When It Doesn't Make Sense

We've been praying over some things for our family for the past month or so. I mean we're always praying but specifically a couple things came up unexpectedly that have thrown me off a little bit. We've had some pretty clear direction with some of our big life decisions over the last couple of years. But recently, things are happening and we are being led in a completely different direction than we set out on. As I struggled with this in prayer one day, I was reminded in my daily readings of the faith of both Abraham and Mary. Both of them were promised greatness of their children. From Abraham's child would come "descendants greater than the number of the stars" and Mary's child was to be the "great king whose reign would never end." Both parents walked alongside their children on the road to the place where they were to be killed. It couldn't have made sense, as Abraham laid his son on the table to be sacrificed, how he would possibly have any descendants. It couldn't have made sense, as Mary watched Jesus take his last breath on the cross, how a dead man might rule forever.

"I'm so confused, I know I heard you loud and clear, so I followed through, and somehow I ended up here." (lyrics from Thy Will Be Done by Hillary Scott)

I wonder if they questioned it at all. I wonder if they doubted if they really understood what God had said. If they thought they did the wrong things? I don't know what they thought, but I do know what they did: They moved. They took the steps no parent thinks they can take. They put one foot in front of the other. It appears, they had such great faith in what God could do, they trusted Him, even when it didn't make sense. And I guess that actually makes sense, because Mary becoming pregnant by the Holy Spirit "didn't make sense" either and God did that.  Abraham's wife getting pregnant  in her old age also "didn't make sense" but God did that too. So they believed God would still make his promises come true, even if they couldn't see how.

God tends to like to remind us of this concept that life comes from death. I mean, to make something grow, to make it live, we bury it. That's kind of opposite of what you'd think if you hadn't lived here your whole life right? If you were the first person on earth and trying to figure out how to bring something to life would your first thought be: lets try to cover it up with dirt and stomp on it? But God weaved this lesson into everything around us, and Jesus told us in a few ways like: "unless a grain of wheat falls upon the ground and dies, it remains just a single grain with no life. But if it dies it bears fruit." or "whoever loses his life will save it"

Sometimes it doesn't make sense at all, how burying something might make it live. How a death might bring life. And yet, we know the story. God did exactly that. One death (Jesus), gave life to all (eternity in heaven for all who chose it!). My heart is breaking for a family close by who is saying goodbye to their infant son. I was so sure he and his family were going to change the worlds idea of down syndrome and be a light for the world to see the beautiful gift it is. So this doesn't make sense.

And yet...

Even when I still can't quite see the big picture of what He's doing I trust Him to bring life out of the letting go because I've seen him do it before.  9 years ago I was burying our third baby in the ground and I had no idea how God was going to make life come from that. This week I celebrated my birthday and my NINE children gathered around the table and sang me the most beautiful happy birthday song I've ever heard. 5 live with us now, (4 adopted and 1 in foster care) and 4 (who used to live with us in foster care) join us on the weekends sometimes and all we love as our own. It's easy to see now looking back why we were led on some of the roads that didn't make sense at the time and didn't seem at all like they would lead us where we thought we were supposed to be going.

"Amen, amen, I say to you, you will weep and mourn, while the world rejoices; you will grieve, but your grief will become joy. 
When a woman is in labor, she is in anguish because her hour has arrived; but when she has given birth to a child, she no longer remembers the pain because of her joy that a child has been born into the world. So you also are now in anguish. But I will see you again, and your hearts will rejoice, and no one will take your joy away from you. On that day you will not question me about anything. Amen, amen, I say to you, whatever you ask the Father in my name he will give you. Until now you have not asked anything in my name; ask and you will receive, so that your joy may be complete." Jn 16

Its not all sunshine and roses when all 9 are home for the weekend. They're all under the age of eight. They've all been through trauma, and being together means seeing birth parents and triggering trauma feelings or memories and of course fighting for attention from 8 other siblings. I pray and hold onto the hope that I KNOW that someday He will heal all of our hearts and we will live in perfect love that we were created for. Until then, I'll keep playing referee and soaking up the 20 seconds when everyone is smiling and singing the same song around the same table. Together. Like we were always meant to be. 

