Let there be light...

Surviving the dark bits of this world can be tough. Kids who end up in care have been through some deeply dark times; as they come through the door they are carrying the wonky thinking and screwed up behaviour that they learned down there, when it was all black.

Sometimes it all looks quite normal.

Hanh loved computer games and sat glued to the laptop for hours, so absorbed he would shout at the screen and forget to eat.

Kayleigh had tons of energy and bounced from one activity to another, demanding my attention the whole time.

Ella was really clingy when we were out and about - sitting on my knee, linking arms, insisting on giving me rib-crunching hugs.

Holly idolised her English teacher - the best way to get her to do anything was to say that Ms Cooke had thought it was a good idea.

And sometimes, it's clearly less than healthy.

Hanh hid food - and other items - around his bedroom. I once found a whole bulb of garlic inside his pllowcase.

Kayleigh picked fights continually at school, and every time we saw a police officer she pretended to know their name and to remember what they'd cautioned her for.

Ella couldn't handle any discussion around emotional needs - she would find any excuse to remove herself from the conversation.

Holly invented an injury every time she felt a bit anxious. She often convinced herself that these were real - even when doctors checked and told her she was fine.

What's going on here?

We are made for light. Humans thrive in physical light, in the sun that warms us and grows our food - and in emotional light, when we are seen and loved for who we are. If you put a plant into a dark cupboard, it becomes pale and straggly, desperately growing any which way to try to find the light it needs. If you put a child into a situation of neglect and abuse, they, too, grow differently to how they were intended to. So when they emerge they aren't the same as the rest of us. They are not being difficult - they are different. They have adapted, and they needed to do so in order to survive. They are showing resilience and courage and creativity. And it can be really hard to deal with, because their brains have rewired, they literally think and see and hear and feel the world differently.

They think you're shouting when you hardly raise your voice.

They find the seams on their school shirts unbearably itchy.

They are jumpy; they watch your every move; they constantly demand to know what you're doing and why.

They fight when there's no aggression, freeze when you really need to get going, run away from healthy friendships and pretend to be OK when they're feeling awful.

They are not to blame for any of this. (Though try remembering that when their behaviour is defiant, when they are hurling abuse, when they are endangering themselves and others and when the whole supermarket is staring at you failing to handle it!)

No, they are not to blame. But that doesn't mean those changes are ultimately good - not for them, or for those around them. Those changes take them away from the shalom God desires for each of us.

It's the same for us. However old we are, however big we are, we, too, need the light. And in this world we've all known the dark. So we've adapted. We're not being difficult - we needed to do so in order to survive. But those changes have taken us away from the shalom God desires for us, too.

Can you identify with the foster kids at all?

When he threw himself into computer games, Hanh was shutting out the cruel realities of his real world. It was a relief to be distracted. So much so, that he allowed the distraction to keep him from good things - like eating, or practising English, or forming new friendships. It was easier this way...

Is the relief of distraction keeping you from the good things God is offering you?

When she threw herself headlong into every activity in front of her, Kayleigh was pushing back the voices that said she was worthless and couldn't do anything. And there was a bonus too. If she kept me busy with her agenda, there was no opportunity for me to take back control - after all, she didn't know what that might mean. Better not to give me the chance...

Is busyness and control keeping you from the better plan God is offering you?

When Ella grabbed me, sat on me, or tried to crush me, she was meeting her need for physical affection without risking possible rejection. Doing it when there were others around meant I wouldn't say no, and the audience kept her safe if I responded by lashing out. She reproduced the harsh, even painful, interactions she was used to, and therefore was comfortable with - even if it wasn't totally satisfying deep down...

Are low expectations and fear of rejection keeping you from the love God is offering you?

When Holly put Ms Cooke on a pedestal, she was clinging to the one person who had been there consistently for her through multiple placement moves and school staff changes. OK, her teacher didn't actually provide the love she needed - but she was willing to settle for that. At least this person had hung around. Better than nothing...

Are the disappointments you've experienced keeping you clinging to lesser things instead of running into the arms of the God who offers himself to you?

And what about the kids' less positive habits? Surely we don't have analogous behaviours to these?

It's easy to stand apart and look down on maladaptive strategies - hoarding food and picking fights and fabricating injuries - until we remember that these are just ways of coping with the dark times these kids have been through. They look pretty bleak when we bring them out into the light, sure... but in the dark they worked. They were born out of resilience and courage and creativity; they were needed to survive.

We, too, have strategies for our darkness. And we may not even be aware of them. Until they come into the light, we certainly can't see just how cruel and twisted and damaging they actually are.

We need the light.

My friend once produced a chart that compared me to one of my foster kids. She had lined up lots of our shared traits 'gives good hugs'; 'full of joy'; 'needs to let herself cry'. On one line, for the kid she'd written, 'self harms 💕' and for me, 'overthinks 💕'.

That was a 'let there be light' moment.

