10 Ways Foster Families Can Love Birth Families

Jamie and I have done it wrong in so many ways.

We've somehow become identified with our heart for birth family ministry, but we failed greatly when we thought we could do it all.

That will work for one placment...

Maybe two...

But if you continue to walk this road child after child, family after family, year after year...you glance behind you to discover tens and tens of families running behind you, families with deep need.

This is not a formula for long term discipleship and Gospel-centered friendship.

Personally, we've devised a slow and steady progression for walking with our children's families. This is essential as many of us as foster parents have learned, you can always add on, but it is almost impossible to step back in a healthy way.

Source: Polyvore.com

~How Foster Parents Can Love Birth Families ~ 

1. PRAY, PRAY, AND PRAY some more. Always begin here. Literally, lift them before the throne of grace with confidence from your knees. Satan longs to destroy families. We are in a war.
2. Care for their children with excellence and the enduring love of Christ.
3. Send pictures of the children (not you) with every visit if you are able. Text pictures to them weekly. The child(ren) in your home is your common ground.
4. Create visit newsletters of things that have happened since the week before. There are so many simple programs to do this.
5. Create a special “visit box” only to be used and taken out when the children in your home visit their family. Stock with new crayons, fresh playdough, cards, a special book, and a family question game.
6. Write them a letter telling them about you, your motivation for foster care, and that you believe in them. So many of these parents have never heard that someone believes in them.
7.  Ask them for a picture of themselves to put beside your child’s bed or on the refrigerator.
8. Make time once a week for supervised phone calls and FaceTime between the children in your home and their parents.
9.  Under your agency’s approval, begin to invite them to special events and doctor appointments.
10. Do not do this alone. Seek the counsel of your elders or leadership at church. Introduce your child’s family to possible mentors. They can go places with that family that you cannot.

Because He is Worthy ~

Eight Ways to Pray for Your Child's Birth Family

The phone rang Friday morning at 11:47 am.

Will you say, Yes, to a ....

I felt the weight of the call, because a Yes to a child is also a Yes to a family...if nothing else ~ above all else ~ to the commitment of carrying that mama and daddy before the throne of grace with confidence.

If the Jesus can do the impossible for the children in our home, He is worthy of us taking the impossibles of their families before Him.

reflectionsintheword.org

How can we specifically cry out on their behalves?

Pray that they would know God’s mercy and the sacrifice of His Son on their behalf, so that they may be reconciled to God.

~ Romans 5:10 and 8:32

Pray that they would grasp there is no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus because He has set them free from the law of sin and death.

~ Romans 8:1-2

Pray that the Lord would be faithful to them. That He would establish and guard them against the attacks of the Evil One. Satan longs to destroy families!

~ II Thessalonians 3:3

Pray that they would have the courage to examine their lives and the work of their hands and that they would be accept responsibility “for their own loads.”

~ Galatians 6:4-5

Pray that God would not allow them to be tempted beyond what they can bear, that He would give them wisdom to see a way out.

~ I Corinthians 5:13

Pray that they, by God’s mercy, would be strong and courageous as they wade the waters of the court systems. That they would know the Lord God is with them.

~ Joshua 1:9

Pray that they would be able to forgive as they have been forgiven. 

~ Colossians 3:13

Pray that they could know that God’s grace is sufficient for them that His power can be

 made perfect through their weakness.

~ 2 Corinthians 12:9

Are they Orphans?

It was a date.

Big Sis and I talked as the lady filed her nails and covered them with a glossy pink. 

So, you're not her real mama?

I swallowed because I was not in a mood to defend.

But Sis was quick to answer, I have two mamas. Both love me.

The lady turned to me, Are you going to adopt her?

Again, quicker than a whip, Sis jumped in, I don't need to be adopted. I have a mama who loves me and is working really hard to get me back.

The nail gal didn't ask another question.

I was recently asked why my nostrils flare when foster care is lumped into the cause of orphan care without distinction.

It is because these children are not orphans.

This ministry cannot be summed up at an orphan care conference with a one foster care catch- all break out session. 

Foster care is an all-consuming beast.

It's a lifestyle.

It's a mindset.

It is not adoption.

We foster care.

Yes, sometimes it does end in adoption.

But you cannot begin this road with that end in mind, or your heart will be gutted more deeply than normal in this path.

Yes, these children are vulnerable, and they are in critical situations, but the vast majority of them have parents who are incredibly overwhelmed, suffocating from the oppression of their choices and the decisions of the generations who preceded them.

They cope because they see no way out.

Despair is their captor.

