A personal eulogy to my grandfather. A faithful man.

No one can prepare you for what it feels like to stand at the bedside of a loved one and watch he who had part in giving you life, come to the end of their own. To feel their warm hand clasping yours slowly loosen its grip and turn cold. But as I watched my dear grandfather pass from life to death, or more accurately from earthly death to eternal life, and heard what those closest to him had to say there was one word that stood out to me about him: faithful.

His faithfulness wasn’t loud or flashy. It was quiet and consistent. He kept doing the same good things over and over again, until his very last breath. Here is how Gran’s faithfulness manifested itself:

HIS LORD

First and foremost, he was faithful to the One who was Faithful to him first. One of the most reoccurring things people have recounted about Melvin Reeves’ life was that he loved the Lord and loved His Word. He loved the Lord deeply, genuinely, unwaveringly, and increasingly. Even as his temporal mind gave way what was buried in his everlasting soul led his weak and weary voice to clearly and boldly proclaim –

“Perfect submission, all is at rest,
I in my Savior am happy and blest;
Watching and waiting, looking above,
Filled with His goodness, lost in His love.”

Up until his very last breath, my Gran lived a life that was filled with the Lords goodness and lost in His love. It was his favorite story and most sung song- to praise His Savior all the day long. This faithfulness to the Lord was the foundation from which all other areas of his faithfulness sprung. It was his deepest well and most securing anchor.

HIS WIFE

Gran “rejoiced in the wife of his youth” (Proverbs 5:18). As boys around him chased after new and novel, he was a man who chose to hold the same familiar hand. Oh how he loved his “Jack.” The wife of his youth. As a younger girl I joked to my dad that the “I’m Gonna Miss Her” song by Brad Paisley reminded me of Gran, solely because of his undeniable love for fishing. But I will never forget my own fathers response. It was something like this “my Dad might pretend to choose fishing over Mom, but he would never. Your gran loves fishing, but he loves granny way more.”

While fishing should naturally rank lower than a wife, the sad truth is that many a spouse’s devotion proves stronger to a morning on the lake or a day at the office than a night at home. This truth my Dad told me about my Gran has been a silent but steadying anchor. To know that this was the kind of love my grandfather gave and shared with my grandmother may not have seemed earth shattering but it was generationally grounding. It quite literally changed the lives of his offspring.

He died with his wedding band on. The ring he once exchanged with the wife of his youth.

HIS CHURCH

You will never see the name “Melvin Reeves” pasted at the bottom of a book cover, written down as an option for a breakout session at a conference, or introduced as a pastor on stage. He did not often fill places of platforms and podiums but he ever so faithfully occupied a pew. Instead of grasping for position of his own, he spoke well of those already placed in it. He praised his leaders. He showed up. He stayed. He taught the classes. He sung loud. He hugged the congregations neck. He shook the pastors hand. Again and again.

And the longer I’m a part of the church, I see how powerful this kind of “ordinary church member” faithfulness really is. And I want to be like him. As the bride of his youth could no longer stand at his side, he stood at the side of the bride of his Christ. He drew near to the church and the church drew near to him. All of his days.

HIS FAMILY

As my sister Amanda perfectly put it, “the humble pride he had for his family will be remembered forever.” To be sure, he would take any opportunity given to dote on us verbally. But what he was really marked by was not an outward boasting of his family but an inward cherishing of us. He held us all so very closely in his heart. I never went a day without the stabilizing confidence of how devotedly our Gran loved us. Loved me.

And as spouses joined and children multiplied, his love only expanded. His daughter, son in law, granddaughters, grandson in laws, and great grandchildren who lived down the road from him and some eventually in the same house as him could testify to this way more fully than I ever could: but Gran was there. At the games, sitting around the table, on the fishing dates, with an arm around us on the couch. Not usually with many words but with an overwhelming presence. I know his Georgia family especially will miss his daily physical presence in such a painfully noticable way.

To his family he was abundantly generous and faithfully present. His love was endearing and enduring. He was firm and he was tender. And in his final days none of his family wanted to leave his side because he never once left theirs.

HIS COMMUNITY

A few years ago we sat around Granny and Grans living room as he told us stories of his days as a principle and coach. Through the days of paddling for discipline. Through segregation and school integration. Through the “you drop a pass, you run a mile. You miss a blocking assignment, you run a mile. You make a fumble, I will break my foot off in your John Brown hind parts and then, you will run a mile” kind of practices.

