Stick and Stones

I’ve spent time thinking lately about the power of words. And the childhood chant of “Sticks and stones may break my bones…” just doesn’t work.       Words do hurt.      Words have power to hurt, but also to be more than words. Words affect people in different ways and each person has words that get to them most. 

I was asked recently which of my children were “Fosters.” While harmless it brought back memories of “Which are yours?” and “are they terminal?”. These words, while not ill-intentioned, were used by adults to determine how they should treat my children: “Fosters” need saved, redeemed and safe guarded against in case they act out in line with their dirty past.  Kids that are “yours” have value in permanency and biology while having a brighter future which should be nurtured.  “Terminal?” They should be pitied or held at arm’s length. You see, loving them would cause heartache when they die so it is best to not let yourself get messy or involved because living comfortably is too important.

The truth is though: all my kids are “fosters,” “mine,” and “terminal.” They have been temporarily put into my care by a governing agent until they are reintegrated with their (Heavenly) Father. They are “Fosters.” I feed them, sing to them, hold them, comfort them, change them, cry for/with them, hope for their future and strive to redeem the hurts of their past. They are “mine.” Each day is one closer to me saying goodbye for good, each hour could be my last with them before death whisks them away, and each moment I have to choose to cherish life or count it down to zero. They are “terminal.” 

Labels created with words have the power to categorize and keep you safe by informing you how to interact with others in order to avoid getting hurt. In doing so words do much more damage than sticks and stones do.

 I urge you, don’t label….just LOVE.

-Silas

W H Y

Being a foster parent the last four years has been the hardest life experience I have ever chosen. This journey has caused me to cry more, sleep less, and experience more powerful emotions than I could have imagined. It has exposed me to such hideous ugliness and darkness in the world. In the beginning, I felt certain that despite the hardness, foster care would draw me closer and closer to my God. Yet, I have spent many nights in the last four years wide awake, panicked and screaming inside, wondering if there even is a God and where He is. I have continued to speak and live my faith, but there have many times when I could not be certain the faith was even there anymore. So…this begs the question…why? Why would I choose to live out a journey that has robbed me of sleep, a social life, or my twenties full of enjoying marriage and 2.5 non-traumatized or ailing children? Why would I continue to step into a gap where thanks are rare and people are quick to offer judgement and condemnation? Why would I continue to say yes to a mission which has shaken my self-image, physical health, and relationships with my husband, friends, extended family, and God to the core? Why would I say yes to an everyday (and every night) full of appointments, meltdowns, trauma triggers, therapies, meetings, emails, phone calls, court hearings, treatments, and more days in hospitals than I would have liked to see in my entire life? Why would I choose to allow this hard to be my story? Why do I find myself tonight, Friday night, unloading my heart while tears stream down my face when I could be watching Netflix or partying with friends? Why….?

Is it the kids?

These children are precious. Despite their many flaws, deep wounds, and immense difficulties, it is easy to become lost in their eyes, their smiles, and their victories. Even on days when the smiles and warmth and victory is buried beneath trauma and disability, it is still easy to cling to the knowledge of a child’s value and right to be wrapped in safety and love. So do I do it for the kids?

Yes…but that isn’t enough.

Is it the bigger circle?

Foster care doesn’t end with the children in care. No, it seeps far into the circle that surrounds them. There are biological parents who need to be told and shown for the first time that they are worthy of love. There are social workers who need to see good in the world once again through a positive and thankful foster parent. There are churches and neighbors and friends and extended family members who need to see the joy of living life outside the lines. So do I do it for the bigger circle?

Yes...but that isn’t enough.

It is the compensation or the accolades?

This one is easy: No.

That isn’t enough.

The truth is, even when my faith feels broken…even when I begin to doubt that the eyes of a loving God are on me and my home…even when I am barely, barely clinging to the tiniest thread of faith—that is the why. Without Jesus, without the hope of who He is and what He has done, none of this—None. Of. It.—could be enough to say yes. Somehow, after a night of tossing and turning, wondering if I have been abandoned or I am drowning in the ache of the stories of heartbreak that fill my home, it is that teeny tiny thread that lifts me to my feet the next morning. Actually, it isn’t even the thread because I am powerless. But on the other end of that thread—and every other side of it—is a great big God who sees, hears, and loves His daughter and every other person who fills my home. That God is too faithful to abandon me, too good to leave me undisciplined or without a good hand and heart slap every now and then. That God is so kind and gracious and forgiving that He hears my words of doubt, sees my confusion and pain, and tells me it’s time to rest in Him as I place one foot in front of the other and step bolding into the story He is writing. Without Him, these kids would just be kids who couldn’t possibly be worth the sacrifice. Without him, these circles would be full of people who there is no hope of redemption for.

