The Island of Misfit Toys

I spent time this morning talking to my caseworkers and my casework supervisors about how best to deal with kids in CPS care coming to court, and the difficulties and challenges in having that happen, and the difficulties and challenges of attorneys representing kids who are placed far away, when there are limited financial resources available to pay the attorneys to go see these kids.

We talked about the ineffectiveness of trying to establish a relationship with a kid through phone calls instead of actually sitting with them in person, and spending time getting to know them.

I was talking to a friend who is a professional in a different area of connection to kids last week, and we were talking about the bonds that are often formed with adolescents and teenagers over ice cream or other food, or time spent in the car, when they can feel free to talk to you without the discomfort of having you stare them in the face or look them in the eye.

I thought about a story that a very dear attorney friend told me a few weeks ago. She is one of the best attorneys ad litem that I know. Because she takes the time to know her kids and to listen to their stories so that she can be the voice in court that they need and deserve.

She told of a recent day that she came to court for hearings, and there were a group of teenagers sitting outside the courtroom, waiting their turn to go in and be a part of their own hearings, where a group of adult professionals would talk about what ought to be happening with their lives.

She said they were sitting there, mostly sullen, not really wanting to be there and bored by the wait on cold hard benches in a cold sterile hall. She noticed them playing a hand held video game that she recognized, and she commented to them, “Hey, I play that game on x-box.” Now this attorney isn’t one you would probably expect to play x-box. Certainly these teenage boys did not expect that. “You play x-box?” they said to my friend, who with her fabulous mane of gray hair and twinkling eyes, fully fits her self-proclaimed moniker as the grannie lawyer.

And they spent the next few minutes talking about video games, having made a connection none of them would have expected, and one that would not have occurred but for the unlikely common ground that they shared.

She made the comment about how so many of these kids with whom we work are just like the toys from the island of broken toys.

I thought about how true that was of so many of the kids from hard places that end up in the child welfare system.

I thought about how true that is of so many of us who choose to work in this field.

All of us with some of our pieces and parts missing or damaged. Maybe an eye that’s sewn on a little crooked. Or a leg that doesn’t bend all the way like it should. A wheel that skips a bit as it rolls, and maybe lists to the side instead of rolling straight.

Workable still, and worthy of love, but a little less perfect than when it started out because it was handled just a little too roughly somewhere along the way.

But despite the imperfections, the thing that we share is that need for connection. That need to find people who get us. Whether it’s because they share the love of our favorite video game, or our love of reading, or our love of curse word socks, or whatever it is that brings us joy.

We need, all of us need, people who care about us despite our missing or broken parts. Who see beyond the damage and the imperfection to the heart of the person underneath. Who value the uniqueness and the worth we each carry, even when we think others don’t see it and even when we sometimes don’t see it in ourselves.

I am grateful for the amazing professionals that I work with who love these kids who need it the most. The CPS workers, CASA volunteers, and attorneys ad litem. The professionals who don’t know what it is to go to work at 8 and leave at 5 and enjoy nights and weekends free of worry and stress. The foster parents who love kids they didn’t bear as much as they love their own.

The people who recognize that just because someone looks a little different, or carries a few scars, or imperfections, doesn’t render them unworthy of love and care.

The people who recognize that being Jesus in this world means stepping outside your comfort zone and doing things that make you scared, or things that make you hurt, or things that make you angry, and who every day risk having their hearts broken so a child maybe doesn’t have to.

The people who are willing to make themselves vulnerable for those who are vulnerable through no choice of their own.

The people who are willing to pick up the broken pieces and to use a little glue, and a bit of duct tape, and a whole lot of love, to help stick things back together.

These people are my heroes. 

And they are beautiful.

Despite their own broken pieces and parts.