Category: motherhood

Give You the World

My children, if I could give you the world, I would. I would grab hold of the Earth, squeeze out the sourness, cruelty, hatred and pain, and then wrap it up in a tight bow and hand it to you. I would take an extra measure to carefully hand pick all the beauty and wonder that makes up the land we call home.

I would make sure the leaves of the trees are so fresh and green that you could smell them. The flowers would always be in bloom and the ocean would be filled with lavish fish that reflect the colors of the rainbows. The mountains would stand real high for you and the valleys would invite you to come explore them.

The sands of the desert would spell your names when you walk by. The tall grass of the plains would blow just enough in the wind to make you think they are whispering to you. The snowy and icy parts of this world would be comprised of the perfect snowman-making kind of snow. The jungles would be ripe with magnificent flowers made up of all your favorite colors. The animals would fill your eyes with splendor.

If I could go ahead of you each step of your lives to clear the path, I would. I would make it to where you never had to feel the sting of pain, the loss of love, and the agony of despair. Or if you did, it would only be the kind of pain that stretches and grows you into more whole beings. Your good dreams, the ones that leave you breathless with joy in the morning, would come to life and every spark of imagination would light a fire in you to create, live, and be anything you want to be.

You would find friendships in all places. Kindness would be the only word used to describe your interactions with others. Everyone would greet you with a smile and tell you how much you mean to this world.  Empathy would be common-place and you would always have a shoulder to cry on. You would never struggle with addictions or anything else that diminishes who you really are. Faith, hope, and love would wrap around your bodies, encompass your hearts, and defend your minds.

I suppose I’m just like most mothers. I want to believe that I will always be just one step ahead of you leading and loving you along the way. I hope that the fond smells of home and the love you feel will never be far from you. I pray that visions of you dancing, laughing, and playing will always reflect in my eyes.

My children, if I could give you the world, I would.

Dad’s Heart-Papa’s Love

I have a great father who has turned out to be a wonderful Papa to my children. My dad is really just a big kid in a lot of ways. He works hard, but also plays hard.  During my childhood, dad was a professional fisherman and in the vending machine business.  He was often gone before I even got out of bed each morning; however, rarely was Dad gone for Mom’s comforting dinners. Afterward, we would sit and eat ice cream or popcorn and watch T.V. together. I used to love to sit on his lap and imitate the goofy commercials that often played in the 70’s.

It was a special treat for me to go with him on his vending machine runs. Sitting in the section between the front seats of his white van, we would blast rock music and sing loudly with the windows open.  Most of the time, he would just make up the words to the songs he did not know. His versions always seemed to be a little less poetic but way funnier than the original lyrics.

The kids in my neighborhood also loved my Dad. He would play “shark” in the neighborhood swimming pool with them. I would hear “Beached Whale!” being yelled out and knew to take cover because of Dad’s antics with the diving board. He taught me how to swim at a fairly young age during our many weekends boating, fishing, and swimming at the lake.

Being able to swim was always very important for him as his father drown when I was only nine months old. When I was pretty young, Dad threw me over the boat into the lake, yelled “kick, kick, kick”, and then scooped me out of the water to the relief of my anxious, and angry, mother. His lack of fear spilled over to me, making me bold enough to try just about anything he came up with.

My dad is not perfect. He can be stubborn and quick to give his opinion. I’m sure like most of us; he has said a few things that he regrets. However, I’ve witnessed how incredibly loyal he really is. Even if his heart is broken over situations, he does not stop caring for his family.

When I was sick in the hospital, he fretted over my situation. He worried like any father would about his daughter’s fight for life. He was ever-present for the three plus weeks I laid there struggling to live. He watched and waited for me to start showing signs of recovery. The entire time he would whisper to me “You’re a little trooper Caroline” as if to encourage me to continue fighting the war that was taking place within me.

Perhaps, he saw a bit of himself in my fight for survival. While in Vietnam, he survived two close brushes with death. The first time, during a monsoon, Dad contracted dysentery. The deathly high body temperature that accompanies dysentery took the life of one of his good buddies while they waited for rescue. There he was, 19 years old, with his whole life ahead of him, slowing wasting away due to high fever, and all he could do was lay there and wait…wait…to be rescued and for any sign that things were going to be okay.

