‘This was a system that fractured the bonds we tried to make.’

So says Ashley John-Baptiste in his childhood memoir, Looked After. It’s a theme that runs through this compelling and forensic story of growing up in foster care from the mid-nineties onwards. It is also a child’s point of view of what it means to be powerlessness within a flawed care system.

Put into care as a small child, four years old, Ashley’s first foster home appears idyllic, enveloped in love by his carer and her family. But even then, there are signs that things will change. The weight of unsaid adult decisions about his fate hangs like fog in the living room.

For foster children, moves from homes and schools are often swift and unexpected, with inevitable knock-on effects. For Ashley, hasty goodbyes to friends, carers, and teachers lead to growing insecurity and rootlessness. He soon learns to squash his feelings and views, even hide his background, fearing rejection by friends, professionals, and foster parents alike.

We all have a need to connect. Those of us with close friends and families probably take those connections for granted. Young Ashley’s heartfelt wish is for a ‘forever home’ where he will be accepted, something that all children should be able to take for granted. ‘You are not a mistake…you have meaning,’ a church youth leader says to him. It’s hard to hold onto a promise like that when he feels like a piece of luggage on a conveyor belt that no one cares to claim.

Yet it’s also a tale of a resilient, intelligent boy who, against the odds and with a bit of help at critical points, manages to spectacularly break through the low ceiling of expectations set for him. Despite bewildering moves from schools and placements, we learn the difference even taciturn teachers, social workers, or foster parents can make if they genuinely care.

I have been a foster carer for ten years. As personal as Ashley’s story is, it bears similarities to the experiences of many children in care, some of which I have witnessed first-hand. He was academically gifted, but this is not true for all children.

I confess sometimes, I’ve wondered whether a residential home would be preferable to the instability and fear of rejection children face in family homes. Fostering is dependent on many things, such as government, local authority, care professionals, schools, and carers. Although measured, deep emotions are evident when he recounts his foster parents over the years. We foster parents are part of the system and flawed too. Our circumstances change. We get older. We make mistakes. I, for one, go over past decisions constantly. Could we have done it differently?

It doesn’t matter if you’re not a foster carer or don’t want to be one. Ever. It’s not for the faint-hearted. It’s not for heroes, either. But if God is a ‘Father to the fatherless who sets the lonely in families,’ then surely, as a church, we all have a role to play. I remember those who supported us with prayer, interest, hospitality, even a free holiday at the most challenging times. Most significantly the time people took to ask genuine questions about us and our boy. ‘How are you? How is... doing?’ I’m pretty sure our foster son could still tell you who liked him. An inclusive and accepting church can be a safe place for children and carers. The more we practice being that the more likely a foster child can feel secure in our churches.

Looked After is a memoir for all of us. It is, at times, an overwhelming read. How can the system change to give children more stability and hope for their future? Of course, things must progress at the government and local authority level - more boxes to tick. But at ground level, it has to start with being soft-hearted and listening with our eyes as well as our ears to precious children in our care. That way, we might ensure that the quietest voices are heard loud and clear.