I Come From a Broken Home.
My parents are Bruce and Katie. Bruce is my mothers 4th husband. They met when my mother was a bartender and they hired my father as a bouncer/doorman for New Years Eve. I was conceived 6 weeks later.
My father, lacking every possible moral at the time, was financially careless, even illicit. He was unfaithful, a traveling salesman with women in each of the cities he frequented. Some of my first memories are of my mother discussing my father’s indiscretions to my older half sister. “STD” “Bankruptcy” “Felony” “embezzlement” were just some of the words that stuck out. Why she never left, I’ll just never understand. She was a leaver. My father disappeared for many months on “business trips” that later I’d learn were sometimes stints in jail or prison, although sometimes they were actually business trips.
My siblings were often at their dads, though both my brothers’ dads were dangerous, and frequently incarcerated. All of them were half siblings, as I am my fathers one and only child.
My parents upbringings were riddled with abuse. And mine followed suit. Though I was never physically abused, I was abused in complicated psychological ways, including early exposure to sexualized behaviors, as well as eating disorders. This is far too intense to go into much detail, but the important part is that my parents became this way honestly, as a result of their upbringings, and though it doesn’t excuse their behaviors towards me, it certainly explains a few things.
I am a result of my parents’ choices. I struggled with a laundry list of eating disorders, body dysmorphia, and self harm that began early in life (first memories around 5). I often wondered if God could hear me.
My mother, disturbed by such an intolerant world, found an inclusive Lutheran church that we attended here and there for many years. I had an unwavering belief in a God, but hardly a personal God, and I had no idea how to access him, or if he was accessible.
My mother taught us of an ALL GOOD GOD. But nothing about rules, holiness, righteousness, faith, grace… nothing. It was like we were permitted lawlessness because God loved us so much.
You can see this in her parenting style. She made few rules, enforced few rules, prohibited anyone from even gentle correction, stating that “kids will be kids,” but at the root was likely a strong dislike for how disciplining kids feels and that she was of “advanced maternal age,” and just didn’t have the energy any more even if she wanted to, but let me just assure you, she DIDN’T want to. The only exception to this were rules around diet and food, which were dangeroursly different.
She loved me unconditionally, and she would love me all the way to my grave, rather than do anything to stop dangerous behavior. If he was around, my father wouldn’t stop any behavior because he was likely doing all the same terrible behaviors him self.
By high school, my dad knew I was stealing his cigarettes, having sex, ditching school… among other dangerous activities… but what could he say, really?
My parents were hands off. God knew I needed guidance, and that I'd not get it from the people who made this mess. I latched onto my mother’s housekeeper, Tracy, who noticed that I was a chatty kid with a lot of questions, she was the first of many women who took me under their wing, to guide me. God was with me all the days of my life, and he was writing my story.
When my dad needed to move for some undisclosed reasons, we moved into a condo. I must've been about 6. My mom went to work outside the home. Previously she did in home daycare. I watched her manage dozens of kids, on outings, school pick ups, LARGE meal prep, patience, acceptence and love for her daycare kids, but it wasn’t enough money. My dad was going on an “extended business trip,” and I was pretty responsible for a 6 year old and options were limited. One brother worked overnights, and if I needed him I could wake him, so my mother let me be a latchkey kid at 6.
Our back patio shared a fence with a family. I'd sit out on the patio and listen to her play with her kids. She was homeschooling, and I admired her and longed for friendship. I eventually started talking to her through the fence. She had 3 kids, eventually she’d have her fourth, Jessica. The newest baby I'd ever seen. She took me under her wing, recognizing that I was just a little barefoot kid, who was good with her babies and she loved me. Pilar was a Christian, I thought I was since I’d been to church quite a lot. But it was in this season that she taught me about Jesus.
She and her husband took me to church, and I remember hearing someone praying in tongues and saying “WOW THAT GUY IS PRAYING IN SPANISH!” She was tickled by it. She loved me like her own child. We lost contact around age 12, but before we did, I was taught how to pray, how to be grateful, how to be dedicated, and I think I probably experienced Jesus for the first time during this window of time. (We reconnected later and God let me be a wonderful part of that 4th babies own adoption story. )
Around this time, my late elementary school years, and in the same neighborhood I met a woman named Sheri, she had 2 kids, and her baby Heather was the cutest little girl. I asked if I could take her for walks. While walking her baby, I met Andrea, and her baby Katie. These women (Sheri and Andrea) knowing that I was a latchkey kid, had me over daily. They called me a “mothers helper” and surely I would help as much as a kid could. I played with the babies, read them books, in return, they provided ample snacks and supervision. There were more… Mina and her baby Ryan, April and her baby Christopher ... I was like a stray cat. Going from house to house looking for a kid to play with and a mom to talk to. I was friendly. It was a good thing I was. God was with me all the days of my life, and he was writing my story.
