When the World doesn't understand ~

"Road not Taken" by Robert Frost, 1916 ~

TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

He didn't write it for himself, but for war buddy who always second-guessed the choices he had made.

Yet, I watched a Christmas day interview from years ago, and Frost was asked, What are your greatest regrets?

He responded simply by quoting this timeless classic.

Once upon a time, I wanted to grow up to make you happy, to make you approve, to make you proud. Perhaps you were a peer {the cool one}, possibly family, maybe an acquaintance, or leadership in church. Maybe you were simply a stranger I met, and I simply wanted to be known.

sought strived after the checklist I was certain would meet the requirements of my attaining your recognition: the career, the husband with status, the appearance, the clothes, the house, the car...the endless spinning wheels of emptiness.

Then one day I heard it from our pastor's wife, Wendy Allison. She quoted Jonah 2:8, Those who cling to worthless idols, forfeit the grace that could be theirs. 

And in an instant I was naked, gutted...and free.

Because earning the false grace of this world and its approval had cost my very identity, my soul.

Suddenly, owning that truth, forced me to come clean.

As a recent Need to Breathe songs says, there is a deep broken beauty in "surrendering to Your design."

And, dear World, 

I was never designed to meet your approval or expectations. I was crafted to be beckoned to a call that shatters your boxes, mystifies your understanding, defies your boundaries...

I was woven together for the One who {as Andrew Peterson sings} defeated Death at Death's own game...

My addiction of reputation and recognition had brought me death upon death...the pending death of my marriage, my vision of motherhood, my hope, my longings, my dreams...

And that day I returned home, surrendering the idols that had kept me alive, to their Death...those things I thought this world needed from me...

And as Jonah wrote...their death, brought grace to life.

In turn, He's invited me ~ me ~ to bring that same grace to the darkness of those who thought their stories had ended.

From the outside looking in ~

There are days my life does not make sense. 

There are moments you wish our adventure was over. 

It would be more comfortable for you...and for me.

But my Friend, remember, we were not made for this world.

We were made to look like Jesus. We are clothed in His righteousness now. And, one day the hammering and chiseling will be complete for us to be fully like Him.

That is worth the death of every idol.

And that is worth the cost of taking the path less traveled because it will make all the difference.

Because of Jesus ~


The Broken Symphony ~

Call it sinister. Call it dark. Call it losing my mind or jinxing myself.

Call it the dark side.

Call it whatever you want...

But I'll call it being real, being honest, being naked.

Maybe that makes you uncomfortable....

So sorry.

It's where I am.

It's this space, and I'm wrestling, quietly battling the lies of Evil One.

I've been standing when it seems there is nothing else to do, hearing the continual whisper of the One who tells me that...

To live is to die...

To lose is to gain...

To be forsaken is to be known...

But here, right now, it seems there are no guarantees.

I don't feel the promises when she cries from the other end of the phone, Mommy, please let me come home.

Knowing I cannot whisper hope into her ear.

I don't see the satisfaction when the families for whom we fought seem back in the space where they began, void of beauty, empty of faith.

Unable to do a thing.

I can't remember His truths when one child sets her teacher's floor on fire, another punches a kid in the face over and over, and another spits in an adult's face and says, You don't deserve forgiveness.

It feels like a heavy fog.

Yet I rose today and faced the broken symphony once again.

Photo Credit: gpd.org
And I'll rise again tomorrow.

Because He touches through me, using my nasty, gnarled hands.

Photo Credit: Depositlyrics.org
Even when I am empty, seeking, longing...

He whispers, I am so grateful because now my Son can begin.

And when there seems to be no seam, no tidy bow...

Only edges unraveled and frayed...

He reminds me, Don't look through your eyes. Look through mine. For your hands do not labor for this world, but for a kingdom being brought to earth with every tear you wipe, with every nightmare through which you rock, with the endless meetings and appointments, and plans that never seem to come to fruition.

You are mine.

You see, if I did this foster care thing for me...if the purpose was for my self-promotion, or gain, or competence ~ the end of myself would be the death of myself.

But this tapestry I am a part of is so much grander than me, than us...

It's a fabric of redemption being woven through time.

So each moment I reach the end of myself, the true beauty is only beginning to unfold.

And our abandonment to that space...

Is utter worship to the only One who is worthy of our broken symphony.

Because of Jesus ~


On my 36th Birthday ~


36 years. 

