by Chris Norton
I watched Emily anxiously as the days and weeks went by, analyzing every conversation. Are we fighting less than usual? Does she seem happy? She seems more like herself, but will it last?
Three weeks passed—the magic timeline when Emily said her medication would fully kick in. And suddenly, Emily was smiling. She went to sleep easily and didn’t toss and turn or get up in the middle of the night. She didn’t rip me apart for not hearing what she said. Maybe I was imagining things, but Emily seemed better. And the change in her wasn’t going away.
One night Emily drove me to pick up Panera for the two of us and Whittley. I noticed she was quiet as she helped me roll my chair into the van. She stared at the floor as she buckled her seatbelt, and I heard her sigh.
“Em? What’s wrong?” Fear gripped my heart when I saw she was crying.
“Chris, I’m so sorry,” she sobbed. “I said so many awful things to you. I feel like such a terrible person. I keep thinking about all the times I lashed out at you for no reason, and I feel so guilty. If I were you, I would have left me.”
I grabbed her hand, choking back tears. “Emily, I forgive you. You were not yourself. That was not you.”
She fell across the console and laid her head on my shoulder. “But I don’t deserve it. I did so many awful things to you.”
I wiped a tear from her cheek. “None of that matters now. You made a bad choice, but that was not you. God doesn’t hold that against you. You have to forgive yourself too.”
I held her hand as we prayed together. This is for real, I thought. This is a new start.
17
Peace At Last
EMILY
It was an ordinary evening. Chris and I were playing cards with Whittley and Chris’s friend A.P. Whittley laughed as Chris teased her playfully. The look in Chris’s eye told me how much he loved Whittley. Even though she wasn’t that much younger than we were, she wasn’t just a foster daughter to the two of us now. We both loved Whittley as a daughter. In spite of the hard times she sometimes gave us—she still was, after all, a teenaged girl—she loved us as well. Watching Chris and Whittley go back and forth, her guard completely down, an overwhelming sense of gratitude and peace came over me. I am so lucky, I thought. I really have a great life.
My eyes welled with tears as I saw my life clearly for the first time in years. Chris noticed the look on my face and put his hand on my knee, with concern.
“Em, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all.” And I meant it. “We just have such a great life.”
My life had changed so dramatically in such a short time that I was still in shock. Yes, the medication pulled me out of the fog of depression, but that was only half of the equation. Since that first Sunday at Christ Fellowship, my relationship with God had grown exponentially. I wasn’t simply the person I was before. I was even better.
Back in high school, most of my prayers were focused on other people. While that sounds like a good thing, it also meant I never leaned on God for my own needs. I thought of myself as an independent person who could handle any situation life threw at her. I knew other people needed God, and I prayed for them constantly, but my life was so easy that it didn’t occur to me to pray for myself.
My depression forced me to realize that I couldn’t handle life on my own. I had tried, and I failed miserably. I didn’t realize God was trying to teach me something until a sermon one Sunday seemed as though it was directed straight at me. “Sometimes, God brings people through difficult times to refine them in his image,” the pastor said. “If you’re very independent and you think you can do everything on your own, he might bring you through a dark time to show you that you need him.”
For a moment I thought someone had told the pastor my story. Every word he said resonated with me. God threw me into a situation that was impossible for me to escape alone. Without him and his strength, I never would have called the mental health clinic. I would still be in the fog of depression, angry and bitter. My prayers for death could have taken an even bleaker turn. When God rescued me, it was as if he was saying, “I’ve got this, Emily. I always have. And I always will. You don’t have to carry your burdens yourself.”
Once I grew closer to God, my relationship with Chris took off to a new level. All those fights over whether he really loved me or whether he did enough to show me he cared boiled down to one thing—I had looked to Chris to fill the void that only God can fill. No one in the world can make me feel truly valued or loved. And, frankly, that’s not their job. As I grew closer to God, I stopped looking for Chris to fill me up. Instead, I meditated on what God says about me. His Word tells me I am chosen, I am loved, I am made in God’s image, I am part of God’s plan. The truest thing about me is what God says about me. I stopped pressuring myself to be perfect and allowed myself to rest in God’s love.
Filling myself with God’s Word enabled me to recognize my negative thoughts for the lies that they were and showed me how God’s promises could stop them in their tracks. Sometimes I felt overwhelmed with shame and guilt when I thought of the old me, the girl living in the fog, ready to explode at anyone who crossed her. I thought of those wasted years I could have spent fulfilling his purpose for me instead of sitting around feeling sorry for myself. In those moments God brought his words to my mind from 2 Corinthians 5:17 (NIV): “If anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here!”
I truly believed God had made me a new creation, but I was also clear on what this meant and what it didn’t mean. I didn’t overcome depression because I prayed the right prayer or believed strongly enough. Depression is an illness that requires medical attention. If I had had a brain tumor, I would have seen a doctor and treated the condition aggressively. No one would ever suggest that I simply change my attitude or try to have enough faith to make the cancer go away. Prayer goes hand in hand with medical treatment. Taking medication cleared the fog while my relationship with God renewed my mind and transformed me into a new person. I was finally ready to fulfill my purpose. Now I just needed to figure out what that was.