The second time during the TET offensive, an armory of weapons near Dad’s bunker exploded. He was rendered unconscious and had shrapnel buried deep within his knee. Because of all the chaos that ensued while quickly trying to pull the living out of the jungle, Dad was actually considered MIA for several weeks until being identified in a military hospital during his recovery.

One of dad’s memories from the war is that of spending Thanksgiving in a “hole”. Barrels of strawberries were dropped onto the muddy ground around him. Even though he and about ten other soldiers were being shot at, Dad bravely belly-crawled to the berries, scooped some in his hands, and then crawled back to the hole that had become his safe harbor from the gritty, life-taking atrocities surrounding him. I wish now that I could have whispered in his ear “You’re a trooper Dad” while he huddled in a hole in the jungle of a war-ravaged foreign land far away from the love and safety of his home and family.

Dad has always been a little outwardly stoic about my surgery and even his time in war. But, I’m sure he has cried more than I will ever know about his own battle and the illness that I battled during my youth. He watched his baby girl go from being a healthy muscular dancer to skin and bones. On top of that, he was put in the position of raising a daughter who would never have biological children. Throughout my growing years, his support never wavered. He was quick to give his opinion if he disagreed with my choices, but after-all, that is what dads are supposed to do. He made sure I had the opportunities to explore my talents, interests, and goals in life.

Okay…now flash forward many years to the year 2006. Dad rushed to my home as quickly as he could to see for the first time the precious baby boy placed in our home as a foster placement. I remember telling Dad “We are just fostering him. We may not be able to adopt him” multiple times so that it would sink in. I think Dad nearly fell in love the minute he looked at him.

Throughout our time fostering my son, Dad grew closer and closer to him. My son kindly referred to him as “Papa”. The two quickly became best buddies. The entire time my Dad knew that he may not be able to hold his “grandson” for life so he wanted to make the time he had with him special. Fostering was difficult on us but at least we understood what was going on with the legal case. Dad did not and could not know due to confidentiality. I am sure he worried about losing the grandson that he had fallen in love with. When the case moved to adoption, Dad was elated. His future fishing buddy would not be going anywhere and he would be able to finally officially introduce him as his grandson.

Dad was also very eager to hold our daughter when she was placed in our home. Her foster care case quickly turned into an adoption, but still Dad had to wait for her to “officially” become his granddaughter. She too loves her Papa. She gets so excited when he arrives at our house, runs to him yelling “Papa!”, and jumps in his arms.

I’ve said it before, but it is worth saying over and over. I love the fact that my children were predestined to be in our family. My Dad was predestined to be their Papa. He loves them, encourages them, and is a big kid when they are around. Dad may be a little heavier than he was in his early years. His sparse hair is grayer than it used to be. He doesn’t get up as quickly as he did before. He still may be a little stubborn at times, but, one thing that hasn’t changed is his heart and his love.

He continues to be the Dad I remember growing up who softly held my hand during times of illness. He is the fun-loving, giggle-making, and toy-buying Papa to my kids that they so deserve to have. He is fiercely protective of them and whole-heartedly in love with them. My Dad’s heart is reflective of a Papa’s love.

Exodus 20:12
“Honor your father and your mother, so that you may live long in the land the LORD your God is giving you.”

Broken Pieces

One of my favorite songs is “All the broken pieces” by Christian artist Matthew West. Nearly every time I listen to it, I think about my life and all the times when it was nearly shred into pieces by the ways of the world and the hardship that life on Earth can bring. My surgery, the aftermath of it, the poor choices I made because of it, the anger I spewed out at times due to it….all of these things are just shards of what makes up my being.

My children also come from broken places. Their biological families have been torn apart by worldly challenges and poor choices. Broken homes, unhealthy relationships, and crushed hearts made up my children’s existence before they were even born. They got off to a pretty rough start in life. They were robbed of a normal, healthy pregnancy. They were immediately separated within a few days of birth from their birth mothers by being brought into protective services. They were placed with foster families and then a legal battle ensued for them to have what every child should and deserves to have – an unbroken, un-abusive, love-giving kind of home. Although they eventually (legally) got this, it was still a start to life that no child really deserves. Let’s face it, my family was put together by the falling apart of other ones.

I’ve always heard and agreed to some extent that it doesn’t matter how hard we fall, it’s how fast we get up that makes the difference. I believe this in most situations, but there are times in life when the breaking of our hearts, our minds, and our bodies requires more than just a quick jump up. There are moments when sorrow nearly brings us to our knees, stomps on us, tramples us, and leaves us in the pit of despair. It is during these times that we may question where God is, and why in the world will He not “fix” things for us, or cure the diseases, or take away the addictions of those we love.

