Dear Foster Mama {There is no hierarchy},

There is no ladder of calling.

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No short cut to holiness.

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

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

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

Because without your Yes, the puzzle is incomplete.

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

A tale that only you can tell.

But well-meaning watchers will challenge you.

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

Available on zazzle.com

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

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

So if He has whispered to your soul...

To adopt, embrace it.

To foster, do so with excellence.

To sponsor, answer faithfully.

To volunteer, serve selflessly.

To donate, give generously.

To educate, speak thoughtfully.

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

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

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

Dear Foster Mama {and Every Mama} ~

You're a doer, fixer, a list-checker ...

You wouldn't be in this space if you weren't.

In preparation for calls, for the yes's, for the little ones who fill your beds...

You secured the baby gates, mounted the extinguisher, cleared the medical exams and answered the questions.

You finished the race to reach the beginning...

Of your sacrifice.

What you didn't realize was that all your efforts to prepare for the future would screechingly halt as you learned to live in the present...to love in the present.

In class after class they told you, instructed you...

You would not be gaining a child for a lifetime;

You would be making a lifetime impact.

It's right to own it, to speak it, to grieve it...

From the moment the worker places that child in your arms, that you speak his name for the first time...

Your heart jumps to fix...

the wide-eyed, terrified, panic-stricken little one, you've been asked to become a steward of...

For this season.

For this moment.

With nothing but the clothes on his back, you rally the troops for a toothbrush, pajamas, underwear and clothes.

You register for school, set a counseling schedule, and meet the nightly screams.

Minute after minute you answer with obedient faithfulness..

Even when your heart shatters, even when soul aches...

Until one minute, an outside forces deems it will no longer be required of you.

And the arms that once rocked are empty.

The list once filled on behalf of another, is blank.

From the moment of your Yes, you have steadily climbed the mountain to the altar of your offering.

For not one of us is called to forever in this world, my Friend.

We are not the fixer, the redeemer, or the rescuer. 

We are called to live for another world, that for which we were made.

So my friend, while you love deeply in the present, ache fiercely in the moment, die fully in this time...

Knowing you were never designed to own,

But to surrender with open hands...

My beautiful friend loving on her Moment, regardless of the tomorrow.

Recognize you are not making a lifetime impact...

You are making an eternal impression on behalf of the One who is our Fixer, Redeemer, our Rescuer.

And so, we rise to bless you ~

Dear Foster Mama {and Every Mama of a Struggling Child}

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Your children were never meant to be normal....

And neither were you.

It seemed as if I was shaking a snow globe, and all the tiny figures were cemented in place, in order...

Except one...the one that belonged to me.

The first grade children sat in a row listening to the special speaker on the field trip, while the one who claimed me as mama stomped her foot in the earth, elbowed neighbors in the ribs, and stabbed the ants while she watched them fill her shoes, laughing hysterically.

And I suddenly was so very sober...

Realizing, I would never have normal children again...

You know the feeling.

Because deep down, your Maker is whispering for you to own this calling deep within your soul.

The calling to...

Stand and say, I love you, when she screams in the grocery story she wants her mama, not you.

Pick up the phone one more time, when the principal calls to discuss some issues with the child in your care.

Whisper, I'll never leave you, over and over, as he kicks you in the stomach, wishing you would die.

Welcome her, him, when they've run away again...come home pregnant again...high again... because you know there is no other place for them to go.

You are home...in the strangest possible definition of the word.

And as you watch their searching souls, you know you've agree to abandon the normal...

lifestyle...

income...

car...

family...

appearance...

schedule...

progression...

heart...

Your willingness to take in the stranger as your own, has fulfilled your destiny to be as an alien on this earth.

Because Mama,

You were never made for the snow globe...

You were crafted to shatter it with the only Truth that can set those cemented to normalcy free.

All these people were still living by faith when they died. 

They did not receive the things promised; 

they only saw and welcomed them from a distance, 

admitting that they were aliens and strangers on this earth. 

People who say such things show that they are looking for a country of their own.

If they had been thinking of the country they had left, 

they would have had the opportunity to return. 

Instead, they were longing for a better country 

~ a heavenly one. 

Therefore, God is not ashamed to be called their God, 

for He has prepared for them a city.

 ~ Hebrews 11: 13-16

So as you rock the flailing child, attend another principal meeting, say another Yes...