This path looks differently than the one I set out to take, Jesus, and sometimes it just doesn't make sense at all, but give us faith to take the step forward when we do not understand. Take my hand. As long as I'm with You, I know I'll be right where I'm supposed to be. 
P.S. And I'll try to stop asking if we're there yet and just enjoy the journey. 

When It's Hard to Be Thankful

There's been a common theme around me this November: life has been hard. For just about every farmer fall harvest has been hard. For so many of my friends health problems have been hard. Work, relationships, so many things have been hard for so many.
And we're just entering into the hardest season in Minnesota where it's dark more than it's light and the cold isolates us and chills our bones.
Foster care has been such a blessing to our family. And lately, it has been very hard. The two sweeties we raised the last nine months transitioned home in October. Our Tiny who is now a growing two year old returned to our home in September after a difficult 11 months. The transitions of all three brings so many emotions. So much joy, so much sorrow, so much worry. The hard is in the emotions and in the day to day keeping up with everyone, communicating with social workers and birth families all while trying to provide some elements of normalcy and stability for our kids. The hard is days that end in defiant tantrums that have nothing to do with going to bed and everything to do with feeling unloved by a birth-mom, trauma memories or missing a sibling. The hard is watching my children struggle at school because of things that happened to them as infants. The hard is hearing people talk about children like they are an object to be given as a reward for good behavior or a legal piece of property with no emotions.  The hardest is that I can't fix any of it. As much as I try and think I can control it, I really can't. Little things, I can make small tiny improvements maybe. But I alone cannot fix these things that are bigger than little me.

I set these pumpkins out in early November, usually a good time to decorate with pumpkins, but this year, snow and freezing temps came early. I'm not a big fan of people skipping over thanksgiving and jumping right into Christmas, but I couldn't help thinking as I looked as these pumpkins surrounded by snow, as snow came down in blizzard fashion like it was the middle of January, that it is hard to be in thanksgiving spirit when it looks like Christmas already.


It's hard to be thankful when the snow is falling, and it's hard to be thankful when life seems so hard.
But I also decided that giving thanks when it doesn't come easy, is the best thanks of all. It's easy when life is good to list off our blessings. But when life is hard, we have to be intentional about being thankful, it might not come naturally. But if we can be intentional, we might find our blessings multiply. "Thank you for good health" becomes "thank you for caregivers, hospitals, medicine, a rare good nights sleep, a remembered note from a friend, a warm bath, a deep breath." "Thank you for a good harvest" is instead "thank you for safety, time with family, help from a neighbor, solidarity with another who is struggling, reliance on God." "Thank you for answered prayer" is instead "thank you for friends who listened and prayed yet again, for showing us we could in fact make it one more day, for strength, for courage, for all the growth hidden in hardship."  When giving thanks gets harder, it also seems there is more to be thankful for.


I can't change the weather, and I can't fix so many of the hard situations that have collided into my life. And I realize now I'm most thankful that I can't. I'm thankful He is God, and I am not. I'm thankful it's not up to me to decide the weather and I'm thankful it's not up to me to fix any of those things because I have no idea how or where to start. I am thankful I don't have to keep carrying it all, keep trying to fix it all, keep worrying about it all. I am thankful I can simply entrust it to God, do all I can and know He will do what's best.


It is hard, sometimes, often. It's not a short sprint but a marathon-type of hard and we seem to have just gotten started. A lot of days, I am not thankful. I complain. I look for a way out. The end seems a very long way away. Those days are really hard. But some days, even though its hard to be, I am thankful. I look for things to be thankful for, and I find more than I realized I had. Being thankful twists and spins hard situations into reasons for praise. Being thankful reminds me I am not God. Being thankful reminds me I am not in control. And wow am I thankful for all of those things because they bring me peace!


I know it's been a hard year for a lot of us. Praying for you this week and this next year, that when it's hard to be thankful, you can still be thankful and find that you are more blessed than ever.  

I Keep Breaking Back In

Sending cattle to pasture is one of my favorite farm activities. Not only is it great to just get them out of the yard along with their smells, flies and poop, its great to see them take off into the green grass, munching as much as they possibly can at first and then settling into a constant eating/sleeping rhythm. The calves run around and play and they all just enjoys the space, the clean place to lay and of course the delicious grass green grass.