It’s. All. Jesus.

He is the why.

Even when I forget that and find myself leaning on my own sorry excuse for wisdom or strength, it is still Him. He is the one who takes days full of insanity and pulls to the surface the moments of stillness, laughter, smiles, joy, growth, relationship, grace, and over-comings. He is the one who makes the hardest of hard days worthwhile when He plants tiny seeds. He is the one who is glorified even when there is not much earthly fruit to show.  He is the why, the reason, and the worth it.

And that…that why…makes the hard years, months, weeks, and days like today undoubtedly worth it. -Micah

"Do the next thing." ~Elisabeth Elliott

My phone rang today. For the second time this month, I heard the voice of a social worker say, “I wish I had good news, but I don’t. I have some pretty bad news.”

I laid on my bed while tiny hands knocked and called for me. All I could think was: I want to be done. I am weary. I am weary of advocating my heart out and it not yielding the results I felt we needed. I am weary of those who do not know me and do not know my children choosing power and policy over common sense and compassion, making life-changing decisions for us and then stepping back, leaving us to pick up the handfuls of shattered pieces that may never be fully mended. I am weary—broken really—as I watch the children in and out my home—children who are priceless masterpieces of humanity—become numbers to be added or subtracted and boxes to be checked. A large piece of me wants to run. I want to hide from the weight of what God has called me to. I want to step into the safety of predictably and naivety. I want to turn my back to the inhumanity of some of the policies that are in place and give myself permission to throw my hands up and declare there is nothing that can be done. 

Fast forward a couple hours: My husband and I were silently sitting on the living room floor. We both felt the weight of a rough week and the brokenness of the world on our shoulders as we went through the motions of giving meds, feeding our tubies, and changing diapers. In the room with us was one freshly bathed sweetie, dressed in her very favorite cupcake nightgown. She was wearing construction goggles (upside down) hammering the walls proudly declaring she was a worker girl. Through a nearby doorway, another darling spun circles in the kitchen, her nightgown billowing as she stared her favorite stuffed dinosaur in the eyes and giggled hysterically. In almost the same moment, Silas and I caught each other’s eyes soaking in the girls and said, “It’s so simple, isn’t it?” 

These girls have not been spared from the world’s brokenness. Not in the least. Trauma has certainly left marks on them in so many ways. But at the same time, they break away from that burden, picking up nothing but the simplicity of being a child and doing the next thing before them. They know the world isn’t safe, and yet they carry on in precious love, joy, and trust. When they meet a crisis, they lean into it. They cry, they regress, they ache because it is so wrong and it hurt. But they rise again. When joy comes, they are all in, claiming the peace and delight that is theirs. So much of the time, it isn’t a clear-cut line, but a clumsy and beautiful dance within brokenness and beauty. 

It really is so simple. God isn’t asking me (or YOU) to fix the world, the system, or even one child. He doesn’t even ask us to fix ourselves. He simply asks us to do the next thing. Today, I will be sad for the brokenness around me. It is where I am. But come tomorrow, I will do the next thing. I will seek God’s guidance and step big when he tells me to go and rest when he tells me to be still. I will roar when He leads me into battle and I will sit on the sidelines when He asks me to trust what I can’t see. How thankful I am to trust in such a mighty, wise, loving God. How thankful I am I can trust Him to be all those things and more while He calls me to a simplicity that changes the world. He is so good. 

I know the chaos and heartache of foster care can seem like too much to take on. I know it must be so easy to say, “I could never do that!” and carry on. But please do not let the brokenness of the world and the system drive you away. Do not fear the pain and the loss. Instead, be afraid of sitting still and not doing the next thing God has called you to. You don’t have to be enough. You don’t have to be fearless or free from pain or flaw. Just simply ask…seek His will and do the next thing, whether that be in foster care of a different area completely. 

To the Birth Moms of my Foster Children on Mother's Day

Dear Birth Mom,

Thoughts of you frequent my mind each and every day, but today, the weight of who you are presses heavy my heart. I am sure you are aware that today is Mother’s day—a day when millions celebrate mothers as the ones who have given life, nurture, and love. We celebrate the sacrifice of mamas, their selflessness, the giving of body and soul to another. Motherhood is beautiful. But today, I am sure you are also reminded how differently motherhood looks for you and for me, as both the brokenness and the beauty of our stories is that I am currently raising the child that you birthed. I cannot begin to understand the sting of your pain or the ache of your loss as you sit with empty arms on this Mother’s Day, knowing your child rests in the arms of another. It must be the deepest kind of grief, perhaps tangled with guilt and aloneness.

