simply because it might “hurt too much” if the child goes away. And yet, to be truly pro-life is to risk our own comfort in order to come alongside not only pregnant women, but abandoned children as well.

Lives of Courageous Joy

“Those touched most deeply by suffering have the greatest capacity for joy.” This is true no matter how our children come to us. Biological parents endure the sleep deprivation and isolation of early parenthood, to the ashes-in-the-mouth foreboding of adolescent choices gone horribly wrong. “Extraordinary parents” — those who come alongside first parents to tend to the needs of the child, whether temporarily or permanently — endure multiple losses as well: from reproductive challenges to the sobering realities of parenting traumatized children with whom they share no biological connection. Parents of special-needs children — whether that child is “home-made” or adopted — walk their own little Via Dolorosa… indefinitely.

And yet, there is also undeniable joy: The joy of rediscovering the world through your child’s eyes. Catching frogs and butterflies. Making flower crowns for the Mary statue in the garden. Building block towers. Going to Mass together, and celebrating at McDonalds when you manage to get through the whole hour relatively without disruption. Reading — and rereading — favorite childhood stories. It all comes back with a rush.

These simple joys — perhaps especially in families with special-needs children, whose dependency extends indefinitely into the future — are the currency of family life, the stuff that fills the “love banks” and keep the graces flowing in good times and bad. And in the adversity of family life, we encounter another kind of healing grace. We begin to relate to our parents — and to one another — in ways we could not before. As parents, we can empathize, and we can forgive. Where once we spoke, as St. Paul said, “as a child,” as parents we find ourselves able to converse in the language of parenthood.

Handle with Care reminds us that this language of parenthood is not without its limitations. Despite our best intentions, our noblest endeavors, we do sometimes inflict pain on those we love most. But this story also points to the resilience of family ties — how the language of loss and pain and does translate into the language of healing and forgiveness. The language of family love.

While these things are true, after seeing Pixar’s latest offering today I will add the following caveat. “Take him to go see UP.”

As an adoptive parent, I was deeply moved by the irascible Carl’s character – grieving over the loss of his beloved Ellie, he strives to carry out her wishes as best he can, in her memory. What he doesn’t count on is a little stowaway named Russell – a boy with a deep need for a father figure, someone who can show him how to be a man. What touched me so deeply about this movie was Carl’s emerging need to father, to protect and guide the boy as only another man can.

Why Carl and Ellie had no children of their own is not fully explained. Together they dreamed of babies, and even decorated the nursery. And yet, for many reproductively challenged couples, the “why” is never fully explained – and even when it is, is seldom satisfying.

Faced with the devastating loss of his wife, and the prospect of losing even the home that contains his memories, Carl shuts the world out . . . Until young Russell comes knocking, then stows away on the floating home. As the adventure progresses Carl recognizes in the boy a kindred spirit. And in their quest – an adventure marked with great personal self-sacrifice, which is the essence of true fatherhood – the pair formed an extraordinary bond.

Why do I find this movie such a compelling argument for fostering and adoption? Carl does not formally adopt Russell, whose father’s absence is never fully explained. However, in reaching out to the boy, a most remarkable transformation occurs in the man. This movie reminded me that, just as God has placed in every woman the need to mother (which each of us expresses a bit differently), so he places in every man the desire to father. Not simply to provide, as the drive to father can never be fully satisfied in acquiring things. It must be lived out in relationship with other people, and in a particular way with the next generation – whether or not they share a biological connection with those they mentor.

In my blog for adoptive, foster, and special-needs parents, the Extraordinary Moms Network, I frequently write about the natural need God places in women to nurture and protect human life, whether or not they become biological parents. “Extraordinary Moms” are (like Eucharistic ministers) women who come alongside biological mothers – sometimes for a short time, other times for a lifetime – for the sake of the child, to help her raise him to responsible adulthood. In this movie, I saw a poignant image of Extraordinary Fatherhood – a bond very different from a mother’s, but no less important.

So … what does a foster family look like? Most aren’t rich in the financial sense. Some excellent foster parents open their hearts to a child long before they find a spouse. (Here in Ann Arbor, the sisters of Servants of God’s Love have fostered children for years.) You don’t have to own your own home, or even be at home full-time. (On the other hand, troubled children greatly benefit from the love and attention a SAHM can provide.)

So … what does the “gift of fostering” look like? You might be a great foster parent if …

· You genuinely like being around other people’s children, and they like being around you.

