Mommy by Assignment, Not by Blood ꫂ ၴႅၴ

"He sets the lonely in families..." - Psalm 68:6

Sometimes God builds a family with open arms, not shared DNA.

Working in child welfare presents a unique blend of purpose and unpredictability each day. Recently, I had the privilege of meeting a bright and inquisitive five-year-old boy who was in emergency foster care, having been placed there for the night with no permanent arrangement.

As I was preparing to leave the office one evening, the investigator introduced the boy to me. I happened to be holding two pieces of beef jerky, and without hesitation, I offered one to the child. Boldly, he selected the larger piece, which made me laugh. I would have likely chosen the smaller one out of politeness, but I admired his confidence in claiming what he wanted. I left the office that evening with a smile.

The next morning, as I arrived at work, I noticed him across the room. He ran over and wrapped his tiny arms around me in a heartfelt hug. Then, he began counting from 1 to 100, beaming with pride at each number. When I mentioned that I needed to return to my work, a shadow of sadness crossed his face. To lift his spirits, I asked if he would like a toy from Target. His eyes sparkled with excitement. He chose a remote-control car and dinosaur-themed Legos, and I added a few fruit snacks as a sweet surprise. His joy was both pure and radiant.

The following day, he asked if I could watch Superman with him. I gently explained that I had work to do, gave him a warm hug, and walked away. However, something tugged at my heart. When I glanced back, I saw him sitting outside the toy room, tears silently streaming down his cheeks.

Without hesitation, I gathered my laptop and phone and moved into the toy room. His face illuminated with joy. We watched Superman and then Frozen, both of which he experienced for the first time. Surprisingly, I found myself captivated by the films, perhaps even more so than he was. He spent most of his time darting in and out, engaging animatedly with the child protective investigators and staff, yet he frequently returned to check on my presence.

At one point, he mentioned a tummy ache and climbed into my lap. Instinctively, I cradled him as one would an infant, and I gently rolled my chair out of the room in search of help. A fellow child welfare worker caught sight of us and smiled knowingly.

“Miss Charmaine,” she remarked with a soft chuckle, “you are being played.”

She turned to him and asked, “Do you have a bellyache, or do you simply want some love?”

He gave a shy grin; the truth was clear on his face.

Lacking the words to express his needs, he looked to me for understanding. What he truly desired was love, a connection, a feeling of safety, and recognition.

So, I held him a little longer. Soon, he returned to his play, but something had shifted. He had received the affection he sought, even if only for a brief moment.

When it was time for me to leave, he was reluctant to say goodbye, and I shared that sentiment. What he yearned for was simple: love, affection, and stability. For those few days, I had the privilege of providing that for him.

Nurturing has always been an intrinsic part of who I am. From a young age, I took care of others: my grandparents, parents, cousins, friends, teachers, and peers. Caring for those around me feels like an instinct. I do not need to have children of my own to embody motherhood; I have mothered many hearts that did not come from my body, and perhaps that is my true calling.

People often inquire whether I desire children of my own, and I respond with this: For me, motherhood is defined not by biology but by love. And I have more than enough love to share.