Wednesday, March 2, 2016

The Van with the Yellow Sticker

He caught his breath at the sight of the van across the street from the coffee house we frequent.  The van, though ordinary, declared,  by the prominent yellow sticker in the window, that it was a state van.  The car seat gave further thought that its purpose was to transport foster children.
My kids spent over four years shuttled in that system.  Memories will not die easily.  It was one of those vans that removed my children  tragically from their birth mom.  It was one of those vans who met them after school week after week interrupting their day, pointing out again to their  friends that, yes, they were foster children.  It is those vans that reminded my son of a sad time.
Was it a fear that made him stop?  Was it a relief that his life is different now that made him even notice that yellow sticker.
Truth be told, those vans, symbolic of a separation, make me grimace.  Wounds heal, and I praise God for that.  Scars can be tender though.
The social services system is an inanimate product run by people of all backgrounds and even agendas.  The van was not the problem.  In fact, on some level, I was grateful that I did not have to drive all the kids to every appointment and visit. The mind of  child will focus on certain memories and emotions both of which weave together. I am so thankful that God is in the process of healing our hearts and minds.

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