I often wonder what part God plays in the hearts and minds of children taken into care.
Precious little I suspect, I don't delve. Their lives are in such turmoil they haven't space in their heads to ponder the mysteries of life. If they did they'd probably give the idea of an all-powerful but caring God the thumbs down.
When I was little my parents sent us to Sunday school. 2.30pm to 4.00pm every Sunday afternoon, I hated it, didn't get why I was sent as my parents were not at all religious. They'd lost a daughter aged two, something that would make most people wonder if there's a God.
But they sent us anyway. I found out why eventually, it'll make you smile.
The reason I mention it has to do with the fact that each Sunday we'd have to listen to a sermon from a guest vicar. There we'd sit, about twenty or thirty kids in their Sunday best, sat at the front of a huge empty church. The star vicar would solemnly climb the steps up to the magnificent mahogany pulpit thing so he could deliver his words of wisdom from on high. No intimacy there then.
They'd start with something like:
"I saw a man on a bicycle this morning, and I though to myself 'God is very much like a bicycle…'"
or
"I had toast with my breakfast today and I thought to myself 'In many ways God is like a toaster…'"
Anyway, the reason I mention this is because;
I was spreading Marmite on a child's lunchtime sandwich and I thought to myself;
"In many ways, fostering is like Marmite…"
Marmite, for overseas readers is a British salty brown yeast spread. It was discovered when brewers of beer had to clean out the massive tubs they'd brewed the beer in and found at the bottom a layer of gunge. Sticky and hard to clean it was. Then one day one of them put his finger in the gunge, licked it and pronounced it disgusting. Another chap did the same and declared it was not too bad.
So instead of flushing it down the drain they bought a load of big French pots (French for big pot is "Un Marmite", and they were in business.
If anything would remind you of fostering, where we foster parents have to pick up kids who've sunk to the bottom, and help them find a place in the world, it's Marmite.
But there's more to the Marmite comparison than that. It's this (and it's breaking news folks)…
Marmite has changed. They never announced anything, but it doesn't spread easily any more. It sticks to the knife and stays in a clump of the bread.
I've seen nothing in the papers or on social media about the change. We're onto our 3rd or 4th pot of Marmite that won't spread, so it isn't a one-off, or a rogue batch.
My point is that Marmite has changed, like everything. Life is all about dealing with change.
My grandad said;
"The solitary thing that will never change is the hard fact that everything changes."
And boy, do the lives of kids in care change.
They have to deal with so much change that when they transistion from Primary School to Secondary School there's usually a transition programme to help the youngsters deal with the change. Most foster kids don't need the programme. They're used to change. They've developed their own resilience.
Had to.
So back to my Sunday School days. Why did my parents send us to church every Sunday afternoon?
Well, one sunny Sunday the Sunday School adults decided to take us all out into the sunshine for a healthy walk. The walk took us down the road I lived in. We stopped outside our house for five minutes because one of the adults wanted to nip in and speak to our next-door neighbour. Some of the other adults, who knew we were standing outside my house, starting staring at my house, whispering and smiling. I looked in the direction they were looking in; our upstairs front bedroom window. My parents' bedroom.
The curtains were drawn tight.
Ah.
Obviously I never mentioned it to mum or dad.
But I saw them in a different light after that.
They'd somehow…changed.
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