“For the Lord God is a sun and shield; the Lord will give grace and glory; no good thing will He withhold from them that walk uprightly.”
PSALM 84:11

It’s simultaneously flattering and terrifying that I have a daughter who wants to be just like me. She sees the worst of me, along with the best. My biggest failures are most often toward those who I love the most: my husband and my daughter. I’ve had to ask her forgiveness so many times. She’s always gracious to forgive. She teaches me. When she offends me, I want to be mad; I want her to know that I’m mad. On the contrary, when I’ve lost my temper with her, she responds to my apologies with so much grace. “It’s OK, Mommy. Everyone makes mistakes sometimes. You just try again.”
The other day I was heading out to take care of the chickens. She asked, “Mommy, can I follow you?” She hurried to put her shoes on so she could shadow me on my chores. If I’m working, she wants to work. If I’m vacuuming, she wants to vacuum. If I’m cooking, she wants to cook. If I throw a fit when I’m mad, she throws a fit when she’s mad. If I bark commands at her, she barks commands at me (or others). If I sing and dance in worship, she sings and dances in worship. If I feel sick, she feels sick. When I see how much she wants to be like me, I’m humbled. I’m desperate to be more like Jesus so when she emulates me, she’s emulating Him.
Jesus, help me to be like You. Help me to love my daughter well. Help me to be on her side and to model love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, gentleness, faithfulness and self-control.
My faith is what motivates my actions. By faith in Jesus Christ, I am adopted into the family of God, a daughter of the most High King, just as if born by blood. By faith I stepped out into the dark, unknown of foster care believing that God would take my feeble, insufficient attempts to make a difference and turn it into something so much greater than I could ever do. I love because He first loved me. I serve as if I’m serving Him:
“Then the King will say to those on his right, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.’ … ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’” (Matthew 25:34-36, 40)
Foster care and adoption have stretched me (ouch!) and grown my faith more than anything ever had before. I’ve never had to rely so heavily on faith to get through day-by-day challenges, grief, sorrow and unknowns as I have the past three years. It’s been the hardest thing and the most rewarding thing. For brief moments I’ve had the privilege of feeling the weight of God’s broken heart for His hurting people—it’s a crushing weight and those instances have made me very thankful He carries it for us. My life used to be pretty comfortable and relatively easy. Sometimes I miss those days. But when I look back at how much I’ve learned about the character of God, His heart, His love for His children… I wouldn’t trade that for a trouble-free life. Knowing what I know now, I can never go back.
I wrote this a few months ago for an adoption share on Instagram and I wanted to share it here.
We found out after court on Monday that Firefly will likely be returning to his biological parents tomorrow. I don’t feel confident that it’s the best thing for him. With our last two placements (Buzz and Bee) it was much easier to let go, knowing they’d be going back to good care. I just feel like there are a lot of unknowns this time plus he’s still so small and vulnerable. It’s completely out of our hands. Would you pray with us that Firefly’s safety is a top priority for all involved, that he gets good care and lots of love? He’s gained almost 3 pounds in his 4 weeks with us but he’s still just 6 weeks old and not quite to his due date. I’m really thankful that we could be there for him from his release from the NICU until now. I think we gave him a good strong start in life. We sure do love this little guy and all three of us are going to miss him a ton. I’m wavering between sadness, anger, peace, wondering what’s next for our family, and fear for his safety.
I’ve been singing this song nonstop. Pain is no measure of His faithfulness…
“But God doesn’t call us to be comfortable. He calls us to trust Him so completely that we are unafraid to put ourselves in situations where we’ll be in trouble if He doesn’t come through.” — Francis Chan from Crazy Love: Overwhelmed by a Relentless God

(You’re welcome to share, pin, use this graphic but please keep the tiny watermark in the corner that credits the creator of the graphic.)
I haven’t read Orphan Justice yet but I love this quote:
“To love is to risk. Opening your home to a foster kid will be emotionally difficult. It’s inconvenient. It’s hard. It’s messy. It’s exhausting. I guarantee it.
But all too often, selfishness keeps us from taking care of these children. Somewhere along the way, in our concern for an easy, happy, comfortable life, we may be missing the heart of the gospel — to seek and save the lost, to reach out to the forgotten and the oppressed, to love sacrificially, and to pour our lives out so that others can catch a glimpse of Jesus.
