Written by Julie Ann Walton

It’s a really scary thing to get your hopes up, is it not?

Truth be told, I avoid getting my hopes at all costs. It can even verge on being unhealthy. I hate the feeling of being disappointed, so my solution is to try to not hope for very much that is outside my direct ability to control.

It’s a couple months ago that we get an email update from one of our team leaders. He had just finished interviewing one of the girls in a small children’s home we are supporting. They are beginning the arduous process of tracing each child’s family to see if it might be safe for them to return home.

The process he’s taking them through is likely unfamiliar to you, as it certainly was to me. But it’s crucial for a child who has been primarily raised apart from his/her family. Our social workers use a process called Mobility Mapping. With it, we help a child recall the events of their own life.

So he asked her to draw her first home. What was it like? Who lived there? Was there anyone who lived there that scared you? Who or what made you feel safe when you lived there?

Then he goes to the next house. And so on until he traces her life to the present. Where she lives in a children’s home with wonderful caregivers. To be clear: they love her dearly. They really do. They want what is best for her. They get her to school on time each morning in a freshly pressed uniform, lunchbox in hand.

But missing from her story is a really key detail. Her case files say that her mother died and that’s why she is in a children’s home. But unprompted, she never mentions the death of her mother.

So he gently asks her: if we could find your family, would you want to go home? Her eyes instantly brighten…and then painfully fall. She looks back up at him and says, “of course, I would want to go home…but I don’t remember the way.”

I wept for a long time when I first heard the story. I had a hard time concentrating on anything else.

Another child in the same home looked wide eyed at our team leader and said, “do you know if my mom and dad are still alive?”

I don’t know how old you are as you read this today. I, the writer, am in my forties. I cannot fathom how I would absorb not knowing if my parents were alive even here today as an adult. But a kid? Not knowing if your mom or dad is alive? That’s awful.

And here’s what makes it worse: it’s likely entirely preventable.

You see, as we dig in a little on these case files, we find that most of these kids were separated from their families due to material poverty. That’s it. Now the years apart have added some layers of complication to be sure. The remedy will likely not be as simple as the breakdown was, but it is still worth it.

Here’s why: resilience is best built in a family. The building blocks of resilience are not found in material provision but in relational attachment. Knowing who you are is the essential key to knowing how to fight harmful situations.

Were these children to remain separated from their families until they eventually age out of the children’s home they are statistically more likely to end up incarcerated, homeless, trapped in trafficking and exploitation, even more likely to commit suicide.

To learn how to overcome all of those challenges, they need the daily rhythm of a family more than they need material provision. They need one or two safe adults with whom to form strong attachment. Our good friend Phil Aspergen often says that a child’s world needs to be small, specific and secure.
Only a safe family can provide this.

At present, we haven’t gotten these two home yet. But their story isn’t over.

Turns out, getting your hopes up is part of building resilience too. GCA didn’t cause this rupture, we didn’t author this family separation, but we are doing our very best to repair it.

After all, we need these kids. We need all of their brilliance. And for that to grow into its fullness, they need their family.

Resilience is built best in Family