Yes, they've made some really, really bad decisions.

But almost all of them love their children, just as you and I do.

And the moment they ask you why you do what you do...

And you respond with the Christian answer, We want to help care for orphans...

The door to their soul, to their understanding, is barred and shut.

Sonoma Barracks

Because their children are not orphans.

And the reality is, every parent with whom we have ever worked, was once a vulnerable child, too.

You say they are the orphans of society...

And I'll tell you many of their mamas are the widows of society...

We advocate for the child, and we cheer for the birth family, partnering towards reunification so that these children do not become orphans, not so that they will become adoptable for our gain.

We are called to stand in the gap. We have the honor of being a bridge of redemption to prevent children from become another "number."

We have the treasure of telling these parents they have what it takes, and the Church has the ability, because of Christ, to walk with these parents who are in crisis.

Because of Jesus, our people can "rebuild the ancient ruins, restore the age-old foundations, repair the streets with dwellings," as it says in Isaiah 58.

Does this happen every time, No. {Come back later this week as I begin to look at when birth family partnership doesn't work.}

But folks, if we enter this ministry with any underlying ambition, we've missed the purpose of foster care.

And we're gonna burn out really fast.

Alone, we cannot further the vision of holistic foster care.

As a Body of Christ, the unimaginable is possible.

Because He is Worthy ~

The Story of a Birthmother...And Every Mother.

She crumbled beneath the weight of her realization. In waves it washed over her, the reality of her commitment.

In heaving sobs, her head buried in my legs, this woman once a stranger wailed through bitter tears of no more second chances, not here, not ever.

The lawyer stared at me, looking questioningly. I suppose he thought I was his kind, in his polished suit and dapper bow tie. Together we stood against the over-crowded masses of family court.

A jolting difference between us and the woman I rocked.

Behind me Jamie nodded. And with one fell swoop it was finished.

With a common signature, she had released the son she rejoiced over when she learned he was growing inside of her. She surrendered ever feeling the hands that once traced her womb, cleaning the feet that had kicked her in the late night hours.

From the tears of pain mingled with joy that had birthed him into this world, it was her same tears that placed him in the arms of another just three years earlier.

She had caught whispers of child welfare eyeing her through the lines of betrayal.

But it wasn’t her; it was her man.

The one whose hand she had held since the moment she noticed the hands of boys. In the dawning days of her teens, it was love. Crazy, irresistible, infatuated love. So who would give it a second thought when she ran from the staunch boundaries of home, to the freedom of a court house altar? The birth of a family, dreams, innocent longings established. Just a hall over from where today she signed its death.

It had worked. He made good money for being a high school dropout.

She went to beauty school and made her fortune.

They saved and bought the trailer they had been spying.

But when you’re a 18-year-old boy, you’re riveted with unceasing worlds to conquer, adventures to be explored.

She never once questioned. He was her existence.

When the unusual tools began crowding the kitchen, and the strangers’ faces began looking to her for lunch, then dinner; then stepping over people lining the floor, breakfast.

Day in and day out, and he whispered, If you love me, you’ll stand by me.

She silently served. Grasping for the dreams she birthed in that little court room.

But the days passed.

A baby girl came, and with it his work hours seemed to grow longer. His days ran together.

But she never questioned. Ever loyal, always faithful.

Aren’t those the words they muttered through their anticipation of the future?

She recited and meditated on their promise through the traces of her dreams, the juggle of her duties.

And her heart soared when he wandered home, high, but longing to claim her once again.

They would be forever imprinted by that night with a son.

She rejoiced in thinking, Now he will want to be ever faithful, ever loyal.

Yet, even as the young form developed in her womb, the meth became the already birthed second child in their home.

And He would kiss her neck the way that melted her, whispering, If you love me.

He wasn’t by her side when she labored in the hospital.

As they placed the baby on her chest, her mother whispered, They came to clean out your house today. They’re going to test him.

She held her child of hope tighter. Closed her eyes to wish away the horrors that seemed to be peering in the shadows.

But she knew then, as she knew in that stuffy meeting room, Her story was never one meant for hope.

And the only way to grace that child of her womb with hope would be to do as they told her, for hadn't they said that education and money can buy success...all in the name of Jesus.