This year, we had two calves who just couldn't make it into the pasture. Usually, calves follow their mama's anywhere, so we don't have to worry if they can get out of the fence because they won't go far from their moms. But for whatever reason, these two calves left the pasture and wouldn't go back in. One was trying, he could see his mom on the other side of the fence, but he could not figure out how to get back in. (FYI It's almost always, just the way you got out) But he just kept trying to go the most direct/quickest way, and that way was blocked. We finally, after MULTIPLE attempts, chased him away from where he wanted to go through the fence to the open gate where he could get in. And then, when he still wouldn't go through the open gate, his nervous mom ended up coming to get him and we finally were able to chase them both back inside the fence.

But THIS guy(can you find him in the shadows?)...WOULD NOT LEAVE THE PEN. I have NEVER had to chase a calf OUT of the pen. We'd open the gate wide and he'd just sit there. We'd chase him all around and he'd do whatever he could not to go through that open gate. When we finally got him through the open gate, instead of running toward the pasture, he'd dart the opposite way, run all the way around the outside of the pen, and duck back INTO the pen through the feed bunk. I have NEVER seen a calf break back into the pen. About ten times we repeated this cycle, we'd chase him out, he'd break back in. Finally we gave up, left the gate open and hoped he'd eventually get hungry or miss his mom and go looking for her. But there he sat. For hours. All day.


This pen had been his home his whole life of 2 months. This was his security, this was all he knew. Stinky and cold and damp but it was home. Outside the pen was green grass, and warm sunshine, and a warm breeze where he could nap under the shade of a tree. But he was too scared of what he didn't know. So there he sat. In his own poop. Because it was familiar.
This must be what God feels like, I thought so many times that day as I was trying to convince this stubborn calf there was something better than the pen he was clinging to so stubbornly. Paradise is waiting but we'd rather sit in our own filth. We tend to hold on, to our anger, our unforgiveness, our hurt, our bitterness, our sin. Jesus went first and flung the gate open for us on his way out to the pasture, but so often there we still sit. Too afraid to leave, too comfortable? And then, after a good long wait, he tries to chase us out. Because he loves us, and gosh there is paradise just beyond the gate, where the sun will always be on our face and our bellies will never be hungry. Where the weight of worry will never rest on our shoulders again. So he tries to chase us there by allowing things to happen in our lives to make us really think about our pen and question if it's so great after all.




We understand I think, this inability to trust when we have never seen. For someone who has never known the goodness of trusting God, it makes sense their hesitance to leave the comforts they know. But how silly once we've been to the pasture, to break back into the pen? How crazy to know what's good for you and do the opposite? 


So what am I doing? I have spent the last year angry and afraid because of what is happening to children in our child protection system, because of what happened and what might be happening to a little boy I loved as my own. I let anger and fear and refusal to trust steal so many moments of happy. I let it eat away at my relationships, I let it steal my peace, my prayer, my soul. I spent a year in that crummy, cold pen and I was finally crawling my way back to the pasture. I was finally feeling the weight of worry eased as I entrusted my worries to God. I was finally starting to forgive.
I finally surrendered Tiny and his future to God. Finally able to say "OK", I trust you know whats best for him eternally, even if it doesn't make sense to me now. I was doing well loving the people who had hurt me and hurt him.
And then, he came back. And there are a million things I want to tell you about that that I can't share but I will just say he was truly being protected by God the way it happened. I spent a week in thanksgiving just enjoying the time with him and being back together again. It was such a great place to not be worrying about him anymore and knowing that God had it under control. The sun felt so good on my face.
And then after about a week I broke back in to the pen. I took it all back. Everything I had given away to God. I grabbed back control and worry. It's ridiculous, to know what's good for you and do the opposite. But here I sit. In this yuck. How do I get out? (It's almost always the way you got in.)


