Warning: This post may be offensive to some.

I haven't known what to write this week. I still don't really know. I could give you the details, the heart-wrenching images of five hours in family court. I could tell you of the surrounding attacks Satan made on our family this week, in an attempt to despair us. To be honest, I haven't even been journaling, which is nothing like me. I've only been wailing, silently crying, and on my knees before my Heavenly Father.

It's been interesting the remarks I've gotten. So many of you have written emails, left messages of encouragement and hope. I haven't had the energy to reply. But I feel your prayers. It's not just M, there's some other things going on, but M is our primary heartache right now.

But there are other responses:

I told you this would happen.

She was never yours to begin with.

I told you you're destroying your children.

You have your hands full anyway. It's a gift she's gone.

You really don't need to do this again. I won't let you do this again.

There are others. Honestly, some are too painful to write. It is true that I expected this to happen. It is true that she was never mine. It's true my hands are full and there are five more in my house, two not mine. It's true that logically speaking we shouldn't do this again.

My God doesn't follow logic.

I loved what Jamie said in the previous post that if orphan care was easy, all Christians would be doing it. That's not to say this is a higher calling. I believe it goes for all ministry. Ministry is sacrifice. It's the sacrifice of our time, our money, our home, our hearts. It's the laying down of our expectations, our lifestyle, our dreams of what success looks like.

It's the taking up of a cross, where a forsaken, materially impoverished, beaten, rejected, homeless Savior died, so that we will die to ourselves.

Yes, God does bless, and yes, God provides good things, and yes, we should rejoice in those good things. But they are not for or about us; they are for the kingdom to be expanded as we enjoy and distribute them.

The truth in light of those hard responses we've received is this:

Even if I had known for certain this would be the outcome, I would do it again in a heartbeat. We were called to take Baby M in, and I will not live in fear of what may happen, because I have been promised everything I need in life and godliness in response to the calling the Father has given.

She was ours for that time. Each child that comes into our home we are called to be a steward of. She is worthy of being grieved. God called her to transform our hearts, and for us to be the incarnation of Christ to her family for a season. That season is worthy of being grieved for a time.

My children are hurting, both the girls and the boys. Even Mattie grieved with us as we told her over the phone. But, what a gift to address godly grief with my children in the home. What a gift that my sons used it to share the gospel - no - to be the gospel to our next door neighbor. What if the very thing I'm sheltering my children from, is the one thing God will use most to form them into the image of His Son.

My hands are full. I rise at 3, to go to bed at 10, with a four page to-do list left. I meet and talk with social workers, parents, counselors - all multiple times a day. BUT, I've never been more alive. I've never tasted more deeply of the Father, and never needed my Savior more.

The world would say we shouldn't do this again. But we're not of the world. In fact, we're strangers, aliens to this world, so we're going in, headstrong, no regrets, with broken hearts that are ready to be broken again for the sake of Christ.

A Message from the Other Half

This week we had to let go of our first. Our first girl in the house (besides my wife). The first infant I’ve ever held other than my sons. Our first foster child. Baby M went to be with her great aunt and uncle this week, her new forever mom and dad.

She captivated our hearts from the very start. She was by far the easiest and most laid back baby we’ve ever had. She smiled constantly, slept well, and had a sparkle in her eyes. It has been an emotional week for us to say the least. Even in the midst of all this transition and grief, God has still been evident through it all.

