When I am in the company of children like the ones I’m caring for today, it is often difficult for me to find compassion for their parents. These darling, precious boys, playing “Police” in my living room, are in their fifth home in two years. While intellectually I understand that the machines of poverty, addiction, and mental illness are behind the reasons for these boys being in care, my heart can’t understand how mothers often can’t overcome their demons in order to reunite with their children. I want to understand, to be so full of grace that I don’t bat an eye when I hear their stories. But sometimes, in fleeting moments I’m not proud of, I just can’t.