foster child

This Angel…

January 21, 2020 by Margaret Philbrick Leave a Comment

“What happened to your foster daughter?” We hear this question often, for many people knew and loved the Liberian princess who disappeared from our lives unexpectedly.

The short form of the story tells the facts, without the emotional toll. She returned to Boston in the summer of 2018 because that was the agreement we had with her Liberian step-family living there. In July, both of her brothers journeyed by car several hundred miles to retrieve her from her Liberian family and take her to a different home in the town next to ours, rather than bringing her back to us. Their motivation for doing so was their desire that she attend a more prestigious high school, the one where her older brother graduated. Sadly, we learned about this via a phone call from the high school she attended while living with us. They requested that her records be transferred to the more prestigious high school and they needed our permission to do so. We had no idea what was going on. Why did this happen? The whole affair blind-sided us. We thought she would happily live out her high school days in our home and we would help get her to college, but her brothers had different ideas. This is one of the painful realities of fostering a child, you have very little control.

Fast forward to sitting in the musical “Hamilton” this past December. I waited in line for six hours to get tickets and as the date approached, I began to grow skeptical that it could live up to the hype. When the evening rolled around to see it, I found myself exhausted and didn’t really want to go. Watching “Hamilton” felt like a self-inflicted cultural obligation, which left me feeling guilty. The money could have gone to much worthier causes. I fell asleep during the first act. It is entirely possible that I’m the first person in the world to doze off in their seat while witnessing this blockbuster. After a caffeine laden intermission, we headed in for the second act and alas, one of those unsolicited, transforming moments that can only happen in theatre came over me. It happened during the song, “It’s Quiet Uptown.” (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vjEoOeXId1k The song is a poignant number in which Eliza Hamilton forgives Alexander of his marital infidelity. During the scene, the chorus narrates the event while we watch them stroll in an uptown park, and we see her take Alexander’s hand. In unison, the chorus sings the word, “forgiveness – can you imagine?” and Eliza extends herself in this simple, but significant gesture. When this music streamed into my heart, I realized that I needed to forgive our foster daughter and her brothers for their betrayal. It was time to emotionally move on, rather than hold onto the hurt.

So, the Liberian princess now lives with her younger brother in a beautiful apartment which I visited shortly after seeing “Hamilton.” She invited me to help her with a project she’s working on for an entrepreneurial club she attends in the city. We sat together at the high top table, just outside of the recently cleaned kitchen discussing product benefits, target market, distribution vehicles and all those juicy aspects of launching something new. She showed me her drawings and designs and asked if she could call the product, “Margaret’s Child.” (Insert here – emojis of shock and awe and yes, how delightful!) I can’t say what the product is, but if she wins the competition she will get the funding to actually launch the product and then you’ll find out ALL the details. Please pray that she wins:)

She looked so grown up sitting at that table with her newly embraced natural hair and enormous smile. I gave her the Christmas present which I add to every year, another piece of the African nativity which is handmade by our neighbor, (see here for details of this beautiful business http://margaretphilbrick.com/your-artistic-corner/) When she toured me around her immaculate bedroom, I saw the zebra from this set on her desk. This year’s piece was an angel, because she is an angel whether she lives with us or not and forgiveness causes the angels to sing (or at least get their wings) not just at Christmas, but every day of the year. May we extend much grace and forgiveness during this election year — 2020 — to those who’ve hurt us and to those we’ve hurt as well.

p.s. I know this post will probably come back and haunt me so if I’m being a jerk to you or you see me being a jerk to someone else, please remind me that back on a freezing cold, snow- laced January night I wrote this and that I need to keep leaning into forgiveness and get over myself. Thanks!

This is the final post in the four part series discussing the tangible and intangible aspects of life that last…”This Couch,” “This Bear,” “This Bed,” “This Angel.”

ESPN’s Sage Steele and Our Foster Child

June 5, 2015 by Margaret Philbrick Leave a Comment

Until I sat in the Indiana University Memorial Stadium, I’d never heard of Sage Steele. Her name sounds like it belongs in a heavy metal band. When I learned she was the chosen speaker for the 2015 I.U. graduation I confess to rolling my eyes and thinking, a sportscaster, come on, can’t we do better? As I sat listening with about 10,000 other family members, I looked down the row at our foster daughter who was on the edge of her concrete seat. Sage Steele gave us all a lesson in effective speaking to a LARGE group but she gave our twelve year old Liberian darling much more:

Be vulnerable – She talked about how she almost flunked out of college, a fact not often shared. Her professors brought the problems to her attention and put people around her to get her though. It took five years, but she made it.
Be gutsy and virtuous – Despite the fact that the I.U. rabbi managed to give the invocation without making it a prayer or even mentioning God, Ms. Steele offered a portion of the Cadet prayer from West Point to close out her speech.