My prayer for you is that your mind would be flooded with the knowledge that your mama heart is held and loved and seen on this day. You are beautiful. Your child is beautiful. I live a paradox where I embrace your child as fully my own, and yet look into his eyes and see you, his mom. I delight in watching her precious personality take shape, seeing snippets of my influence reflected back, but I also see glimpses of what I know comes from you, her mom. I have your picture hanging in her room and we talk about who you are. I tell him that you are doing ok and it’s ok for him to think of you and miss you and love you. We pray for you. We believe freedom and hope for you. We cheer for you.

I cannot expect you to easily accept me as the foster mom of your little one. But may you always know that you were mom first. You chose life for a precious person and have made a priceless contribution to the world. You were the first to hold him, you were the first to look into her eyes, you were the first to feel the gushes of love and the panic of overwhelm that come as the weight of parenting settles in. You were first. Whether your child comes back to your home or not, whether we someday raise her together or need distance, or whether you never see him again, may you be full of the knowledge that you have not been replaced, but joined. You remain a most important part of your sweet one’s story.

Your role as birth mom is one that can never be taken from you or from them. The little ones that fill my home will always know who was their mama first and they will be shown that you are so valuable and worthy of love. In the meantime, in your grief and in your sorrow, please know that I am loving your baby well. She is safe. He is oh so loved. Your precious child is fought for, believed in, protected, and loved unconditionally. On this Mother’s Day, we are thinking of you. We are speaking of you, wondering about you, praying for you, hurting with you, and celebrating YOU. Happy Mother’s Day, from one mama to another. I see you. I love you.

Love,

Foster Mom

One Night

For one night I held you when you let me near;

letting you go when you drew back in fear.

One bed tonight, yet another tomorrow.

I feel my heart buckle beneath the crush of your sorrow.

You are living a nightmare filled with hellish unknowns;

What you desperately need is your worth to be shown.

For one night I rocked you and stroked your hair;

For one night I carried the load that you bear.

I begged God for a home, a perfect fit,

For you, sweet one, so wonderfully knit.

For your mama you screamed as I held you tight;

I, too, cried for your mama, and her pain tonight.

For one night I tucked you and sang you a song;

I prayed for your journey, one bound to be long.

I washed your clothes,  few--if any--in tow;

But not your bear for that smell is the safety you know.

For one night, I screamed for your story unfair;

For one night, I lived out the truth that I care. 

I ache to be your hero--to mend your broken heart,

But that is not my role--though I do play a part.

For this one night, I will embrace you and cherish you as my own;

For this one night, I will speak truth you may have never known.

I will pray for seeds to be planted deeply in you,

Seeds that will grow and point to what’s true.

My heart screams that one night is not nearly enough,

 But for tonight, dear one, you don’t have to be tough.

You are loved, you are cherished, you are seen, you are His--

May this one night speak volumes to the truth of this.

The War Within

We live in a world where happiness tends to be the goal we naturally strive and long for. A parent’s life-long wish for their child is almost always: “I just want you to be happy.” The problem is, this world we live in is deeply and terribly broken. Even with as much happiness as floods my small world, I find that the brokenness never fails to leak into my happiness--not distracting from the beauty of what I am experiencing, but adding an opposing tsumani of feeling and passion. I snuggle my daughter and as my heart overflows, it also weeps for the mother who walked out of the hospital without her little girl. I delight in the healing of my foster daughter, but I ache for the children we saw who will never know that miracle. I lean into a season of slower paces and less new foster care placements, but my heart screams for the children who have no home. I take in the warmth of my bed and a piece of me cries out for the refugees sleeping on the ground alone, far from the home they’ve never known. I thank God for a new friend and hurt for the friendless. I delight in the truth of my salvation and purpose and yet cry thousands of tears for those who will never know hope. I can’t escape it. I’ve always been this way, from the time I remember having conscious thoughts. I am filled with joy, but I am so brokenhearted. Year after year has gone by and I have waited for the time when I am only filled with joy…when all I know is hope…when I can shake this endless nagging in my soul that screams, “It’s not fair!” I’ve been labeled over the years as discontent, overly emotionally, or in need of treatment for depression. For so long, I viewed this war within as my greatest flaw. Recently, I have begun to see my inability to disconnect from the world’s pain as my greatest gift—as ALL of our greatest gifts. While it is probably far more comfortable to seek only contentment and happiness, not only is it unrealistic (we will all experience heartache) but it cripples our passion and drive to be the difference—to be love, to be compassion, to be change, to be like Jesus. What a different world we would live in if we could feel what our neighbor feels and DO something about it.

