Private or State Agency? {Our Move}

The last few months have brought a number of changes to our ministry and family, a significant one being our move from a private licensing agency to the state.

As products of Lifeline's second foster care class, our four years with them were learning years. We valued every moment of our journey under their supervision. Our growth mirrored their programs, and the training and education we received were incredible. We treasured every day of our walk with them.

However, in early fall of last year, we became humbled by the alarming rate our county's needs were growing. We intentionally began researching the differences between our local county agency and private agencies in general.

In late November we knew for certain God was leading us to make a move and place ourselves under the supervision of the state. We have deeply grieved our Lifeline family, but embraced the welcome and calling from Shelby County.

There are some significant differences between the two, and I thought I would share a few things we learned through our experience, yet this certainly is not applicable to every state or agency.

~ In the state of Alabama, private agencies are not eligible to accommodate emergency placements. This means, they cannot accept placement referrals between the hours of 4:30 p.m. and 8 a.m., Monday through Friday, or on the weekends.

The reality is a limited amount of referrals actually take place during regular working hours. So many kiddos enter care under emergency or crisis situations. If homes are not available for this type circumstance, the children truly do end up sleeping at your local child welfare office. That's not just a television scenario. Though our family is currently busting number wise, we have a number of available beds, and when we became aware of this challenge, we knew we could help in occurrences like these if we were under the state umbrella.

~ Private agencies are responsible for their state license as well as yours. In honesty, this adds a second layer of needed paperwork, documentation, regulation, and communication. There's no way around it. They have to be able to have your back if questions are asked, but they must be able to defend their files as a private entity. As the foster parent, you may find yourself filling out forms simply for your private agency, that are not required by the state, but they are still needed. You may have an extra meeting a month if your agency worker cannot make it to your child's caseworker visit, or you'll need to be sure you make an extra copy of all the month's files.

~ Private agencies provide a filter for the referrals you receive. They have the margin to do this. This is a beautiful thing, but it is somewhat of a luxury. There's no way around that fact. We adore how Lifeline prayed over every call and examined the strengths and needs of their families before they every made contact. State placement workers attempt to weigh these in much the same way, but they often have numerous kids to place in a limited amount of time ~ a narrowed margin.

Additionally, some private agencies have differing limitations on the amount or specific type of children you may take. Whereas Alabama state law allows up to six children in care in a home (providing space and availability), a private agency may limit you according to your experience, the ages of children in your home, etc.

For a long time, we welcomed and appreciated this filter, but as we grew through experience, we reached a point where we felt we could steadfastly make these decisions for our family and remove the "middle man."

~ Through a private agency, you are often able to take placements from multiple counties. The last two years we've had children in our home from two local areas. We LOVED this experience because we were immersed in the differences between the court systems, because no county is the same. We were also forced to weigh these variations against state law. Yet, we reached a place where we longed to go deep and commit to our community, and for the most part, when you are licensed with your county, you will be placed with children through your county.

~ There is also a difference in support between private and state agencies. I have workers I would call my close friends from both, under the professional context. But there was distinct relational and spiritual support that our Lifeline workers provided. What a gift! We often wept and prayed together over the children in our home. We no doubt are also supported greatly by our County workers, but the reality is they are managing exponential cases and families at any given time. However, we have been so grateful for the clarity and support in policy through the County. The laws and regulations are clear and set. This takes a great burden off of us as foster parents.

Again, we would not trade our time with Lifeline for the world. It was a training sanctuary. We believe that God calls families and individuals to foster care for so many reasons and stories, ultimately for His glory. Yet, we are so thankful for our County agency and staff and filled with hope as the pages of this new chapter begin to turn.

How do state and private agencies differ in your area? Would love to hear more about your experiences!

~~~~~~~

Don't forget to support our agencies, families and kiddos in care by joining my Blog Birthday Party!

Because of Jesus ~

Some Days I Forget My Reward ~

I sat in the child welfare conference area beside friends for whom we had battled in prayer.

Children for whom we had wept from our knees. 

My heart was filled with praise to see a room full of adoptions celebrated, yet shadowed with the quiet understanding to the lessons we had been learning in light of our calling becoming increasingly defined in the past months. 

Stepping into this world of foster care, our dreams craved a finalized adoption, another child, and new face.

Yet God has continued to say, No.

His plans for us have been distinctly different. We've delighted in walking with families and witnessing restoration, and we deeply feel these experiences will continue to shape our future.

Yet I'm ashamed to say not a day goes by that my eyes aren't pricked to tears and my feet aren't tempted to stomp and display a tantrum in rebellion.

I despise the jealousy, mingled with joy, that wells within me as I note my precious friends' adoption trial dates on my calendar with prayer.

It was this past Christmas Eve morning: the fact I had just been woken to sounds of vomit from the boys' room captured how I felt about foster care in perfection.

After cleaning the mess off the floor, I locked myself away in the basement to scrub the upchuck of my heart.

It wasn't pretty.

I demanded and bargained. I reminded God of every single thing to which we had said, Yes. I explained to him that I was fully aware that those efforts did not earn my salvation, but meeting me halfway would certainly be more than sufficient.

There, you have it. The nasty ugly.

How precious my Father did not leave me there.

As God asked Job in Job 38 ~

Where were you when I laid the earth's foundation? Tell me if you understand. Who marked off it's dimensions? Surely, you know. Who stretched a measuring line across it? On what were it's footings set, or who laid its cornerstone....? ~ Finish the chapter. It's humbling.

In the quiet of my soul I knew He was beckoning us to lay it all down once again. He wasn't surprised by my fresh bout of pouting. He calls me to be a living sacrifice. And I'm pretty sure that anything alive, being prepared for a kill, uses its reflexes in defense.

So He's teaching me to be still.

He's restoring my hunger for Him, to love through Him by abiding in Him.

He's reminding me that Jesus is enough.

My heart could only reply, as King David in I Chronicles 17:16, 

Who am I, Lord God, and what is my family, that you have brought me thus far?

And I worshipped.