CHRIS
For most of my life, Jesus sat on the bench like a pinch hitter. He was ready to take the field in case disaster struck, but he wasn’t on the roster. I only prayed when I really needed help, but most of the time I tried to handle whatever life threw at me on my own. God wasn’t a priority, and he certainly wasn’t part of my day-to-day life unless I was desperate.
Everything changed when Emily and I got our lives right with God. Attending church on Sunday turned into thinking about the sermon throughout the week and trying to implement it in my life. Christ took his rightful place at the center of our relationship. Emily and I started doing devotions and praying together. When struggles and challenges came up in our relationship, we took them to God instead of battling like we used to. Finally, we had peace.
We dove into the church community, trying to surround ourselves with Christians to help support us on our journey. I joined a men’s Bible study and downloaded a Bible app to keep my time in the Word at the forefront of my mind. I felt God laying on my heart the need to step up and be the godly leader he calls me to be for my family.
God had done so much in our lives, but that doesn’t mean we didn’t face challenges. Our number one challenge at the time was to get Whittley to graduate from high school. She started her senior year behind in the credits she needed to graduate, especially in math. It didn’t help that Whittley hated math. We tried to help her, but like most every other kid, her favorite kind of help was us doing her work for her. That was not going to happen. Even when we helped her and showed her how to do certain problems, our method was often different from her teacher’s. Who knew math had changed so much in such a short time?
Even with the challenges in math, we didn’t let Whitt give up. We continually stressed the importance of a high school diploma. Emily and I worked tirelessly to motivate her to do the work, knowing full well that someday she wo
uld thank us even if she hated us now. We tried to get Whittley to understand that a diploma meant a foundation she could always fall back on. Without it, she’d limit herself on the kinds of jobs she could pursue, to say nothing of eliminating the chance to go to college.
Less than one day away from Whittley’s eighteenth birthday and six weeks before graduation, Emily overheard Whittley talking on the phone with her caseworker in Iowa.
“Tomorrow I’ll be eighteen and I can finally drop out of school, right?” Whittley said.
Emily barged in and said, “Wait, you are dropping out of school!? You are going to waste all the countless days and years of going to school just to drop out six weeks before graduating? Plus, you manipulated Chris and me into thinking you were serious about wanting a better life for yourself when the whole time you were just planning on dropping out?”
Whittley didn’t have an answer.
Over the next hour or so, Emily and Marisa pleaded with Whittley to realize how big of a mistake she was about to make. I sat on the couch listening through the wall, praying that Whittley would listen. I knew she hated having uncomfortable conversations around me, which is why I didn’t join in. If there is another thing Whittley hates, it’s being told what to do.
This day was no exception. She shouted back at Marisa, saying, “Emily hasn’t done anything for me. She has never helped me. I hate it here. I would be better off in a group home. Anywhere would be better than here. I don’t need any of you in my life. I’d be better off without you. As soon as I get my ID, I’m gone.”
Knowing how Emily had poured her heart and soul into Whittley, Whitt’s saying those things to her was too much for me to take.
Whitt came storming out of one room and walked right past me in the family room on her way to her bedroom. I looked up at her and simply said, “Whitt, I am so disappointed in you,” as tears rolled down my face.
She stopped, and I could tell she was taken aback but then kept walking.
The next day, Emily picked Whittley up early from school so that she could get her state identification card. Emily did this even though Whittley claimed she was going to leave the next day. From there Emily dropped her off at work. While on break, Whittley called Emily sobbing. “I can’t lose you. I’m so sorry for everything I have said and done. I want to stay and graduate. I promise I’ll make it right. You are all I have and all I have ever had.”
I think the thought of losing Emily was too much for Whittley. For me, the entire episode was nearly a beat-for-beat rerun of Emily throwing all my things in garbage bags when she told me we were through forever. Like Emily, the very real possibility of losing both of us made Whittley realized that we both truly loved her. When she stormed through the living room the day before, she had fully expected me to yell at her. But by calmly telling her how disappointed I was with her, she saw my compassion and love. This episode proved to be a major turning point for all of us and our relationship. Whitt had a much better attitude the following weeks with her school work. There were times she said, “I can’t do this,” but she eventually got back after it. She only had to push through for six weeks, and that’s exactly what Whittley did to graduate on time!
EMILY
Now that Chris and I were right with one another and with God, I had a feeling that God wanted us to do more than sit back and be happy and comfortable. I knew he had more in store for us to do, and I had a pretty good idea what that was. One night after Whittley went to sleep, I said to Chris, “What would you think of taking in another foster kid?”
I didn’t know what he might say. This wasn’t the first time I’d mentioned fostering more children. The two of us had talked about it several times over the years we’d been together. My heart and passion had always been to help kids in need.
“You mean now?” Chris asked, sputtering. “But Whittley still lives with us. We don’t have room in our apartment. Where would we put them?”