Hadn't these people who God loves said to her, "He's an orphan who needs a family."

~~~~~~~~~

Friend, hear my heart. See my tears.

Her story is so similar to the thousands upon thousands written through the introductions of our children coming into care.

Their mamas and papas are not the enemies.

But there is an enemy that has set his mark to kill and destroy, to whisper the death of lies, the haunting words, It's the end of your story. You were never meant for hope.

You know this is true because you heard those words once upon a time.

Before the Light shattered the darkness...

You were one step away from destruction, desolation...

Until the Lover of your Soul drew you to the desert and spoke tenderly towards you...

What if your call to foster care {and all ministry} is His tender whisper to the ones He has drawn into the desert?

What if you are His mercy to the broken? 

The hand that lifts the head and whispers, See the light. You were made for more. This is not the end of the Story. You were made for Hope, and Hope does not disappoint.

My Friend, in that desert you were thirsty. Anguishing for the water of life. And into you He poured streams of living water...

Not only for your thirst, but so that those waters of Hope might flow from the well abiding deep within you...

What if this was the way we approached foster care?

Not judging by the descriptions on a court report, but by the way the Father allows us to see His image bearers.

Because He is Worthy ~

The Hope of Glory

Tears are rolling before I even begin to write this one.

It's been a while, a very dark while.

I've been quiet, reaching and aching for God, who has seemed so silent.

So quick to forget that even in the silence, He is moving.

Around me, I watch precious little ones fighting the terrors of Hell within their minds, in their dreams, in their waking hours.

Trauma knows so little peace, yet so much fear and so many horrific lies. 

I wish I could tell you I've fought boldly before the throne of Grace with confidence, but I haven't.

I want to tell you of my doubts, my faithlessness, the rapids of fear that have paralyzed me...but not today.

Because today, I've been pondering...His majestic faithfulness against the backdrop of my soul's shadows.

Last year Christmas began to look different for us. Yes, there's the kids to shop for and the parties to attend, but around Thanksgiving of last year, people began calling, asking us to match them with families...families fighting to conquer the mountains of despair and shame.

We were humbled to see God work, but this year, you guys, there aren't words. 

Daily gift cards, food, groceries, diapers and donations have flooded our front porch. 

Glimpse into my life these last weeks, and you'll see...

A grandma, mother to three of her young grandchildren, $400 past due on her power bill, and a man, chasing after His Savior, calling to anonymously meet the need.

A mother reunified with her large tribe, and a small group standing in the gap, providing her with multiple bunk beds, mattresses, and groceries.

A mother laid off of her job with DHR intervention looming, and several businessmen intervening to provide her with work.

A new baby, showered with gifts, as her young mother chooses life and hope against the whispers of lies.

A father counting the days until his daughter lives with him again, as a church storms his home to make her room ready.

This is the Gospel in action. 

I want you to see it because I am so unworthy of witnessing the glory on their faces, hope where there has been no hope, destruction of shame cast against new found intention and purpose as they realize they are not alone.

I haven't been able to write...only ponder and consider Mary as she treasured and contemplated her very God coming to earth to shatter the sin reaching to hold her hostage.

No, it hasn't been exactly the miracle of God humbling himself to be born in human form.

But isn't a miracle all the same?

It's that very same God, taking life, making Himself known through you.

It is your Savior, Christ, in you...your Hope of Glory, our Hope of Glory...their Hope of Glory.

Because of Jesus~ 

The Stranger among Strangers: 30 Days of Gratefulness

Passing stranger! You do not know how longingly I look upon you, 

You must be he I was seeking, or she I was seeking, (it comes to me as a dream,)

I have somewhere surely lived a life of joy with you,

All I recall'd as we flit by each other, fluid, affectionate, chaste, matured,

You grew up with me, were a boy with me, or a girl with me...

I am not to speak to you ~ I am to think of you when I sit alone, or wake at night alone,

I am to wait ~ I do not doubt I am to meet you again.

I am to see to it that I do not lose you.

Walt Whitman ~ Leaves of Grass

It was just over two years ago.

I was driving down the highway as we passed a seemingly homeless man with a sign.

I acknowledged the suspected Holy Spirit nudge and applied the appropriate rationale.

And from the back Big Sis said, That could have been my mom. She's homeless.

Without a thought, I pulled through Chick-Fil-A, ordered a #1, and returned with Sis to the stranger staring down each passing car while holding his sign...Please help. Will work for food.

It wasn't the only time we saw him on that corner...or in other places. And it wasn't the only time we delivered a #1.

But it was a moment that shifted my paradigm.

Foster care is an interesting world because it is an immersion into doing life with strangers...in the context of your home.