~~~~~

The countdown is on to my Blog Birthday party! Join us here.

Because of Jesus ~

You are loved. You are loved. You are loved.

I swung my head around, dodging another flying shoe that left yet another mark of anger in the wall.

I hate you. You're nothing like my mother. I hate me. I hate all of this. I hate myself and my life, and it's all my fault.

I took one step toward her only to have the door slammed in my face, leaving me to sigh and slump through my tears. Through the crack in the doorway I reminded her with broken voice, I love you. I love you. I love you.

The scenario has been replayed more times than I can count. Different circumstances, new triggers, various children.

Same longings...

Arms of all sizes and colors reaching past me, craving the only one who cannot cradle in this moment.

In the midnight hours, I tiptoed down the hall to her room, confident our world was deep asleep.

Kneeling beside her bed, I brushed her hair from her face and saw the peace for which she longed, yet found only in the silence of the night.

And I whispered, You are so precious. You are our treasure. You are so deeply loved.

She slept on.

And suddenly, I saw another's stretching arms wrap around my neck as I knelt. One I thought was asleep across the room moved around me, crawling into my lap as she cupped my cheeks and whispered, Mama, you are loved.

My world stood still, one hand on a sleeping child, another around the little one seeking to reassure my mama heart.

For moments I sat, treasuring, pondering, dreaming, hoping.

Not one of us would speak of it in the morning. Perhaps some of us would not remember or ever even know.

Yet in those quiet hours, I was reminded how deeply Love is known in our home, even through the aching, reaching arms and midnight tears.

Love with us as we celebrate my birthday. Read more here.

Because of Jesus ~

Isn't it hard on your OWN kids?

It's the scenario every foster mama recites in her dreams.

Oh... you're a foster parent. Isn't it hard to let them go?

Then right after that...

Isn't it difficult for your own kids?

I'm not going to lie. That was one of our gravest concerns when we sat through the 10 weeks of foster parent training classes and signed our names to the mountains of paperwork.

Many of the spaces where our sons are being changed by our choices and ministry will not surface for years. And that scares me.

This past November one of the children in our home hit a wall, and the result was grief like I have not seen before. 

One evening I held my knees on the bathroom floor and wept for her shadows, but also for the sorrow my sons were witnessing. When I walked out, I studied Caleb, our 11-year-old, and asked him, Do you ever grow angry at this life we have?

My son did not miss a beat. He kissed my head, wrapped his arms around me and said, Mom, this life is what makes me know Jesus. It's sad, and crazy, and funny, and hard, but I love it.

Recently, that same growing boy was asked by his writing teacher to record an experience where he or his family met a need, but that also impacted him.

For weeks I've asked him to see the rough draft, but he refused. Wednesday night he brought it to me and told me he was ready for me to read it.

I asked him if I could share it here in honor of the anniversary of this sweet girl's arrival in our home. Everything is completely through his lens and how he remembers it. {Note: He had to include a certain number of vocabulary words and other requirements, so roll with it :)}

Trust in God

by Caleb Lumpkin

            I was waiting for our first foster child although I knew little about her, and I was growing bored. It wasn’t until later in the morning hours when I peered out the window, and my heart jumped a little. "Screech!" A car halted to a stop, as I gazed outside and observed a black car door mysteriously opening.

            “Mom! She’s here!’’ I screamed through the house.

            Nervously the young Chinese girl, who was as tall as a door, walked down the hallway and into her twin bedroom. As I was insecure with the new addition to our family, my intrepid mother had the most valor in the world. In my house, which is around three stories high with many rooms, there is enough space for me and my two brothers, Benjamin and Daniel, to wrestle. Benjamin, who is a cheetah, is a crazy, excited child, and Daniel is gentle, calm and enjoys the outdoors. People call me Caleb, and I love sports. Walking into her room, I was introduced to her, and my mother told me my new sister’s name was “Mattie.” Interested by her story and manner, I noticed she was as tall as my dad’s shoulder and very thin. She was obviously frightened, but as I would soon find out she was an incredible person.

             After about a month of being part of our family, Mattie, a genteel swan, learned a family with thirteen Chinese daughters desired to adopt her. Discovering this news, she became incredibly scared as they were arriving that afternoon. When they pulled into the driveway, Mattie ran into the closet and locked the door. They rang the doorbell. Shocked that she hiding in the closest closet, Mommy, who was a kind and calm person, walked to encourage her. "Thump." Mommy knocked on the door, which stood over her like the shadows of a dark tree forest.

            “It’s okay, Mattie,” she told her. “We’re here for you.”

            Quietly and nervously she was led to the door and greeted them.