“It could be only a short-term placement,” I said. “We could take in a baby under the age of one who could sleep in our room.”
“Emily, do you have any idea how much stuff we would have to buy?” Chris replied and shook his head. “Babies need cribs and diapers and formula. Our apartment is tiny as it is. We have no place to put everything. Overloading it with baby stuff just doesn’t seem like a good idea.”
“Well, yeah, I know, but I just would love to do something like that; it sounds so fun,” I said. I knew that if God was calling us to do this, I would have more conviction and would push it if it felt right. The Holy Spirit would take care of all the convincing Chris might need.
“It’s not that I don’t want to foster,” Chris explained. “I just don’t think it’s the right time yet.”
“I get it,” I said. He was right. I left it at that.
CHRIS
It wasn’t just the timing that made me hesitant about becoming full-fledged foster parents. Even though I knew nothing about teenage girls, Emily at least had a long history with Whitt. On top of that, I knew the arrangement was only temporary. Whittley planned to move back to Iowa right after graduating from high school. But now Emily wanted us to take in more kids. I hesitated and came up with excuses as to why now wasn’t the right time, but the truth is I was super scared of fostering any kids, whether it was one or ten. We would have no idea what they had been through or how they would react to being in our house. That level of uncertainty would change everything, not to mention the fact that our day-to-day lives would be drastically different with kids in the house.
Then there was the whole issue of me being in a wheelchair. As much as I wanted to help, I was extremely limited in what I could do. If one of the kids acted out, I had no way to get them to listen to me beyond attempting to reason with them, which isn’t exactly an effective method for any child, much less one who has lived through trauma. I worried about the amount of work fostering was going to put on Emily’s shoulders.
But in spite of my hesitations, I had a strong sense that Emily was right. God wanted us to do this. I did my best to ignore him. I held on to all my reasons why we needed to wait, but I knew my reasons were just excuses. If I was serious about following God’s will for our lives, I had to get past my excuses and trust him, then do whatever he wanted us to do.
EMILY
I didn’t press the issue with Chris. Instead, I prayed. Every time I went to God in prayer, I had this overwhelming sense that we needed to start the process of fostering younger kids not in a year or so, but soon. Very soon. I hesitated to say anything more to Chris, but finally I couldn’t keep it in. “Chris, I really feel like God wants us to do this,” I said. “I know in my heart that I’m supposed to be a foster mom. And I truly believe you’re supposed to be a foster dad too.”
“I know,” Chris sighed. “I just keep thinking of all the reasons why it doesn’t make sense right now. Why can’t we do it in a few years when we are married and have more space?”
“There are kids who need help now,” I said desperately. “It doesn’t matter that we’re young. We could change their lives.”
Chris looked around our cramped living room. “I just keep coming back to the fact that our apartment is tiny.”
“Well . . .” I paused. “What if we moved into a house?”
“I still don’t know, Em. I don’t know if it’s a good idea right now. I don’t think waiting is a bad thing. We don’t want to rush into this.”
I agreed with Chris, but the next time I got alone with God, I could barely write in my prayer journal fast enough. My brain was moving one hundred miles an hour, and I needed God to tell me what to do. Do you want us to become foster parents now? Should we move? If we move, where should we go?
I didn’t know the answers yet, but I decided it wouldn’t hurt to do a little research and make an informed decision. I checked out houses online to see what was available in our area at a price we could afford. I still couldn’t shake the idea that we should help kids sooner, not later, and I wa
nted to get the ball rolling. I was full of life again, and I couldn’t contain it. I knew there was more we could be doing to help kids in foster care. Chris wasn’t so sure it was the right time, but sometimes Chris just needs a little push.
Since we were already licensed in the foster care system, all we needed to do was apply to foster younger children. I connected with our licensing agent and told her, “Chris and I would really like to foster toddlers and young children. We don’t have the space right now, but I’m sure once we move into a house that could change.” I had only casually browsed a few real estate websites, but the caseworker took what I said to mean that we were days away from closing on a house.
“Oh, you’re moving?” She perked up. “Why don’t you just wait until you’re moved and settled? Then you can open up your home to some other ages. We’ll definitely be able to get kids placed with you.”
That was all I needed to hear. If Chris wouldn’t feel comfortable fostering more kids until we were in a house, and the caseworker thought it was a good idea, then I would find us a house.
For weeks I scrolled through real estate websites every chance I got. Finding exactly what we wanted in a house wouldn’t be easy. Wherever we moved had to be fairly wheelchair accessible. For some reason I could not explain, I kept lingering on listings for homes with way more bedrooms than we needed. One night I was about to shut down my computer after staring at house listings for so long that my eyes were practically crossing, when I came across a house that was really close to Barwis Methods. That would be perfect for Chris, I thought. But this house had four bedrooms, not two or three. Chris and I had talked about taking in no more than one child once we got a house, but I had this nagging feeling God had something bigger in store, as if he wanted to stretch us in ways we couldn’t imagine.
