Once More Unto the BreachI

*tap, tap, tap* :Is this thing on? 

Hi friends and readers of things I write!

Guess who's preparing to move overseas again??  In a new twist, however, I'm moving to a place I've been before. :) 

In about 7 weeks, I will be flying back to Quito, Ecuador. If you're reading this, you are likely already aware of this plan, but I wanted to do a post for two primary reasons: 

1. To reacquaint us all with this blog. It's been a minute, but I'm hoping to use it again while I'm in Quito. 

2. To address some FAQ's 

So, let's start with 1. Reacquainting you with the blog 

You're already here, so you know the website is fosterleslie.blogspot.com. Yay you! If you're tech-savvier than I (which would not take much), you can probably sort out how to subscribe to the blog so you get alerts when I post something new. I am not savvy enough to advise you on how to do that.

However, I will shoot out a quick email notification when I post to those who have requested it, and probably also on social media. If you'd like to get that email notification, please follow this link to add yourself to the list: 

2. FAQ&A re: Returning to Quito 

Q: What?! You're moving to Ecuador? Where is Ecuador anyway? 

A:

Ecuador, aptly named, is on the equator in South America (see the pretty red blob on the map?) The country can be divided into three main areas, in strips that run north to south. 

The westernmost third is the coast. It's hot and humid there most of the year. The beaches are beautiful; the seafood is yummy; and the pace of life there is pretty relaxed. 

The easternmost third is the edge of the Amazon jungle. It's also hot and humid there, year-round. But they have giant snakes in them thar parts, and we all know how much I do not enjoy snakes. 

Which brings us to the central strip, where the Andes Mountains run through the country. Quito, where I will live, is in this mountain range, and because of the high altitude (9,350 ft) the weather is spring-like year round. There is a rainy season and a not-so-rainy season. Also because of the altitude there are virtually no bugs (no mosquitoes, hallelujah!) and almost no one has central AC or central heat- it's just not necessary. 

Q: Why are you moving to Quito? 

A: If you've been with me for many moons, you may know remember that I lived in Quito once before, from late summer 2008 through early summer 2011. I taught ESL (English as a Second Language) to middle schoolers at a private Christian school called Alliance Academy International. As it turns out, I'll be returning in July to take a very similar position at the same school. If you'd like to learn more about AAI, here's a link to their website. You can even take a virtual tour. 

Q: But you already have a job teaching English here. Why pack up your whole life and move again?

A: It's a fair question. The practical answer is that after three years of teaching in the US public school system, I don't think it's a healthy long-term situation for me. Mind you- saying goodbye to some of my students was HARD.  Here is a picture of my Newcomer students (in their 1st or 2nd year of living in the US).  These guys, and a few other students that are now in their 3rd or 4th years here, have a piece of my heart. 

Going into the 2025/2026 school year, I was asking the Lord for direction, and in early November, I was invited to apply for this position at Alliance.  I accepted the job offer in early January, and have been slowly chipping away at all the things I need to do, ever since! 

Q: What about your house? Your car? Your cats? 

A: I'm renting my house out to a young couple from my church here in Fort Wayne. They are getting married in August and are excited to set up housekeeping for the first time as a family. The young man is a son of good friends of mine, and I feel really comfortable in having them rent. I will be storing my stuff in the basement and the shed while I'm gone. 

I'm selling my beloved car, Lucy, to some good friends who'll be moving to the US later this year.

My kitties are still a question mark. Taking them with me isn't feasible, so I've been looking for a new home for them. So far I haven't had any nibbles. So I'm praying that God will provide a good, safe home for them. Here they are, in case you know of anyone who might be interested. :) Please let me know! 

[Note: Yes, they're on the toilet.  We're classy like that.]

Q: Will they pay you? Will you be raising support? Can I help?

A: Yes; Sortof; Yes!!

Yes, they will pay me. Woo-hoo!  I will earn a salary, though it will be significantly less than what I'm making now. The cost of living there is also less, but there is still plenty of room for trusting God to fill in the gaps.  The job also comes with full health insurance (in Ecuador, but it's high quality care), partial reimbursement for my ticket, and a stipend to help me set up house there in Quito.  I'm really grateful for all these things!

I will SORTOF being raising support.  I'm expecting my salary to be sufficient for my normal life.  However, getting ready to go, going, and getting set up once I'm in Quito are all expensive things.  The cost and availability of my medications while I'm there is also a question mark, so I'm planning to buy a supply before I leave.  My insurance won't cover extended supplies like that, so this will be another one-time expense.