The teen bunking for a night...her final stop of hope.

The baby dropped off to detox...born into utter chaos.

The 10-year-old who doesn't even acknowledge you when she comes through your door...she's had 12 others stops just like this one.

But it's not just the children.

It's the worker who collapses on your couch because she hasn't slept in 48 hours.

It's the lawyer dropping by to meet a deadline.

It's a world of daddies and mamas plagued by drugs, addictions and hauntings of tales they wish they could bury.

It's a counter cultural life.

We raise our children to never speak to strangers, to protect themselves, to defend their hearts.

To beware of pain and shame...

We strive with all our beings to strategically build our comforts and relationships to shield us from ever feeling like strangers in our own lives, prepared to defend ourselves, and falsely guaranteeing we will never know shame.

Forgetting all the while, that Christ is our only defense and all our shame was cast on Him for His Father's glory.

Could it be our strategies of comfort and defense are robbing glory from the One for whom we long?

These all died in faith, not having received the things promised, 

but having seen them and greeted them from afar, 

and having acknowledged that they were strangers and exiles on earth... 

~ Hebrews 11:13

In our striving, we have forgotten that we were the ones intended to be the strangers in order to bring shelter to the exile.

The ones meant to be uncomfortable in order to bring comfort to those desperate for comfort.

The ones created to rest in our grace-given defense in order to defend the voiceless.

In this world you are orphans ~ eagerly anticipating your adoption as God's child.

In this world you are a widow ~ longing for your reunion with your bridegroom.

In this world you are a stranger ~ a pilgrim waiting to become a citizen of heaven.

~ Tom Davis

Perhaps in our efforts to secure our identity and preserve our children's esteem, we have forgotten we are purposed to be a stranger among strangers.

Clinging to the One who became a Stranger for us ~

I wanted to quit.

This weekend I wanted to quit.

Even as I type those words, I can't stop the tears that seem endless.

Every foster parent in the world has been told, I would love to do that but I could never let go.

Letting go is hard. It is.

It's the kick-you-in-the-gut hard that leaves you weeping on the bathroom floor for a few good hours - or days - in grief.

But I'm learning there's another hard.

It's watching their futures unfold with a nagging darkness that seeps through the cracks...as you commit to walking with them after you've let go.

It's the silent lies that begin to take form, and you're suddenly not sure if you're brave enough to watch the children you love with your life grow up...because it may mean the death of your own longings over...and over... and over.

And then like an addiction...you take the Father's hand to climb on the merry-go-round once again...because you've worked yourself into a corner where trusting Him is your only hope.

That's how I felt.

As Sara Groves sings, I was painting pictures of Egypt, leaving out what it lacked. The future looks so hard, and I want to go back.

Then my precious friend Lori sent me this quote, and it brought me to my knees...

In general, to "do justice" means to live in a way that generates a strong community where human beings flourish. Specifically, however, to "do justice" means to go places where the fabric of shalom (peace) has broken down, where weaker members of societies are falling through the fabric, and to repair it...How can we do that? The only way to reweave and strengthen the fabric is by weaving YOURSELF into it. Human beings are like those threads thrown together on a table. If we keep our money, time, and power to ourselves, instead of sending them out into our neighbor's lives, then we may be literally on top of one another, but we are not interwoven socially, relationally, financially, and emotionally. Reweaving shalom means to sacrificially thread, lace, and press your time, power, and resources into the lives and needs of others. ~ Tim Keller

You see...there is no going back...this is my shalom...being woven so deeply into their lives, and they into mine...the calling is seamless.

And so on Sunday morning, I stretched my arms over my children, my sons, my man and wept these words from the depths of my soul...

No guilt in life, no fear in death,

This is the power of Christ in them.

From life's first cry, to final breath...

Jesus commands their destiny.

No power of hell, no scheme of man,

Can ever pluck them from His hand,

'Til He returns or calls them Home...

Jesus, let them stand in your power,

By your power.

Clinging to our Savior ~

The Paradigm Shift

According to the controversial scientific author, Thomas Kuhn, a paradigm shift represents something that alters our rooted assumptions...the beliefs we've allowed to shape our core.

Photo Credit: Living a Principled Life

When people begin to understand... really grasp... the ways we are committed to doing foster care, it doesn't always settle well.

Not too long ago, someone took my hand, smiled and simply said, I know you think I should be proud of you. But really, this life you're doing; it's a wasted life. Those people are never going to change. They're a waste of your time, your resources, your family. In the end, you'll have so many regrets.