But what if I really can't figure it out. What if we really know we want paradise, peace and love my heart longs for but we just aren't sure how to get there? We can see and smell peace and love and surrender on the other side of the fence but we just can't figure out how to get there from here? The only thing I keep thinking is: Follow your mama.
Calves, children, everyone knows mama's only want the best for their babies and won't lead them wrongly. How did Mary live out her life on earth? She continually surrendered to the will of God. She "pondered things in her heart". She didn't try to correct or fix or change what was being asked of her. She trusted. She spent time with Jesus. She went out about her daily life knowing each day her son's life, her life, was set for suffering. But she knew the goodness of the pasture. She trusted. I pray that you can trust like Mary today, and have the peace that comes with surrender to the will of God.
If you're really stuck, don't worry, the good shepherd will come along and try to chase you out eventually, but it would sure be easier for everyone if you would just follow your mama.

The Reason Every Day is the Best

Oh Husband,
Tomorrow we celebrate 12 years. Its hard to believe it was that long ago that the "best day of my life" was finally happening. I remember the joy of the day so clearly, how I think I smiled the whole entire day, and I never believed I would be so happy ever in my lifetime. Sometimes it feels like yesterday, and sometimes, I think about the things we've been through together and it's hard to believe it's ONLY been 12 years. But today, as I'm thinking about you and the gift you've been to me, I just want to thank God for you. Of all the incredible blessings in my life, and I have been seriously spoiled by my Father God, you are the greatest blessing of all.
You have seen me at my worst and loved me anyway. You have walked with me through so many seasons of grief. You have held my hand, and held my body up as we have laid child after child in the ground. You have prayed over them when I could not utter the words. You kept a steady, even faith through every trial we have faced. You have been the voice of reason when I am being irrational and I know you want to be too. The number of hours or probably days worth of crying you have sat with me through I cannot count. You have always been the strong one, the one who holds all the burdens of our family on your shoulders. You balance the emotions of loss and foster care and worry and things being out of our control along with providing for our family. And I know that when you walk out the door, you go to take on the burdens of your friends and your customers and your customers who have long since become friends. I see you care so deeply about their families and their success and I don't know how you possibly have anything left to give them after our family demands so much of you, but you always give everyone all you have.
What I love the most, is that after everything we've been through the last 12 years, after everything that has been placed on your shoulders, you still walk through the door every day with a smile on your face, so happy to be home. You still can walk in to a house full of crying, fighting crabby children and an even crabbier wife, and completely change the atmosphere and have us all laughing and smiling in a matter of minutes. I love that after 12 years you still have the same mischievous look in your eyes and all it takes is one look to know you still love me like crazy. I cannot figure out why. But I'll take it. Because I never would believed this if you told me twelve years ago, but tonight when you walk in the door, I will love you even more than I did back then. It will bring me even more joy than the day of our wedding to be with you. It's such an honor to be married to you, to get to walk these hard roads with you and the joyful ones.
Last week, a song came on the radio, and Little Man was dancing, and decided to slink over and climb into your lap and lay his head on your shoulder, right as the words of the song sang "you're a good, good Father." I thanked God in that moment and every day that my children get to have the best father in the world. I thanked Him that they would know who He is because you are showing them what a fathers love is supposed to be. There are so many kids in the world who have no idea what the unconditional, constant, unchanging, forgiving, protective, wise, patient love of a father is and because of that they may never know or may struggle to understand the love of their heavenly Father. But not our kids. Not all the kids you are "dad" to that don't live here anymore. They are so blessed, because you are an incredible father, and we are so lucky to be your family.

You are a man of a million talents and its fun watching you and the things you can do. I can't understand how you seem to know or figure out how to fix or build just about anything from construction to mechanics to the kids toys. And I haven't yet heard anyone else say they know someone who has come home and built a 30 foot deck in one day by themselves, so maybe you're the only actual super-dad out there. And as much as I admire all of those things, most of all, it's when you bow your head before a meal and thank God or humbly ask for patience or forgiveness that I'm confident you're the greatest man I know.
These twelve years have been full of heartache and overfull of blessing as we welcomed more children in heaven than we can count, adopted 4, have 5 living under our roof right now (except for that one crazy month where there were 7!!), 4 that live under another roof but we love as our own and sometimes parent on the weekends, and others who have only stayed a few days. We've started a new business, purchased a farm, had 5,678 fights about money and who left their shoes in front of the door and who works too much and who should take out the garbage (FYI, you've forgotten the last 195 days). We've been handed children unexpectedly and we've had children taken unexpectedly. But everyday, every struggle, every joy, you have been there, and that has been the greatest blessing of all. No matter what happens the next twelve, the next fifty, I will be blessed because I get to live them out with you. And every day, everything we encounter, has been another opportunity to grow, and makes me love you even more. So tomorrow, 12 years later, I'm living out the best day of my life all over again. And I'll do it again next week. Thanks for making every day the best one yet (unless we're going to look at the farm books...then we're probably going to have a nice fight and not talk until morning.) Ok...even days we kindly and politely (right!?) discuss our farming business, those are the best days too. Love you!