            Together, the family walked Mattie slowly to their car as she continued to look over her shoulder at me. I watched them drive off.  After the weekend was over, they returned, and Mattie, who was a rock now, had been refreshed. Listening to her wonderful story, which bubbled from like she had never done before, our family was humbled. As I was filled with curiosity like a monkey, I was also filled with great joy for my sister in this season. Gratefully, we had almost three more months with Mattie. After the time passed, we had a wonderful adoption celebration for her with her new family. 

                                  

            “Goodbye,” I told her as we hugged tightly.

            Discouraged, I watched my sister Mattie drive away that day, but little did I know she was the first of many to do the same. However, I learned that in doing foster care, you must always trust in God.

         

Every single day, I'm doubt in the quiet caverns of my heart the role our ministry is playing in our sons' lives, but my Friends, I am so grateful foster care has and will continue to impact my own kids.

You have 27 more days to join in on my Blog Birthday Party! Don't miss this chance to support kids in care and the people who serve them! Read all about it here!

Because of Jesus ~

It's my Birthday, and you're invited!

Okay...

1. I really do plan to begin posting regularly again.

2. Please pray for us as we have been quiet on purpose, wrestling through some heavy shadows. Pray for wisdom, for abiding peace and resting hope.

3. Don't let my silence hold you back from jumping in on your invite to my...

36th Blog Birthday Party!

The entire gang voted on this one :)

I cannot believe this will be our fourth annual celebration!

When I turned 33, you guys showered us with diapers for Jefferson County Department of Human Resources.

33 Boxes for my 33rd Birthday!

 For my 34th, you rocked the Shelby County Department of Human Resource's playrooms!

Kristin and I kicking off the painting!

Last year, you poured into Lifeline's new counseling program with tools and therapy needs for kiddos in care.

This year, we met with caseworkers, foster parents and supervisors to identify one of the most consistent, urgent and expensive needs in the community of foster care...CAR SEATS!

Imagine scrambling to say yes to a four-year-old in the middle of the night, but there's no car seat. That could possibly hinder you from being able to be that child's safe place for the moment.

Only to wake up the next night to relive the scenario, but with an infant.

Typically, child welfare supervisors are required to have a car seat for each stage available to their caseworkers; however, Jefferson and Shelby Counties have been slammed with incoming cases since early August, and there are little-to-none available or remaining.

So...here's our challenge :)

Can we round up 36, or 56, or 106 car seats for kids who will enter care in the coming weeks and months in order to support foster parents and caseworkers, and hold up their hands as they answer, YES, with excellence and love? 

Can we do it by my 36th birthday on March 4th?

There are four ways to participate:

1. Purchase any type car seat, contact me {cafranktie@aol.com}, and we will arrange pick up.

2. Clean out your garage and car! If you no longer need a car seat you have, you may donate it! The  car seat must not have been in any accident at any point, and please check it's expiration date.

3. You may always give a tax-deductible donation online at The Forgotten Initiative, and please note Birmingham Birthday.

4. Would you pretty please share this post? The more people we invite, the more awareness is raised, and the stronger our efforts are together!

The longer Jamie and I are involved in foster care, we are increasingly convinced this must be a community effort to support child welfare services, the families and children in crisis, and the foster families and mentors with faithfulness.

What a simple way to do as God commands His people in Jeremiah 29, Seek the welfare our city.

And while you're at it, you get to say, Happy Birthday to me :)

Because of Jesus ~

The Quest for Satisfaction

What a difference a year makes...

I'm ashamed at how neglected this space has become, and yet recognize the need we've had to step back and contemplate some significant changes in the ministry to which God has led us.

I've stolen a few moments of quiet today as footballs whiz by my ears and little princesses in tutus brush my leg to dwell on the reality that this past year was one of healing.

It was a long season of embracing the calling we now know we cannot escape and girding ourselves with His abundant grace to walk forward with hope.

We've come to an understanding that as John Piper said, Ministry is not what ordinary Christians do. It's a lifestyle devoted to making much of Christ.

My friends, that is not comfortable or easy.

Some days, I'm not even sure I would say I believe it is worth it.

But the corners of my soul resonate with a Yes.

Each day we peel back the layers a little more and realize this thing we do is messed up. It doesn't make sense. It's not natural, or clean or black and white.

Instead, it's muddy, and messy, and so very grey.

But as my friend Jeff Huey once told me, It's often the grey where God moves greatly.

With each passing day, I increasingly have come to the truth that my own means of survival is by, as it says in 2 Corinthians 4:8, fixing our eyes not on what is seen, but what is unseen.

Foster care is crammed with the unseen.

All of real ministry, the down and dirty, truly takes form in the unseen.

This past year, I had such dark moments of feeling so very lonely.

I've considered more and more how foster care {or any ministry} is an actual state of being. If we are truly surrendered to our calling, we cannot pretend that it will not infiltrate every space of our lives.

This could be a terrifying truth, or powerfully freeing.

Because when we own this and are able to embrace it, we are likewise able to own that in this life we are continually waged in a war, deep in the trenches.

And daily, we must take up the full armor.

We are finally able to lay aside our complexes to fix and rescue, and instead stand firm...and when we have done all, we stand.

We're sometimes asked what the "end game" is in our ministry. What is the point when we will be satisfied and fulfilled...when it will be completed?