Before you jump, these words were deeply threaded with love, trying to bridle fears for Jamie and me, for our boys...bottled longings to secure the safety of our hearts and our sons' futures.

That desire for us is beautiful...

But it's not the thing for which we were made.

We were weaved together for messy, mucky love.

For beauty that blooms from the deepest aches in our souls...

From the seeds of costly, sacrificial love.

I came across this John Piper quote yesterday:

~ If our single, all-embracing passion is to make much of Christ in life and death, 

and if the life that magnifies Him most in life is COSTLY LOVE, then life is risk, and risk is right. 

To run from it is to waste your life. ~

People often remark to us that they would love to walk with birthfamilies like we do, but it's just not reality...it's too hard for their hearts.

I hear you... Please, know my heart... I do.

My throat swallows my heart every. single. time. a kiddo leaves for a visit.

Jamie has to take our past kids home after their visits...because I'm quietly weeping in the bathroom.

There's a bizarre surge in me that can feel utter love for a mama and complete jealousy for her in the exact same breath.

And those things are natural. They are okay to feel...because this mess is unnatural. 

It was never suppose to be this way.

But if I allow those feelings to define my journey, I've built a wall for the Gospel. I'm essentially saying, God's mercy can penetrate every area of this kiddo's life...but it can't go there...I can't handle it.

Tearing down that wall doesn't change that I gasp for air when I pack up our kids. It doesn't change that I countdown the hours, the moments, the breaths I have left with them.

It doesn't change the doubts and lies that fiercely wage war to take over my soul...my hope...my fight.

But, it's not about me.

And so, when her father calls and asks me to rejoice with him in the strides he's made to bringing his daughter home, my soul sheds tears while my heart sours.

And my surrender on the altar is sometimes, just sometimes, halted with the ram in the bush as her father replies, I want you to be in her life. I want her to always look to you as a role model.

And I gasp the air of one who has been brought back from the dead.

And when their mama tells me they're different ~ she feels different ~ since we've been in her life, and she utters the words, Would you walk with me? I don't know what this will look like, but walk with us.

I fight my urge to leap from my position as a living sacrifice and feel the knife brush my mother's heart.

And when her mama calls and says, She's been crying for you all morning. She needs to talk to you to know things are okay. You need to know that I love that she loves you. I love that we both have you.

In that moment, a woman who fought the world's whispers that she would never change, never grow...that woman is the one who gives me confidence to climb the altar once again.

So next week, when our tribe gathers from all around the state, and our messiness is exposed and the mothers swap stories of drug tests and parenting classes...and the kids remind one another that this middle moment is only for a little while...

I'll hold my family...my gory, broken, longing, aching....glorious family that reflects the scars of the deep caverns I quietly carry within...each face, each smile, each picture will chisel in my memory the journey of our paradigm shift...

And the reality that perhaps those shifts don't always happen suddenly, but ever so slowly as the chinks in our false armors are hammered away, and we daily, every moment...with each breath, climb the steps to be living sacrifices once again...

all by His grace.

Clinging to Our Savior ~

I worshipped today.

Sometimes, I'm asked what it's like for me when he comes back...

Today, I went to take J to the nursery at church. ~ He visited us for the weekend.

As I began to leave, he screamed Mama.

And my heart lurched.

I scooped up the son of my soul and spent the next two hours like this...

                 

And through a sermon I heard little of, I whispered...

You are safe. You are loved. You belong to Jesus.

And every fiber of my being worshipped with all that I am,

from an altar of sacrifice with open hands.

Because He is worthy of all my praise...and surrender ~

From Buster B (Used with her Permission)

She's nine.

I met her six months ago.

In an instant she was asked to move into a stranger's home and leave every, single thing she knew behind.

There were no answers to her questions.

No reasoning for her why's.

In a moment she was expected to adjust and adapt once again, and everyone told her how grateful she must be to have a safe home like the Lumpkins.

And she stuffed her dismay down deep, pushed her desires to grasp and understand below her ability to survive.

There are moments when I've wondered if her quiet heart and bolted emotions have become lost in the roaring tide around her.

But today on my bed, I found this...

Dear Mommy Catie,

You are super duper nice. I love you to the moon and back. I love you to the sky. I love you to the butterfly. You are so nice. You are the nicest foster mommy that I have ever had. I love you so much that when I get home I just want to hug you and kiss you because you are the best, and you are beautiful, awesome, and cute. You almost cook as good as my mommy. I love it when we pray for my mommy. I love it when you tell me you love my mommy. When you cook some things, they smell good and sometimes even look good. I love you so, so much.