It’s almost indescribable the feeling you have when you give your heart to a child and then they leave. I guess it’s similar to your child leaving the home for college. I started reflecting back on why we started this journey. God brought these verses to my mind:

"Cry aloud; do not hold back; lift up your voice like a trumpet; declare to my people their transgression, to the house of Jacob their sins. Yet they seek me daily and delight to know my ways, as if they were a nation that did righteousness and did not forsake the judgment of their God; they ask of me righteous judgments; they delight to draw near to God. 'Why have we fasted, and you see it not? Why have we humbled ourselves, and you take no knowledge of it?' Behold, in the day of your fast you seek your own pleasure, and oppress all your workers. Behold, you fast only to quarrel and to fight and to hit with a wicked fist. Fasting like yours this day will not make your voice to be heard on high. Is such the fast that I choose, a day for a person to humble himself? Is it to bow down his head like a reed, and to spread sackcloth and ashes under him? Will you call this a fast, and a day acceptable to the LORD? "Is not this the fast that I choose: to loose the bonds of wickedness, to undo the straps of the yoke, to let the oppressed go free, and to break every yoke? Is it not to share your bread with the hungry and bring the homeless poor into your house; when you see the naked, to cover him, and not to hide yourself from your own flesh? Then shall your light break forth like the dawn, and your healing shall spring up speedily; your righteousness shall go before you; the glory of the LORD shall be your rear guard. Then you shall call, and the LORD will answer; you shall cry, and he will say, 'Here I am.' If you take away the yoke from your midst, the pointing of the finger, and speaking wickedness, if you pour yourself out for the hungry and satisfy the desire of the afflicted, then shall your light rise in the darkness and your gloom be as the noonday.” – Isaiah 58:1-10

If taking care of the orphans, widows, homeless and hungry were easy, then all Christians would be doing this. But in reality it’s hard. It’s hard to get involved in people’s lives, to sacrifice yourself and love them completely and sacrificially. It’s not natural for us to use our biggest personal resources (time and money) on others. But it’s what we’re called to do, and it’s what God expects of us as His Church.

I’ve been so amazed at my wife and sons through all of this. They have not only shown the orphans in our house the love of Christ, but have encouraged me as well. I’ve seen my sons make steps towards becoming men of integrity, responsibility, of sacrifice. They are becoming men of God. My wife has shown strength and courage that I never knew she had. She has ministered to not only the children in our house, but also the family members of the children. She has been an amazing minister of the gospel.

I’ve never felt more alive than I do right now. I realize that all the things that have gone on in the past seven months have not been because we’re amazing, but because we have an amazing God who has chosen to work through His people to do amazing things. I am humbled to know that He has used us in a small way in the lives of those who have crossed our threshold.

Though there will certainly be more tears and grieving in the coming days, we know that God is taking care of Little M. My hope is that our tears of sadness will one day be tears of joy as God calls her to his own. It has been such a privilege and honor for her to be our first.

Wordless Moments

I can't sleep. Every time I close my eyes, snapshots of my evening burn and chisel, a little deeper into my mind, becoming part of who I am, transforming me.

Baby M leaves Tuesday. We love this little girl more than words can say; she's been our daughter for this season, a member of our family. But, I can't get my mind around what I was invited to, what I have been a part of.

Last night we had a picnic with M's maternal grandmother, her sister, and her father. He had not seen her since the day she was born; she was eight months yesterday.

I wish I could give you my mind, my thoughts, but I suppose it's a small wordless gift the Father has given me, a hope, a reassurance of His hand.

We had a picnic on our church playground. M's father is Hispanic, and he took off her little smocked outfit, and dressed her in a Mexico soccer shirt. It's too big, but she wore it last night, slept in it, and will wear it today. I may even wash it and send her to her new home in it tomorrow.

As Jamie and I watched a father hold his little girl, and whisper his story, her history into her ears over the next hour...It was addictive. He had an hour to squeeze all the words he wanted her to know from his life, from what he has missed of hers, and for her future.

Te amo, te amo, te amo....I think I fell asleep to the whisper of his voice against her head.

They went to church with us. Our church has a summer hymn sing and ice cream social every year. It's a blast. They came. Our six bambinos, M's sister, grandma, dad and Jamie and I took up an entire row plus some. We were loud; we were a mess; it was beautiful.

There was a moment when I looked down towards the end with six kids fighting over seats and crayons, and then I looked at the end with Dad holding his sleeping daughter....he was crying, Grandma was crying, Jamie was tearing up, what else could I do, except cry.