This tough as nails “Reverend Reeves” was apparently, and now unsurprisingly, quietly faithful with his students and players and children (blood or otherwise), too. He was not just a teacher or coach by received position. He was a teacher and coach by chosen relation. He invested, he mentored, he guided, and he expected a lot out of those the world had little expectation for. Because of this, young boys turned men- of all colors and sizes and statuses- came through his visitation line saying things like “he gave me a second chance” or “he bought me my first car.”

Like his impact in all his spheres, his impact in the community he was placed in and stayed in wasn’t loud or showy or exuberant. But it was a strong and steady pillar. It influenced not only policies but real people. And as my mom shared with us these were the very people who came through the line one by one to testify to it. To honor him. To speak of his faithfulness.

My Gran, Our Gran

Buddy, Coach, Mentor, Brother, Father, Husband, Friend…. he was Faithful. He could have never had enough accolades to prove it. But he never really needed the praise to come from a measly piece of paper or even mere people. He has now heard his creator and his King say the words he lived and died to hear-

“Well done,
My good and faithful servant.”

The One he was faithful to. Because of The One who was first and always, Faithful to him.

Foster Care: what I’m learning, relearning and unlearning

Honestly, I have barely begun to scratch the surface of the foster care world. Especially when it comes to the lived experiences inside of it. There are so many who have been here, quietly digging in the trenches. Hands dirty, brow sweaty, body worn, soul heavy, heart soft. They’re often the ones who aren’t writing about it. Who aren’t on the rooftops shouting it. They’re in it. They’re doing it. Year after year, shoveling through layer upon layer.

But as I have begun to pull back the curtain into this world and peek inside, there is so much I’m learning and unlearning and relearning. At the beginning of this year I partnered with The Forgotten Initiative to become an advocate for the area I live in. This role was created to bridge a connection between local agencies and local churches. Much of what I am learning has come through the training, coaching, encouragement, and resources provided through this ministry. And even more has come through the hands on experiences brought about by seeking to build a trusted relationship with the agency and working alongside our church to support the foster care system. Here are a few things my eyes have been opened to along the way:

1. The need is so great

If you live in a county with children then you live in a county that has children without homes. Where neighbors live, needs live. And I can tell you without a doubt that the numbers and the needs you will find in your area will be staggering. Wherever you might live. Here in Idaho, there are 6 total segments that make up our “regions.” The small town that I live in, including the surrounding areas, make up a single region. This region alone has approximately 250 children in the foster care system at current. As of 2020, there were estimated to be 3,000 children in and out of homes each year in this state. Some of whom could not be placed due to shortages of foster homes, and were sent to hotels instead. These are numbers for one town, in one city, in one state. The need is desperate wherever you go and the call is urgent whoever you are.

2. Awareness leads to action

This is one of TFI’s core tenets that I have personally seen proven true time and time again. It’s a simple and universal concept that I think too often becomes overlooked and overcomplicated. Love begins with learning. In this case, it can start by looking up the statistics. Showing up to a trauma training class. Reading a book or listening to a podcast on fostering. Understanding how things such as homelessness and poverty intertwine with foster care. Sitting down with someone who is already immersed in it. It may seem small, but it is so very significant. Our brains fuel our hearts and our hearts fuel our hands.

3. Everyone really can do something

I think the church can get a bad rap for being more talk than walk when it comes to something like foster care. While I understand too well where this idea stems from, I truly do believe many churches want to do something. They just do not know where to start. I am focusing on the church here because I believe it is the call of the church to enter into broken places. To care for the needy, the oppressed, the fatherless, and the vulnerable. Not because “we are the rescuers but because we are the rescued” (David Platt). This is the gospel we proclaim. This is an opportunity we get to live it.

It doesn’t take long when a discussion about foster care comes up for a person to make it about their ability or inability to open up their home and do it. While I desperately believe that many more could and should pursue fostering, the list is endless for other ways to be involved. There are meaningful, helpful, tangible, life changing ways to be a part of foster care without becoming a foster parent. We just have to be willing to ask how. And then to say yes. There is so much value in simply showing up.