How Does a Mother Grieve

It's been 8 months already. I can hardly type that much less say it out loud. The fact that life has gone on when the world seemed to end for us seems so incredibly wrong. And yet that's the reality. Life did keep moving. Days go on but he is not here anymore, his crib is empty and the whole house aches for his laugh, his beautiful smile, his happy spirit. And he thinks we left him. He will carry the hurt of that abandonment his whole life. That is the hardest part. The absolute best way to torture a mother is to make her watch her child suffer. (Mother of Jesus, pray for us!)
I am angry. Anger that I work and pray daily to overcome because it has stolen my peace and spirit of kindness.
And I am so sad, a broken shell of a person really. I could cry all day, every day, and it would not be enough.
But I am mother. I can not possibly stop to cry all day. Sometimes I sneak in a quick 2 minutes in the bathroom, and then someone is needing me. Someone is fighting over their favorite book and none of the 200 others we have will substitute. I am not ready to stop crying, but I dry my eyes and go read the book to them both.
How does a mother grieve? Because all the experts say it's not healthy to suppress grief but they aren't exactly lining up to cook my family meals and clean my house while I cry an oceans worth of tears and look through photos and remember the good times. And even if they were, my grieving children need their mother, they lost their brother and shouldn't have to lose their mother too.
Except sometimes it feels like they did. That person I used to be I just can't be anymore, no matter how hard I try.
But the laundry still piles up and demands to be washed, the dishes follow suit. The kids still need rides to school, and help with homework, and to get signed up for summer sports. Life keeps happening even though I am in no shape to handle it.  There isn't a choice when you're a mother.
But in order to function in this life that demands me I must live in a state of denial or numbness. This allows me to function, to get out of bed and do the dishes and fold the laundry and make meals, but its a counterfeit way of living really. When you're numb, you don't feel bad or good emotion. Its how I survived, but its not how I want to become my normal.
So I know, I need to grieve.
But how does a mother grieve a child who's still alive? That's a question for another post I think.
How does a mother grieve? Slowly, I think. A little at a time. To a mother, who feels so deeply, who loves so completely, the reality of the loss of a child threatens to be too much for our hearts to handle. So I feel it in small doses. For only a few fleeting moments, and then pack it away if I can. But I have to be sure, to come back to it. I don't want to. I remember how much it hurts to let my heart go to that place where I admit its real, it happened, it's over. I don't look through photos, I can hardly say his name without going to that place. So often I just don't. But a mother needs to, I know, because a mother can't keep running on auto pilot, barely scraping by with her duties while life barrels full speed ahead.
This is hard, because even though we want to pack away our grief, it doesn't mean it's cleanly away until we reach for it again, it just means I don't allow myself to feel the full extent of it all the time. It's always there.
Grief colors everything, I read somewhere. Was it Harry Potter? Someone wise anyway said its like putting on a pair of colored glasses. Everything in life, everything you see or do takes on new meaning because of this grief. And I think that meaning can be dark, and grief can make everything hard or sad. But I believe it could also color everything with light, the hope of eternal life. That if something this terrible exists, surely it refocuses us that our hope is not in this world but in the next. Surely this grief, this reality of the hurt of this little boy and all my children and of my husband and myself, all of it only makes sense in the light of Jesus. That what happens here is not the end. Wow have we messed up this world with our "let me do it my way" attitudes, and how patient is our God to comfort us each time. We see in our messes and prayers of desperation that seem to go unanswered that God isn't concerned with an outcome here, with making our lives perfect here, but instead he is concerned whether or not we (and so many others who touch our lives) choose heaven. Seen through this lens, its easier to endure hardship. Easier to overcome obstacles, easier to keep moving forward. Grief colors everything. As the scriptures read today at mass proclaim, "let the dead bury their dead." Lk 9:60. Death most of all should remind us to stop looking backward, or downward, and set our hands to the plow (read Lk 9:62) to the work we've been called to do and look forward, upward. So often, we can't take our focus off of the ground where someone lays dead and decaying to see them in their glory up above where they belong.
I know it's not always that easy. We can't just tell ourselves to "get over it" when a loss is so large.