So today, I will snuggle my babies, hold them tight, laugh, and cherish them. I will also cry and ache so deep for the family who lost their three-year-old last night. I will be thankful for our yummy meals and I will also teach my children that not all people are lucky enough to have the food they do. I will rest in my husband’s arms, soaking up the safety and I will hurt for every person who has had every ounce of their safety and trust shredded. I will be thankful for routine and I will pray for God to mix that routine up by allowing us to bring another child into our home and opening doors for us to advocate and raise up more foster parents. I will sleep in a warm bed and research ways to support refugees. I will exercise and play on the floor with my children and feel sorrow for those whose bodies are too broken to rise from bed. I won’t try to make sense of it because I know that I can’t. It’s ok to acknowledge that it really is unfair. Most of all, I will keep learning to cling to Jesus and trust Him in this incomprehensibly beautiful joy and crushing, overwhelming heartache. He, more than any, knows the war within.

-Micah

Life Update

The last three years have been trying and also amazing as we have grown as individuals, a couple, and most definitely a family. We have crammed a whole lot of wild living into the last three years, perhaps more than we even thought possible. Our hearts have broken and also exploded with joy. We have experienced the miraculous providence of God and learned to hear His voice and see through His eyes in new ways. Perhaps more than anything, we have asked God to align our hearts and desires with His and we have found ourselves desiring anything but conventional, risk-free living. Our eyes have been further opened to the deep, deep brokenness in this world and God’s desire to place His people in the gaps. We are not called, nor is it possible, for us to fill every gap. But we can be available and willing to be placed in gaps we may not have ever thought it was possible for us to fill. As we have prayed, grown, sought and listened together, we feel confident that God is going to use us and our children to fill even more gaps for children in need of loving homes, specifically children with complex medical needs and children who are needing someone to love them as they die.

Our next step in this calling was to purchase an obnoxiously large van. As of a few days ago, after much prayer and waiting, God provided a 15-passenger van to our family. This van will allow us to transport more than one wheelchair at a time and still have more than enough seats. We have discussed the possibility of a friend of ours moving in with us as a live-in nanny of sorts. Her presence would allow us to attend most medical appointments without searching for babysitters and also to have another heart and pair of hands to help out with the needs of our kids.

The next (very big!) step is house hunting. We know without a doubt that God is going to have to provide a house in a very non-conventional fashion. We are looking for a BIG house…as many bedrooms as we can get within our price range (which is pretty limited). An added bonus would be ability to be made handicap accessible to some extent. While this seems impossible, we know that all we are called to do is trust and keep taking one step at a time. God has always provided and finances have never stood in the way of His vision. It is important to us to be good stewards—to avoid large amounts of debt when possible, pay it off as soon as possible when debt does arise, and to be very wise in what we choose to spend our money on. We are currently looking for houses that would be options, trying to make the need for a unique home known, but also digging into preparing the house we have know as best we can to perhaps take another child. We would ideally like to move as soon as possible, but we must wait for the perfect home and providence beyond our own understanding and ability.

Here are some tangible things we are needing help with:

-Prayer for wisdom as far as timing, calling, and next steps

-Prayer for our current kiddos. Their world is often rocked. If we begin taking children who are terminal….WHEW. It’s going to be rough. We do NOT take this lightly and would not ask this of our children if it was not clear to us that God was calling us to.  Pray for God to guard their hearts and grow them in compassion. Pray for us as parents, that we would know when to step out and place them at risk and when to pull in and take time to steady their world.

-We ask that you still include us/invite us/reach out to us, even when the answer may be no. We don’t want to be completely isolated and we don’t want anyone to ever feel like they would be burdening with us with one more thing. The best thing to do would be to still just ask. We are still US!

-We need a house to move into. We would appreciate if you could make the need known if you have any connections with people who may have an idea of a house that would be a possibility.

Silas and Micah

Blenderized Victory

Every child. Every time. 

Worth the paperwork,

Worth the tears.

Worth the sacrifice,

Worth the fears. 

Every child. Every time.

Worth the boldness,

Worth the pain.

Worth the loss,

Worth the gain.

Every child. Every time. 

From the big fights to the small, every single one matters...they matter to these lives, the ones placed in our home for such a time as this.

And so today--everyday--we will armor up and step out, declaring the worth of souls beautifully knit.

We are weak on our own.

We are strong in His might.

So we fight.

We fight for them because He fought for us.

We are called to defend.

We are called to believe.

Today, the battle was won.

A battle seemingly small, and yet so big. 

A battle for a blender.

A battle for the right to be fed real food.

Every child. Every time.

This child. This time.

Thank you, God. 