If you would like to give a one-time gift toward those transition costs, I will be providing info soon on how you can do that. *I'm grateful already!!*

YES, there are multiple ways you can partner with me, many that don't involve $$!  I will have more to say about that in my next post, so stay tuned!

Veterans Day Reflections

My awesome-possum dad, Tom Foster, served four years in the Air Force during the Vietnam Conflict.  He would sometimes tell us stories sometimes about being in the military, but they were always about funny stuff- how the drill sergeants would act (have you ever cleaned out the inside of your toothpaste tube nozzle?) and how he was well-prepared for the military, because he had been raised by Juanita (his mom) and three older sisters.  He was used to being told what to do. 😉 Sometimes we would hear about crazy stuff he and his buddies did (ask him about putting the giant snake in the trunk of the taxi) and the food he liked best.

He never talked much about the darker side of war, other than to tell us about the man named on his POW/MIA bracelet.  Dad was an airplane mechanic crew chief, and he got to know the pilots that flew in his planes well.  One of them flew out on a mission one day and never came back.  On a family trip to DC when I was in elementary school, Dad made a rubbing of his buddy's name at the Vietnam Memorial.  He didn't talk much about it; we didn't ask.

But this year my boss's daughter was looking for vets that she could interview for a project in her history class, and she asked if my dad would be willing to participate.  He did and after the interview she sent me the transcript of the interview.  I was eager to read it.  Most of it was more or less what I expected to see, but one part of the conversation took me by surprise.  That was Dad's perspective on sending troops to war.

Dad and I don't agree on a whole lot politically, but what he said in that part of the interview is something I can get behind with all my heart.  I'm posting it here (with his permission).  

K: Is there anything else you would want my generation, or people in general, to know about the Vietnam War?

T: I think I maybe already shared it, but let’s don’t get into a war sacrificing and risking the lives of Americans if we aren’t there to win it. Doing it for just political reasons, or financial reasons, is wrong. Those are no reasons to have a war....  I just think that if we are going to get involved in a war, we should be in it to win.

K: I really like that perspective a lot. Thank you so much for helping me better understand this part of history, and thank you for serving our country.

T: You bet! And, just a little thing for you. If you would, don’t forget. Don’t forget your history, history is so important - the old stuff that happened years ago. But I was always told that if you forget your history, you are bound to repeat it down the road sometime. Never forget that.

K: I won’t. Thank you so much.

I don't always agree with where we have troops and why, but I am always thankful for those willing to serve.  It bears repeating that if we're going to ask people to literally risk their lives, the very least we can do is support them as fully as possible.  Go big or go home.  If we're not in 100%, we should be 100% out. 

On this Veterans Day, I'm thankful for the service that the men and women in our military, and their families back home.  I'm thankful for my Dad's willingness to serve, and so grateful that he came home.  And most of all I look forward to the day when all wars will cease and there will be no more tearful goodbyes or heartbreaking notices from foreign lands.  Lord Jesus, come soon!

Just a baby!

Leslie and the Russian Birthday Party

I spent the first semester of my junior year of undergrad studying in Russia.  There are more hilarious, confusing, and otherwise-noteworthy events during that semester than I could ever write down, but some rise to the surface, even two decades later.  Here's one of my favorites.

Leslie and the Russian Birthday Party

For six weeks of my semester in Russia, I lived with a wonderful Russian host family (see them in the picture?  Are they adorable or what?!?).  Papa Zhenya (who often shouted randon German words at me in an attempt to communicate) and Mama Vera (who offered me tea and/or food nearly every time she saw me), and their children Masha (a high school senior) and Little Zhenya (maybe 9 or 10?), welcomed me into their tiny, 2 1/2 bedroom apartment with an abundance of enthusiasm and zealous hospitality.  From the moment I stepped into their home, I was family.  And if you know anything about Russian culture, you know that being family makes all the difference.

As family, one event I got to be part of was a birthday party for a life-long friend of my host sister and her cousin (who visited us often).  The friend lived in a small industrial city, an hour or so outside of our GIANT city of Nizhni Novgorod.  Masha, her cousin Tanya, and I headed there together the morning of the party.

We walked/bussed/trained/walked to Tanya's family's one bedroom apartment first.  Yep, you read that right.  This family of four shared a one bedroom apartment.  We would spend the night there after the party rather than return to NN so late.  Tanya's father and little brother (her mom was away for some reason which was probably explained to me and which I probably didn't understand) were warm and welcoming in bold, Russian strokes.  Lots of noisy greetings; lots of excitement to meet me (an American), lots of offers of food and drink.  If you ever need an ego boost, I recommend this experience.  

