On The Front Of The Fridge

The front of our refrigerator is a chaotic collage of things that are important and things that are not. It’s a very busy, often messy, assortment of family photos, photos of family and friends, kid drawings, engagement announcements, coupons, held together with tape and magnets. Once something makes it to the front of the fridge it’s usually there until it gets torn, water stained, or dirty.

We had first gotten called about Matthew in September when he was 13.  He was at a residential treatment program nearby and they were looking for a home for him to live in when he was discharged from treatment.  

We had heard a few things about Matthew, and what an unfortunate set of circumstances his life had been.  He’d been in the foster care system since he was a very young child, moving from home to home, for some reason not adopted with the rest of his siblings.  And ultimately placed in residential treatment instead.

We had talked about it, and then talked with our kids.   We all thought we could take him, and that he’d do well in our home.  But then he ran away from the facility.   He was on the run for a while.  And when they found him he was sent to another treatment facility up north somewhere. It seemed he didn’t need a foster home after all.

We felt bad for this boy.  We prayed for him.  We didn’t know him.  We just knew part of his story.  But we had felt that he would do well in our home.  And it felt to all of us that his decision to run had been that of a desperate teenager who was used to  chaos and disappointment.

Six months later we got another call about Matthew.  They asked again if we would consider taking him into our home. We said that we still thought he would do well in our home, and yes we would take him.

A couple days later, while travel arrangements were still being made to bring Matthew back to our community and into our home, I was cleaning off the front of the refrigerator one morning.  I had pulled off all of the photos and drawings and magnets and was wiping it all down.  As I replaced the photos, I threw away a few that were old and water stained.  

One of the photos I tossed was a Christmas photo of some family friends of ours. The photo was six or seven years old, and was curling on the corners. I tossed it in the trash, and then changed my mind. I didn’t have a more current photo of this family. So after a second’s thought, I took it from the trash, dusted it off and uncurled the corners a little. And then I placed it back in its spot on the front of the fridge.

A week later my husband Geoff flew to the facility where Matthew was and brought him home.  Our other kids were all at school when they arrived, which gave Matthew a little time to adjust.  We showed him his room, and which bed and dresser were his, and suggested he get unpacked.  He did this,  for all of about five minutes.  

Then he came out of his room to make friends with our dogs.  The dogs were delighted with him.  He sat down on the living room floor and let them smell his hands. He talked gently to them, reassuring that they would be friends.  And the dogs competed for his attention.   

From there Matthew walked around the rest of the house.  Looking around.  Getting his bearings.  Geoff and I were visiting in the dining room when Matthew called to us from the kitchen.

“Hey, do you know these people?” he asked.

We asked who, and turned to look toward the kitchen to see what he was referring to. He was standing in front of the refrigerator, pointing at one of the photos on the fridge.

I walked into the kitchen for a better look.  The photo Matthew was pointing at was the old Christmas photo of our family friends.  The one I had almost thrown away the week before.

“These people,” he clarified, pointing at the photo.

We said that yes, they were good friends of ours.  They live in another community where we used to live.  Then I started to explain that it’s actually an old photo of them, but I didn’t have a more current one.  

But Matthew cut me off.

“Because that’s me,” he said incredulously, still staring at the photo, pointing specifically to the little boy in the front.

Wait.  What?

“That’s you?” I asked, stooping to take a closer look at the photo.  

And there in the front row, off to the side, stood a younger Matthew.  He was surrounded by other little kids, three of whom were his younger sisters who had all been adopted.  Away from Matthew.  

“Yeah!” he said, not quite believing it himself.  “Me and my sisters lived with them before they moved us to the other home that adopted my sisters.”  

Geoff and I were stunned.

We all agreed that it was a pretty neat coincidence.  That during these past months when we were asked to take this boy into our home but then it didn’t work out.  When we didn’t know if he was ever going to come here or not.  When he was on the run, and then back in another treatment facility.  When he didn’t know what was going to happen him.  All the while we were praying for this boy.  We had his picture on the front of our refrigerator.  

Matthew smiled.  “I think I’m supposed to be here,” he said.  

And we agreed.

Later that day I called my friend, the mom in the picture, to let her know that we knew where Matthew was. She started to cry when I told her. I explained that we still had that old family Christmas photo of them on the front of our fridge, or we wouldn’t have known that this was their Matthew. The boy who got separated from his sisters and sent to residential treatment at age 12.

Geoff and I said a prayer of thanks that night when we went to bed. We’d been a foster family long enough to know that there would be adjustments. No kid comes into our home and immediately fits in without any growing pains. Sometimes just the gradual letting down of their survival mechanisms makes it difficult to keep them in our home. We knew there would be adjustments. We also knew that first night that this was exactly where God wanted Matthew to be.

Because all those months while we were praying for this boy.  Whose life so far had been an unfortunate set of circumstances, full of chaos and disappointment.  His picture had been on the front of our refrigerator.  With all of our other family photos.  Right where it should be.