Isn’t the world really full of broken pieces? We all at various times find ourselves searching for just one sliver of goodness to call our own. There is so much hurt out there. I cannot even imagine what the Lord must feel day in and day out watching His children break each other’s hearts.

My favorite part of the song by Matthew West goes like this:

I can take even your greatest mistake
every scar; every tear, every break
And I can turn it in to something more beautiful
than you have ever seen
so lift them up to Me

My children, and many children before them, may have started out in the world with fractured families. If left alone, I get the sense they may not have ever truly experienced stability, hope, and the substance of God. But, He took what could have been used as an early path to destruction and built up a road that led to the wholeness they so deserve. I know He has mighty things in store for them.

The scars, the tears, and the breaks are all put back together to make us whole in Him. He has taken the shrapnel of my wounds and the ugliness of my sin to build me back together again. He poured out His love on the cross. He was broken so that I would not have to be.

Some fortunate people go through life with barely a scratch; while others seem to be continually reminded that flesh is truly only flesh. I guess I fall somewhere in between the two. Flesh may fallible and vulnerable, but the spirit which dwells within us, is mighty. Our spirit is a survivor. God wants us to survive. He wants us to be resilient; He wants us to need Him, and to choose lightness over darkness.

I used to believe that I was just a broken girl….missing a uterus, having to be on hormones, not having babies…etc. Well, truthfully, I was broken. In the fragmented relationships, shattered dreams, crushed hearts, and broken bodies, God is able to sculpt healed relationships, better dreams, loving hearts, and whole bodies. I am a broken piece of this world.  In my weakness, I found strength in the One who put me back together.  Only God can create beauty out of ashes.

 

my scar, His Scars

Hey, scar on my belly, you do not represent me.  A doctor called you a “horror show” one time, but his words do not describe me.  You are long and just plain ugly, but you do not characterize me.

You are a visual reminder of the war waged on me in my youth, but you do not represent me.  You are simply flesh ripped apart and sewn back together by human hands.  You depict a battle for my life, but I won. You are just one part of my infertility, but not the most important.

You have been with me nearly as long as I can remember, but you do not define me.  I have been embarrassed of you.  I have wished you away.  You have reminded me of all of the pain I have been through, but you do not speak for me.

Your outward appearance does not hint to the inward conflict that has taken place physically, spiritually, and emotionally through the years.  You do not speak, you do not breathe, and you do not love.  You are just a symbol of a fateful moment in time long ago; a physical remnant of my life-changing event.

Hey, scars on His wrist, you represent me.  Hey, wounds on His feet, you are because of me.  The pain inflicted on Him should have been mine.  He was scoffed at, called names, and torn apart by a battle not of His own. I have wished Him away, not trusted Him, and raged at Him; but still, His heart welcomes me.

Hey, scars on His wrist, you embody the physical, emotional, and spiritual freeing of me.  His scars delineate a world not deserving of His grace.  The ugliness of His death portrays the beauty of His forgiveness.  His wounds speak of great passion, and His pain screams mercy.

He is the past, present, and future.  He is the most important moment in time.  His words were of compassion, and His breath of love.

His Love,

His Life,

His Scars,

His Sacrifice,

His Forgiveness,

His Resurrection,

my gain.

God deserves an Oscar

God deserves an Oscar!  The way He scripts, produces, and directs our lives  is better than just about any Hollywood version of the latest headline or novel.  He has written us with great richness.  His works are emotive.  His set (the world) is extraordinary, and his story-lines are filled with drama, passion, love, and loss.

I love the thought that adoption is a predestination set out by God Almighty.  It is truly awe-inspiring to know that while I was still being formed in the womb, He had already written the script of my life and my children were written into it.  Talk about having a purpose and a design!  It is almost unfathomable to think about it.  Yes, sad and tragic things had to happen in all of our lives so that we would be together, but God knew what He was doing.  The fact is that we all are together and that is good enough for my soul.

I am filled with wonder every time I think about my children and their lives.  How are their lives going to affect others?  Will they adopt or foster children?  Will they trudge through uncharted territories to reach the “unreachable”?  I hope so.  If their mission field is here at home or in a far-off corner of the world, I pray they grow up with the knowledge that God has designed them with a passion and the whole word in their runway.