· You instinctively look for ways to help other people — adults and children alike.

· You notice when your child’s classmate doesn’t have a warm jacket … and find one for him.

· You’re good at bringing order out of chaos, but don’t mind a little “happy mess.”

· You have a WYSIWYG philosophy of life: honest, straightforward, and generally kind.

· You‘re a natural (and patient) teacher, capable of giving a lesson again and again.

· You have a “second sense” about children, and can figure out what they need when they can’t tell you themselves.

· You like cuddling, hugs, and dandelion bouquets.

· You make friends for life, even when you don’t see them every day.

· You are a resourceful person, and aren’t too proud to ask for help when you need it.

· You would like to add to your family, but aren’t sure you want another pregnancy.

· Most important: You believe in the power of love to change lives.

Some people hesitate to get involved because they aren’t sure they can bear the thought of getting attached, then having a child leave again. In reality, nearly 60% of foster children never go home, and there are more than 125,000 children who need permanent homes. Most of these children are over four years of age (the median age is eight) — younger children are often a part of a sibling group, have special needs, or are biracial.

However, many foster parents find that the children who enter their lives even for a brief time touch them so deeply, they are better off for having known them for even a short time. For a touching account of one such family’s experience, pick up a copy of “Paper Sack Kids“.

Do you live in the Ann Arbor, Michigan area? Join Heidi Saxton at St. Andrew Parish in Saline on April 28 at 9:45 a.m. for an “adoption fair.” After Heidi’s talk, representatives from local foster and adoption agencies will be on hand to answer any questions you may have about adoption and foster care. For more information, contact Heidi at hsaxton@christianword.com.

On the other hand, if we so isolate ourselves and especially our children too much from the world, we may miss out on the opportunity to show our children how to be salt and light in a predominantly tasteless and dark culture. In John 17 (vv. 15-18), Jesus prayed:

I do not ask that you take them out of the world but that you keep them from the evil one. They do not belong to the world any more than I belong to the world. Consecrate them in the truth. Your word is truth. As you sent me into the world, so I sent them into the world.

In this passage we see clearly that the Christian life is not supposed to be about removing ourselves from the world, but by fighting lies with truth. For Catholics, truth comes in three distinctive forms: doctrine (with a special emphasis on Scripture as the Word of God), worship (especially the sacramental graces of the Eucharist), and living in community (with a special focus on serving the poor and marginalized, whom Blessed Mother Teresa called “Jesus in distressing disguise”).

It is this third aspect of authentic Christian living to which Jesus was referring when He said: “I give you a new commandment: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you also should love one another. This is how all will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another” (John 13:34-35).

The “Protection Trap”

It is also this third aspect of authentic Christian living that can present the greatest challenge. Shortly after we became foster parents, Craig and I enrolled our son in a local Montessori preschool program that (we’d heard) had worked with foster children. It wasn’t cheap, but we were impressed with the teacher — a kindly and devout Catholic woman with a gentle spirit, who spent her summers building schools in Africa. We wanted to give our son the best possible chance to succeed in a classroom situation, and thought this would give him the preparation he needed.

We lasted exactly two months. Just before Christmas, a small group of parents pressured the teacher to have our son removed from the program because of his “bad influence” on their kids. (They thought Christopher’s propensity for pretending to shoot guns and talking about death was cause for alarm. We weren’t exactly thrilled when our son came home and informed us that his new friends called him “stupid.”) The teacher had tried to smooth things over, but it became very clear that if we didn’t leave, other families would.

It made me sad — and more than a little angry — that such “good Catholic parents” would treat us this way, and weren’t even willing to sit down and talk with us face to face about the situation. How tragic, I thought, that these same people who baked cheesecakes and tartlets by the dozen to raise money for the “children in Africa” couldn’t have more compassion for children seated beside them in the church pew.

A few weeks later, we enrolled Christopher in another preschool. The program was just a few hours each week, but was a much better fit for our son. The teachers were used to the rough-and-tumble antics of “real boys,” and encouraged me to stay in the classroom, so Christopher felt comfortable. It wasn’t a “Catholic” program… but Christopher’s academic career got a strong start in an environment where he was welcomed and accepted from the very beginning.

Teaching Our Children Compassion

Many times when I’ve spoken about our experiences with foster care, people say to me, “Oh, I’d like to do that, but I’m afraid of how the problems of those kids would rub off on MINE!” or “I’d like to help, but it would be too hard to say good-bye if they ever went back.”