If the only reason we refuse to get involved in foster care is because ‘it is too hard emotionally’ or ‘we can’t handle saying goodbye,’ we may need to repent of self-absorption. We must ask ourselves the question: Do we truly love our neighbor as we love ourselves? What if a foster child is the ‘neighbor’ that God has brought into our path to love?” —Johnny Carr, Orphan Justice
People who consider foster parenting are often concerned about “getting too attached” to their foster children. But what is the alternative? To only half-love them? I’m already head over heels for our new foster son. I’m not afraid of getting too attached. I’m a grown up; I can survive having my heart broken. He’s an innocent, precious treasure; he needs and deserves to be loved with abandon.
It’s firefly time of year in Nashville. Every evening as the sun is going down, we finish up our popsicles or ice cream cones and scramble around the yard trying to catch the little lightning bugs to put in our mason jar. I was a summer baby and I’ve always loved summer.
Things have been pretty quiet around here. I just finished up some big deadlines at work and a freelance project that had been on and off for months. On Thursday afternoon when Ali was napping and I was all caught up on work, I stepped out onto the back patio to enjoy a cup of tea. It had been rainy so I stayed close to the backdoor where it was dry and I tossed sliced raw almonds to my silly hens. It was a beautiful, restful moment. I wanted to capture it. Ashley Ann wrote a post a few months ago about drinking coffee (or tea) with two hands, savoring it instead of multitasking. That’s what I was doing.
Right in that moment of peace, my phone rang. It was DCS placement asking if we could take a newborn baby boy who was being released from the hospital that day. Without hesitation, Jason and I said yes. Firefly arrived at our house 90 minutes later. He’s the tiniest little person I’ve ever met, a preemie at just 5 pounds. He is precious and delightful. He smells like Heaven. He sleeps about 23 hours a day. He is by far the easiest foster placement we’ve ever had. We have no idea what the future holds for him and us at this point. I’m savoring him, holding on with both hands, just like that warm cup on a rainy afternoon.
When I was struggling with anger, grief and justice recently, a thoughtful friend shared an encouraging note along with this song “Open My Hands” by Sara Groves. It spoke deeply to my soul, especially the two lines above. I hope it encourages you. Psalm 84:11 says For the Lord God is a sun and shield: the Lord will give grace and glory: no good thing will he withhold from them that walk uprightly.
“Open My Hands” by Sara Groves
I believe in a blessing I don’t understand
I’ve seen rain fall on wicked and the just
Rain is no measure of his faithfulness
He withholds no good thing from us
No good thing from us, no good thing from us
I believe in a peace that flows deeper than pain
That broken find healing in love
Pain is no measure of his faithfulness
He withholds no good thing from us
No good thing from us, no good thing from us
I will open my hands, will open my heart
I will open my hands, will open my heart
I am nodding my head an emphatic yes
To all that You have for me
I believe in a fountain that will never dry
Though I’ve thirsted and didn’t have enough
Thirst is no measure of his faithfulness
He withholds no good thing from us
No good thing from us, no good thing from us
I will open my hands, will open my heart
I will open my hands, will open my heart
I am nodding my head an emphatic yes
To all that You have for me
No good thing from us
No good thing from us
He withholds no good thing from us
I will open my hands, will open my heart
I will open my hands, will open my heart
I am nodding my head an emphatic yes
To all that You have for me
I’m back. I’ve had a good rest with time to reflect and refocus as it pertains to my family, my work and this ole blog here. I love this space and I’ve missed writing. In the next few weeks expect some cute kid pictures, home projects, chicken randomness, wise words (written by people smarter than me) and the usual rambling. I’m starting here: This post called The Gospel of Entitlement was shared the same day I got the dreaded news about Alianna’s baby sister—that she would not be joining our family. These words are perfect for how I felt:
I’m angry because this isn’t fair.
I’m angry because this doesn’t seem just.
I’m angry because this isn’t what I signed up for.
I’m angry because doors opened and God moved all for this?
I’m angry because we obeyed and now we’re hurt.
I’m angry because I feel like we deserved a good ending to our yes to Jesus.
Gross stuff of the heart, y’all.
At the core of it all, there is a part of me that believes in this weird gospel of entitlement mentality. I stepped out in faith. I said yes. I obeyed. Therefore I’m entitled for it to work. I deserve a happy ending. I have a right to it. Because THAT’S written on how many pages of the Bible?