This is a picture of me and you.

I love you.

If that doesn't get you in the gut, I don't know what will.

Clinging only to Jesus,

At this Moment...Two Years ago...

At this very moment, two years ago...my phone rang.

With my amazing social worker's name popping up, I said yes before I said hello.

Then I had to call Jamie:

What would you think about a 10-day-old?

Ummm, Catie, really, don't you think our life is crazy enough?

Silence.

You already said yes, didn't you?

That wasn't necessarily the best way, but this little guy was dropped off in a car seat with a bottle...

And pieces of our hearts were forever given to Joshua, aka...Baby J.

It was suppose to be 10 days...

Maybe two weeks...

Then one more month....

Then maybe three more....

Fifteen months later, we joined with his family at Golden Corral to celebrate reunification, restoration, and redemption.

And, I thought my heart was being gutted from within me.

I didn't feel the faith I knew I was suppose to have.

I didn't have the hope to which I knew I was suppose to cling.

My precious neighbor Beth brought me a card on the day Josh left:

Your griefs will turn out for your ultimate good. 

Your great things can never be grabbed away from you. 

The greatest is still to come. 

~ Jonathan Edwards

The greatest is still indeed to come...

For that little baby is growing into a boy, who still squeals with delight when he reaches for his Babas.

A grandmother has adopted our family in prayer each morning and night, with daily texts of hope and encouragement.

And, I still whisper Yes, Jesus loves you, as he cradles beside me on his weekends with us.

Who am I, O Lord, and what is my house that you have brought me thus far? ~ I Samuel 7:18

Looking unto Jesus ~

The Haunted and the Pursued

I only know to describe it as a haunting.

I gaze deeply into her blank eyes, cupping her face made to be delighted in, crafted to be loved.

And, through my own lens I sink within her to knock at the door of her soul once again, longing to be let in, even if it's only a crack, enough for a shaft of light...

But I can't reach her.

I once thought the hardest part of this journey was the letting go...

Now I know it's the pursuit of the haunted.

The restless turmoil she can't escape. 

The quiet tears he can't explain. 

The cavernous aches she can't describe.

It keeps me awake at night.

On the surface, it doesn't look like ache or even fear.

It seeps the reflections of rage, anger, sadness, indulging, but these are all just symptoms of her flight deeper within the cave of her pain, the ache she nurses and hides behind because it feels safer than the light.

Perhaps the world has taught her it is safer than the light.

And so she's labeled; he's labeled.

Problem. Troubled. Failure. Lazy. Loner. Addict. Aggressor. Slow. Stupid. Intense. Lost.

People begin to look to individuals like us who have joined the ranks of housing these children, and they applaud and whisper in hushed tones, How hard it must be for you to deal with that...

And after I've had another phone call from the school, dodged another flying object, held another screaming through the night, discovered another stash of food, I begin to think, Yea, this is hard for me. See what we're willing to do.

And through the tears of a friend, my pride is silenced as she reminds me, Haven't we all been haunted?

Aren't we all the troubled, addicted, agressive, lost failures...until God, in His mercy, reached through the barred walls we built for what we thought was our safety, and He shattered the cages of our darkness to cup us beneath His tender wing, when we had never known peace.

Yet, we flee again, and again, and again. And we kick, and we flail...

He only reaches deeper, softer, stronger and whispers His deep delight over us, stilling our shifting eyes, our hurried thoughts.

And as I remember my Pursuer, I turn to the haunted one's face in my hands, and He reminds me of the depths He embraces to chase after my wandering soul day after day, after day...

And I say it's too much for me to take up my Cross another day and cherish this child, that friend, that lonely widower who has no resources but his or her aching hauntings?

The moment I say that, is the moment I forget my Pursuer and the one who pursues through me.

It's the moment I stop...

Looking unto Jesus.

The Drowning Truth

There's a mama I love.

Before the world of foster care, she was married and cared for three children with a dual income. Things were far from perfect, but they were manageable.

Three years down the road, she's a single mom, discovering her three children again after a long separation. She scraping on one meager income.

She's beaten and faced more than I could in a hundred years. She's fulfilled all her requirements. I am so proud of her...

 But her head is barely above water.

There's some who see this and make accusations and claim the system should have never sent the kids home.

I see kids who call their mama, Hero.

I hear children telling their mama, Thank you for never giving up on us. Thank you for fighting for us.

I see a woman who has stared shame down.

I see my sister in Jesus.

In the church, the realm of foster care is becoming a growing awareness, and I am so grateful. I am.

But, if we claim we are in foster care, we must be in it...hook, line, and sinker.

We rally to provide Christmas gifts and backpacks for children in care, and we shy away from the mother who has earned the right to be known as mother once again.