These concerns are not totally baseless. I would never encourage a family with very young or developmentally disabled children to foster an older child — unless perhaps they already knew the child well, or were related to him or her. Placing a child who has been badly abused or neglected in a home with very young children could put everyone’s physical and emotional wellbeing at risk.

However, families with older children can also benefit tremendously from extending themselves in this way. You see, love is a gift that is never wasted. It expands the soul in giver and recipient alike. I was five when my parents agreed to take a girl from Newark’s inner city into our home for a summer. I had never before met a black person, and remember tickling Monique and asking to brush her hair just so I could touch her. I taught her to pick beans, and she taught me a silly song-and-dance routine about a bus driver. It was the summer of a lifetime.

No doubt this little girl taught me some things my parents wished she hadn’t (they weren’t thrilled, as I recall, with the “dance” part of the “song-and-dance”). But by taking that girl into our home, my parents instilled in me a lifelong habit of generous living that I hope to pass on to my children.

What can you do this week to engage your world as a family? Have you ever considered sponsoring a child through a group such as the Christian Children’s Fund or Catholic World Mission? Maybe you’re ready to explore getting a foster care license, or “Fresh Air” program. Or perhaps you could just make a monthly commitment to your local soup kitchen, or clear out your closet and donate to St. Vincent de Paul or Salvation Army?

It’s never too soon to cultivate a lifelong habit of compassion.

In at least one of these cases, the woman has endured years of selfishness and immaturity, supporting her family herself as her husband found one excuse after another to abdicate his financial responsibilities to his family. And, in at least one of these cases, a child she brought into the union endured physical and emotional abuse at the hands of his stepfather. Before they married, he said all the right things. After the wedding, the truth emerged with alarming clarity.

When a single mother chooses a potential marriage partner, one of the most difficult — and most crucial — considerations is not what the guy looks like in a snug pair of jeans, how fat his bank account, or how “romantic” he is. None of these things are nearly as important as this: How will he treat her child?

My sister Kathy, who counsels survivors of domestic violence, has experienced both sides of this. Her abusive first husband taught her the importance of choosing a marriage partner slowly and carefully. Thank God, the second time she got it right: Ken is a loving, gentle, patient man and a hard worker who loves Kathy and her daughter equally … and when they finally married, he pledged himself to them both.

“Marry in haste, repent at leisure,” the old saying goes. Heaven knows how tempting it can be to plunge ahead and make a permanent commitment when the stars are shining in those days of wine and roses. He looks good, smells great, says all the right things … Day and night, you dream of your rosy future with this, your Prince Charming.

But if you have a child, you need to stop. Seriously. Even if you are living at home and can’t wait to get out. Even if you are struggling to make ends meet, financially speaking. Even if you really, truly believe that God has brought the two of you together. My grandmother used to call this “seasoning” a man — seeing him through all four seasons of the year before making a permanent commitment.

The first step, of course, is making sure you are ready for marriage. Have you “unpacked your baggage” and worked through the issues of your past relationships? Are you in a healthy place, capable of making good dating choices? If you’re Catholic and were married in the Church, have you obtained an annulment? I recently read a book entitled Divorced. Catholic. Now What? by Lisa Duffy that provides excellent advice for navigating the aftermath of divorce with your soul intact. I highly recommend it.

Questions to Ask Before You Say “Yes!”

Relax. Take your time. If your friend is indeed “Mr. Right,” he’ll understand your caution. You aren’t thinking just of yourself — you need to decide what is best for your child. Because that’s what mothers do. So … you need to consider carefully, over time and with the help of close friends and family (who can help you maintain objectivity), whether your potential mate is a prince … or a toad. To get you started, here are a few questions to ask yourself:

* Is this man pressuring you for premature physical intimacy, or asking you to compromise your moral values in other areas? (If so, he may not have the self-control or moral fiber to be a good father.)

* Does he have obvious anger, entitlement, or control issues? Is he charming and persuasive one moment, but critical and demeaning the moment you say or do something he doesn’t like? (If so, he may be a potential abuser, even if he never hits you.)

* Does your child seek out this person’s company, or does s/he “disappear” (keeping physically or emotionally distant) the moment your friend shows up? (Children are highly intuitive creatures, and may pick up on signals you overlook.)

* How does this man act around your friends and family? Does he avoid them whenever possible and does he resent the time you spend with them? Or does he try too hard to get them to like him, exaggerating his accomplishments or flaunting his possessions? Or does he seem to “fit” (after he warms up to them a bit)?