Taboo: Do Hard Things

Life is hard. It can be easy to decide that the hard that life throws at us, completely beyond our control, is more than enough hard and we should therefore scoff at the idea of voluntarily taking up more hard. Yet, that is what God calls us to do. One of the hardest hards that He currently has my family wading in the midst of is foster care. Looking back over the past few years, I can clearly trace His hand, highlight His call, and point out His providence. But recently, I have noticed a dark feeling associated with this journey I’m on. After some reflection and prayer, I identified the reviled sensation as nothing less than good old guilt. GUILT. I am haunted by guilt as a foster parent. There are certain times in particular where this hideous enemy rears his ugly head, clenching icy fingers around my gut tighter and tighter until I was to scream and run for the nearest one way out--times like when someone stops by and my house is grosser than gross. Times when my marriage is struggling and in a heartgush moment, I speak this outloud and instantly regret it. Times like family gatherings, where the depths of my children’s needs and my own insufficiency are on full display. Times when a stranger or a friend watches the ridiculous way I load our almost-too-many kids into our busted up van (that I love). Times when I must be honest about a financial decision that other couples our age would easily make, but we must choose differently. Times when I am asking the same person for the fifth time this week to babysit so I can take a child to an appointment. Times when I am asked if my husband is ok because he just looks so darn tired. But I can’t run. I can’t scream. So instead, I make excuses. And then later, behind closed doors, I give into heartwreck, searching, praying, listening, and trying to find out what it is that I need to repent of. Again and again, this guilt is defeated by the knowledge that I needn’t repent or apologize for doing hard things, for CHOOSING hard things.  Not just any hard things, not hard things done to score a pat on the back, but hard things that my God orchestrated and led me into through His own divine hand and the wisdom of my husband. So I must ask…where is the guilt coming from? Unfortunately, we live in a culture that doesn’t like to do messy. We love safety, comfort, and normalcy. To be blunt, even the Church itself can be caught up in ministry and service that only consists of that which is safe, clean, and comfy. We are so comfortable with making family, self-care, marriage…and so many other very good things idols. Hear my heart here…..all these things are invaluable and absolutely must be cared for and fought for first most of the time. But when we refuse any calling that might require us to fight even harder for these things, we choose safety. So perhaps, the guilt that creeps in is found in the uniqueness of my journey. The fact that I am 25, married for three years, living in a small fixer-upper house, driving a God-send of a minivan that is on it’s last leg, and am currently staying home with our six children under the age of six, three of them with medical/special needs, and none of them operating above a two year old developmental level is quite shocking. Maybe I feel guilty because we have been so warned about laying a firm foundation martially and financially these first few years, and yet we still felt led and chose to follow this path. Maybe I feel that people think I can’t possibly be enough…and I know they are right. Or maybe, I just really, really don’t fit into the norm of society and feel as though I should at least try to. Whatever the reasons may be, I somehow feel like I am failing those around me and that is hard for me. But the truth is…I am called. When I brush aside the norms and the standards and the opinions, I find the heart of my God leading my family on a painful, but fruitful journey…a journey that is a blessing because it causes on to lock our gaze on Him each and every day. There is so much sacrifice. But doing hard things doesn’t mean I stop fighting for that which is important, it means I fight harder. Silas and I have to fight harder for marriage and for time as a couple. We have to fight harder for every child in our home, but especially to make sure our biological children are being heard and loved and encouraged. I find over and over that as I seek the heart of God that that which is useless (and also happens to be the root of my guilt) falls away. I don’t need a fancy house. We don’t need dates out of the house every week and have learned to love date nights in and treasure date nights out. We don’t need a dozen other hobbies. We need Jesus. So here it is, the raw truth: My family doesn’t fit into society. I am NOT a superhero. Six under six plus special needs is just as darn messy as it sounds. Sometimes my house reeks like all the bodily fluids. My kids disobey all the time. I hardly ever wear real clothes. Marriage is hard and Silas and I miscommunicate, hurt one another, and drive each other nuts all the time. Some days I spend too much time on my phone at the expense of my family. I can’t remember the last time I dusted. I can’t remember the last time I hung out with friends. Sometimes (lots of times) I yell at my kids. Sometimes all of them are crying at once and I don’t know what to do.

I long for all people to be able to do hard things, the kind of hard things that make it impossible to have it all together. God is so good at showing up when we cannot go on without Him. You may not be called to the hard that I am. But you are called. I encourage you to seek and ask what the hard that you are avoiding may be. It won’t be pretty. It might be awful. But if you faithfully obey, I can promise that you will see Jesus. And if no one else…I will be here to be a real, raw, hottest kind of mess right alongside you.

