By Jinae Cruz
Parenting in January 2022 has sometimes felt like a hostile tundra – desolate, icy, and full of unpredictable perils like a virus, snow storms, school cancellations, and the impending specter of virtual learning. In this season, I have found joy in warm, simple, consistent rhythms– like family dinner.
I actually love making dinner at the end of a long work day, closing my laptop, shutting away all thoughts of grumpy clients and stressful deadlines, and putting on my artist’s cap. I lay out carrots and potatoes and meat on my palette, chopping and slicing and mixing and creating. Efficient. Simple. Delicious. Plentiful.
Emphasis on plentiful. On any given night, there may be anywhere from three to seven kiddos around our table. And this January, I am thankful that at least one of those seats is now permanent. Our 17-year-old just moved in with us officially for the rest of high school. When he moved in, we sat down and discussed responsibilities and expectations that we had of ourselves as parents and of him as our teen. One of these, as trite as it seems, was to eat dinner together as a family every night (work and school schedules allowing). Feeding people is my hobby, and it brings me so much joy to walk into the kitchen and catch him chowing on the endless leftovers in the fridge, to chat about the school day at the table, to hear him on the phone with his siblings saying it has been life changing to have constant access to warm, healthy food. So simple. Warm. Consistent.
The practice of dinner and of just plain, good food has been grounding for me personally these last two years of a pandemic, giving me joy and comfort as our family grew in an unexpected way. My husband and I started the process to become foster parents in December 2019. Then Covid hit. Bureaucratic delays ensued, and almost two years went by of waiting on our application to be processed. But the pandemic and those two years of waiting in some ways actually allowed us to be parents. There is a family that we have been connected with for years, mentoring two and then eventually seven of the kids. When school went virtual, we tried our best to triage the chaos, and the kids came to live with us about every other week. We eventually bought a house in their neighborhood and now we do everyday, ordinary life together. We are not blood and we are not legal guardians, but we turned into a family.
In the last two years, I feel like we have waded into the shallow section of the deep rushing waters of joy and pain that foster parents swim in every day. It is a whirlpool where the needs of your kids are soul-crushing and you have never felt more inadequate. Behaviors and patterns are so frustrating you want to scream and yet you know exactly where these habits come from and it only breaks your heart. It feels like driving a car with no brakes, when you love a child so fiercely, and yet have zero control over that child, forced to stand mute when decisions are made that you know will harm them.
Especially this winter, I have felt the weight of the waters in that whirlpool. I have felt overwhelmed and defeated – like I cannot possibly be doing enough or be making a difference. And sometimes in those quiet moments, I have heard Jesus say, Just go downstairs and do what you know how to do. What brings you joy. Make dinner. And so I make chicken and rice and veggies and I have no idea if that child is going to be okay, but I do know they ate a warm meal that day. And I know they felt loved and listened to at the dinner table. And it seems like such a small thing, but it gives me so much peace and so much joy. Warm. Simple. Consistent.
I have learned to not take simple, reliable rhythms like that for granted. Some days (most days), Jesus is not calling us to save the world or to shape the perfect, successful child. He is calling us to make dinner, to wipe snotty noses, to read bedtime stories. And in those quiet rhythms of obedience, He restores our joy when we let go and trust that our kids are safe in His hands and that He will finish the work He started.
So be encouraged, Mamas. Find those small, simple things that you and your kids love to do and that personally bring you joy. Maybe it is eating dinner together. Maybe it is morning coffee and snuggles. Or a special bedtime routine or a silly song. Or a weekly Mama-and-me Starbucks run. It may seem so small and inconsequential, but it is not. Any routine that is consistent and warm and makes kids feel safe and loved and like they can rely on something and someone is a radical gift and not something that all kids get to experience. I truly believe that God will eventually blossom these rhythms into a foundational and life transforming experience for our kids, like a little mustard seed that grew into the biggest tree. And how much joy is there in that!
About Jinae: Jinae lives in Northern Virginia with her husband, best friend, and teammate Kris. In addition to the seven kids who call their house a home, they are expecting their first biological baby girl in January 2022. Jinae loves to cook, bake, run, hike, workout, write, and spend time with friends. She works full-time in consulting sales and is looking forward to taking some time off to spend with her new baby. Their foster parent certification is now complete and they hope to officially foster teens later in the year. Kris and Jinae’s prayer for 2022 is that all their kiddos will grow closer to Jesus and know His infinite warmth and safety.