* Does he remind you how lucky you are that he picked you, or how difficult it would be for you to find a mate if things don’t work out between the two of you? (This is a RED FLAG! RUN!!!)

* Do you ever feel that the relationship is “imbalanced” — or that you have to give up an important part of yourself to make it work? (Some adjustment is needed in every relationship, but the key is mutual support and respect.)

* If the child’s father is still in the picture, does your friend support your efforts to let your child have a relationship with his father? Or does he resent the man’s existence (and does this portend how he is going to feel about your child down the line)?

* If the child’s father is no longer in the picture, is your friend willing to father your child? Does he express an interest in adopting your child? Have you met his parents, and do they welcome the prospect of becoming your child’s grandparents … And if not, how does your friend feel about this? Does he make excuses for them … Or encourage them to build a relationship with the child?

* Have you talked about your finances, and does he include your child in his long-term financial planning (college fund, wedding fund, retirement planning, etc.)?

* Do you feel you can trust him to make good choices for you and your child, and that his heart is big enough to accommodate you both — even if no other children enter the picture?

If you are not sure about the answer to any of these questions, it’s better to wait until you have an answer than to rush ahead. Take all the time you need. Your child is worth it … and so are you!

Adoption gives those in crisis pregnancies an abortion alternative that saves the life of the child and relieves them of the unwanted responsibility of parenthood. Adoption also provides an opportunity for couples to have a child they might otherwise never have, and for the child to have a “forever family” that will love him or her for life.

With foster-adoption, children who have already been born — often to parents with such serious issues that the children may have been better off had the “adoption option” been chosen from the beginning — are given a second chance. Sadly, many of these children — especially those who are part of sibling group, have special needs, or are “older” (four or more) — must wait months and even years for a loving, permanent home. There are simply not enough suitable families willing to open their hearts this way.

The situation would be dire enough … Now grass roots, anti-adoption advocacy groups such as “Bastard Nation” and “Adoption: Legalized Ties” are seeking to discourage adoption, choosing rather to advocate for disgruntled adult adoptees and “natural parents,” including those whose children were taken from them because of abuse and neglect.

Anti-Adoption Advocates: Biased “Truth”

The dynamic of adoption is often described as a “triad,” with 3 sides representing the birth (or first) parents, adoptive parents, and adopted child. By and large, anti-adoption groups have vilified both adoptive parents and the agencies that mediate the placements.

Recently, however, the attack has expanded to birth parents as well: Under the “Unsealed Initiative,” adult adoptees and others are lobbying government agencies in New York and other states (successfully, in Toronto) to release sealed birth records in order to gain access to the identities of birth parents who may not desire contact, and who were promised anonymity upon relinquishment. In the minds of the adult adoptees, the “best interest of the child” trumps all — when in fact the “child” is no longer a child, but an adult whose “right to know” is no more important than the other party’s right to privacy.

This growing trend is even more alarming, given the unabashed pro-abortion stance of the Obama administration. Women in crisis pregnancies who are considering adoption may have second thoughts when faced with the very real possibility that their “past” may come knocking on their door twenty or thirty years hence, disrupting their lives with demands and recriminations. Unless the records are truly sealed with a “suite lock” — one that can be opened only by mutual consent — the real danger is that these “unwanted” children will simply be aborted.

Catholic Anti-Adoption Advocates

Recently I was appalled to discover that these “anti-adoption advocates” are making inroads even in Catholic publications. Last September the National Catholic Register ran this article (accessed through my EMN blog) by self-professed “anti-adoption advocate” Melinda Selmys, who writes about encountering teenage adoptees who were acting out — though the adoptive parents were “kind and loving people.”

Rather than consider the real possibility that the teens had been damaged by circumstances that led up to the adoption, or that adoption may indeed have been their best chance at a bright future, or that these kids were just like others teens who have difficulties making the transition into adulthood, Selmys concludes that the adoption itself was the true source of the problem. She writes:

The child … is not a tabula rasa on which anyone - parents, teachers, social workers, engineers of brave new worlds - can inscribe their glowing hopes for the future. … The child is created in the image and likeness of God, but it is also in the image and likeness of its parents. The people who hope to see evil eradicated from the world through increasing government intervention in the lives of children are going to be sorely disappointed. Children do not inherit their faults and failings merely by watching and imitating mom and dad. They inherit them on a much deeper level.