For the most part, this aspect of my life – the medical/barren part – has always been something I’ve kept to myself. I’m learning though that the more I speak about it, the more I write about it, and the more I share it with others; the more God reveals to me…not just about myself but more importantly about Him. I used to wonder what my purpose was.  Why in the world would He allow me to lose the ability to have babies?  I don’t think that anymore.  I know now that my story – better yet – His story written for my life, is exactly what it is supposed to be.  My children are proof that God’s plan is perfect, His will intentional, and His mercy never-failing.  My God has truly blessed me through all of the suffering.

Words of My Heart

Wow.  I can’t believe that I started this blog one month ago.  I also can’t believe I waited so long to start blogging.  This month has been a phenomenal time of discovery, writing, thinking, writing, praying, writing, connecting, and of course writing.  Throughout this month I have been able to share a bit of my journey here on Earth, as well as, learn about others.  I sort of think of myself now as part of a community of women and families who have been challenged by infertility and/or ones who are in the process of stepping outside of themselves so that they can be families for foster children.

I have found myself wondering if my experience growing up would have been totally different had I been given the opportunity to share my feelings about infertility with others who could relate.  Just knowing that there were others out there experiencing a small portion of what I was dealing with would have made a huge impact in my life.  Of course, I was a young girl so the level of relatability would have been different from adults going through it.  I don’t know for sure if I would have taken the opportunity due to being an adolescent, but still, I really wished there would have been blogs around, or the Internet for that matter.

I kept my “story” inside my heart and mind for the past 29 years since my hysterectomy.  I really did not speak the words of my heart very often.  Sure, I have shared parts with close friends, family, and my husband.  I have even been asked to give my testimony to various groups, but, writing pieces of it out has brought life to my thoughts kept buried for so many years.  It has also given me a sense of gratitude for where I am now.

I read other women’s blogs about their struggles and what they are currently going through with trying to have a family.  They are discovering the road to becoming parents has taken sharp turns or completely come to a dead end.  I hear their pain in their words.  I feel it in my heart.  I wish I could assure them that some aspects of infertility may affect them for the rest of their lives, but it does not make up their whole lives.

I had to learn growing up that there was more to me than not having children, and there was more to being a woman than having children.  My children do not define me.  Pregnancy would not make me anymore female.  This was a battle I struggled with for so long that my heart aches for women going through it.  Infertility, although it has felt like it at times, is not my whole life.

I won’t lie.  I’m so thankful for my pain of barrenness being something in the past.  I’m incredibly blessed to be at this place of peace and contentment.  Yet, I never want to forget the molding, sharpening, and refining that my experience has done for me.  I remember what it was like to walk around wondering if I would ever feel normal.  There were times I felt like I had the weight of the world on my shoulders or that I had to figure out what I was going to do about what happened to me.  I found though that the more I tried to figure it all out, the worse I felt about my circumstance.

I could not control what happened.  I could not even control what was going to happen in the future.  I could choose to grasp onto the hope that something good was bound to come from all of this.  I also began to realize that I needed to rely more on my faith in a loving Heavenly Father than the persuasions and suggestions of the world.  No one could ever really tell me how to manage it even if they tried.  So, I kept it all in.  I spoke very little of it.

Realizing that I am exactly who God created me to be is the most profound feeling of love and contentment.  I think back when I was a young girl who had been dealt a very difficult hand in life, and am amazed now at the sense of purpose I have found in it.  I am not an expert in the entire experience of infertility, but I am an expert in my own.  All of us going through the heartache of trying to have a family to call our own have varying stories of loss, hope, despair, and joy that intertwine through out our walks.  Even though the set of details might differ, the ability to relate and empathize with others has been wonderful and so needed in my life.  Bless you for the encouraging words several of you have said to me, and especially for taking the time to read the words of my heart.

Unashamed

It was a challenge growing up after having a hysterectomy so young. I never really knew how to handle it.  I felt ashamed of it, and I really don’t know why I felt this way.  It was not my fault.  I was gravely ill and the surgery had to happen in order to save my life, but for some reason, I really didn’t want many people to find out about it.  I internalized a sense of guilt or embarassment because I was different than my peers.  Due to my young age, I did not fully grasp how my surgery would play out in my life over and over again.