4. Sometimes helping hurts

This is a concept I learned while living in Africa as a short term missionary. Americans (especially categorically Christian ones) have been known to enter into foreign places as the arrogant elephant stomping out the silenced mouse. Also known as “the savior complex.” In this scenario, the “helpers” leave feeling generous and accomplished and the “helped” are left feeling overrun and overlooked.

In my own prideful power play, I have entered into foster care spaces thinking I needed to have the answers. When in reality, what I needed to have was the questions. I have started to see how meeting perceived-needs puffs up the individual who is seeking to help, while meeting real-needs builds up the whole community. And the only way to know what real needs are is to ask and then to listen. Really listen. Just because you think the donation closet surely needs more diapers, or the kids need jackets, or the office needs a makeover, doesn’t make it true. Ask what the actual needs are. Believe them. And act where you can.

5. Foster care is a community not a caricature

Foster care is made up of real people with real stories. It’s a student who sits beside your child in class who just got placed in care. It’s a mom at the park who had a 4 year old stranger sleep in her house last night after saying her most courageous yes. It’s a social worker in the grocery store, who can’t get the child waiting in their office after 20 calls that all ended in a no, out of their mind. It’s a couple that lives down the street who are staring out the same window that they once watched a stranger drive away with their child from. Their home now occupies an empty bed at night.

I think the reason foster care conversations often quickly turn to whether or not someone plans to open their home to a child exposes our narrow view of who and what foster care really is. It’s certainly not less than becoming a licensed foster parent, but it’s absolutely more than that, too. Most parents and social workers will say that children are the focus of foster care. Which I believe. But, they are not the only face of it. So to care about foster care is to care about all who are involved: children, parents, foster parents, case workers.

6. Fostering is about being the middle not the main

I have recently heard this idea that fostering is about choosing to become a “middle family.” I think it is such a helpful shift in both terminology and function. As Emily Smithart put it, “I started foster care because of the children. The reason I continue to foster is because of their families.” Another way to put it is that foster care is about protecting an individual child in the present while hoping to preserve a whole family in the future.

To be sure, foster care can lead to adoption. This is a reality to be both grieved and celebrated. As Jason Johnson has said “adoption is less about getting a child for your family and more about giving your family for a child.” It’s a beautifully complex redemptive reality riddled with loss. The fact children are adopted goes to show that the end game of foster care is a child’s ultimate safety and well being. Yet to love a child in foster care and to fight on their behalf is to choose to place yourself in the middle seat. Not the main seat.

7. Proximity changes us

When we see their faces, it changes everything. A few months ago I choked back the tears as I saw her. Warm yet hesitant eyes and a bright yet bashful smile. She’s just like my Reese, I thought. Probably 6 years old. I wonder if she likes coloring and horses and sprinkled pancakes and maybe purple, too? I don’t know but here she is. Right in front of me. Next up in line to pin the nose on the clown at her Back to School Carnival for kids placed in foster care.

Choosing to put a name and a face to a statistic will wreck your heart in all the best and most needed ways possible. Saying yes to seeing their faces and holding their hands and knowing their names will change you. We’re all afraid to get too attached, and it’s exactly what they need from us.

8. It’s not a world of villains and heroes

The narrative in foster care has historically been one of good guys and bad guys. Winners and losers. The side to celebrate and the side to scoff at. Yet I’m learning that foster care, as with most in life, isn’t split evenly down the middle. It’s not so cut and dry. It’s not this or that. Because foster care is full of people, it is full of nuances. It is full of good intentions and bad executions. It is full of bad intentions and good executions. It is full of stories. Stories interwoven with trauma, pain, cycles of addiction, and abuse.

I think foster care is a heart of empathy and a work of accountability. I think that being a part of this system takes the recognition of “if I lived through what you lived through, I bet I would have done what you did.” This doesn’t or shouldn’t discount personal responsibility. But it should bring more understanding, empathy, and humanity to the table. It causes us to move towards others with open arms and not come down on them with clenched fists.

There are hurtful parents.
There are hurt parents.
There are selfishly motivated foster parents.
There are selflessly driven foster parents.
There are kids who’s behavior is almost unbearable.
There are kids who’s trauma is completely unimaginable.
There are social workers who are calloused and cold, staring lifelessly at a screen.
There are social workers who are warm and welcoming,
and a lot like warriors on the frontlines.

We enter into a broken system with broken families as broken people. It’s not all capes and fangs in this foster care world.

It’s just people.