After a couple hours, the three of us trudged through the snow to an identical apartment in an identical apartment building, just a few hundred yards away from Tanya's.  In this tiny apartment's kitchen and living/dining rooms were crammed about 20 people, most of them around my age.  No one but Masha spoke English, but this was about 10 weeks into my time in Russia, so I could at least manage the standard greeting and getting-to-know-you stuff.  Masha was a great interpreter.

Until she and Tanya left.

For over an hour.

I never understood fully where they went or why (not understanding things is pretty standard when you live in a foreign country), but in the meantime I was in an apartment with a group of total strangers, not one of whom spoke English.  It was hot and crowded; loud and overwhelming; and it was an experience of a lifetime.  Everyone was fascinated by me (in spite of my mostly non-verbal state).  I was a foreigner.  I was an American.  I was a native English speaker.  I was INTERESTING!  Masha told me later than some of the people I met there had never before met a non-Russian.  

Think about that.  It's pretty humbling and surreal to be someone's first-ever experience of a foreigner! 

One guy in particular assigned himself as my new interpreter, in spite of the fact that he knew about five English words.  You can see him sitting next to me in the photo below (I'm in a red shirt), toasting the camera.  When someone would speak too quickly for me to understand, he would chide them and tell them to slow down.  He spent LONG minutes trying to say things to me in English...generally just random words.  :)  Eventually someone came up with a Russian/English dictionary, and he commandeered that baby the whole time.  I did a lot of smiling and nodding.  Occasionally, he would encouraged everyone to back up a bit, so as not to crowd me.  He constantly tried to get me to eat and drink various things.  Just about the time I thought my brain was going to start oozing out of my ears, Masha and Tanya returned, and the party began in earnest.

Into the already-crowded rooms came more and more people.  I believe the final count around the table was 20 or 21.  The table had been placed in the living room- the biggest space in the apartment), so we were surrounded by a couch, a tv, and the rest of the living room furniture.  To get up from the table, you had to stand on the seat of your chair and step over it onto the furniture behind.  But we weren't getting up; we were too busy eating and toasting.  Russians are not slouches when it comes to putting out a good spread for a special occasion!  There was food for days.  And drinks!  The men drank vodka (of course!) and the women drank white wine.  I drank juice (along with the couple children there), thanks to the community contract I had signed for the study abroad program.  

My unwillingness to consume alcohol seemed to be a personal insult to my dear protector.  He tried and tried to convince me to try just a sip!  "Eet ok, Lyehzlyee!  No problyem!  Nooooo problyem!" ("It's ok, Leslie!  No problem!  Noooooo problem!")

When we were all stuffed to the point of explosion, and more hard liquor had been consumed than I had ever witnessed in my life (I had not yet lived in China at this point), the table was cleared, and then removed.  The parents and younger siblings of the host family left the rest of us and headed to bed.

The photo above is Masha, Tanya, and the little sister of the birthday girl, singing one of the many songs I heard that night. We played some party games; they danced (by this point I was struggling to stay awake), and eventually the whole crew decided to go for a walk.   It was nearing midnight, but it was snowing, which made it easy to see as we walked.  After a snowball fight we all returned to the apartment and said our goodbyes.

Masha, Tanya, and I, along with Tanya's boyfriend and my personal protector, returned to Tanya's home.  We were all staying there for the night, and then we would take the train back to the city the following morning.

At this point you might be scrolling back up to verify the number of bedrooms in this place.  One.  One bedroom.  It had two twin beds in it.  Counting Tanya's dad and brother, there were seven of us staying overnight.  I figured Masha, Tanya, and I would get the bedroom, and all the guys would camp out in the living room.  But that's because I'm an American.  Were I a Russian, I would have known better.

I would have known that the most honor is shown to the guest least-closely related to the family ( you know; they are the most properly "company").  So the blood-family members (Tanya, her dad, her brother, and cousin Masha) shared the living room.  We three guests (the boyfriend, the friend, and the American) shared the bedroom.

When you're studying abroad, there are some things you do not mention when you talk with your mom.  Like how that one time you shared a bedroom with two drunk Russian men you'd just met a few hours before, and how they slept in their boxers, cause, you know, that's what Russian men do, I guess.