As an adult, it has taken me many, many years to say out loud “I HAD A HYSTERECTOMY”.  Even now, when asked about my medical history at doctor’s visits, I always get a little tense and just a bit nervous.  Perhaps it is because the response is usually “You had a hysterectomy at age eleven?!?”…followed by an awkward moment of silence…then followed by “May I ask why?”  One of these days I may just say “No, no you may not ask why…” just to see how they respond!

Sometimes, I let medical professionals off the hook early and just go right into all the details of it.  I sense at times they are a little overwhelmed. Or at least, the women are.  They usually give me a slightly pitiful look, but most of the time they express sadness about it.  Men on the other hand just sort of skip right over, as if there’s “nothing to talk about here”…move along.

Often, they will stare at me briefly as if they expect me to say more, or break down sobbing, or something. The truth is even if I felt like crying, I would hold it in until I left the appointment anyway. This is not as much of an issue for me now that my emptiness has been filled with children, and I have come to a place of fully embracing who I am, but throughout my life, there was a tremendous amount of despair mixed in with a sliver of shame over it.

One thing that I habitually do time after time is quickly follow up my revelation of being infertile with an “It’s okay though. I’ve adopted children, and I wouldn’t trade them for the world”.  Before I adopted, I found myself saying things like “Oh, it’s okay.  I might be able to adopt” even if I did not believe my own words.  It is as if I have always felt the need to apologize for my lot in life.

Perhaps in my earlier years,  I was still trying to figure it all out.  I didn’t want or need anyone to explain things to me.  I also never wanted to be pitied for it.  This was my experience to navigate on my own – no one else’s.  Some things in life are just too big to wrap our heads around until we are fully ready to do so.  Giving simplistic and quick explanations to medical staff or anyone else who wanted to know what happened to me did nothing to help me understand my own circumstance.  I often felt I was fulfilling their curiosity at my own expense.

I’ve always wondered, yet never quite figured out what it is about infertility and hysterectomies that cause the feelings of shame, embarrassment, or whatever else it can be called. I just sometimes think that the rest of the world (all the fertile myrtles) don’t fully grasp the complexity of infertility.  Perhaps this is why those of us (non-fertile myrtles) feel isolated out in the “real” world.  There is nothing to be shameful of!  We didn’t cause this.  We didn’t set out in the world thinking “I’m going to do whatever I can to make having a family extremely difficult.”  Barrenness has been around forever; yet, there is so much restraint when talking about it out loud.

While pondering this issue, I thought “God has used barren women to do mighty things.”  Several women in the Bible, who were considered barren, ended up giving birth to children who went on to do noteworthy things.  I know the incredible ending of their barrenness was the birth of children, but I find it equally incredible that their struggle with it was written down.  Their stories were compelling.  They were often mocked for it.  Yet, their faith ran deep.

I choose to believe that barrenness is close to God’s heart.  I know that He does not want us to be ashamed.  I believe that there is no reason anyone should ever feel the need to apologize for not being able to have children.  My life is not desolate. I feel totally fruitful; quite the opposite of barren really.

The world may think, or even expect me to be angry, bitter, and even resentful about infertility, but I choose not to follow the world.  I am not listening to it; my ears, my eyes, and my heart are captured by the whispers of God.  Through Him, and only through Him, I am beautiful, purposeful, and redeemed.

I am unashamed.

Letter to my Lord

If I wrote a letter to my Lord, how would I start it? What would I say? Thank you for being there…or thank you for all of the good things that have happened through the years.  I could never fully convey the magnitude of what I am truly grateful for.  He deserves more than simplistic validations of what I appreciate.

It is not just the good things that I should be thankful for, anyway. The hard stuff – those moments that have torn me into pieces – also deserve their place in gratefulness to God. It would be a false statement for me to say I’m totally 100% grateful all of the time for being barren. Certainly, this has brought me a tremendous amount of strife. However, I sincerely appreciate the journey of it.

One might expect me to say that the best part of the journey is the adoption of my children. Well…they certainly are incredible, that’s for sure. However, for me, the best part of it has been the revelation of all the small moments, twists, turns, ups, downs, and in-betweens that helped to write the story.

Often, it is far easier to look backwards and say “I get it” than to look forward in faith. I don’t really think I could appreciate the road it took to become a mother if I had known in advance that there would be a little boy with blonde hair and a fantastic amount of charm, and a girl with bright blue eyes and blend of sugar and spice (mostly spice) who would enter my life. The road was full of painful ruts, sudden curves, and sadness as thick as tar, but still, it was the road that led to my children.