In my 34 years I have been overall very healthy. These last few months I have been more sick and in pain than ever before. I got a bacterial infection that put me on the couch for 5 days. I started having lower back pain that made it impossible to sleep longer than a few hours at night at a time. And then I fell down the stairs and popped three ribs out of place that made it difficult to move at all. My foot has developed a weird pain that gets worse each day and makes it difficult to walk or run. Each given day I seem to have some type of pain and I've noticed just how difficult pain makes the easiest things. Well, sleeping, for example, didn't used to be difficult at all for me. But bending over to pick up toys, picking up a child,  carrying loads of laundry, pretty much every action I do all day long is affected by this pain.
Just like that physical pain, the emotional pain of grief is always there. Pain makes everything that used to be simple very difficult or even impossible. And I push through it and try to change the way I do things to make them less painful. And I pray I'm not like this forever. That I can go back to easily picking things up off the floor. And chasing the kids in a game of tag. And I dream that someday I might be able to run a few miles again.
Right now it feels like my body might not ever do that again. And yet, forever is a very long time. I have to believe (hope) that I will get better. That SLOWLY I will regain some of those things back. That eventually I will walk without pain, or at least with a normal gate. That eventually, I will chase and even be able to catch them. That someday, a morning run will be a normal thing for me again and the freedom and joy that accompanies it.
And if I believe that, then I also have to believe the same of my heart. That I will regain a spirit of positivity and love and joy. That I will again see the good in the world. That there will be days when I won't feel anger or hurt and experience the freedom and joy that accompanies a heart filled with peace.
Sometimes injuries are temporary and we heal completely. Sometimes injuries are more severe and it takes longer to heal, sometimes we never fully heal. Reality in this world, is that every day I'm getting older, and chances are there will be a day when I run for the last time. I hope that's a very long time from now, but at some point it will be true.
Some emotional hurts in this life cut so deep, injure us so badly, it seems impossible that we will ever fully heal, ever be back to our original state.
And that's probably the hardest part about grief, the fear that we will be like this forever.
But that would be a world without Jesus, without the Holy Spirit. In our world, the reality is that our God is alive and living with us and the promise He left us with is that there is absolutely no wound that He cannot heal. That "His power is made perfect in our weakness" 2 Cor 12:9. Not only heal, but USE this grief to bring about His glory. He promised in this hardest moment, worst version of ourselves, most helpless and weak time in our lives He will do His best work. SLOWLY. The best work happens slowly, just look at creation, look at a two hundred year old tree.
Right now, I don't feel like I will ever run again, and I don't feel like I will ever be the joyful mom, wife, friend that I used to be. But I believe, I believe You will heal me. I believe that even from this nightmare that every mother fears, I believe You can make even this beautiful. And I really can't wait to see you do it.

I took this photo of my friends daughter praying after her aunt was suddenly taken at a young age in a car accident and led by the spirit texted her the title of the song "Look Up Child" by Lauren Daigle. Its a good soundtrack for you today if you're grieving. This grief you're experiencing might be bringing people to their knees at the foot of the cross, and if it is, then God's hand is on it, and everything is exactly as it's supposed to be.
"Those who hope (wait for) the Lord will renew their strength, they will soar on eagles wings, they will run and not grow weary, walk and not grow faint. Is 40:31
I believe. We will run again mamma. I believe.

