Lauren

Article written for Missouri Baptist Children’s Home

Maybe it was naïve of Molly to think love could heal the raging wounds of trauma and abuse. Maybe in the real world of heartbreak and blunt statistics, there weren’t any happy endings for the foster kids she wanted to help. But Molly was going to give love a try anyway.

She’d believed in love all four years of college while she plugged away at a degree in social work, and she kept on believing as she looked for meaningful work she could jump straight into without years of experience. Then a friend told her about Missouri Baptist Children’s Home. Molly always wanted to be a caseworker for cute little kids, but something about the Transitional Living Program caught her heart. If children in foster care mattered, so did the young adults they became. The confusing work of living with gritty teenagers wouldn’t make for a beautiful postcard, but Molly’s adventurous side was thrilled at the challenge.

The first resident she saw when she walked in was Lauren. Gold bracelets up one arm and scars up the other, Lauren rolled her eyes at Molly’s attempts at getting-know-you questions. At 16, Lauren had already cycled through several residential facilities, hospitals, and foster care families. She knew all about adults who started out sweetly promising they cared, and she wanted nothing to do with fake niceness.

Lauren broke every rule she came across, flipping back and forth between angry accusations and panic attacks. She was constantly fleeing to the safety of her room, too overwhelmed to play a board game with the other girls.

Molly felt a little out of her league, but everywhere she turned in the New Testament, she rediscovered Jesus’ simple command to love. She didn’t have a doctorate in psychology—but she did have the Holy Spirit living inside her. That would have to be enough.

So she kept drawing from the love of Jesus even when her own patience wore thin, using strategies she’d learned in her Trauma Based Relational Intervention training to build a connection with Lauren. Now and then, she’d gently mention a concern, but mostly she looked for strengths and small accomplishments she could praise to reinforce positive behavior. The more Molly encouraged Lauren, the more Lauren’s self-hatred gave way to self-acceptance. God loved her, and for the first time, she could feel that love as Molly and the MBCH staff gave her second, fourth, and sixteenth chances. Even after her outbursts, they still genuinely cared, and Lauren didn’t know what to do with a love like that.

Molly couldn’t tell you when it happened—but with time, Lauren had become softer and brighter, alight with hope. Instead of hiding from the world or trying to scream it away, she giggled through movie nights with the other residents, learned to use public transit, and went shopping on her own. Molly helped her open a bank account, coached her through mock job interviews, and stood proudly in line as a customer on Lauren’s first night working at Wendy’s. And when Lauren opened her college acceptance letter, Molly was the first person she showed. Once again, she was screaming, her bracelets cutting into Molly’s back as Lauren squeezed her tight and laughed and cried.

Lauren moved out the following August, but Molly didn’t. She was happiest in the constant chatter and craziness of young adults bursting like firecrackers around her all day long. Someday, she knew these years would become a few lines on her resume about how you could only change the world one heart at a time—but right now, this was where she belonged. She had started out on a mission to help foster teens find their place in the world and their home in Jesus. She never knew she’d be finding her home here among them, too. 

Love wasn’t just a ministry buzzword for Molly; it had become everything she’d ever wanted.