My sojourn into the world of infertility seemed so long; yet, not really. When looking back all those years ago after my surgery, I truly thought I would forever be stuck in the darkness of being barren. I know now that all those thoughts and years are just “blips” on the radar screen compared to the brilliance of the ride I’m experiencing as a parent.

I have found and continue to find great peace when realizing what all occurred to get me to this part of my life.  From the moment I woke up in the hospital bed following surgery, to the recognition as an eleven year old that I was different than my peers, to the angst as a teen wondering if true love would ever find me, to the despair of nearly convincing myself that I would never be a parent, to the longing of wanting a “normal” mommy-hood, to being captured and redeemed by God’s grace, to signing our application to become foster parents, to the nervous drive to pick up the baby boy who needed us as his foster family, to the humbling conversations with his birth mother, to leaning my head on the steering wheel following court hearings exhausted from the unknowns, to the dripping of my tears onto the court room table at our son’s adoption hearing, to jumping in heart first again by saying yes to accepting our foster daughter, to staying up night after night with a newborn, to the day she was deemed eligible for adoption, to picking out her adoption dress, to explaining the best we can to our children that they are adopted, to each moment with them….the list goes on and on.  I suspect it will until my eyes gaze on Him.

Perhaps the letter to my Lord is not really one I would write at all.  Perhaps it is my life, or better yet, how I choose to live and recognize the spaces where all I was clinging on to was His mercy, His love, and His promise.  God filled in the story line.  He flushed out the details and colored the canvas.  Living a grace-giving, mercy-showing, Christ-seeking, and love-leading kind of life would speak more than a thousand words anyway.

Yes…

my life, the letter,

my heart, the message,

and His hands, the ink.

Fostering Hope

Ever wonder what it is like to be without hope?  I don’t mean those momentary spaces in our timelines where we are feeling a little confused about what our next steps are supposed to be.  I mean truly without a sense of hope for the future.  I have talked with far too many young people in foster care who have no hope of a future, family, or anything better for that matter.

This week marked a movement in America called the National Prayer Vigil for Foster Children week.  It is part of recognizing May as the National Foster Care month.  Many churches, citizens, and agencies are spending time focusing on and lifting up children who have been caught up in the system.  These children and youth are victims of their circumstances.  They did not choose the system.  They were forced into it.  Many kiddos across America have been reunified with their parents or family members.  There are also many who have been or are in the process of being adopted.  Still yet, there are thousands who wind up with no family to call their own.

We see the signs everywhere; child abuse cases that shock the most seasoned professionals, newspaper articles displaying the staggering statistics of children in foster care, television reports aiming to try and capture the need for foster families. However do we really stop to think what that means and how it impacts our communities, our state, and our nation? What if there were more homes for children and older youth in this country than there were children actually needing foster care services? What an amazing testimony to the rest of the world that would be! Yet that is not the case. In our blessed land of freedom and opportunity, nearly 130,000 children live each day without a permanent family. This statistic does not, however, represent the entirety of the numbers of children in protective services in theUnited States.

Why is it that the children who fall into the world of foster care tend to be the last thing on people’s minds? As Christians, we are ordained by God to take care of the fatherless. Not every child in care is an “orphan” per se, but nevertheless, their lives are caught up in the turmoil of the poor choices of their parents. It is not uncommon that their parents’ lives were at one time also caught up in the problems of past generations. And so the story goes on….more children aging out of the system without a family to rely on. Often, they have children who end up in the system and the cycle continues. There are generations of families who are at risk for being lost in the midst of abuse, neglect, drug problems, and homelessness.

Thankfully, that is not always the ending of every story. Reunifications with birth parents occur on a regular basis throughout the foster care system. Committed efforts by professionals and birth parents are essential in the reunification process. Foster parents are also key to a positive outcome for foster children. Foster families that are committed to the stated goals of the case, act humbly towards birth parents, mentor, encourage, and pray for the birth parents are (in my opinion) the best representation of loving Christians.

I didn’t set out in this world thinking of working in child welfare or of becoming a foster or adoptive parent.  God sort of just wrote that out for my life.  And I’m so glad He did.  Foster parenting is probably one of the toughest, underappreciated; yet, compelling experiences in life.  Being a case worker is all of these things as well.  Child welfare is a beast of its own and is extremely complex.

