My View from the Copy Room

My office is in the copy room at work.

This means that the hustle and bustle is constant. Co-workers are in and out, updating files, printing court reports, making sure their kids’ placements have been properly documented as they’ve moved to yet another home in their foster care journey.

Sometimes they’re chatty. They share about a tough case or celebrate when some kiddos finally find permanency. Sometimes they ask about my girls or our church.

I really enjoy my co-workers. They’re personable and dedicated, and I’m proud to be on their team.

Some days, like today, are a bit different in my office. People seem even busier than normal. They’re still in and out to use the copy machine and printer, but there’s less chatting and more rushing. I notice their quickened strides and tired eyes.

Today, I can almost feel the stress they’re experiencing as they hurry to complete all they have to do, looking forward to a weekend that they’re so desperate to reach.

I can sense overwhelm in the air. I think it lingers just above our third floor happenings everyday, but on particular days, it seems to settle in, descending like a fog.

It’s days like these, when the air is just a little bit thicker, that I assume we can all feel it. This work always matters, but sometimes there’s a deeper sense of the immensity of the job.

Kids have to leave homes at a moment’s notice. New cases come pouring in. Caseloads grow too quickly for anyone to do much more than tread water and hope for the best.

These workers, who buzz around the office, are crucial to the child welfare world and our community at large.

They’re the ones visiting children in their foster homes – once, twice, sometimes three times a month. They’re the ones building rapport with foster parents, getting to know their clients, and coordinating ever-changing schedules. They’re the ones sitting in the hospital waiting room on the weekend when there’s no bed for the teenager who needs to be admitted for their own safety.

They’re the ones showing up to court, thick files in hand. And they’re the ones who sometimes wait hours for the judge to call the case, all the while mentally calculating how many extra hours they’ll now be working this evening to make up for the delay. 

And these workers, who come in and out of my office with exasperated sighs, carry stories. Stories of trauma and abuse. Stories of struggle and pain. Stories of redemption and hope. And stories that haven’t been made quite right. 

It’s no wonder that this job had such turnover. Who could carry it all? The brokenness of this world can be too much at times.

And yet, these case workers, my co-workers, keep showing up. When I arrive back at my desk for my next day of work, there they are.

Back to the mess and the hard. Back to the kids who depend on them to be their advocates. Back to the parents who are working diligently toward reunification. Back to the cases that take years to close. Back to the workload that continually seems to expand.

I’ve never had the honor and burden of doing case work, but I’ve been around long enough to know, this calling is not for the faint of heart. 

So to my friends and co-workers who show up daily, thank you. Your commitment makes our community better, and we’re grateful for the sacrifices you make.

You are seen, and you are loved.

What We’re Learning to Do Differently

I’ve already written a post on getting our girls to learn to sleep, and yet, as I reflect on the last four years of parenting, it’s one of the areas I wish we’d approached differently.

You can check out my previous post Sleep Matters to see how I was processing this part of the journey a year and a half ago. There were definitely some things that we did well, and other things we’ve adjusted since I last shared.

One of the main things we decided to do a little differently is to lean into what our girls were asking for even if it seemed unconventional. One of our girls really wanted to be rocked. We’d try to convince her to just lay down in bed. We’d offer to just pat her back or lay with her. But she was persistent.

And we, the stubborn couple that we are, really didn’t want to “give in”. What if we started this practice and then she expected it every night? Isn’t she way too old for this? Shouldn’t she be able to just go to sleep on her own?

All of those questions, while normal, are loaded with fear. Fear she’ll be seen as weird or behind. Fear that others might judge us if they hear we’re still rocking our six (now seven) year-old. Fear that I’ll be here all night and won’t have time to myself.

I wish I would have asked myself these types of questions, “Is it in my power to say yes?” “Will this yes help her in the long run?” “What does saying yes mean to her?”

Now, I’m NOT saying we should respond “yes” to every single idea our kids have. In fact, this daughter is so incredibly creative and unique that she asks us to do all kinds of crazy stuff over the course of a day.

But what I am saying is that if our kids are asking us something repeatedly that could possibly help them, show them that we care, and remind them that we want them to ask for what they need, then maybe we should try to say yes more often.

So, we started saying yes to this specific request. Dustin would rock her for five minutes or fifteen minutes, or whatever she seemed to need. And she didn’t ask every night. Not even close. In fact, it seems like she’s asked less and less now that we’ve said yes a few times.

Sometimes, Dustin will now actually offer to rock her on nights when bedtime seems to be a little more anxiety-laden. She’ll happily crawl into his lap, and rock back and forth, calming down fairly quickly. Most nights, she doesn’t even fall asleep in the rocking chair. She just enjoys the time together with Dustin or me.

And my view has changed. Now, when I look at her in her dad’s arms or I pull her close to me for one more song, I tell myself – she’s finally experiencing a stage that she truly needed. I watch her soak up those feelings of trust, connection, safety, preciousness and love. And I celebrate the opportunity to say yes.