The Forgotten Initiative has been asked to partner with family preservation and provide for families working to stay in tact, fighting off whispers of crisis.

Would you consider joining us?

We are honored to be partnering with Lifeline Children's Services in this endeavor, and TFI will specifically be providing back-to-school clothes and needs for 15 children in family preservation situations. The expense is between $100-150, depending on the age of the child. Will you lift the burden of the broken with us?

Contact me for specific child information at cafranktie@aol.com. We cannot walk this journey without you.

Looking to Jesus,

Questions We Foster Parents are Asked: Why Stay Involved...

...after the reunification?

Last week we invited all our kids home for Crazy Camp Lump.

Twelve were able to make it. 

And, when Sunday came, I hit the bed.

We've been asked a number of times recently why we go to the effort to have all the kids back regularly. And, why so often do we try to do it when they can all come at the same time?

Fran Sciacca, leader of Hands of Hur ministries and mentor to Jamie and me, recently said that our twenty-thirty something generation is a "tumbleweed generation."

What?

Meaning, in general, we stay with a job until it no longer suits us. We stay with a church until it no longer meets our needs. We stay with a spouse as long as we are fulfilled. Our friendships, relationships, and conversations remain safe, rather than deep.

We have no roots.

And more than that, we are raising our children exponentially in the same manner.

Now, before your defenses shoot up; think about it.

Then turn your eyes to families in crisis and see that this issue is compounded.

Every child we've had, has averaged a move every six months throughout their lifetimes. Sometimes it's with a family member; sometimes it's wherever they were able to find a bed that week.

We've had multiple children live longer in our home than they have lived anywhere else in their lives.

And when that pattern is established as a child, they will struggle to ever break from it, creating an absence of roots, an inability to attach, and crippling them to become socially, relationally and emotionally mature.

The opposite of tumbleweed is roots...

Bakewell Tree Trail

Roots that sink deep, ready to take a beating when the storms come.

Roots that intertwine with those of another when desperate support is needed.

Roots that are unmovable, to which one is always able to return.

And roots are a big deal to God too...

Blessed is the man who trusts in the Lord, whose trust is the Lord. He is like a tree planted by water, that sends out its roots by the stream, and does not fear when heat comes, for its leaves remain green, and is not anxious in the year of drought, for it does not cease to bear fruit.” ~ Jeremiah 17:7-8

Therefore, as you received Christ Jesus the Lord, so walk in him, rooted and built up in him andestablished in the faith, just as you were taught, abounding in thanksgiving. 
~ Colossians 2:6-7

That according to the riches of his glory he may grant you to be strengthened with power through his Spirit in your inner being, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith—that you, being rooted and grounded in love, may have strength to comprehend with all the saints what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, that you may be filled with all the fullness of God. ~ Ephesians 3:16-17

I want those kind of roots for me, for Jamie, for my children and the children who journey through our home.

We want them to remember that at some point in their lives they experienced deep, abiding roots of safety, stability, and hope in light of the grace of God...and that they were designed to have these things.

We want them to be able to return and see their marks upon the measuring stick, pictures on the walls, artwork pasted all over the house, and names whispered from our lips before the Father.

We want them to know that they are part of our roots.

It isn't convenient.

It isn't comfortable.

But it is beauty.

And when I hear Big Sis whispering to my three amigas that they are safe, they are loved, and their family is not forgotten by us...

It takes my breath away, and tears spring to my eyes.

Roots...

A perfect moment with Baby J.

Little Sis preparing to nail her birthday pinata.

Papa Jamie preparing 12 ice cream sundaes.

Aim for roots.

Looking unto Jesus,

Shame.

I've been thinking about shame.

Perhaps, because it's the subject of our summer Bible Study, by Debbie Vanderslice.

Perhaps, it's because Jamie and I are drinking from a fire hydrant as we go through Empowered to Connect's six-week intensive for ministry leaders. We are finding ourselves constantly weighing whether we are utilizing shame-based parenting or grace-based parenting.

But I think it's more because each day we're on this journey, I'm becoming increasingly aware of how powerful a tool shame is for our enemy, Satan.

I remember the first day I met our former girls' mama. She had not seen them in months, and as I went to her in court, she refused to look at me and was terrified to see her daughters, who had been counting the days to spending hours in a crowded court room, just to have a glimpse of their mama.

And she said, I can't face my girls. I'm too ashamed.

Or the day a mama I know signed away the rights of her son because she said, What if he were to grow up and be ashamed that I'm his mama.