Healing the Wounded Heart

Now, much of what Ms. Selmys says sounds reasonable. Foster and adoptive parents are well aware that our children have challenges and issues originating with their “first families” — behavioral, mental, emotional, and medical among them. Sometimes it’s genetic. Other times challenges come from the child’s pre-adoptive environment, not a blank slate … a heart wounded by bad choices and negative impulses of broken people.

It is also true that no adoptive environment is “perfect” — just as no parent is perfect. Ideally, children thrive best when they are raised by their natural parents, joined for life in the sacrament of matrimony. Sadly, as a society we have fallen woefully short of this ideal, and the only question that remains is how to mitigate the damage inflicted on innocent young lives.

There are situations in which adoption is truly the best (though not perfect) choice: Children born to young teens (especially those who have neither the inner resources nor long-term support system necessary to parent); children of parents with unresolved substance abuse or domestic violence issues; and children of abusive and neglectful parents. In each of these cases, little wounded hearts heal best when they are no longer in close proximity to the source of the pain. Sadly, this can mean removing children from birth parents voluntarily or (when parents demonstrate neither the willingness nor the inclination to fix their own messes and put the children’s needs first) involuntarily.

Adoption gives children wounded by the choices of their first parents a second chance to heal. Granted, it does not completely shield the child from the consequences of her first parents’ choices. There is no way to shield the child entirely — that is the nature of sin. On the other hand, pressuring unwed teenage mothers (and other at-risk mothers) to keep their babies even when they are demonstrably not capable of parenting produces more difficulties than it resolves — down the line, when adoption is no longer a viable option.

Adoption, the “Pro-Life” Option

The sad reality is that the older the child, the smaller the pool of potential adoptive parents. In the U.S. today, more than 500,000 children are in need of temporary or permanent homes … the vast majority are part of larger sibling groups, special needs, or “older” (age four or more).

Because the pain of adoption is real, the adoption choice represents true self-sacrifice on all sides of the adoption triad: Birth parents put the best interests of the child ahead of their own needs, adoptive parents agree to invest themselves entirely in a young life they did not bring into the world. The child may also suffer in ways they cannot fully understand until they are much older — and may have difficulties accepting even then. And yet, when the choice is literally life and death, this kind of self-sacrifice is the pathway to hope … if we allow it.

Will these mothers come to regret their choice? Undoubtedly there will be times when they will wonder if they could have chosen differently. They may yearn to re-establish contact with that child — and should be able to leave the door open for this, should the child (ideally, with the blessings of the adoptive parent) seek her out. But as with many significant choices in life, once the choice is made we cannot see clearly “the road not taken”; because of the unknown variables that stem from that choice, it is illusory at best. We can only learn from our choices, and move on.

On the other hand, through adoption (even open adoption, in which the birth parents maintain a level of contact after the placement), a child is helped to make the most of their own natural giftings and eradicate the worst of their natural weaknesses. The birth parent is then able to tend to his or her needs without inflicting even greater damage on the innocent. And the adoptive parents are presented with an opportunity to invest their lives in a way that produces rich spiritual fruit in the life of parent and child alike.

In Search of the “Phantom Parent”

Books such as The Adoption Mystique, by anti-adoption advocate Joanne Wolf Small, MSW, remind us that some children never completely recover from the losses of adoption — no matter how much love and attention they are given. The sense of abandonment can run deep, and visions of “real” mom and dad can tantalize even the most outwardly accommodating child — especially those in the throes of adolescence and into young adulthood, when the natural desire to separate from Mom and Dad is most powerful, and the quest for identity strongest.

While the release of some information — such as medical histories — has objective value, and could be released without depriving the first parents of their right to privacy, it is imperative that the concerns of all three sides of the adoption triad be given equal weight. Birth parents have the right to remain anonymous (unless they choose to relinquish that right); adoptive parents have the right to raise their child without undue interference; the adopted child has the right to a safe and nurturing environment. The adult adopted child has the rights of any adult — but not access to the confidential records of other private citizens.

In the section entitled “Anti-Adoption Media Bias,” Ms. Small offers a revealing quote from “The San Francisco Examiner” (1999, February 22):

Anguish is everywhere in the adoption equation …. The birth mother … adoptive parents …. Adopted children haunted by phantom birth parents who, they may feel “abandoned” them - beings … they cannot know. Phantom limbs on the family tree (par 10).

At age eleven, my younger sister experienced phantom pains when her leg was amputated. The nerves at the amputation site, which connected the missing leg to the brain, did not immediately die. And yet, Chris did not let the amputation define her or limit her in any way, and in time these pains diminished. She became first a cheerleader, then a wife and mother. If she had chosen to concentrate on the pain — instead of healing — she would be a very different person today.