But in reality, the worst part of the whole event was when Masha explained the sleeping arrangements, and everyone stood around laughing good-naturedly as understanding dawned on my face as the two guys started stripping down, and I began to blush.  In the morning I woke up to my protector, thankfully once again fully clothed, rolling up his pallet of blankets and encouraging me, with broken English and lots of sign language, that it was early and I should go back to sleep.

As our crew I rode the train back home, I knew that attending that party had been a gift for me.  That trip was a special glimpse into the Russian culture that not many foreigners have the privilege of experiencing.   I came home totally exhausted, physically and mentally, but the whole event was more than worth it!

What's Happened So Far

So, how does fostering work, you ask?  Here's a simplified version, according to what I know thus far (translation: this isn't advice and in a year or so I'll probably shake my head at the quantity of things I didn't know or understand when I wrote this.  Such is life.).

RESEARCH

First, I talked to everyone I could who has fostered.  I heard about various experiences, and they all reinforced my understanding that the system is a mess and there is a lot about it that is really, really hard.  But most of them said it was worth all the hard. 

I keep being impressed by this thought: these kids don't have a choice.  I look at the system and I think, "This is too...

...too messy
...inconvenient
...scary
...expensive
...broken
...emotionally draining
...physically draining
...uncomfortable
...unfair
...depressing
...intimidating
...hopeless

And my next thought is always that I can choose not to help, but those kids can't choose not to need help.  This thought steadies me.

Next I jumped online and started looking at the agencies in my area.  And then I checked out the DCS website.  I completed and submitted a bunch of online forms to be contacted for more information.  I slowly pieced together (I think) the fact that DCS (the department of child services) is the hub.  They get all the cases of kids that need fostering.  Then they place those kids with foster families in two ways:
1. directly to foster parents who were licensed through DCS 
-and- 
2. through LCPAs (licensed child placement agencies) who license their own families.  Some kids end up in facilities rather than homes.  I haven't yet learned when and why that happens.

Anyway, I've chosen this second route of using a private agency for several reasons.  First, the DCS is understaffed and overworked and fostering through them directly means that everything is "government work".  Like, reimbursements take months to process, and case managers are worked off their feet.  But the biggest difference for me is that my LCPA is an openly Christian organization.  Not only will I have the support of their staff, but they are like-minded and I get the added bonus that they serve as go-betweens between me and DCS for many things.  So they absorb some of the irritants that come with working with the government.

[note: this isn't a political statement about this government or any other.  it just is]

PAUSE TO PRAY FOR DIRECTION

So, after talking to the DCS, I decided on using a private agency.  And after speaking with people from about five different agencies, I spent a couple weeks praying about the right agency.  My prayer team was awesome in supporting me.  Eventually I settled on an agency and contacted them to get the process started.

APPLICATION PROCESS

So far I've completed and returned a survey about my experiences and philosophy about parenting; had an initial interview; taken 12 hours of RAPT classes (resource adoptive parent training); and I'm currently working to gather various things to complete my application packet.   But never fear; there are only about twelve million things to do.

Yesterday I got fingerprinted!  Did you know they don't use ink?  So fancy.

Today I set up an appointment to get my kitties vaccinated against rabies.  I thought about pointing out that my cats never come into contact with any other animals, but decided not to die on that hill.

Since I have well water, I have to prove it's safe.  Apparently the fact that I've been drinking it for three years doesn't qualify as proof.  And I guess that's just as well, since my first test came back "unsatisfactory".  (so diplomatic)  So I'm in the process of bleach-shocking my well and we'll try again.  So excited that I get to pay that testing fee at least twice.  (please note sarcasm)

Meanwhile, I've been garage saling and watching Facebook Marketplace and creating a baby registry (because they don't have foster kids registries) to try to get my house ready to handle kiddos.  I plan to request girls who are in full-day school and not older than 6th grade, at least to start with.  That narrows the "what I need" list down significantly, but it's still a pretty wide range.  So I'm focusing on the basics and will have to fill things in as I go.

Another step is to get a "child care plan" in place, so I've started researching child care options near me.  Depending on what time the kiddo(s) gets picked up for school, I may need before-school care.  I will most likely need after-school care of some sort.  I toured a center today.  It was a little surreal.  I felt like at any moment, someone was going to approach me as say, "Hey, you're not supposed to be here!"  :)

PRAY, PRAY, PRAY

And around all of these steps, I've been praying.  There is no part of this new ministry-adventure that I expect to be able to do well on my own.  I fully expect this to be one of those situations where if God doesn't show up, it's not going to work. 

And while that's a little scary to think about, I also think it's exactly where God wants me.