Because He First Loved Her

Six months ago, God taught me something that changed my life. At the time we were needing to answer the question "Will you keep this little girl long term?" After a six day "trial run" filled with appointments and sleepless nights I was planning on saying no. It just didn't make sense. As a foster dad and Christian I had spent my life loving others because "God first loved me"... but God's love of me wasn't enough for me to say yes. It surprised me! It was supposed to be enough. It was what I had been told for 25 years. "You love because He first loved you". Yet it wasn't enough to overcome the fear and hardship that would result if we said yes. But just hours before we gave our answer God spoke to my heart and explained that it wasn't about me. I was supposed to love not because He loved ME but because He loved HER! I was supposed to love sacrificially because He had sacrificed himself for her! Her value had been determined on the cross and I was supposed to treat her according to the value He set! No longer was serving God and obeying His command to love based on what I got out of the deal. I knew God died for me, but I had perverted that life giving truth so far that I felt entitled to a good life because my value was so high that God died for me. I was only willing to love because I first got something good. On the outside it looked like I was selflessly loving others but there was still so much I was holding back because of my desire for comfort and how I had warped the gospel. This lesson was a step in the right direction for me. Now, I am nowhere near selfless and daily my pride hurts from my failures, but I know God is using me. These past six months I have found greater joy and passion for service in God's kingdom and I yearn to see others experience that as well. I yearn to see people radically loving the orphan, widow and our neighbors! For me that has been enabled by thinking less of myself and more about the priceless value of each person I meet. For God so loved the widow, the orphan, the outcast, the sick, the World, that He sacrificed everything! And because He sacrificed everything! I can say yes. Not ONLY because He first loved me but because Christ first loved THEM.
-Silas

When Someone You Know Foster Parents...

This post is a little gutsy for me. I hope and pray that you hear our hearts behind these words as I share some reflections on how those around us can best walk alongside this journey we joyfully (and sometimes wearily) walk.

-Be a present friend. Foster care is so lonely. Never before have I been in the midst of a season of such isolation. We are finding that friendships and relationships that came so easily before have rapidly faded. Perhaps it is because we do not have as much time to socialize. Perhaps it is because people are intimidated by this ministry and feel they no longer know how to interact with us. Regardless, times of fellowship are few and far between. We also find that when we do socialize, it is sometimes awkward for us, as we sense the tension and fear that people find our children and their struggles overwhelming. I am still Micah. Silas is still Silas. We still love our friends, we still love fellowship, and we need it more than ever. It does look a little different for us these days. But honestly, our schedule can be pretty flexible. We can have people over or we can bring our children to gatherings. One of us can babysit so the other can go out or we can try to find a babysitter so both of us can go out kid-free. Do we have to cancel if a kid is sick or having an issue? Sometimes. But we can reschedule. We can keep trying. This ministry asks us, and those around us, to be a little more flexible, but it is doable. Let’s keep leaning in and making fellowship a priority. I also want to apologize to those who feel that we have been the ones to walk out. In our own loneliness and fear of rejection, we have shyed away from initiating fellowship ourselves, and that has been wrong of us. We long for people to know us, know our story, and know our children for what and who they are. But we also want to know others, their stories, and their hearts. We are foster parents. But we are so much more beyond that. We are still the same people we were, despite the change in some of our perspectives and focuses. So…who wants to come over for a game night?! ;)

-Actually, you ARE called to orphan care. Every person is not called to adopt or be a foster parent. Every person is not called to daily work a job that fights for racial equality. Every person is not called to move across the ocean to translate the Bible into other languages. However, we are all called to care about that which the heart of God cares about. For Silas and me, our greatest tangible calling right now is orphan care in the form of being foster parents. Do we still care about the other issues God cares about and do what we can within our life to be a part of those? Yes. Likewise, you do not have to be a foster parent in order to participate in God’s calling to care for the orphan. Each time a person prays for us, sends an encouraging text, drops off a box of diapers, or spends some time playing with our children, they participate in orphan care. Likewise, when we recycle, pray over the racial issues in our country, or donate to a Bible translator overseas, etc, we participate in those aspect of God’s heart. Instead of telling a foster parent (or anyone for that matter) “I could never do what you do,” ask: “How can I help you do what you do or be an encouragement to you?” Do not believe the lie that you are not called. Instead, ask God to show you creative ways to pour into the things that are so close to His heart.