As you carry her Mama before the throne again, surrender your schedule one more time, allow your heart to bear the grief of death...

Know you are not normal...therefore, God is not ashamed to be called your God...

And We Rise to Bless You ~

Dear Foster Mama {On Need}

Need is a beautiful thing.

Yet your stomach clinches at the thought of owning this truth.

But think of the One who defined Truth...

Who, being in very nature God,

Did not consider equality with God something to be used to His own advantage;

rather, He made himself nothing,

by taking the very nature of a servant,

being made in human likeness.

And begin found in appearance as a man,

He humbled himself

by becoming obedient to death ~

Even death on a Cross.

~ Philippians 2: 6-8

You've taken the nature a a servant,

Of one who is capable of fixing, but accepting that you will surrender ~

That your heart will die, the death of a Cross.

He's invited you to love with a Holy love,

And to bleed a Holy death.

You've chosen the life of bringing Hope and Restoration with open hands
marked with scars from loving again and again,

Photo Source: Walking with Dancers

Rather than taking for your own gain with clutched palms.

My Friend, your scars are kissed by the One who bears them for You.

So as you stand peering into tomorrow, into the week, into the unknown,

Knowing only that you will be called to love endlessly and die a daily death,

Own your need for the Glory of your Savior...

Because God exalted Him to the highest place

and gave Him the name that is above every name,

that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow,

in Heaven and one earth and under the earth,

and every tongue acknowledge that Jesus Christ is Lord,

to the glory of God the Father.

~ Philippians 2:9-11

Your need declares to the world your trust, your rest in the only One who can meet your need.

My Friend, we rise to bless you.

Because Jesus is Worthy ~

Dear Peppermint...

You're eight today.

343 days from the moment I first saw you on a courtroom bench. Your eyes darted nervously, wondering with whom you would spend the night.

It was only two weeks since your birthday, but whispers had been brewing in the walls of your home for a month.

And in the worry and flurry, your milestone of seven had been forgotten, just as your sixth, just as your fifth.

There was always one reason or another.

So today, as I sit in the too early morning hours, pouring over the water that never will run dry, your door cracks open.

I whisper, Sweetheart, it's too early. Let's get back in bed.

It's okay, Mama. I just wanted to peek and see if I was remembered.

And you bounce when your eyes spot the balloon-flooded hallway and the sign-spotted walls.

You remembered!

Shh. How could I not? You're worthy of being remembered every moment of every day.

You hug me so tight I can barely swallow the lump in my throat, and in a flash you're back in bed.

And I'm left wondering, How did I ever get to be the one to say, Yes, to you?

I am so unworthy.

My body returns to the Word opened before me, but my mind drifts to you again.

The lies have set their stake in your heart through the shadows that follow you.

You've been used, manipulated, accused and seemingly forgotten.

But my Peppermint, you were always remembered.

Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have no compassion on the child she has born? 

Though she may forget, I will not forget you! See I have engraved you on the palms of my hands. 

~ Isaiah 49:15

From the beginning of time, your name was on His lips. 

Your sorrows were His own as He made His way to the cross.

And your future was His cry, as He proclaimed, It is finished.

You are worthy of being remembered...rejoiced over...celebrated...pursued...loved.

You are more than the scars you bear.

You are your Beloved's, and He is yours.

That is the Truth that will shatter the darkness of the lies that haunt you.

Because my Daughter...

It was never your fault, and you are not the enemy. You are not a burden or in the way.

You are a princess and your Father is the King of Kings.

You are worthy because He is worthy.

And I am so honored to be your mama in this season,

I wish you...

Inconvenience.

In the light of a new year, a new dawn,

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Fresh moments of grace against the bitter cold,

Photo Credit: abbners98.deviantart.com

It would be appropriate to say Cheers, Good Tidings, and May you be richly blessed.

But, I want more for you. I want more for me. I want more the hands I touch day in and day out.

I want you to see with your heart, not with your eyes, laying down your list to enter the moment.

I want you to be thirsty, not for the empty fills of this world, but for the source of hope that forever fills.

I want you to hunger, not for accomplished goals, but for the Bread of Life.

In the spaces where I'm honest, my comfort and riches have never once taken me to the brinks where I truly see, deeply thirst, or ache with actual hunger.