Only a few years ago, I would have said it was when the word adoption had sealed a deal.

Now, we say Jesus.

Our reward is not a child, or many children.

It is not a successful reunification or another chance to share our story.

Our reward is Jesus Christ.

He is the end of our quest for satisfaction.

I'm reminded often of Jude 1:24, To Him who is able to keep you from falling and to present you before His glorious presence without fault and with great joy...

Friends, this year, if we truly surrender ourselves to the hand of God's work, it's gonna feel some days like we are falling.

There will be moments we are tempted to despair, to pull the fuzzy blanket over our heads and hide with the chocolate truffles.

BUT GOD...

He is making all things new, not all new things.

He longs to give us a fresh vision of His Son.

Before foster care, I didn't need Jesus, like on my knees crying out with groans.

Jesus used foster care to save me. This is the space He calls me to intentionally experience Himself for my good and His glory.

In order to hope, we must have a need for hope. In order to trust, we must have a need to trust.

My friend, we are waiting expectantly for Jesus, and Isaiah 64:4 promises that, He acts for those who wait for Him.

Our lives are meant to make Jesus believable to the world.

The hope and power to do this must come from something beyond ourselves.

For me, it has meant spending these last months with the truths and promises taped to the ceiling and walls, by the bed on nights when I wake from the sounds of their nightmares.

It's carving space out to preach the Gospel to ourselves, to each other, to our sons, and to the children entrusted to our care.

It's intentionally redefining success to not be a ribboned finish line, but daily fixing our eyes on Jesus who both authored our faith and has promised to perfect and finish it.

He is the beginning and end. 

Your life is rooted in the unshakable sovereign purposes of God. 

You have been chosen, and consecrated, and formed and appointed for a great purpose. 

~ John Piper 

Because we are GREATLY loved ~

Would you do it again?

It's been a long time since I've entered this space.

I'm not sure why it's been harder for me this month.

But I'm here, and I'm processing, and I know so many of you are too.

If you don't know, we're on our first break as a family nucleus since we began this crazy journey of foster care.

A 10-day sabbatical.

The vacation is nice, but more than that, there were weighing elements that signaled it was time. Questions that have been lurking in the shadows began to undeniably demand attention, and we knew we had to be away to truly return and respond with our Holy Yes' and No's.

I can't even begin to list the people who made this happen for us, and we're so incredibly grateful.

Sometimes your mind must escape in order to fully enter once again.

I was recently asked on a panel and then again by a friend, If we knew what we know now about our lives, the struggles, the brokenness of foster care, would we embark on the journey again?

Photo Credit: Sodahead.com

As you know, nothing is a simply Yes or No in my mind...

Seventeen years ago, I was a freshman in college.

Each week a local mom would pack up a mess of rowdy college students and carry them down to the urban center in Tuscaloosa to serve at Kids Club.

I didn't make it every week. But the times I did, there was a young black girl, April, with twisted braids waiting for me on the bench when I walked through the double doors.

She sat half on and half off my lap (she was too energetic to limit herself to one sitting position) through the Bible story, snack and game time.

She would tell me of her life.

She would speak of her many siblings, spread far and wide.

And each time I made it, I would hear a knowing voice in my spirit as I climbed back in the mini-van to go back to town, This will be your Yes...

Two years later, Jamie and I had just started dating when I signed up to serve with Big Brothers, Big Sisters. I was a junior at Alabama.

The director confessed she had given me the most unconventional match, something they always avoided, but they were desperate for this kid.

When I showed up to meet what I thought would be a cute little girl in need who I would take out for ice cream, Eddie came through the door instead.

A twelve-year-old abandoned boy with autism.

It had been literally years since anyone "on the outside" of his group home had visited him.

14 foster homes before he landed in the room I stood that day.

Everything in me wanted to pack up and run the other way, hard.

He barely spoke as I signed the papers to take him off campus to TCBY, and as we drove away, I heard the resounding voice again, This will be your Yes.

It became a two-year relationship, where each week that boy watched from his window for my little Mazda to pull into the driveway.

I'm ashamed to say I don't know what happened to Eddie after I moved away and married Jamie.

But God used that to unearth something in me that could never be buried again.

The truth is, once you have been exposed to the brokenness of this world, of your city, of your neighbors, it will ~ it should ~ forever shape your lens of life.

But did we ever truly have the right to run from that exposure to begin with?

More than that, when we have drunk deeply of the Living Waters and feasted on the Bread of Life that has pursued us with abundant grace, our experience drives us to those in famine, aching for hope.

So you ask, would we do it again?

There are so many moments I want to be uncalled. I would be lying if I told you otherwise.

But this space is our Yes. It is worthy of a million crowding No's, because we deeply recognize that today, in this season, this is the channel God wants to use us to bring His kingdom to earth.

He doesn't need us, but He has welcomed us in to know Him better through His bringing justice and redemption to splintered corners.

Before our calling to care for vulnerable children and families in crisis became known in our lives, I was never dependent on Jesus before. Not really desperate for Him.

I would have told you I was, because that was what I was taught to say as a good Christian little girl.

But I didn't wake up craving His hand on my heart, day by day.

I would never trade the grief we have known for the ways we know Jesus now, and to grasp that each moment we respond with the Yes to which He calls us, we will only know Him better.

I could never trade the pain for the budding understanding I have of Biblical love, compassion, and justice.