You are My Sunshine

It's spring in Minnesota and this year all it does is rain. Every day. Cloudy, rainy, cold. The sun only peaks out about every 5 days or so for a few moments. The cows are getting stuck in the mud. Hardly anyone can plant their crops, and those that do are planting in the mud and praying they will still grow. And our bodies that craved the sunshine and warmth all through that longer-than-anyone-can-remember winter are still left wanting.
Our two littles are visiting their mom for two days. I was looking forward to being able to tackle some projects, fight with my washing machine and re-find the living room floor. And I have gotten so much done. I went to bad last night and still had energy left, what a weird feeling!! But the house is quiet. And even though it's easier, there's less joy.
Babies are so demanding, needing to be fed more often, held more often, played with instead of running off to play on their own. Its hard to take them anywhere, they get into everything, I'm constantly chasing them. They need sippy cups and outfit changes and of course those stinky diapers no one likes. But oh they are the joy of the family. I truly believe. This is why big families seem more jolly. Its one of those things you don't realize until it's gone suddenly. The way they find joy in the simplest things, in everything really. The way they love with their whole entire selves.
This is Gods gift to us, sunshine even on the cloudiest day. Amidst the brokenness and hurt of this world he sends a reflection of Himself, pure and ready to burst with joy and love and wanting to give it all to us. Can't see Him through the clouds? Don't worry, He's still there, and just to be sure we know here's a giggling baby playing peekaboo or even a teething baby who only wants to be held and go everywhere we go. This is His love sent down to us.
And oh how we need it. As badly as we all need the sun to shine, we need these little people in our lives to show us who God is and how He loves us when we have forgotten. To brighten our spirits and give us hope. To bring joy, sunshine to the endless string of cloudy days.
We forget this though. We see stinky diapers, and sticky floors and missed work opportunities and fill in the blank. And we wonder why every day is cloudy. And He longs to share His sunshine with us if only we would accept it.
All across our country we are in crisis, the news says. Millenials aren't saving enough money, Baby Boomers didn't plan well for retirement, and the worst problem of all, no one is having babies anymore and there aren't enough people for the workforce and to keep the economy strong. And God keeps wanting to send His love into our lives. He keeps pursuing us, keeps trying to break through the clouds. But we tend to run, to say "No" to His good gifts. We good Christians even, who have better things to do, long lists, things to accomplish, clean houses to feel good about, "enough" other children to care for. And yet, when the house is all clean, the sky is still cloudy. He keeps pursuing, He keeps giving himself to us in so many ways, but oh the sunshine that's waiting to burst into our lives if we would accept this gift He's waiting to give. And we won't get anything done, and the house will be a mess and our career will be on hold and if we're lucky we'll realize none of that matters as long as the sun is shining. Because can we ever have "enough" sunshine. Will there ever be too many children, too much Jesus in the world, in our lives?
You are my sunshine little ones. From the moment you entered our life more than 8 years ago there has not been a day that has been too gray. Thank you God for sending us sunshine, even on a cloudy day.

I Care: The Award that You Deserve

8 years ago Dan and I fell into the role of foster parents. Truly, I think we had always talked about adopting even before our miscarriages, but we never really considered fostering. And then Nathaniel landed in our laps, and we started doing foster parent classes and before we knew it, we had accidentally found our calling. What sometimes looks heroic from the outside, is really just incredibly simple. Things that God asked of us that we said yes to. They aren't always "normal" I suppose, but aren't always "impossible" either.
A few months ago, I got a call from a social worker at the MSSA, informing us that we were selected as Foster Family of the Year for the State of Minnesota. It is an incredible honor. And in the least disrespectful way, it also felt like a sucker-punch in the gut. Here are the thoughts swirling in my brain as I'm trying to digest the information from this call and not sound like a complete idiot.
First, clearly this committee has not met me in person...People who know us in person will laugh at us receiving this award. I mean, my friend and I used to argue over which of us was the winner of the "worst mom of the year" title. I am surely much closer to winning that one, maybe the numbers got mixed up?
Second, this is the sucker-punch part, we just said a painful good-bye to the 13 month old son we raised from birth. We are still grieving. We are in that post-transition "we hate foster care" phase and you have chosen this moment to say "sorry for your loss but here's an award to make you feel better."  Obviously, the selection committee didn't know about our loss and giving us an award was not meant to inflict pain. But our current situation made it hard not to feel a little hurt like an award was meant to fill the hole left by his absence in our family.
Third, part of the nomination included our "adopting a child with special needs." This always throws me off because Bella is so incredibly normal to me. I just don't feel like she has special needs. And I know when people make me really think about it I realize that she's not talking much yet at age 4 and she still needs more medical care and more help with some things, but I would guess those that know her well would agree that she's pretty much just a normal kid.
And maybe that's really the bottom line of my hesitation with this award. It hasn't ever felt to us that anything we have done has been extraordinary. Ok, I know taking in 3 babies who turned into 3 one year olds, parenting 3 toddlers, and now having 6 kids is not everyone's idea of normal. But what I mean is what might seem impossible from far away, really gets very simple when faced with a decision to care about someone. And when that decision quickly turns into life as you know it, you find yourself doing something you used to look at from afar and think you could never do.
Of course, I know when I take a step back that being foster and adoptive parents is different in a lot of ways. I know we deal with birth families, and lots of questions and hurt feelings, effects of trauma and abuse and drug and alcohol exposure, and of course the eternal unknown and worry of "will I be able to protect this child who has come to trust me to do just that?"
But those things all slowly just became our normal. And a lot of other foster and adoptive parents deal with those things with much more skill and grace than we do.
I didn't tell many people about the award. I suppose because it seems a little silly to us to be honored for doing something we consider so normal, and maybe we feel a little undeserving, and maybe a little bit because of that sucker-punch piece as well. But I'm sharing it tonight, well because it got posted on facebook and I can't keep it a secret anymore...but also because I realize the very ordinary reason we won this award and the plea I'd like to make for you to join us.