13, 140 days.

Look around you. 

See the holy, sacred moments. The spaces you never thought would be filled. The silenced hauntings where you feared your Father would never show His face.

Terrified you were forgotten.

Since high school, you've prayed for one thing...

That you would know deeply whose you are, so that you can make known the One who has claimed you as His own.

In reality, there have been hundreds ~ no thousands ~ of moments you forgot...

Among the broken relationships, pressures of school, stress of work, strains of marriage, failures of parenting, and explosions of turning your face from the One who loves you most, the scars of forgetting that you were made for more are bare on your soul...

But scars tell a story, and birth caverns for Grace to abound abundantly.

And because of Christ, the roots sunk deep, though the storms howled. 

The seeds grew down beneath the surface, before the fruit was ever born, ever seen.

And now, it's your cadence. The rhythm of your marriage, the story of your parenting, the tale of your ministry, the foundation of your love story with the Lover of your Soul...

You were made for beauty. You have been grafted into the One whom your soul craves ~ even when you can't feel it.

This ache, that never allows you to rest, is the stirring of eternity within your heart. Don't ever drown it out. Allow it to enlarge its territory with each passing year, with each new story that unfolds in your life. In light of faith, it will lead you to wonder and hope, not despair and desperation as you once so dreadfully feared.

Look around.

You have been made ALIVE in your Savior, through your Savior.

This mess, this gloriously beautiful mess, it's not you. The laundry piled high, the vomit rivers in the bathrooms, and the chocolate handprints on the walls. They're gifts.

Hidden Pearls.

He's allowing you into the spheres of brokenness in your children, in their families, in the workers and system who serve them.

He doesn't need you.

He invites you, and tenderly leads you like the Shepherd He is.

Yet it's weary, and it's messy, and sometimes, the grief seems more than you can bear, but you were never meant to bear it alone.

So He allows you to see their smiles, celebrate their successes and cheer for the smallest steps forward.

And He allows the Man of God who journeys with you to lead in wisdom and hope.

And He allows the Sons He grew within you, to be part of something so much bigger than they could dream or begin to imagine.

And He graces you with covenant friends, who hold up your hands.

You are not meant to plan or know the next 6, or 16, or 36 years.

You are called to be faithful today. And then tomorrow.

And the small decisions of faithfulness and repentance with hope each day give birth to a legacy of grace for years to come.

Seek His face today, because the One who calls you is before you.

And above all else, Catie, never forget...You were made for more.

You were made for Jesus.


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.


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Because of Jesus ~


Dear Foster Mama {A Reminder} ~

As it says in Proverbs 31, we rise to bless you. It’s one of the deep, aching longings of your heart, to hear those words rather than the noise of the chaotic juggle you navigate within this world of foster care.

It’s the answer to your shadows of wondering if you really did hear your Heavenly Father’s voice to follow down this twisted, jumbled path…to the creeping doubts that surface when she screams she hates you because you’re not her mama, when you pack the bag for another weekly visit and feel your throat lurch inside of you, when you hold the one you’ve held since birth for the last time. 

We bless you.

You are different than when you began this pilgrimage, when you set off amongst the strange looks and concerning questions. You’re more tender, deeper…more sober.

And you know you are waltzing through one of the most unnatural dances possible. You trip, stumble and often feel there is no one to lead you, spin you...to search your eyes and see the caverns that now trace deep within your heart and cause the most sporadic tears to surface.

But He is leading you, and as He spins you He peers deeply into your soul and whispers with delight that your tears are beautiful because He knows they are shed from your altar of sacrifice, from the groaning utters you allow to escape when you’re on your battered knees of war. Because you know that this calling is not simply one to foster care or a system, but a commitment to carry the children placed in your care before the throne of grace with confidence for the rest of their lives.

Of all the mamas in the world, He invited you into this dance, with this child, with this family, with this worker.

And so when you’ve tripped and fallen once again, you rise ever more humbly, ever more boldly to stand and say yes again, to hope again, to love again, to grieve the immense losses that enter your home again.

You are a beautifully broken mother, and in the spaces where you feel most shattered, the world looks in and sees your Redeemer most vibrantly.

And together we bless Him.

And cry out with you as it says in Isaiah 54:13, “All your children will be taught by the Lord and great will be their peace.”

You are a glorious mother. Ever lifting you before our Savior,


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 ~