I would have told you what my intellectual studies of the Bible had scripted me to say of those things in my prior life, but to beg God to make those qualities known through Him ~ through me ~ as a mama forever says goodbye to the child she bore...I had no clue.

Truth be told, I am shattered. There are crevices of my soul that will never be mended here on earth because of this journey we are on. Even as I walk with our boys and talk with them this week, their hearts bare the scars of our family's calling.

That will never be undone.

But, Friend, would we want the scars of our Savior undone?

Is it my job to raise my sons to be good, noble citizens who will be productive one day?

Or...am I called to let them see how deeply their Savior loves them, longs to provide for them, yearns to be their everything?

To invite them into the reality that I love Jesus more than them, and that is a good thing?

To give them glimpses that their God is not safe, but He is so very good?

To live out before them the earthly and heavenly transcending reality that Jesus is worth it all?

Guys, I wail, I cuss, I rationalize, I ache, but all my wrestling continues to gently lead me back to the Cross of hope.

Jesus is worthy of the spaces to which He invites us....

And in the moments when we feel there are no more words to give, no more tears to cry, and our fingers are bleeding to the bone, He is waiting to carry us.

May we all reach the moment where we fall at His feet to be carried with nothing else to claim but the One who loves us.

Ancient Paths

But Jesus often withdrew to lonely places and prayed.

~ Luke 5:16

It's the end of a long silence.

The closing of our intentional summer.

I've been quiet on this front...on so many fronts.

In the last months, Jamie and I have found ourselves at this crossroads.

The newness of our calling is gone. We've experienced the firsts, seen God's hand in beautiful ways...

The goodbyes still ache, but they are expected.

The hellos are tragic, but we've learned to prepare.

The grief is deep, but we understand how to walk it.

Yet, this ministry remains so hard.

When the call comes that the child who once called you Mama is returning to care, it doesn't fit into a "box."

When you hear she's been abused again...

The story has repeated itself once more...

When their mama calls to tell you that DHR is beating on her door another time, and she's launching her Hail Mary.

Foster care doesn't feel good.

And this summer ~ in the midst of the sweltering days ~ I've felt this ache to be uncalled.

To return to the simple.

To throw up my hands in cynicism and say they were right...it's not worth it.

We've shared this with people we love ~ who love us ~ and to be honest, the responses haunt me...

You've done your duty. It's okay to back out.

Your season of ministry is finished. Good job. You've worked hard. It's enough that it should last you for a while.

I told you; your efforts would never change anything. These people are different. They are hopeless.

The words fell like daggers to the heart.

So we withdrew for this season, to the lonely places of our hearts, to cry out to our Father.

And He whispered, I am making all things new.

Not all NEW THINGS.

He is restoring the ancient paths...
Rebuilding the age-old foundations...
Unloosing generations of bondage.

Ancient Paths Counseling

You see all of us experience new things...the fresh marriage, the first years as a parent, a career...
His love for us.

But the newness fades with passing days...

The things that delighted us begin to feel like burdens, and Satan twists our excitement to cynicism through the web of ingratitude.

This does not mark the end of our calling...it cannot.

It establishes the beginning of our depth, our pursuit of the ancient paths, when we truly begin to understand the Alpha and Omega.

In the last month I've had three different foster families contact me saying that they are done; this is too hard...They aren't like us.

I've talk with a mama who said her adoption was a mistake. She must let her child go.

I've wept with wives who have said the marriage can't be fixed. It's the end of the line.

Friends, there is no poetic way to say this...

It is not about us, our feelings, or our comfort. 

It is about Jesus.

We are working to display a weight of eternal glory, following our Savior who for the joy set before Him endured the Cross so that we may have life, and life abundantly.

But that does not mean we can simply bow out.

Young or old; rich or poor; educated or uneducated...we do not have the privilege to turn a blind eye to the broken.

We are agents of His mercy, catalysts of change for the Kingdom of God....

The continuing incarnation of Jesus Christ still here on earth.

You are called to the sufferer.

You are commanded to bring the Hope you have been given to weary ones.

You are challenged to feed the hungry, clothe the naked, be a voice for the voiceless, give water to the thirsty, and visit the destitute.

This does not save you, but as you feast on the abundance of the One who longs for you, you will long to make Him known to the nations.

Press into the Father.

Return to the Ancient Paths.

We have.

And in the end His voice is certain, the Lumpkins are missionaries to this strange world of foster care.

Our being, our marriage, our family was designed for this.

Where is He calling you to return to the Ancient Paths?

The Boundary Lines

This weekend, between vomit and pink eye, Jamie and I watched the documentary film 112 Weddings.

In the movie, a wedding videographer visited eight of the couples whose weddings he had filmed years before; the longest marriage being 19 years.

Some had divorced; some were finding marriage convenient for tax and legal purposes. All noted the central theme of children being a driving factor to "make the relationship work."

But more than anything, all lacked deep abiding vision within their union.

Marriage was simply another option, the next step in life.

Void of calling, purpose or ministry. 

My heart ached for the families in limbo. Jamie and I have never hidden our marriage struggles. In fact, we share them openly for they have been and are a penetrating catalyst in Christ's pursuit of us.

In light of that, the last two weeks have been messy.

So much so we've found ourselves wondering if somehow we misheard God on this route to our ministry, to the spaces we felt we heard Him whispering to our souls to follow in faith.