The only thing we did to win this award was CARE. We just care about the kids who are strangers when we get a phone call, and need to become our family when they enter the door. Kids don't just need food and water and a roof over their heads. They need a family. They need parents who care about them and care about what happens to them and look out for them. And Dan and I have done this, have loved kids as our own, have seen them for who they really are, individual and unique and so important to the world. We have been protective of them and advocated for what's best for them. But isn't that completely normal? Wouldn't you do the same if faced with the situation?
I think a lot of you already do. I've written before about the importance of the support system of a foster family. So many of you are the reason we can care about children, because you love us first, we can love them. Because you welcome them into our extended families, and babysit extra kids, and hold them on your laps at church, pray for them and truly care about what happens to them, they are well cared for.
In March, two more kids joined our family. My heart isn't ready and someone else would surely be able to give them more time. But there is such a great need for foster families. For others who will care. I know that you do, or that you would, if the phone was ringing in your house instead of mine. But it is one thing to feel like we care, and another to ACT like we care. Can you take a baby step and do a foster care class to see what it's all about? Or read about it: try this article Ten Questions Couples Should Ask before Becoming Foster Parents
Can you commit to being a solid relationship for someone who doesn't have anyone else? (even kids who experience extremely difficult home environments can do well if they have just one consistent adult who cares about them). Can you care enough to offer a kind word, a prayer or a hand to someone who is struggling? When we received our award, the keynote speaker, a Suicide survivor, Kevin Hines spoke of his hope that even one stranger would ask him if he was ok before his suicide attempt. Did everyone that saw him that day not care? Or were they just afraid?
I reflected on this a lot in the middle of Holy Week. There were so many people who cared about Jesus, so many people who loved him and followed him. Where were they when he was being beaten? Did they stop caring about him? The ones he healed? What happened to them? Did they really not care? Or were they just afraid?
Fear seems to hinder caring often. We fear change, fear the unknown, fear the million things that might go wrong, fear how helping someone else might hurt us, fear making a mistake or failing, and we are so very afraid of what others might think.
Please stop to consider today, if the devil is working hard to make you fearful of something, it might be he is very afraid of what might happen if you succeed.
There is a great need in Pipestone County and a lot of other counties for families who will care about children. There is a great need in our world for people that will care about the people they encounter throughout their day. Would you take these sweet hands if they reached out to hold yours? Of course you would!!

Dan and I don't do anything extraordinary. We simply care. You do too. For those of you who are our incredible support system, you are the ones who really deserve the award. We could not love these children if we weren't first loved by you. And your prayer, helping hands and constant words of encouragement and understanding are the only reason we can continue. For those of you who are feeling any inclination toward caring for children in need, trust me, if Dan and I can do it, you probably can too. Probably better. Likely a lot better. Read that article I linked above even if you have doubts, it addresses a lot of them. And finally, remember what Jesus said? "Let the children come to me and do not prevent them, for the kingdom of heaven is found in such as these."