One time while visiting with a pre-teen boy in foster care, I asked him “what do you want to do when you grow up?”.  He replied, “I don’t know.  I’ll probably be dead or in jail by the time I’m 21.”  How sad.  This boy had already been in care for several years, parents rights had been terminated, and finding an adoptive home was extremely tough due to some of the behavioral and emotional struggles he was dealing with.  I later learned that he did end up in jail after aging out of the system at 18 years old.  The system offered little hope for him.

Foster families can do more than just house, feed, clothe, and care for kids.  They can encourage them and give them a sense of hope for the future.  Fostering and adoption (if that becomes the goal for the child) can make a generational change in the lives of children.  Not only does can it make a tremendous impact in the lives of foster children, but also potentially in the lives of their future children and families.

I never thought of myself making a generational impact while fostering until I realized that my children’s birth families had struggled with historical cycles of abuse, neglect, and substance abuse.  My heart breaks when I think about what all my children have lost because of these things. I pray my children will never struggle with these issues in their lifetimes.  I know I have done what I can to fervently make a difference in their lives, and will continue to do so.

As Christians we recognize that we too were lost in the sins of the world. We were adopted and redeemed by a loving God. He is committed to us, He encourages us through His word, we should mimic His actions towards others, His humble servitude is written about in the Bible, He hears our prayers and we are given hope that is life-sustaining. Through our adoption by Him, generations of our families have been changed. We can pass down His legacy of love to our children and our children’s children. His sacrifice made an eternal and generational change in humanity.

What if our country looked at fostering the same way? Fostering a child is not just about that one or two children you may take in. The difference foster and adoptive parents make can change the course of generations. I cannot think of a more important and immediate need in our country than Christian families to reach out to the “least of these”. It would be an incredible transformation in our nation if children in the welfare system were loved on, cared for, encouraged, and witnessed to by families.

The overhaul of the system could start with Christian families committing to take a stand for our children in need. Christ took the ultimate stand for us and because of that we can pass on His legacy. Christian families should be doing the same for foster children not because it is the right thing to do, but because we too were lost and then found by a sovereign and humble Heavenly Father. Just imagine what it could mean to the lives of thousands of children and their birth parents if families would love on them, meet their needs, show them grace, and foster hope!

The Wonder of You

Look at you, my precious girl, with your eyes of blue.  It looks like God Himself dipped His paint brush into the sky when coloring your eyes.  And you, my son, with your brown eyes and wavy blonde hair.  I swear angels spun your hair out of butter.  Sometimes, when admiring you both, I think to myself “the wonder of you”.  You truly are wonderful.  You challenge me.  You cause me to get up early on the weekends.  You leave food and toys and just about anything your hands touch strewn all over the floor.  But still, I’m amazed by the wonder of you.

I had no idea how truly incredible you would be.  Whoever said blood is thicker than water surely never experienced the supreme delight of adoption.  At one time, I could not imagine ever having you in my life, and now I cannot imagine my life without you.  My children.  My sweets.  My love.  You have captured my heart.

You are not second best.  You are not statistics.  You mean more to this world, your family, and your Heavenly Father than you will ever fathom.  You may have been born into a world of chaos and less than desirable circumstances, but you will leave this world a better place.  You have inherited the fullness of God’s mercy and love.  He loves you both as if you are His only children.

For you my son, your entry into our home was sudden.  We had just a few hours to prepare.  But, the moment my eyes focused on you, everything came to a screeching halt.  I was in awe.  You took my breath away.  There you were, so small and vulnerable, and yet, so significant.

And you, my daughter, you literally arrived on our doorstep by the first angel who took you in.  One look at you caused me to realize how incredibly blessed I was.  You were more than an abandonment.  You were more than a legal status.  You were purposefully, wonderfully, and intentionally made.

Fostering you both was humbling, heart-wrenching at times, joyful, and full of so many life lessons.  Actually, raising you is full of these things as well.  Your imaginations inspire me.  Your silliness tickles me.  And, your love of all things new creates in me an excitement to explore the world with you.  You both have colored my world with shades of goodness, lightness, and love.

You are both more than I could ever imagine.  Adoption completed us.  I am mightily aware of the blessed responsibility bestowed onto me.  I would never go back to life before you.  I don’t think I could.  I thank the Lord daily for filling my life with the wonder of you.