-Lean in far enough to see the beauty beyond the brokenness. Time and time again, we have been offered caution. We get it. We are a somewhat newly married couple with a child of our own, health issues, a more than fair share of trials, etc. Taking on foster care at the time we did (and continuing to accept placements of children with special needs) probably seems  semi-psychotic. But at times, we find ourselves baffled as people continue to offer remarks of, “Maybe you guys need some time to live life,” and “You guys really shouldn’t take on anything else/accept new kids/have more children.” We are baffled because we are SO HAPPY. We LOVE our life! As we follow God’s leading, He continues to show up in miraculous, joy-giving ways. Our marriage has grown leaps and bounds. Our son is growing and thriving and learning compassion and grace. Our other children are growing and healing and bonding and learning that they are safe and loved. Our days are full of cuddling and tickling and chasing and reading and praying and singing. Do we have our battles and hurts? Ohhhhhhhh yes. So much so. Every day. Do we get beaten down? Absolutely. There is much stress and heartache. But there is so, so much beauty. It would seem that people often gaze in from the outside and see the stress and the isolation without looking far enough in to see our hearts and the hearts of our children. We ask that instead of only offering caution, you ask questions or ask how you can help with a particular are of concern. Instead of assuming, ask. We would love to share how God leads us to make the decisions He does and how He provides along the way. We are also totally willing to share the areas we are struggling in and ask for wisdom and advice. We are thankful for the wise words and caution of others. But we also ask that you trust our hearts. Ask questions. Pray for us. Trust us as we trust God. Trust us as we strive to make wise decisions for our marriage, our son, and our foster children. 

We are so appreciative of our family and friends who have walked this crazy life with us. We know foster care is a whole new ball game and learning curve for ALL of us! Thank you for your grace. Thank you for every text, meal, box of diapers, mid-morning coffee, date night, and prayer. We are SO thankful for you!

-Micah (and Silas)

Letting Go

To my little boy,

I remember the day I met you. We picked you up at the office and you were playing with the door opening button. When we took you, you screamed and screamed. Then suddenly, you said, “Ok guys. I’m ready for my vacation.” We stopped at McDonalds and you had a chicken nugget happy meal. You were terrified. But we were more terrified. You were our first and we had no idea what we were getting into. We had a 5 month old with health issues and a very much struggling marriage. But somehow, we knew. We knew you were ours and we were yours…at least for a time. I remember those first few days home alone with you and Eli. I had no idea what to do with you. I didn’t know you. All I knew was every morning while I showered, you would steal my coffee. It drove me nuts. Until one day when I made you your own cup. So began our daily routine of starting the day with coffee and prayer. You and I became a little team creating adventures during the day to pass the time before Daddy came home. We made forts and dragons, raced cars and did ab work outs. When we were grumpy, we would dance like goofballs until we collapsed into giggling piles. I would tickle out your grumpies. You would remind me to get the grumblies out of my heart and to have “self con-trow!”

 I remember how you used to scream and scream at bedtime. I remember the day at naptime when we made up our little routine of: Hug, kiss, noggin, high five, pound it, blow a kiss, sign l love you. It didn’t fix things all at once, but over time you fell asleep faster as long as we completed the list. I remember when I got a broken light up disco ball at a garage sale and you couldn’t sleep without it after that. I remember Daddy reading Curious George to you every night. I remember you screaming “I’M LONELY! I NEED YOU!” night after night. I remember how every morning you would make sure every door was locked and you would stash our keys so we couldn’t leave you.

I remember the day when you started saying, “You can keep me if you want.” It broke my heart a million times over because I knew it wasn’t up to us…or to you. I remember when you started telling me how much you loved me. I remember when you started crawling into bed with me in the wee hours of the morning. I remember the times you told me I was pretty. I remember how every morning you would ask to watch me get ready. You would always tell me when I needed more makeup or forgot to floss. Every morning, you would ask if I spent time with God yet and then you’d remind me to do my “egg-so-size” because I wasn’t strong like Daddy yet. You were my tiniest accountability partner.

I remember the days when pieces of your story came out and part of me broke to imagine what you had been through. I remember all the days I’ve wondered how much we don’t know. I remember day after day of the fury and the hurt of your broken heart raging war. I remember holding you in the middle of the storm and whispering, “You are safe and you are loved” into your ear. I remember the shameful days that I returned your rage with a fierce lack of grace. We have seen the best and most certainly the worst of one another. I remember that you are the one I’ve had to apologize to more than anyone in the last six months. I remember days when I didn’t think I could do it. I knew I couldn’t. But then you would wrap your chubby arms about me and say, “I wuv you Mr. Micah (because you forget I’m Miss). I love you all much” and I knew I could never ever give up on you. I knew because God never gave up on me. 

I remember the absolute awe of watching you be transformed before our very eyes. You so quickly learned what it means to obey, what it means to be polite, and what it means to be safe and loved. I remember hearing you share the gospel with another little boy who shared your room one night. I remember watching you crawl under your bed to comfort your teddy bear and hearing you whisper, “you are safe and you are loved.” I remember my pride in you as you memorized Bible verses, did your own chores, and conquered life’s difficulties such as putting your undies on the right way. I remember laughing till I cried at the ridiculous stuff you would say.