I've thrown pillows against the wall and wailed, How could God be calling anyone to a lifetime of this?

As I often do, I turned on Jamie and screamed that foster care was his idea.

We cried and prayed, and as we always do, we ended in the same place, surrender from our knees.

I have to allow myself to go to that place every so often. To be real with the cost.

I don't think that's a sin. I think it's an acknowledgement of our call.

A re-commitment. A weighing of the balance.

When I stood beside my hot man on that day 13 years ago, this life was not what I pictured.

Instead I envisioned years down the road us dabbling in giving, our children going to a foundational Christian private school; maybe I would lead a Bible study and write on the side.

All in the name of Jesus.

Hear me when I say those are good things.

But when I saw those things as my safety net for the mark of Christ, I made them falsely ultimate.

These days I find myself rocking children who are knocking their heads against a wall. I'm counting pennies to make the budget work for children who come to us with nothing. I'm homeschooling our sons because our family life has them immersed in the world.

But it's our life. It's our ministry. It's our calling, and the story of redemption He has authored through us.

In college, my sweet friend Anna jotted a verse to me on a note and dropped it by my door in the dorm:

LORD, you alone are my portion and my cup. You have made my lot secure. 

The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places. Surely, I have a delightful inheritance. 

~ Psalms 16 : 5-6

Surrendering our vision, our dreams, for the path of life He lays out for us means our trading a life of temporary happiness for an eternity of inheritance.

It casts off the mediocre, the status quo, the stale bread, allowing us instead to feast on the Bread of Life.

My moments and days aren't anything I dreamed of when I stood in that white gown.

They're richly more.

We've allowed the Father to lead us to a place of walking on water, sink or swim, casting our nets in faith in order to live for the next moment.

That's being alive. 

I find myself desperately clinging to the cross morning after morning, and rejoicing in the victory of His daily mercies night after night.

Photo Source: Jeweledsteel.com

It's down right nasty sometimes.

But Friends, the Cross wasn't clean and tidy. It was splintered, bloody and smelly.

Yet, it birthed our eternal hope.

Because Jesus is Worthy ~

Raw Friday {On Success}

{Five-Minute Unedited Vomit Writing}

she saw her mama today

and in a moment her whispered prayers

and grieving wails were met with an answer

only to have them begin anew

she counts the seconds

marks the calendar,

boldly in purple,

numbering the moments until she can look

into the eyes that match hers

for one more hour

she knows the sins

understands the blame that was cast

yet, she worships the one who carried her to life

watchers sometimes ask how she deems her worthy of forgiveness

why she longs, dreams

she's entered the equation for success in my home, they say

education + finances = opportunity

how could she ache to return to the past

when a future awaits

and i'm reminded

there are no success stories in scripture

there's brokenness. there's betrayal. there's death. there's grief.

there's joy. there's redemption. there's Jesus and his glory.

there's His victory and cloak of righteousness...

but the only success is birthed from deep brokenness

Photo Source: Registeredrunaway.com

because it is from our shattered shells, new life breaks forth.

~ he who is forgiven much, loves much ~ 

Luke 7:47

Raw Friday {YES}

{Five-Minute Unedited Vomit Writing}

you nuzzle against me for the final moments of your day

mommy, tell me the story of my yes

the one when you first heard my name

once upon a time on my 34th birthday i was scrubbing anothers vomit out of the floor

{because all good stories must have a once upon a time and vomit}

the ring came and i heard your name ~ yours and your sisters'

three little girls need a place for the night

it's a simple one, catie

nothing long term

they'll be home in a month, maybe two at most

i threw the vomit rag in the trash...

yes.

and i went to see the faces of my daughters for a season

for whom my heart would grow to beat

would you say yes again, mommy?

i smile knowingly

because that month became two, then a year....into years

and the leaders who sign the papers and hammer the gavels forecast more to come

i cup your face

yes.

yes to the darkened roads and the unknowing nights

Photo Source: coursesite.uhcl.edu

yes to the fight ahead

in the twisted paths

to the war we will wage on your doubts

i will say yes until they tell me i no longer can

we will battle in these shadows with you for every day, another allows

yes, to all the love my mother heart has for you

yes then, yes today, and yes again

yes, my daughter for this moment

The Warriors

I'm wasting time watching television...

When an ASPCA commercial documenting dog fighting appears...

The organization's goal is to give these animals who have suffered, who have been traumatized, who have been neglected...

Shelter.

Medical care.

Nourishment.

Love.

They say these dogs have been trained to viciously survive through neglect, under abuse, via isolation...

To the point the animals no longer understand, recognize or can give healthy interaction, or engage in appropriate relationships.

And I'm reminded of the faces, one after another...

The first nights.

The doorbell rung again and again, introducing a new name, fresh hands to hold, hungry tummies to feed.

The raging night terrors, the warring souls, the haunted little bodies...

They've graced my doors from the closets of meth labs, the throws of kidnappings, from abandonment, starvation, and serving the self-gratification of those whom they were taught to trust.

But they all have had one thing in common...

They've come ready to fight.

Prepared to destroy in order to survive.

Willing to steal, manipulate, twist and barter...

To know they will be secure one more day.

The world tells them they should be so grateful to find shelter, food, care, love in our home.

But they know no other livelihood than a warrior...

