This is an opinion column

With a heart full of fire and eyes hot with tears, I watched a young man disappear. In child welfare systems across America, they call it a “disruption.” For so many forgotten children, it is nothing less than “destruction.” They bounce from one home to another. Some pass through a residential facility here and there. If they run afoul of the law, there’s juvenile detention. At some point, many age out without connection, community or much of a chance. I’ve experienced the darkness coming for these young souls. We must be willing to stand in our cultural breach and protect them.

I’ve written and spoken about our experience as foster parents as frequently as I’m able. Families who care for children in the system need encouragement. Families considering fostering need to know someone currently engaged. The present demand for foster homes is immense.

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Foster systems in the United States engaged more than 600,000 children in the 2021 fiscal year. At any given time, more than 100,000 kids are adoption-eligible. The average age is eight years old.

One lady at my local gym was honest with me. “I’d love to foster or adopt, but we’re just too selfish with our time.” I understand. Most people work hard, empty their nest, and are reluctant to fill it up again.

Other folks are more diplomatic. “You and your wife are just saints,” said another gentleman in an attempt to elevate my family’s service to unattainable heights. I can assure you we aren’t saints. Most days we wonder if we’re even sane.

I’ve heard every reason under the sun not to help these children.

These days, stable supportive adults in safe homes are more precious than gold and just as rare.

In a little more than four decades of living, a few experiences haunt my mind in the quiet hours of the night. Burying my younger brother before I was old enough to drink shook me to my core. Witnessing firsthand the devastation an F5 tornado meted out on Hackleburg and Phil Cambell, Alabama hangs in my mind. I recall the sound of my paternal grandmother’s death rattle before she passed away.

Watching a young man’s soul crushed in the wheels of government bureaucracy made the list as well. A devastated teen, uprooted again. The sound of the car door shutting. Tail lights disappearing as he heads to an uncertain future.

Call him Jeremiah.

After a rough childhood, he found himself in foster care. He was in school, connected to football teammates, and mapping a career path after high school. He had previously stayed with my family for a week and a half while his parent took a much needed vacation. Through no fault of his own, his foster home closed.

My family offered to keep him to avoid more severe disruption. Instead, the bureaucracy took him in the middle of the night to the exact place he needed to be removed from in the first place. It was rushed, traumatic, and unnecessary.

I watched Jeremiah weep as my wife hugged him in our driveway. We told him he had immeasurable value. We let him know we would fight for him. The man, barely removed from being a boy, resigned himself to the nihilistic fate of “disruption” being his only constant. I couldn’t convince him of his own worth. Unwilling to remove from him the last dignity life had afforded him, we respected his decision not to fight for his current path.

I’m not sure if I’ll ever see him again. In fact, I’m increasingly confident that I won’t.

It was a rough night for my family. A pall settled on my house, so I gathered my sons and wife to talk. We discussed being a home where hope lives. My boys expressed the pain of trying to do what’s right, and it not working out the way we planned. That’s the vulnerability that comes with genuine love and service. One of my sons knows the familiar feeling of “disruption” all too well. He didn’t want it to continue for his friend. My family took a minute and asked God to keep watch over the weary and left behind. We asked for new homes and people who cared.

My soul just screamed.

I don’t need more folks applauding my family for helping children in the system. I need them to stand with us and refuse to let any more children drift from one instability to another.

The darkness engulfing so many young Americans will not dissipate on account of our thoughts and positive intentions. There’s no charity or government program that will reach into the void on our behalf, so we can live our best lives without inconvenience. The future of so many young souls demands a costly exchange. We must bear the brunt of trauma, abuse, and pain, so they can thrive.

My anger won’t solve much, but it’s easier to focus on than those disruptive tail lights heading away from my home.

Our cultural moment reminds me of a verse in Deuteronomy, “I call heaven and earth to witness against you today, that I have set before you life and death, blessing and curse. Therefore choose life, that you and your offspring may live.”

My family will continue to choose life. We need others willing to do the same. Find a kid who needs a chance and give it to them. There will be a moment when you are what’s standing between the darkness and that child. When that time comes, set your feet and tell the coming abyss that it must come through you first. For whatever comfort it may provide, my family prayed for you and a whole host of angels to have your back.

Smith is a recovering political attorney with four boys, two dogs, a bearded dragon, and an extremely patient wife. He engages media, business, and policy through the Triptych Foundation and Triptych Media. Please direct outrage or agreement to [email protected] or @DCameronSmith on Twitter.