Foster care is two families unified through separation,
a child experiencing the loss & gain of a family,
the brokenness & blessing of “all one family together.”

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Our kids’ parents have so much to overcome. May our judgment of them not be added to the list.

It’s all of these and no one of these things alone. We grieve what he lost. We celebrate what he—and what we—have gained. And we hold the nuance. For our kids, for their families, for our own hearts, we hold—in broken & beautiful tension—all of it at once.
We keep space for the sorrow. We hold onto the joy. And we cling, with our whole hearts, to the love.

I’ve watched my (afraid, overwhelmed, pragmatic, reluctant) husband be intentional, affectionate, protective, compassionate, faithful, willing, brave, and so very loving. And I’ve watched our guy begin to experience the healing that comes from a love like that.

But the gift of this life—besides, of course, the kids & work & blessings that all this busyness represents—is that it keeps me on my knees in absolute desperation.

I can see a picture and stop for a moment and sit in gratitude of the blessing of this life of mine—without the arguing or pooping or spilling cereal across the floor or kicking holes in the wall or getting calls from the principal or stealing candy or eye rolling or “but momming” or streaking or coloring on the walls or crying or...

Real talk: Sometimes, I regret jumping into this life of foster care & adoption. I crave normal. I resent the hard. I grieve the loss. I long for ease.

I’m trying to keep it real. I had *no idea* that she had a vision problem until she failed her screening at the pediatrician recently. I was absolutely shocked. The doctor: “She can’t see.” Bella: “I told you!” Me: “You did?!”
Mom fail. 🫣🫠

“Drowning” is a word I’ve been using a lot recently. I’m drowning—drowning in children, drowning in tasks, drowning in my emotions and everyone else’s, drowning in needs and struggles, drowning in the heaviness of it all.

Foster care affects every member of our family—in the hard and in the healing.

We love our children, and we are doing our very best. If you have questions, ask. If you’re confused, spend some time & learn. If you’re concerned, pray & love & show up. Our children need you, we need you.

If I was too busy mourning the moments that never happen, I would miss the beautiful moments of connection—moments like this—that do.

Sometimes we’re so busy doing for our kids that we neglect being with them, seeing them, enjoying them.

The command to show hospitality is all throughout Scripture.

“Do not neglect to show hospitality…” (Heb 13:2)
“Show hospitality…” (1 Peter 4:9)
“Seek to show hospitality…” (Romans 12:13)
And countless other passages.

We sit together and eat and talk. We each share our “high-low” of the day. When we read the Bible together, we realize the kids are remembering and starting to understand!

And when you come to the end of yourself—when you find yourself wrecked—you are then perfectly primed to receive grace, to receive forgiveness, to receive strength. To receive Him.

We can become people who ask for forgiveness and who offer forgiveness, because of how we have been forgiven.

I now understand that “more than we ask or imagine” doesn’t mean “bigger and better” in the traditional sense. It can also mean “completely different and totally surprising and borderline crazy.”

So here’s to belonging.
Here’s to knowing you’re loved fully & included wherever you are.
Here’s to both families.
Here’s to truly honoring first family & fully welcoming into foster family.