One of my favorite movies is While You Were Sleeping. In it, there is a line that says, “You are born into a family. You do not join them like you do the Marines.” When I was fifteen, I did exactly that. Growing up, I had friends who seemed to have the perfect families. I wanted one too! So I found one that was almost perfect and I joined it. This is my story of how I became what most would call “a foster child.”

Before I begin, I want to say that I truly love my family. Looking back, I have many good memories. My parents did teach me things that were good, and the good things stuck. I know more about the world now than I did when I was young. If I were to now rate my childhood family on its dysfunctionality (I think I just made up a new word), I’d say I was lucky compared to a lot of kids.

There were many things that made me want to leave home. I think that is another story. Today my story is of an amazing family who welcomed me into their house, not just as a guest, but as a family member. It started with a lovely woman who befriended me at a church function. I had quite a few friends that were mothers and grandmothers. My best friend used to tease me about it, but I liked they way they genuinely cared about me.

My new friend and I became close before too long. Every school day, she sent a sack lunch for me with her son who was a year older than me. There was always a note inside. One night, things were not good at home. I called this woman and told her I was leaving. She picked me up in her car and brought me to her house. She put me in a bedroom for the night. I had cried a lot and was tired. I still remember the feeling of clean sheets and the smell of food cooking.

When I awoke the next morning, I could hear the family interacting. The mother was trying to keep them quiet so they wouldn’t wake me. I snuggled into the blankets and enjoyed the warmth and security I felt. After that, I stayed there as often as I could. It wasn’t long before I began calling the mother, “Mama,” which after a while became, “Mom.” She had always wanted twelve children. She had eight, and called me her “added upon.”

I wasn’t the easiest person to have around. I used to cry everyday, sometimes curled up in the bottom of the closet. I was extremely jealous of their other children. Once I almost started a fist fight with the daughter that was closest to me in age. I still have guilt about that. I have since talked to her about it. She just laughed and says she doesn’t remember it, so I’m forgiven. I was angry a lot, usually at Mom. For some reason, they though I was worth all the trouble. Many times I have prayed that God will bless them for what they did for me.

We had some good times too. Sometimes all of the girls and I would get laughing so hard, we’d be on the floor. Dad was a constant support. He used to read to us, the scriptures as well as interesting novels, usually being tied to our church in some way. Instead of going to church alone, I had a family to sit with.

I lived with them for five and a half years, until I got married. During that time they never received money from the state or my family for my care. They bought an older car for me to drive when I was in college. I worked part time to pay for the gas and insurance, and as much as I could for my books and tuition. They took care of the rest. They even paid for my wedding. This wasn’t a wealthy family, but they always said they had enough for another one of their kids. Mom continued to write notes to me, calling me her “dotter.”

I know people around us thought it was strange, the way I pretended like I was part of their family. That doesn’t matter. I count myself blessed for all that I gained because of them. It is another evidence that Heavenly Father loves me and is watching over me.