I learned something extremely valuable from these women. Lessons I would never learn from my mother.
Sheri taught me about silliness. She also gave me my first official paid job, doing afterschool child care at the preschool she worked at Corona Christian Center.
Andrea taught me about asking for help, and a love of musical theater. She took me to plays, and always dropped everything if I needed a ride.
Mina gave me a love for adventure, outings, and she eventually taught me to drive.
April taught me to love animals, and how to pack light for trips.
Tracy taught me about cleanliness, and acceptence, hard work and frugality.
In High school, as my promiscuity came out, I was taken under the wing of another Godly woman named Tracy, as well as my best friends mom, another Andrea. Andrea wasn’t saved, but thankfully she wasn’t also disturbed when I needed help with birth control, and my own Feminine health, including resolving my STD’s from unprotected sex. Tracy, and her husband were going through the process of being foster parents, and asked me to get fingerprinted and do a class so that I would be allowed to babysit regularly. I met my first foster kid there at that home. Nathaniel was a bulby headed baby, and his 2 year old brother Joshuah. We didn’t know it then, but Joshuah had a form of high functioning autism, and this was my first time falling in love with a special needs kid. God was with me all the days of my life, and he was writing my story.
I’d get pregnant out of wed lock, married, pregnant, abort, divorce, marry, divorce, all before I’d meet and marry my Joe, he would get saved through a direct revelation from a God he was ADAMANT did not exist, and I’d rededicate my life to the God that Pilar introduced me to, 2 decades before. Staying has been and likely will always be hard for me, I am a natural leaver. I got it from my mother.
God was with me all the days of my life, and he was writing my story.
7 years into our marriage, my husband said we should do foster care. No thanks Joe, I come from a broken home. The only good examples I had to be a parent, were not my parents. Pilar. Sheri, Mina, April, and a couple of Andreas and Tracys.
They all loved me and provided for me like I was their own child. Maybe, on second thought, I was more prepared than the average mother. Women who only had one mom to learn from didn’t have anything on me. On us.
Currently, Joe and I have fostered over 30 kids. The things I thought disqualified me as a foster mother, actually qualified me. And as a tiny kiss from heaven, Our very first foster child was a boy with Autism.
My foster kids have had eating disorders, they cut themselves, they’ve been sexually promiscuous, they’ve smoked weed, they've been angry, unruly, and deeply hurtful… you name it, they’ve done it. BUT SO HAVE I. They all come from broken homes. We all come from broken homes. I saw all this coming.
What I didn’t see coming was that I was uniquely tuned to what it is like to have a mom who loves their child, but is unsafe, dealing with their own childhood trauma, trying their best but harming their kids. I am able to, because of my own mother’s failures, love other mothers, in the midst of their failure. I am able to never judge them, and believe that they are valuable.
What I didn’t see coming was that when I was 6 years old, God was using other women to MODEL for me what loving other women’s children as my own looks like.
He taught me how to prepare food for large groups, manage many moving parts, he taught me how to lovingly make a connection with a child I just met. These women… including my own mother, showing me, teaching me, ministering to me, teaching me how to minister…
I hear the voices of these women in the words that I say. I feel the love of these women penetrating my heart, and the hearts of each stray cat child who comes into our homes. I feel a sense of connection with the kids, because I was once just like them, and a sense of connection with these women, because I am now just like them.
I feel the forgiveness, and grace I’ve extended to my own mother, extending to the mothers of the children. The salvation of Christ is for all, ESPECIALLY the lost.
My story does nothing if it doesn’t point to a God who is waiting for us to give him permission to use our our trauma, to change the world. He took all of it and used it to do good. Our story, for HIS glory.
HE can do that for you too. He didn’t cause any of your hurt, but he is just waiting for the invitation to make good on his promise, beauty from ashes. God knows your story, he is writing it, and providing for you.
Now things look different. I’m NEVER alone and looking for friends these days, but some things just never go away. God continues to bring Godly, IMPORTANT women into my life. I could go on for hours, but trust me when I say that my adult life continues to unfold and the second half of this story when it’s written will include women named Teri, and Annette, and Julie… and likely many more.
If we ever move, or new neighbors move in, I always throw balls over the fences to the neighbors yards, just to see which ones come back. I see who God placed on the other side of a fence and if that is another majestic move by the great orchestrator. Who was with me all the days of my life, and is writing my story.
Photos below to put a face to the names.
Tracy the foster mom and Joshuah *all grown up
Sheri and baby heather all grown up
Pilar, me, and my mother a few years ago
April, still working with animals
Andrea and her “baby” Katie
The second Andrea, who helped me deal with my women’s health, who after caring for me went on to become an official foster and adoptive mother too.