I'd never realised before, but my long-tended habit of overthinking, meditating on the worst, creating contingency plans for every possible disaster, was just as surely a form of self harm as the cuts my kid made into her legs. And my friend could see them both, could name them both, and could have compassion on them both.

My friend brought my strategy out of the dark and in the light I could see it for the cruel, twisted, damaging habit it really was.

We really need the light.

The Bible contains loads of imagery about light and dark. Light is the first thing God creates, and Jesus describes himself as the light of the world. God appears to Moses from a burning bush, punishes Egypt with a plague of darkness and leads the people through the desert as a pillar of fire. John proclaims Jesus gives light to all men, and declares that the darkness has never overcome this light. Indeed, Jesus' whole mission is summed up as bringing us out of the kingdom of darkness and into God's glorious light (Colossians 1). Prophets speak of watching for God through the night (Psalm 63), of longing for daybreak (Psalm 130), of dawn breaking when we repent (Isaiah 58), of joy coming in the morning (Psalm 30).

One thing I notice about all of these verses. We don't make the light. That's God's job. Amazingly, once we know Jesus then we can be sources of light for others: Jesus can call us to let our light shine before men, and Paul can talk of us shining like stars in the universe - but the light inside us has come from him. Left to ourselves, we can't light anything up. Far from it - we can't even see straight. The super-religious, rule-keeping, ultra-zealous leaders of Jesus' day tried as hard as anyone has in history, and they are called 'blind guides'. Proverbs warns us that our hearts are deceitful and our judgements are fatally wonky; we are stumbling around in total darkness and we don't even know it.

We need the light. And we can't make it ourselves.

That's why repentance is not just how we start following Jesus - it's also how we continue to follow him all the way through. In repentance we say sorry for the obvious stuff that we know we've done wrong - but we also invite God to come and examine us, search our hearts, test our thoughts and see what is offensive in us (Psalm 139). For we need to repent not only of our obviously bad deeds but also for so much in our very best ones - our righteousness itself is as a filthy rag compared to the burning holiness of our God.

And so as we look again at some of those wonky strategies the kids have learned in dark places, let's do so with humility - and with compassion, for them and also for us. We, too, are people who have been walking in darkness; we, too, are a mess. But - halleluia! - we, too, are children who are loved. Just like the foster kids, we're loved now in a way we've never experienced in this dark world before; there is grace and understanding and mercy and perfect forgiveness and a journey to wholeness for us, too. And - unlike the foster kids - God is infinitely better at all of this than any foster parent ever was.

Here goes.

When Hanh hid food in his room, he was providing for himself. His past had taught him that you can't depend on tomorrow to bring you good things. You've got to look after yourself, take what's on offer and hide it, keep it away from others, keep it away even from yourself, always make sure there's something in reserve. He was safe because he was self sufficient. He didn't need to trust me or anyone else. He could keep his emotional walls intact. He could preserve his pride.

Are we hoarding the good things in our lives?

Are we unable to share them with others, unable to fully enjoy them for ourselves?

Are we trusting in our reserves, always holding something back, just in case God doesn't provide tomorrow?

Are we retaining self sufficiency, emotional distance, pride?

Then there was the garlic. Maybe it was a sign of fear, an attempt to ward off vampires. Maybe the horrors he had lived through haunted his dreams in terrifying shape. Maybe someone had shown him a scary film he couldn't get out of his head. Or maybe it was a familiar smell, that took him back to happier times and places. Whatever it was, he was meeting fear or loss with whatever weapons he could muster - scrambling to manage on his own. He never did tell me.

Are we haunted by fear, by stories of the future or events of the past, that come back to stalk us?

Are we living for the past, trying to recreate what we've lost?

Are we managing those emotions alone?

Hanh's hoarding was a lie; everything he hid in his room had come from my cupboards or the money I gave him. His reserves depended on me as surely as his dinner was cooked by me; and garlic has never kept any monster away. All that effort was serving an image that wasn't even true. And it all took him further away from what he really needed - to be seen and known and provided for despite all he felt was lacking about himself.

Are we wasting our time, our effort, our energy, our lives, managing an image of self sufficiency - when even our breath is given by the Daddy who will supply our every need?

Oh Daddy... how we need your light.

Let there be light.

When Kayleigh picked fights, she was releasing emotions that she tried to hide. When her mum didn't appear on her weekly video call - she stuffed her sadness and pretended to be fine. When her social worker had no news about her court proceedings - she stuffed her anxiety and pretended to be fine. When she was picked up from school and taken back to a stranger's house - she stuffed her anger and pretended to be fine. And then when another kid looked at her the wrong way - those emotions came pouring out and she hurled her whole being into the fight, finally able to express all that was dammed up inside.

Are we stuffing our emotions, pretending we're doing OK?

Are we unaware of where we're hurting, or of who is hurting us? Are there issues we just don't go near, people we shut down around?

Are we losing it, overreacting, shocking ourselves and others when the lid does come off?