I realized just how complete the healing had been when, a few years ago, an over-zealous “street healer” offered to pray for her leg to grow back and she refused. “When I get to heaven, I’m going to get my leg back — and you better believe I’m looking forward to that. But right now, for whatever reason, this is God’s plan for me, and I’m going to accept it. I’m not going to feel sorry for myself — I’m going to live.”

Wise words that can be applied to many situations — including adoption. The “phantom pain” of adoption must be acknowledged — and yet, reunification may not always be possible or even desirable. The adopted child must recognize the reality of the adoption triad; each part of the triangle of birth parent/adoptive parent/adopted child has both rights and responsibilities, some of which cannot be assumed by the child until he or she becomes an adult.

It is in adulthood that many children — adopted and biological alike — discover something essential to their future happiness: Some things in life are chosen for us by the adults in our lives, based on the information at hand, which have both positive and negative repercussions. If we continue to blame our parents for those choices, we remain in a state of “arrested adolescence” and keep ourselves from realizing our God-given potential. This is true of adult children of adoption — and of many other children, too.

We cannot change history; we can only acknowledge and learn from it, grieve our losses, forgive those who have hurt us … and move forward. The loss adopted children experience is real — just as my sister’s loss was real. She had to work through those feelings; the loss was necessary if she was to survive. This is the story of adoption: a story of painful choices made in the present, in order to secure a better — and a living — future.

If this movie had been pure fiction, in one sense the marriage between this “confirmed old bachelor” and the divorced, critically ill expatriate would seem a bit… convenient. She had young children (only Douglas is mentioned in the movie), and her body was riddled with cancer. For Joy, returning to the States was not an option. But life is often stranger than fiction, and anyone familiar with the writings of Lewis, including both Surprised by Joy and A Grief Observed, can see that this was no “marriage of convenience,” but a true joining of hearts. In the latter work, Lewis observed:

One thing marriage has done for me. I can never again believe that religion is manufactured out of our unconscious, starved desires and is a substitute for sex. For those few years [Joy] and I feasted on love, every mode of it — solemn and merry, romantic and realistic, sometimes as dramatic as a thunderstorm, sometimes as comfortable and unemphatic as putting on your soft slippers. No cranny of heart or body remained unsatisfied. If God were a substitute for love, we ought to have lost all interest in Him… We both knew we wanted something besides one another — quite a different kind of something, a quite different kind of want. You might as well say that when lovers have one another they will never want to read, or eat — or breathe.

Tending to Our Soulish Needs

Though he helped to pave the way for some of the rest of us (myself included), C.S. Lewis never made the final leap “home to Rome”. And yet, this quote — an eloquent tribute to the spiritual intimacy God wants with us — speaks to the heart of the sacramental life, which is also reflected in the second reading from this past week (Philippians 2:1-5):

“…complete my joy by being of the same mind, with the same love, united in heart, thinking one thing. Do nothing out of selfishness or out of vainglory; rather, humbly regard others as more important than yourselves, each looking out not for his own interests, but also for those of others. Have in you the same attitude that is also in Christ Jesus…”

This passage goes on to describe all the things Christ did on our behalf — physical manifestations of a divine love so complete, so overwhelming that it conquered death itself. Not a 50-50 kind of love, not a “keeping up with the Joneses” enterprise. This ultimate self-sacrifice was born of perfect love and calls for a response of equally momentous proportions, a response of true humility and reverence, and of total self-giving, body and soul.

When we approach Our Lord at Mass, especially in the Eucharist, we feast on love with all the gratitude of one who does indeed (in the words of St. Paul) “regard others as more important,” and yet who (in the words of Lewis) wants “something besides one another.” Only when both these conditions are met can our souls be satisfied.

It can be difficult to strike a balance. When we judge harshly the actions and motives of those around us, we fail to tend to our own souls with humility. By the same token, if our choices about where and even whether to worship are determined solely by the “feelings” our surroundings engender, we cannot hear the still, small voice of God. We may kneel deeply, or bow profoundly. But reverent we are not.

As in a good marriage, reverent worship is an exterior expression of an interior commitment, a desire to know and be known — in another word, intimacy. When we approach Our Lord in the Eucharist in this way, “with the same love, united in heart … humbly regarding others as more important,” even the hungriest soul may be satisfied.