Mother of Seven + 2

School had just wrapped up for the year. It was Monday, and I contemplated all the things I wanted to accomplish over the summer as I was making bread. There were closets to clean out, rooms that needed thorough cleanings, and curtains to wash. I was not sure where to start, and I didn't want to get in the middle of some big project and then get a phone call about taking a placement. Ahhh, how I loved making bread and working in my kitchen. The children were enjoying their first day of summer break and had made themselves scarce. Every now and then one would come in the kitchen for a quick hug or a drink of water, but they didn't stay long. I had so much to be thankful for. Four healthy beautiful children, a wonderful husband, a nice home, and a loving church family were top on the list. As I washed up a few dishes, the phone rang and startled me from my thoughts. "Hello." "Yes, I'm calling for Les or Natasha Miller." "This is Natasha."

Massive amounts of paperwork had been completed by the time we wrapped up our MAPP class in mid-December. It felt good to be done, and our excitement was mounting as we waited for our state license as a foster home to be granted. We were told to expect our license in about six weeks. However, February came and went, and we still had not received our license. Frustration began to build. There was a sense of urgency within me, because I felt like "our children" were out there somewhere in the foster care system. They needed us. At times I would kneel by my bed and pray, begging God to protect them until they could come home. At last in mid-March we received our license. Immediately, we began receiving numerous phone calls asking us to take teenagers. It nearly broke my heart each time I said, "No, we cannot take them as a placement." We had empty beds waiting to be filled. But we had stipulated that we would not take a placement older then age eight due to