A Mom To Celebrate Foster Mother Has Had Open Arms, Open Heart For More Than 50 Children In Need Of A Home

If Sarah Harner could start life over, it would be in JoAnne Harner’s womb.

“If there’s anything in the world I could change, I would make her my biological mom,” dark-haired Sarah says, looking intently into her foster mother’s eyes. “Everyone needs someone to love them and support them. No one does that better than my mom.”

Sarah, 20, so fervently wanted to be JoAnne’s daughter that she changed her name legally to Harner soon after she turned 18.

Out of JoAnne and Paul Harner’s 53 foster children, Sarah’s the second to take such a step. Many other children simply use the Harner name without the court proceedings.

“As long as I have breath, I hope God gives me kids,” JoAnne says in the soft voice that has calmed so many children.

JoAnne, 45, wanted lots of children, but an emergency hysterectomy 24 years ago ended her plans after one son. Marriage to Paul Harner 18 years ago somewhat salvaged her hopes. He had four children, but they didn’t live year-round with the Harners.

JoAnne’s friends and family knew she had a gift with children. It had been apparent since her childhood.

“I’ve always loved children, been drawn to children with problems,” she says, scanning the jungle of family photos on her living room mantel.

Her foster parenting began informally 16 years ago with a call from her sister-in-law. Ed, JoAnne’s 11-year-old nephew, had stolen a bike. He needed more structure in his life than his mother could offer. JoAnne didn’t hesitate when Ed’s mother asked her to take him.

Ed stayed with the Harners through high school with no problems. He earned his master’s degree in molecular biology this year and is a permanent member of the Harner family.

“He’s one of the easiest kids we ever had,” JoAnne says with a wry smile.

She has no secret potion she feeds her charges. There are house rules - no lying, cheating or stealing, respect others - and the kids have chores. JoAnne and Paul share their devout Christianity with the children but don’t preach at them.

“We just teach them boundaries, morals and values,” JoAnne says. “So many fight them at first until they see the control it gives them: Abide by the rules and get privileges and opportunities.”

Word got out after Ed moved in.

Friends with kids in trouble began asking JoAnne for help. She wouldn’t say no. Over 10 years, she took in 15 children. Most stayed six to nine months while families worked out their problems.

Then her son and Ed graduated high school and left. The house was quiet for awhile.

“I just went crazy,” JoAnne says.

She and Paul hit the road in a motor home. But it wasn’t the life for them. After two years, Paul suggested they become foster parents. JoAnne was delighted.

“Motherhood to me is so natural and comfortable,” she says. “I am so determined I’m going to help children.”

The children the state sent her were desperate for help. They’d been physically and sexually abused, neglected, abandoned, tortured by the people who were supposed to love them. They were distrustful, angry, frightened, almost unreachable.

JoAnne reached them.

Her first four children, all brothers, taught her about incest and abuse. They had been booted from one shelter home for tearing down blinds, overturning beds and urinating in the vents.

“The only thing I knew about abuse was what I’d seen on TV,” JoAnne says. “There was no preparation.”

The boys had been badly neglected and craved food. JoAnne told them they could eat whenever they wanted and that she’d buy more food as the cupboards emptied.

The boys gorged, especially at night. JoAnne ran to the store at any hour to replace food for them until they began to trust her. It took three weeks.

As the boys began to feel at home, the youngest told JoAnne his brother was sexually abusing him. She quickly separated the older boys from the younger ones and called a social worker for help. The boys were put in counseling.

“I remember crying. How could someone hurt a child so innocent?” she says, heartache tightening her voice. “It was a tremendous education for me.”

The state allows up to six children per foster home. The Harners’ home has stayed full for six years.

“In my heart, those children are mine,” she says softly. “I can’t explain why I love them. God puts that love in my heart.”

Her faith carries her through the toughest cases. One teenage girl tried everything to force JoAnne and Paul into giving up on her. She’d been abused and abandoned.

She came home on drugs one night and threw a glass at JoAnne. Paul wanted the state to take the girl back. JoAnne made the call, but she dialed the daytime number knowing no one would answer.

“I knew this child wasn’t mad at me. She was hurting inside,” she says. “If we sent her away, we’d be doing what everyone else had done to her. When I make a commitment, I make it for whatever length of time it takes.”

The girl stayed with the Harners for years.

Other kids have kicked and hit JoAnne or tried to push her down the stairs.

“You reach a point where you wonder whether you’re really making a difference,” she says with a sigh. “You can have 20 successes, but one fighter makes you question. At that point, there always seems to be a breakthrough.”

Merilee Kleiber, a Lutheran Social Services social worker, visits JoAnne’s home each year to make sure it meets state’s standards.

“She is as committed to her foster children as she is to her own children,” Kleiber says.

JoAnne’s far-flung “brood” now includes five biological and stepkids and six grandchildren, 53 foster children and six foster grandchildren. Nineteen of the foster kids still call JoAnne and Paul mom and dad.

JoAnne will celebrate Mother’s Day today with the biological families of two foster children.

“She just doesn’t quit,” Sarah says, smiling at her mother’s true grit. “I pushed her so hard to get rid of me and she wouldn’t.”

Two years ago, the Harners moved into a 6,000-square-foot home on 70 acres just north of Rathdrum. Paul owns a landscaping and excavation business that enables the couple to spend much more money on the children than the state provides.

When JoAnne’s confidence sinks, she looks out her windows at the rolling meadows and tree-studded hills and asks herself what she’s doing.

“I know what I do isn’t normal, but it’s so natural for me,” she says. “I’ve been so blessed by these kids. They add so much to my life. Sometimes I feel like the luckiest person in the world.”