There's a moment I dread regularly as a foster parent. It's the moment the mom, dad, grandma, or aunt is holding his or her child and desperately whispering the promises, the love, the hope, the assurance. It's a parental holy moment. I feel like I'm invading something sacred, and then it's my turn to gently pull the child away, as they ask a hundred times how much longer until they see them again. I drive them home to tuck them in to their bed in my house, where they dream of their mommy.

As it came time to take Makayla home, Dad hugged me, thanking me over and over, crying. Grandma did the same. I said, "No, thank you for the honor of being part of your family for this season, for trusting me with your daughter. It's a gift."

A couple of weeks ago, Fran Sciacca reminded Jamie and I over dinner that there's a moment you cross as a believer, where you don't share the gospel anymore...you are the gospel. You are the incarnation of Christ. As I said goodbye to M's family, I was screaming inside my head, running with fear, throwing the tantrum of I wants. But my Savior removed me, He reached out His hand to His creation through me, and He loved, where I dreaded to go.

I'm the changed one. I'm the honored one. I'm the grateful one. I have no right to this, but He's letting me put my hand in. He's letting me - this broken, selfish, control-obsessed mother - be His hands and His feet, the very ones that bled for me.

The Summer Blues....

My sister Sarah is 10 years younger than me. When we were little, she would meander around the house singing, "I'm B-O-R-E-D, BORED." The song had a fabulous little tune. Wish I could sing it aloud for you :)

I knew going into this summer, that's one thing I couldn't handle. If six (or five speaking kids) say they're bored five times a day - I've heard it 25 times each day! (Yes, I've grown in my math skills. Chalk it up to homeschooling).

Aside from annoying, this little comment has a deeper issue. When my children say this, they are saying, they are ungrateful for what the Father has provided for them. They are unable to use the creative and imaginative skills He has given them, and they need to be served, rather than finding new ways to serve others.

So you see our answer. When anyone begins the BORED song, Jamie and I hold out our hand for 50 cents, kindly say we're not their cruise director (as my friend Kelly Jackson taught me), and point to the BORED BOARD.

A New Season

Our July looks different for the first time in six years. We're not in Mexico. If you know us well, you know that for the last five years Jamie and I have been involved in leading and sending in some capacity our senior high youth group to minister in a small village in Mexico. But this time, year six and six kids in the home just couldn't add up. Our hearts have fervently been praying this week for our team, as well as our dear friends we've made over the years there. The village of Yobain and its people are a HUGE part of our story, God's calling on our lives, and His vision for our ministry.

This last year has been a season of grieving as the Father has undoubtedly moved us away from youth ministry. For six years, there was a senior high kid or kids in our home almost everyday and often late into the night. Our first group will be seniors in college this next year.

That's a doozie.

It's interesting the remarks we've gotten as we've stepped away to instead, bring youth and children into our home. Some, have really struggled, rather than stepping in and coming alongside the spots we left to be filled. Others have prayed with us and understood. There were moments when I've felt like we failed by moving out.

But then...

One of my sophomore girls came up to Big Sis R and asked if she could be one of her best friends.

My senior high gals left flowers on the front porch.

These girls and guys seek out the children in our home and have made them their own. They have started doing their own youth ministry to us Lumpkins.

You see, it was good and true for Jamie and me to pour ourselves into these kids we love desperately, some of whom really have become our best friends, but we didn't do it for them. We did it because we were called to make disciples of all nations, and disciples don't stay in the nest forever. The kids we've taught, loved on, cried with, spent the night with and taxied around, could have gone on seeing themselves as the focus of our ministry and whimpered when God moved us away.

But our rock stars have realized that they have been discipled to make disciples. That's why they are banging down our door to love on the kids in our home, and why God is taking them literally to the ends of the earth to carry forth His gospel.

The Father didn't need us to impact these kids lives, but He let us put our hands in.

How awesome is that?