February 10, 2016
By Mark Taylor
She just moved in last Wednesday. She sleeps a lot and doesn’t make much of a fuss. She is our newest foster girl. She was only four days old when our case worker brought her to our house. All she has is a blue bag given to her at the hospital and two boxes of the formula that she has become used to. And that’s it.
We were told her name was one thing, but when she showed up, the bracelet on her wrist had something entirely different. And there wasn’t much room on the tiny bracelet for any more information about her. We knew that her mom wasn’t able to care for her, so we agreed to let her live with us until her mom could get back on her feet. That is how foster placements typically work.
Today, just shy of a week after she came to live with us, we received word that they don’t really even know her name. Again, they (courts, hospital, government agency) don’t know her real name. So we don’t either.
When I heard this, I felt the anger welling up from within me. The words “righteous indignation” came to mind because this eight pound baby deserves a name. She deserves a lot more than this. She deserves love and cuddles. She deserves to know her mother and her father. She deserves to be picked first at recess and to pick her first boyfriend. But first, she needs a name.
While society seems to have let her down at this moment, I am reassured by something I’ve learned as of late. Her real identity comes from God. He knows her name. He knows how many hairs are on her head. He made her by hand and wants a relationship with her.
Society tends to fill in the blanks in life. If you don’t know who you are, other people will tell you. As she lays at the foot of our bed, sleeping before being put in her crib for the night, my prayer is that she grows to know who she really is. I hope she knows that God loves her more than she could imagine. And I hope she forgives the people around her for not even knowing her name.