Access for Everyone
"Because of Access ministry at Woodmen, my son has been welcomed."
Written By: Jen Wingert
When I started fostering, I wasn’t wearing rose-colored glasses. I knew it would be hard. I knew it would be heartbreakingly difficult. I wasn’t unaware that my life would drastically change, become incalculably harder, more stressful, and full of complete uncertainty. I fully understood all these things, but at the same time, my husband and I strongly felt the Lord was calling us to adopt kids from foster care, and (don’t you laugh at me) I had a solid plan.
I was going to fight all week, give every single bit of love and affection I had, meet the needs of my children whenever possible, fight every battle with and for them until I was totally depleted, and then go to church to be filled back up on Sundays. Then repeat and repeat and repeat until I had loved away all their trauma and watched them walk well-adjusted into bright futures, lovingly blowing kisses to my husband and me as they went.
Ok, fine, maybe there was a slightly pink-colored hue on my glasses. But still, I was ready for the battle. I put on my armor. I knew God would sustain us, but I was not prepared for what would happen, or wouldn’t happen rather, inside the church. And I certainly was not prepared to do battle there.
Time after time, church after church, the same thing would happen to us, week after week. My number/name/child’s name would flash on the big screen in the front of the sanctuary, and I’d start the walk of shame to the Sunday school classrooms. Every. Single. Week. Sometimes I’d get a rushed apology, “Sorry, we just can’t have him in here.” Once, the classroom door opened, my child was ushered out, and the door was shut right in my face. It was embarrassing, and demoralizing. It was devastating.
Having already tried eight churches in the area, I was depleted-- spiritually, emotionally, and physically. I didn’t have one ounce of fight left in me. I was crushed, drained and numb, hopeless and fragile. My soul desperately needed to be fed, and I was seeking encouragement and teaching from the only place I knew where to get it, the church. More than that, I craved some tiny moment of normalcy in my absolutely chaotic and exhausting life.
I just needed one hour and fifteen minutes a week to pray, worship, and take communion with God and His people, but for years I hadn’t been able to sit within the body for more than 20 minutes in service before I was called to tend to my son. When I was in the service, I was on pins and needles, unable to focus, dreading the moment I knew I would inevitably be called away.
And then my good friend said try Woodman Valley Chapel, and everything changed.
Do you know what Woodman does for families with special needs kids? Maybe it’s not common knowledge, so let me just tell you. They love on our kids, and they love on us in ways unparalleled. And they don’t just do it on Sunday mornings, but let’s start there. My son has a shadow every Sunday, a faithful, lovely, wonderful woman of God who shows up for the sole purpose of loving my son as he is and letting my husband and I sit uninterrupted through a service.
Because of Access ministry at Woodmen, my son has been welcomed to VBS and AWANA; he has consistently been taught about the love of Jesus by people outside of his family for the first time. He has been prayed for, prayed with, and welcomed with open arms. Access has provided us with parent’s night out and the ability to attend special services, knowing our kids will be cared for lovingly and consistently. We pinch ourselves regularly.
It has changed everything.
Access is a direct answer to prayers prayed by so many foster, adoptive and special-needs parents. It is life-changing and life-giving, and I am so grateful for its impact on our lives and the lives of our children.
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