Or the mother who sat on the opposite end of the bench from her mama because she said, My mama is too ashamed of me...only to hear grandmother say the same thing, concerning what her daughter thinks of her.

Then there's the young teen mom I know who when I invited her to church replied, Come on, Miss Catie. I'm too #$@!%$#@ full of shame to be with people nice like you.

Shame.

I'm considering more and more that it's the great barrier to our personal spiritual revivals. 

I recently heard that although Satan does not know us as our Heavenly Father knows us...He studies us well. 

And the small spaces where our hope has grown shadowed, or the voices of truth have dampened...He is ready to pounce with His web of shame.

Turn the prism of Truth you're clinging to ever so slightly, and you have the whispers of shame, guilt, condemnation that begin their haunting plight.

The truth shall set you free. ~ John 8:32

And suddenly the secrets, they've...you've...been striving so intently to keep hidden, are exposed.

Walls crumble.

Boundaries shatter.

Stability splinters.

But no longer are we encaged by our fear of shame.

Because exposure guts our very insides and bares all....

The looming thoughts of what is left to be rebuilt paralyzes our hope.

Yet, those who hope in the Lord will never be put to shame (Psalm 25:3). Instead...

They will rebuild the ancient ruins and restore the places long devastated;

they will renew the ruined cities that have been devastated for generations...

Instead of your shame, you will receive a double portion, 

and instead of grace you will rejoice in your inheritance.

And so you will inherit a double portion in your land,

and everlasting joy will be yours. ~ Isaiah 61

Three years ago, as I drove home from my first birthfamily visit, God brought this verse to mind.

And I realized, their longed for hope is the ancient ruins...

The empty arms that ache for their children in another's care are the devastated cities...

Yet, shame can be transformed to joy, if we are willing to stand in the gap and stare down the prismed lies, giving courage to the ones who lean on us to face down their bars of despair.

And moment by moment, day by day, year by year, beauty from ashes emerges as we walk this crooked pilgrimage of hope and praise together.

And we realize that rather than compounding shame, we all with unveiled faces are being transformed with every increasing glory into the image of the One who bore all shame for us.

Sheer beauty.

Looking unto Jesus,

Flashback Friday: The Day I Realized this Isn't about Me...For Real

It was almost exactly three years ago when we had our first birth family visit. We had been fostering for six months at the time, with no visits. My vision was so limited, and my hands so tightly grasped the Little Bit we loved.

This day rocked my world, and began us on the journey to where we are today...and to the spaces into which we are growing. 

I love that I call this Grandmother sister and friend, and that when she called me to tell me her husband had died, her first words were...Our God is faithful, Catie. I want to be like that when I grow up.

Heavy- Hearted Hope, June 2010 ~

The time has come that really in the back of our mind, we've dreaded for the last five months. We received word this week that we need to begin preparing for Little Sis M's leaving us.

Three years ago, Jamie and I set out to adopt. I wanted a little girl, and I wanted to rescue someone. So, when this little black-eyed baby was our first to foster, there was no doubt in our minds. We've made ourselves very clear to DHR from the beginning that we would love to keep her.

But, you see, this ministry isn't about me, or Jamie, or my boys, or even Little Baby M. This ministry is about His kingdom coming to earth. I was reminded of that today.

We got the phone call on Monday, and we've had a good week of tears, mixed with a VBS in our backyard, a tree struck by lightening, and everything else that goes with raising six kids. We received a request from M's family for a visit. We've been trying and praying for this for a while.

On the way to our meeting at the park, my soul kicked and screamed at God. I called Jamie too many times crying, saying I couldn't do this, and why did we ever obey the Father's leading.

Then, I sat for two hours on a park bench with a woman who told me her story. She told me the story of her children, and the brokenness of her life these last four years. I watched her hold this little girl I've sang to, prayed over, giggled with, and longed to be mine. She slept on her grandmother's chest, so perfectly. And I heard my Father's voice so clearly...

This is about Me.

And so then I took this woman's hand, and shared my story. I told her of my only hope, My Savior Jesus Christ.

Then, we prayed together and wept.

I wanted a little girl, whose hair I could put bows in, and I could parade in front of others. My dreams are so very small.

He's chosen my family to bring hope to the hopeless, to loose the chains of injustice, the bind the brokenhearted, and to bring freedom to the captive.

This isn't about me.

Today, on a park bench, the very glory of God was present. And I was part of it. We'll meet again to pray, talk and hold this sweet girl we both love in a week.

The time is coming soon for us to say goodbye to this daughter we love deeply, but we believe we are part of something that is bringing His kingdom into the lives of families here on earth.

It's not about us.