The Little Things . . .

I received this email from a writer friend yesterday. With his permission, I'm sharing it with you here at the Cafe.

Hi,
Sometimes I wonder if being a foster dad is worth all the trouble. But I have seen them grow up and do well. It's not always some great thing that they do, or that happens to them. It's the little things.

This is a little note I found on the bathroom sink this morning from Catherine, 18.

Dear Dad,

I want to thank you so, so, so, much for my brand new bed! I can't tell you how happy it really and truly makes me to really have my own bed that I can call my own and take with me wherever I go. You are the best dad in the world! I wish you had been my dad when I grew up. Thank you so, so, so, so much Dad!!! I love you lots.

Always and Forever,
Catherine.

Catherine's father has been in prison most of her life. Her mother is a drug dealer south of Dallas and would not even meet with her when we were in Dallas recently. A bed is not a big deal unless you have never had your own, I guess.

I am not really that great of a father, but I am glad to be able to be there for some of these kids.

Carla here. My friend and his wife are foster parents many times over. He has a heart for others (not just kids) and a quiet resolve to do that which God has called him to do. I know it's not always easy. He expects nothing in return. He accepts the little things that come his way and rejoices in them. That's the essence, isn't it?

As writers, we write because of a divine imprint on our lives. No guarantees. Lots of rejection. Yet, we plod on, not knowing what effect our faithfulness might have on another life. When recognition comes our way, a molecule of success, we rejoice. And that's enough.

Thank you, my friend.