She's my hero. I don't know her name. But I know something about her. Here's what I know.
A while back her mother became the foster mother for a pair of kids that the Department of Family and Children Services rescued from horrendous conditions. I won't describe the conditions here, but imagine being deprived of any social contact for the first half dozen years of your life. Shortly after the foster mother became the foster mother she was hospitalized with a serious ailment. Her daughter, my hero, stepped in.
She took the foster children into her care. She's in her mid-twenties, just starting out in life. She's unmarried. She's extremely attractive. She obviously above average in intelligence. She had the world at her feet. She had a future awaiting. But she assumed the role of foster parent. She sacrificed what was ahead to care for what was now.
I met her for the first time shortly after she assumed the role of foster mother. Her life had been altered drastically. Yet, she smiled; she looked at those deprived wards of her's with obvious affection, even if they in their broken psyche could not reciprocate. Our meeting took place when she came to the church to ask if it was possible for her foster kids to attend the Vacation Bible School. That was last year.
This year she was back. She's still their foster mother. She's still attending to their needs. She's still attractive, well-dressed, showing the poise of a professional. Nothing had changed. Well, that's not entirely true. This year she not only asked if her damaged wards could take part in the activities but she also asked about her new concern, an obviously challenged new foster daughter. And this year she was still smiling along with all three of those precious lives she so obviously cherishes.