I remember the irreplaceable relationship you and Eli had. I remember the comfort you offered him and how no one else could make him laugh as easy and as hard as you could.  I remember nights when you should have been sleeping and were instead sitting on top of the dresser with Eli standing in his crib, making him laugh and babble and singing him Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star. I remember the mornings you would sqeaul when you heard Eli wake up, throw the door open and yell, “Gooooood morning, Honey! You had a good sleep?!”

For six months, you have been my little boy. I have held you, taught you, ached over you, obsessed over you, and cheered for you. I have spent the wee hours brainstorming ideas to help you overcome the battles you fight. I have wiped your tears, walked your hard, and shared your victories. I’ve held you as you’ve thrown up and rocked you as you cried. I’ve been grown and challenged and forever changed because of who you are. Tonight, I tucked you in one last time. For a reason unknown to you, Daddy and I dragged out bedtime rituals until the very last second. We read tonight’s book twice. We let Eli cuddle you in bed. We all piled together and talked about why we are proud of you. We held you. We prayed over you. And we broke inside.

The paradox of foster care is devastating. For whatever amount of time it may be, we give a child our absolute all. We love them as our own and nothing less. Their life and our own become intertwined in a sensitive, complicated, heart-wrenching, beautiful, messy web that is not easily undone. And then one day…they aren’t ours. In an instant, this child we feel desperately called to guard and fight for is sent away into a situation that may be for the better or it may very much not be. A mother and father are asked to deny every parental instinct they know…they are asked to let go.

So tonight my precious boy, I let go. With gritted teeth, a shattered heart, and tear bathed cheeks I pry open my clenching, white knuckled fists. I let go knowing that you are being held fast. I let go knowing that I am truly unworthy of fighting for you. It is He, the almighty Creator who created you and loves you and knows your every beauty and brokenness who will carry you. We surrender because you never were ours. We are a piece of your story and you a piece of ours. Somehow, in the midst of this broken world and warped system, God saw fit for our paths to cross for a time. I know without a doubt that I am better for it and I know you are too. God will be glorified in your life, dear one. You are set apart. No matter the brokenness you are yet to face, you are safe and you are dearly, dearly loved.

With deepest love,

Your Mommy for a Time

Elijah Update

     Last month, we once again ventured to Children's Mercy Hospital in Kansas City to have Elijah's lung mass re-evaluated. The plan was to perform a sedated CT scan to check the status of the mass, meet with the surgeon, and make a plan for surgery. We also had our newest family member in tow: a 3 year old boy placed with us through foster care. He is so precious and we were thrilled to have him join us. Our plan was to do our best to make a hard couple days into a mini family getaway.

     The CT scan was challenging. I was surprised by how hard I broke when the nurse took Eli from my arms for the sedation and scan. I couldn't help but think, "If a simple CT scan is this hard, how much harder will surgery be?" It was also a bit of a blow to learn that although the mass had shrunk a fraction, it was still there and requiring surgery. We have prayed and hoped for months that it would be gone. On top of already heightened emotions, our three year old had a very, very hard time. As much as we planned and hoped for this trip...it was a disaster. No joke. Children are unpredictable regardless, but when you throw in the hurt, insecurity, and baggage little ones in foster care bear, things can really blow up. I won't go into detail, but let's just say Silas was unable to be with us in recovery because he was busy accompanying a very angry 3 year old who was letting the entire hospital know that he was DONE.

     Elijah's surgery was scheduled for June 3 and we don't know much beyond that. They are still unable to tell if they will need to take part of his lung or not. Best case scenario, they would not need to take any lung and Elijah will only remain in the hospital a few days, as long as pain and wound drainage are managed. We've been told this is one of the most painful surgery recoveries a baby can have, so keeping Elijah comfortable will be the biggest priority for a while.

     By the time we left the hospital (actually, long before that), Silas and I were both emotional and physical casualties escorting an exhausted, nauseous baby and a grumpy, insecure three year old. We were quite a sight (and sound) I'm sure. Anyway. After all the crazy, we left Kansas City knowing that although we are not promised an easy life, God's grace is sufficient in each and every moment, crazy or calm as they may be. It's easy for me to become carried away in the anxiety of surgery approaching. In fact, I'm terrified. I don't want my baby to be in danger or in pain. But again and again I am reminded that this precious boy is not my own first. His heavenly Father is so much more capable of caring for my son than I am. I'm so thankful that God has given Elijah to us and that his story is one we get to be a part of.

Our brave bear

In recovery...he was so sad!

Our surgeon is awesome. He always asks Silas to write a math problem from one of his classes on the exam table and then tries to solve it.

Happy as can be to be home

Thank you for your continued prayers! May God be glorified...He is good!