It has been in the journeys of grief, the annoyances of inconvenience, the places I've been required to surrender the goals I seek to attain and deny myself the riches I've been blessed with that I've discovered life.

So I wish you Life.

Not in the definition we've come to know, that our world trivializes, but the Life that cannot be taken from you, the Life that is graced to you in order to be graced to another.

The Life that allows you to be threaded into His tapestry, to declare His name to the nations,

Because His is Worthy ~

To the Man of the Hour...

You're 37 today...

How did this happen?

When we walked the laps of our apartment building 12 years ago, this was not the dream you had...

Once upon a time you told me tales of tidy control and extravagant order.

We whispered our plans and prayed, God bless.

And then you jumped.

I stood on the cliff and watched the polished man I once knew fall into the arms of his Savior with nothing to catch him.

I wondered at how he never looked back except to say, Follow me. Jump.

And suddenly, I was able to gaze past your eyes into the the heart of my greatest love, the one who bled for me.

There are days we crave comfort.

Moments we long for order.

Mornings we just want to know what the plan is.

And evenings we pray for sleep.

But as you've told me before, If we're gonna be worn out on this earth, let's be worn out for the Gospel. We have Heaven to be comfortable.

I want to be like your Savior when I grow up.

I want to my sons to be like the Redeemer they see through you.

I want our daughters to taste the hope that they were designed for more through the love you faithfully give them.

The man God's grace has allowed you to become...it quiets my soul.

Thank you for allowing me to be along for the ride.

Because I love jumping with you ~

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,

To My Warrior, Benjamin:

You're eight. Is this possible?

Your timing was perfectly designed by God, the Father of time.

Yet, from the moment you were created, your life has been an invitation for me to enter the precious dance of trust with my Father.

First, I fled. For this faith-driven dance does not come naturally to those of us who crave order, control, safe boundaries.

But His hands drew me into the pulse of His heartbeat for you, for me, for our family...rather than my own.

And your existence, your life, led me to lay down my own, surrendering to the cadence of His design.

Together we twirled, through years of sickness, needles, tests and doctors.

But you fought with the strength of a warrior...And you've never stopped fighting.

Rest, my Son.

I deeply long for your courage, your faith, your passion, your zeal...

You're marked for a purpose. Crafted for a calling. Designed to bring His glory to earth.

I am the honored one to witness your journey of discovery in the One who designed you. I'm the one gifted with the stewardship of these years; years I some days thought I would never see.

You've dared me to...

DREAM BIG.

BELIEVE BIG.

LOVE BIG.

You do nothing halfway.

You are my treasure in the moments I cradle you in my arms and whisper the God of Peace over your soul, and in the spaces where we flail, alike personalities colliding.

You hold my heart.

Thank you for drawing me to the cross of our Savior as we journey this road of family together.

I love you with all that I am.

Son, never stop...

Looking unto Jesus,

Mommy

To Our Cinderella,

You're four, now.

Balloons flood your hall, while pink and white streamers dance along your doorway.

And you twirl...faster...faster...faster, as if you're spinning to capture the taste, the elation...

Of peace.

And as you reach the peak of your movement, you just as quickly crash with the wails of a lover who has forgotten the very definition of love...

Because your definition of love is unreachable.

And you scream with the horror of men who stand among the bloody battle...

Because at four, you've survived your own war-scared battles...again, and again, and again.

So, I reach for you, striving with all that I am to hush away the symptoms, longing to rip away the roots of the darkness that haunts you...

But removing those roots would remove the very core of our Cinderella. Of the story you've been given.

I move towards your soul, steadily seeking you through your darting eyes,

And you roar with the anger of injustice that sees no remedy.

Pushing away the safety before you, you claw, tearing at your skin, but really...

You're shredding the scaly layers of your tale, searching to remember how you reached this point...

of sadness,

of loneliness,

of fear.

But you can't rip enough away to remove the pain of your soul, no matter how deeply you scrape.

And realizing this infuriates you, with a rage that was never created to be known by you...

So you turn to me, kicking, screaming, flailing against the one thing you know will cradle you when the battle is lost, when the fighting has subsided.

My taking it only makes you angrier, until you collapse. War torn and weary, you whisper,

My heart's so tired, Mommy.

And if I could, Baby, I would take the deepest cut; I would claw through the unbearable pain that haunts you in the days, and chases your dreams at night, but I can't.