Whether she be two or he be twenty.

Their rage, those instincts, have empowered them to live another day.

That is their strength. That is their need.

And this is the call of a foster mama, a foster papa...

Of the Covenant Body...

Not to enter into their battles for a day, a week, a month or even a year,

But for as long as the twisted path of healing requires,

As the warrior discovers he is worthy of rest...

She is deserving of peace...

They were designed to receive love and to give love,

Because they were grafted from the image of the One who longs for their hearts to abide in Him.

And that, my Friends, is a high calling.

So do not grow weary.

Because He is Worthy ~

What does $10,000 mean for TFI Birmingham?

We're entering the final lap of our back-to-school matching challenge...

And there's a major push to the finish line.

Our goal is to equip 150 vulnerable children in crisis situations within the Birmingham area with a strong tangible foundation for the 2014-2015 school year.

Children like Dyshawn will be walking into their kindergarten year with mountains of memories and struggles, yet starting behind does not have to be another insecurity.

Children like Shameka, Swansia and Kyron are on track to begin reading this year, but they will not be allowed to attend school unless they have the necessary supplies and uniforms.

Young men like Kamelle are entering their critical middle school years alone with little to back them up.

All these children and more still need sponsors.

It only takes $75 to provide a child in our city with new shoes, socks, underwear, two school uniforms, a backpack and all necessary supplies.

If you feel called to aid in any portion of this, you may make a tax-deductible donation online here, but please be sure to mark Birmingham TFI where appropriate.

But in addition to these sponsorships, an anonymous donor has committed to matching each contribution dollar for dollar up to the amount of $10,000!

What does this mean for us?

Daily, my partner-in-crime, Kristin, and I are called by DHR requesting help with beds for children being place that day. Your donation purchases the first bed some children have had in years.

When three teenagers who have been waiting for more than 10 years to be adopted finally have the chance to meet their forever family, your donation provides them with fresh clothes and haircuts so they can go with confidence.

This year your donations provided Mothers' Day gifts to more than 30 foster mothers to cheer them on in their calling.

It enabled children to be reunified with their families when it was simply a dresser and a crib standing in the way. 

You provided Christmas delights and back-to-school needs for hundreds of children throughout our city.

You celebrated weary social workers with surprises and meals.

Your donation this week will establish our ability to meet all these needs and more in the coming school year.

Will you join us?

Pray. Share. Give.

Eight Crazy Things People Have Said, and My Ungracious Responses

Photo Credit: Puzzlingposts.com

Does it ever seem the moment you close your eyes and step out onto the roaring sea in faith by the grace of God, you simultaneously welcome the observations, recommendations and advice of strangers, friends, and family?

The nodding heads murmuring, Watch out. You're gonna drown.

That poses a problem.

Because I am sarcastic.

I'm the one who cackles at funerals or sitting at the foot of death bed moments.

It's not that I don't care and ache; it's more that I have issues.

As a result, I've been less than gracious towards comments made to us during this foster care adventure.

Many Some of these same things once came out of my mouth before I understood, before I was educated on the needs of the hurting in our city.

But sometimes when you're in the grocery store wrestling a mess of kids, you don't jump straight to the hope you profess and remember how God has graciously opened your eyes.

Instead, my little self-righteous sinner flares her defensive head, and for a carnal moment it feels oh so good.

1. Are those foster kids? I didn't even know there were white foster children.

~ No, you're right. I have the only four white children in care in our city. 

We specifically requested them.

2. All these kids can't be yours! They don't look like you. 

~ No. Oh dear, I thought they were yours. 

Should we call the police?

3. You can't be her mama! How are you gonna do her hair?

~ I thought you would do it for me. 

Could you do mine too while you're at it?

4. Don't you want to adopt her? Don't you love her?

~ Is this an orphanage? I'm not Annie. I have a mom and a dad. 

{This was actually our Big Sis' response. I could not believe someone asked me that in front of her!}

5. I do what you do, but with cats. It's hard; isn't it? We're amazing people.

~ Huh? Wait. What?

6. Do you want to corrupt your sons?

~ Why yes, I do! But they were already destined for issues. 

By the way, are your kids normal?

7. Don't you feel there are greater causes in the world? International children have real poverty and needs.

~ You're right. This just seemed like an easier calling. 

I don't have what it takes for the international route. So glad you do.

8. I could never do what you do. I would just love them too much to let them go.

~ Then definitely don't do foster care. 

I love them so little, letting go is a breeze.

I KNOW!

Shame on me.

Slap me on the wrist!

I wish my heart responded as Mother Teresa:

The true inner life makes the active life burn forth and consume everything. 

It makes us find Jesus in the dark holes of the slums, in the most pitiful miseries of the poor, 

in the God-man naked on the cross.

Because really, I just want Jesus.

Praise God that He loves me in spite of my faults; that my calling is not dependent on my excellent answers and kind demeanor.

Hold me accountable to working on the sarcasm.

Because He is Worthy ~

Dear Foster Mama {There is no hierarchy},

There is no ladder of calling.

Photo Credit: chrisvonada.com

No short cut to holiness.

There is only the thread He designed you to be in the tapestry He is weaving...

Photo Credit: Boyd Photography

The space He molded for you to bring His kingdom to earth. 

That only you can fill, in a way only you can. 

Because without your Yes, the puzzle is incomplete.

