My first call

          I got my first call about a 4 year old little girl who had made allegations of abuse. One of the main things they teach you in class is to know when to say no to a placement. But of course, I was so confident in my parenting skills that I just knew I could fix this poor, broken little girl. And how could I possibly turn her away? When I got to the hospital to meet little M, I was greeted with a smile by an adorable little girl with thick glasses that made her big brown eyes even bigger and long brown hair that fell in her face. She gave me a hug right away and smelled so strong of urine and filth that I almost gagged. I hugged her and held her for a minute. She seemed so sweet.

          As I heard the allegations, I felt so physically ill that it was hard to stay smiling for little M. She was talking away, telling me about her bunny. All of a sudden, everything changed. It was like somebody flipped a switch in her little brain and she lost it. Little M wrapped her little fingers around my neck and started yelling for her mom. The fear and uncertainty in her eyes was heartbreaking, but the inhuman strength in this 4 year old was terrifying. As I pried her hands off of my throat, she started hitting, biting and kicking me. When she took off running down the hall, I sprinted after her, trying not to let her out of the ER. (The nurses, by the way, were no help at all.) When I finally got her back into the room, she screamed bloody murder and ran into the door so many times, she broke it off the hinges.

          I tried everything to calm her down. I sang to her, I tried to hold her, I read to her, colored with her. This poor baby had been in a fight or flight situation one too many times. She couldn’t trust me or anybody else. With every step I thought we’d taken to calm her nerves, we’d take two GIANT steps back. I have never in my life been afraid of a child, but this little girl scared me. The scars and damage that had been done was far too great for me to handle by myself. I’ve never felt so helpless in my life than I did during those 2 hours alone with her.

          In the end, I didn’t get to take little M home. She needed so much more than I could give her. I cried all night long, and any time I think of her, my heart hurts. I had never thought that there would be a child that I couldn’t connect with, and make a difference for them. But sometimes I’m just not enough. As humans, feeling inadequate is one of the worst feelings that we can have. In our jobs, with our spouses, at school, we want to be enough, if not more than enough. Imagine knowing that you aren’t enough for a broken little girl who’s done absolutely nothing wrong, except be born into the wrong family.

For Jenna

Ashley McClain

This isn't how it's supposed to be
Children are killing and dying in the streets
They're trained to hate their mothers by the movies on the screen
They're used as pawns and trinkets for broken moms and daddys

Little girls are women and boys never become men
Daddys say they're sorry then they bring the pain again
Mommy hides the tears in a bottle full of whiskey
She'll lock the closet door until her wrists stop bleeding

She watches through the keyhole while her mama lay there dying
Little Jenna doesn't shed a tear, nothing comes from crying
She stands there on the sidewalk while they wrap mama up in white
But she doesn't see a thing, her eyes shut tight

How do we raise our children when we're still kids ourselves
If we hide our eyes behind our lies, we're damning them to hell
I'd tell you to go home and give your little girl a kiss
But I think that it's too late. We can't fix this.

          I can only pray for little M now. Even if I’m not enough, there is One who is, and He will hold her every day of her life. I hope and pray that someday she knows the pure and unselfish love of a Father who will always protect her, and will never fail her. God’s grace is great, and I pray it over little M every day.