I wasn't made to do that.

So I take you to the One who did it for me.

I wrap you in my arms and rock you to the whispers of, Yes, Jesus loves you. Yes, Jesus loves you.

Between your tears you cling tighter, Mommy, I'm so sorry. I just don't want to hurt anymore inside. 

Shhh...Yes, Jesus loves you...

And my heart strains to feel my Savior who is cradling me under His tender wings. My ears strive to hear the whispers of His name over my soul so that I can look into your eyes once again and tell you...

That you were never meant for this. You were made for Jesus.

I love you with all that I am, and I always will.

To the Fathers of My Heritage

Daddy,

You may have never known, but I heard you. I heard your whispered prayers outside my door each night. I felt your hand upon my head as I rested. From the top of the stairs, I watched you on your knees with your Bible open in the early mornings. I peaked into your room as I watched your hands create and paint late into the night as you scripted prayers and verses across your canvas. And the only prayer I knew to pray is that one day I would be like you. Your hands create the very creativity of God our Father, and as you see it as your passion and heart to show that to the world, I have watched you walk faithfully in hope and obedience since the moment I became your daughter. You have entered the fire time and time again, yet you have clung to the One who holds your heart. I want that faith. Every fight you have fought was to honor us, by the grace of God, and I noted every moment. Page after page of my journal begged God to one day grant me a husband who walked in faith like you. I am so humbled. Your faith has shaped me a little more into the image of my Savior. I love you so very much, and I am so proud to be called your daughter.

PawPaw Finley,

As the years pass, the memories grow hazier with step forward into the future. But you are not forgotten. When I would stay with you and Grandma, you would wake me early on Sundays while others in the house slept. We would walk the dirt road together. You sang me hymns; sometimes as you even smoked your cigarette. We would sit in the back of the church, and you would hold the blue tattered hymnal while we stood together. I felt so grown up being alone with you. I remember your smell, your small frame. The pack you kept in your front shirt pocket. The cap you always wore. The faith you had in your son - my father - when he dared to dream. I remembered the way you would tell me over and over how proud you were of Daddy. And Grandma, she loved you so deeply. I'm not sure I've ever seen love like that on this earth. I'm not sure you even knew or could understand as your health failed, but she loved you to death, and I remember thinking I wanted to be a wife like that. I think of you both often when we love these children and families who are sometimes hard to persevere with. I think of the struggles you both endured, the lives you face, the victories you shared...and it gives me the courage to love again. I remember one of my last times with you as I stroked your hand and told you stories and how much I loved you. You couldn't respond or sit up, but you silently wept. I'm so honored to be your granddaughter.

PawPaw,

There are moments when I memorize your face. I study the way you hold my sons. I watch as a little girl who has never known a safe man runs to your arms. I sometimes think I could listen to you pray every day for the rest of my life. You are a man of God, and I thank the Father every single day for the role model you are to my sons. You have been there almost every moment and event in my life, and when Jamie and I began dating, I longed for your approval. The stories you told me into the night, the books you read to me when I begged one more time...your life is woven into the tapestry of mine and my sons, and I am so incredibly grateful. You have always believed in me, listened to me, challenged me, and hoped with me. You have been a faithful picture of Jesus in my life, and that is something I carry with me each and every day. Thank you. I love you.

Jamie,

I remember sitting in Finance 302 summer session because I had failed the class twice already. I couldn't understand the teacher, and we had just become engaged. There was this moment I totally checked out and began daydreaming. I saw us, together, with a mess of kids, and as I thought of you one day being a father, I smiled and laughed out loud, to which my instructor thought I was laughing at him, and he asked me to leave.

I am in awe of who you are. I can't believe this is us. I remember the days when I didn't know if we would survive another week, the day we begged God to break us because we wanted more of Him than ourselves. He is so faithful. It is an honor to serve you, to walk with you, to follow you, to fight with you. To hear our sons say that they only want to be you when they grow up, causes me to catch my breath. To hear our foster children say that having a daddy like you is a dream come true, causes me to fall to my knees. You show me Jesus, while making me long for more of Him at the same time. Thank you for walking this life with me.

And to the One who has claimed me as His daughter and sees me robed in the righteousness of His son, I am so grateful.

Looking unto Jesus,