Photo Credit: crerpenado.com

Though the Restorer doesn't need you, He created a calling for you to further His story...

A tale that only you can tell.

But well-meaning watchers will challenge you.

Perhaps whisper you are another rung to accomplish a purpose...

Available on zazzle.com

You DO NOT fill an if you can't space.

You have walked on water into a calling, fixing your eyes on the only One who can calm the storm.

So if He has whispered to your soul...

To adopt, embrace it.

To foster, do so with excellence.

To sponsor, answer faithfully.

To volunteer, serve selflessly.

To donate, give generously.

To educate, speak thoughtfully.

Because to pull even one thread from this kingdom story He is writing, is to deny the deepest longings of our designs.

Answer your high calling with the astounding freedom and beauty that flows from His grace.

And as you do so, we rise to bless you ~

Is it worth it?

Wanna know a secret?

I'm a doubter.

I've heard the name of Jesus whispered over me since I before I could talk.

My Bibles are worn from the days I've traced His name with my ink.

But in the stillness of the night, when I'm wrestling to rest from fitting the pieces of the broken puzzle of our calling,

I wonder if it's true.

If it's worth it.

I often read posts from foster parents or ministry leaders claiming the various hardships and trials they encounter, and the question is always posed...

But is it worth it?

"Definitely," they answer.

I know I'm a sinner, but the truth is some days, I want to crawl into the cocoon in my bed, stuff my face with chocolate truffles and drown myself in Coca-Cola and say, No, not a bit.

I know the Truth.

I know what I'm suppose to say.

I suspect what you want me to say.

But I don't perform well with expectations.

So I'm real.

When I can't remember their faces, or when their hand prints have faded from the walls, or when the closing paperwork is shipped and filed...

I wonder what it was worth.

Another case closed. Another child home. Another day done.

My friend, that is foster care.

There are spaces you celebrate, and you know the reunification is healthy. The answer is right. The hope is firm.

And sometimes it happens where the hand prints stay, your name becomes their own, you witness and take part in the lifetime process of healing.

But when you have reached that space, you've crossed the river of foster care and entered another land.

Some of us are asked to remain in the realm of foster care.

To wrestle with the gray areas and the decisions we don't quite understand...

And I tell you, if you don't have it written across your mirror, chiseled into your mind ~

He is God, and I am not.

Despair will gnaw achingly at the hope you profess.

The thing is, as our pastor shared yesterday, when we begin with the doings and actions of man, we will always end with the conclusion that God is the problem.

When the case doesn't go as a I plan, when the healing doesn't come as I desire, when the job falls through and the relationship ends in abandonment again...

If my anchor of Truth has not sunk deeply into my soul, I will drift away.

I must begin with God.

Because the reality is, some days, the only thing that answers the question, Is it worth it?

Is, I obeyed the One who bled for me. 

He told me to say Yes, and His grace empowered me to answer; because on those days, the ruins seem grander than the work at hand.

Photo Credit: NationalReview.com

Because He is Worthy ~

From the Man of the Day ~ Fatherhood.

Originally posted June 2nd, 2014 on Lifeline Child's blog.

Being a father has been one of the most joyous, yet frustrating tasks I’ve ever attempted, much less tried to master.

The act of fathering generates such intense joy and pain.

Hearing the first giggle.

Cheering for the first steps.

Voicing the first, Dada.

Kneeling with them in prayer for the first time.

These are moments chiseled into my memory.

Children also demand more of you – of me – than we can possibly begin to give.

They wail at night, vomit at the most inconvenient times, throw tantrums at the most spectacle moments, and trash the things you might consider precious.

I imagine our Heavenly Father says the same thing of me.  One of my favorite verses is Psalm 103:8 “The Lord is gracious and compassionate, slow to anger and abounding in love.” 

I’m so grateful that our God is one who is abundantly patient and lathers me with love and grace.  He has rescued me from all of my futile thinking and the choices that would lead me to destruction.

Embracing the role of a foster father takes this understanding to a new level.

When a new child enters the foster care system and finds safety in our home, the child often reminds me so much of what I was before God made Himself known to me.

These children walk through our door terrified, angry and consumed with their limited worlds.  They make destructive choices, exhibit annoying ticks, say painful things and hold us at a distance to shield themselves with their self-made walls.

Foster care has allowed me to grasp a new depth of the Father’s deep love, compassion and patience for me.

This challenges me to display the same love for the children He calls me to be a father to for a season.

I take their displays of pain and mistrust because they are unable to grasp that I am the safe place.

Again and again, they strive to hurt me, to push me away because they have never had a glimpse of what it is to be loved.

Yet, moment by moment, their outwards blockades, their prisons of self-preservation begin to crash. I glimpse smiles, encounter questions, and am invited into their feelings.

Then they climb in my lap for hugs and kisses, bring their report cards and painted pictures to me for approval, and as trust is slowly built, it is as if the ancient ruins of their souls begin to come to life.

All because of a God who pursued me.

On this Father’s Day, I stand in awe and praise that our Heavenly Father has rescued me and has invited me for these seasons to be a father to vulnerable children in crisis situations, as well as my sons.

~ Jamie 

This man is my hero. By the grace of God, he is a champion for vulnerable children and families in crisis. 

To be totally honest, I can't believe he's mine. 

Because of Jesus ~