When she made up stories about engagement with the police, she was creating a bigger, better, badder persona for herself. Showing me (and herself) just how hard she was. Showing me (and herself) that she didn't care. Showing me (and herself) that she was beyond intervention. Showing me (and herself) that she knew more than I ever could do about the hard things in life. And so stopping me (and herself) from ever daring to tread there, to meet her as she really was.

Are we working hard on our image for the world? For ourselves?

What aspects do we work the hardest on? Are the bits we make the shiniest hiding the parts of ourselves we're the most ashamed of?

Are we keeping those parts away from everyone else - away from our spouse, our closest friend? Away from Jesus? Away even from ourselves?

Kayleigh's image-building was a lie; everyone around her could see the pain she denied. It burst our of her anyway, causing more hurt to herself, her friendships, her prospects. And her stories were ridiculous; laughable if it wasn't for the desperation that underlay them. Every time she tried to add to them she made herself less believable. And it all took her further away from what she really needed - to be seen and known and loved despite all she felt was unlovely about herself.

Are we wasting our time, our effort, our energy, our lives, managing an image of doing just fine - when even our breath is given by the Daddy who alone can heal our brokenness?

Oh Daddy... how we need your light.

Let there be light.

When Ella ran away from conversations about emotions, she was fleeing her greatest fear. In the past when she'd disclosed things that made her sad, she'd lost her parents, and then her brother. So she wasn't allowed to be sad. She'd talk about awful memories with a big grin on her face, and got anxious if you weren't smiling too. She'd start to feel emotional and change the subject, or find a distraction, or give an excuse that she knew would be accepted at face value - usually that she missed her godmother. When she realised that crying in church was normal she started letting herself cry there too - great heaving sobs - then come running over, red eyed and snotty nosed, to insist that she was doing just fine.

Are we letting the things that have gone wrong in our past limit our freedom in the present?

Are there topics we can't cope with - conversations where we change the subject, find a distraction, or come up with an excuse for our responses?

Are there settings where we can respond freely - and do we surprise ourselves by the depth of our anger, sadness, joy? Might those surprisingly strong responses point to other causes underneath?

Ella had been taught that she had to earn love, and that good girls don't cry, so being sad would stop people loving her. It was the same for being angry, or making too much noise, or making a mess. The twisted rules she lived by came out when she tried to express love, through actions or resolutions or promises that made little sense.

Are we afraid we won't be loved if we express who we really are, how we really feel?

Are there promises we make, resolutions to do better, actions to make amends, that reveal the twisted rules in our hearts?

Ella's efforts to earn love were born from lies; she was already loved and worthy of love. Her efforts kept her cut off; she could have experienced a loving reality had she let others draw near to her in her sadness and offer comfort. And when she tried to draw close, the actions she offered were misplaced and her promises impossible to fulfil, leaving her even more scared that she would be rejected again.

Are we wasting our time, our effort, our energy, our lives, managing an image of being lovable - when even our breath is given by the Daddy who loves us so much his son died to bring us home?

Oh Daddy... how we need your light.

Let there be light.

When Holly invented an injury she was trying to ensure she'd be taken care of. In her past there hadn't been much nurture, but being hurt was a good way of getting a bit more - from caregivers, from other adults, from medical staff. So she told me she was hurt a lot. It happened whenever she wasn't confident she was loved - when she'd been at school or at basketball so I might have forgotten her; when she was feeling tired or sad; when she'd done something wrong; when I was busy with something or someone else.

Are we scared we might not be met with loving care?

Are we bringing something with us to persuade God he should care for us - injuries or needs? failures or despair? achievements or good deeds? 'proper' prayer requests?

Are we worried God might forget about us?

Holly's injuries became so real to her that she believed something had actually happened. She would insist on medical attention, using school teachers, basketball coaches, cheerleading instructors - anyone - to back up her demands that her ankle really did need a doctor. She'd answer medical questions to get the highest possible level of follow up, and if a doctor told her there was nothing wrong she'd interpret any grey area as proof that she was really hurt. Medical care made her feel seen; doctors responding to what she said gave her efficacy; being hurt gave her a reason to feel sad that she could understand.

Are we asking for prayer or counsel because we know people will respond? Do we exaggerate our requests to get a bit more back?

Are we trying to find reasons why people should care for us - why God should care for us? Do we need to feel useful, or be on a rota, or have a prayer request, or be in mid-crisis, to stop us becoming invisible?

Are we using needs we can understand to explain emotions, emptiness or fear that comes from deeper inside?

Holly's reasons she needed nurture were born from lies; she was remembered and cherished and could draw on care any time. She put herself - and those around her - through unnecessary worry, and wasted the time and funds of medical staff, when she could have been having fun. And inventing injuries stopped her from experiencing care just for who she was; her actions actually stopped her experiencing the thing she really needed.

Are we wasting our time, our effort, our energy, our lives, inventing reasons why we need care - when even our breath is given by the Daddy who walks with us, his hand holding us up, our name carved on his palms?

Oh Daddy... how we need your light.

Let there be light.