O God, our Father…encourage us in our endeavor to live above the common level of life. Make us to choose the harder right instead of the easier wrong, and never to be content with a half truth when the whole can be won. Endow us with courage that is born of loyalty to all that is noble and worthy, that scorns to compromise with vice and injustice and knows no fear when truth and right are in jeopardy. Guard us against flippancy and irreverence in the sacred things of life. Grant us new ties of friendship and new opportunities of service. Kindle our hearts in fellowship with those of a cheerful countenance, and soften our hearts with sympathy for those who sorrow and suffer.

Her challenge to the I.U. graduates, choose the harder right along life’s path instead of the easier wrong.

Inspire – When she was 12 years old, Ms. Steele told her parents she wanted to be a sportscaster. Her dad drilled her on sports facts, teams and trivia until she knew more than Bob Costas. Patiently working her way up the ladder from local Indiana basketball coverage to bigger arenas, her career moved forward. But, when the ESPN dream phone call came, she said, “No, thank you.” Pregnant with her first child, Ms. Steele chose to put family first and stay home. As she put it, she chose the “harder right instead of the easier wrong.” ESPN called again when her child was older and this time she was in a position to say, “yes.”

Our five foot tall foster daughter learned this semester that she can jump. Upon the encouragement of her gym teacher, she competed in her first track meet. In the long jump, she broke a ten year school record and flew 14’ 8”. She also came in first place in the high jump, and in gym class first place for the vertical jump, 25” without trying. Apparently there was only one student to challenge her with 23” and all she needed was an inch more to out jump her. The weekend she heard Sage Steele address the fulfillment of her dreams and her failures along the way, our little jumper told us, “I’m going to go to the Olympics in track and field someday.”

Thank you Sage Steele for helping a five foot Liberian girl believe in big dreams! Thank you for sharing your heart and having the guts to instruct us in things most people today are too afraid to say.

A New Year, A New Life and Love

February 13, 2015 by Margaret Philbrick 18 Comments

She’s never been to Starbucks. Never stayed in a hotel. Never heard a bedtime story and now she’s living with us. Our new year began on Janurary 2^nd. We drove a quiet 11 year old girl from Boston to our home, arriving at 2:00 a.m. to be greeted by welcome notes and lavender macaroon cookies left out on the counter by our other kids.

On December 10^th, 2014 we were going about our lives, getting ready for Christmas. We snuggled into our cozy beds and drifted off to sleep as the street light shone through spyrographic ice on our bedroom window. At 4:00 a.m. God woke me up, to the sound of my own voice yelling, “Hurry!” At first I wasn’t sure it was God, it was “just a dream,” a dream about an adorable girl we know in our Sunday night Bible study in the refugee apartments. “I’m going to be adopted,” she said in the dream, working her small rough hand into mine. “I want to show you where I’m going to live so you can meet them.” We flew through the air and landed in the rugged courtyard of her new apartment complex. Several young, jobless or homeless men gathered around burning trash barrels to stay warm. The icicles dripped rust from the balconies. “It’s that one up there on the end, next to the stairs. I’ll be able to come and go as I want to.” She smiled as she pointed out a lacquered black door on the second floor. We began to creep across the courtyard toward the staircase, arms locked so we didn’t crash on the ice. The circle of young men in “wife beater” t-shirts, gangsta jewelry and flannel coats approached, questioning me. “What are you doin’ here?” Danger slashed across their faces. We began to back up. I whispered to my little friend, “I think we need to get out of here. Hurry!”

This dream, so vivid, spoke of impending doom and urgency. Something was wrong. Reaching over the edge of the bed for my computer, I immediately emailed the Bible study co-leader. It was 4:00a.m. “Is she o.k.?” I just needed to know. Her response back, “I think your dream was from God. Her father is moving her to Boston on December 16^th. She doesn’t want to go.” In six days! We started praying. My husband agreed that perhaps God was showing us something in the dream and we should speak to her dad about the possibility of her living with us. Her dad agreed, but first she would go to Boston for Christmas. We checked out the neighborhood they were moving to. From a crime perspective, it’s one of the worst.

Many miles later, we sit in Starbucks and sip hot chocolate. I’m teaching her to play the piano after school and she is singing in our church children’s choir. We’ve read Mrs. Piggle Wiggle, Number the Stars and tonight, The Witch of Blackbird Pond at bedtime. She’s getting fat eating American food rather than Liberian pepper soup. She laughs with her brothers who live nearby and our kids and we’re all learning together; learning to make room, to share, to sacrifice our personal schedules, to listen to 103.5fm instead of our favorite stations on the way to school. We are learning to live with and love someone new every morning and every night.

As I walk the dog after getting everyone to school, I’m thankful. I thank God that he still speaks in dreams and visions. I thank him for always doing something new, so thankful that her father said, “yes,” and as we walk toward Valentine’s Day, I thank him that he is still teaching us all how to love.