A Prayer for the New Year

Everyone has or will have a story. When you are in the middle of yours, you wonder...has the world always been like this? It is not until you are personally affected that you finally glimpse the depths of tragedy present in our world. When tragedy's black, gnarly fingers reach out and scratch your own, perfect piece of the world, you only then begin to notice the mark it has left on others. As I look back over the years, I see how far my family has come and how strong we've grown to be. The moment the world stops spinning for you and your mind forgets how to breathe and time stands still and tragedy introduces itself to your life with a hard knock, there is a domino effect. My family and I have advanced through stages of grief and are now in the healing process. On many days, I can tell my story without crying. I can recall memories and smile.  I believe that a huge part of our story, part of the domino affect, is how my family has grown in our walk with Christ.

I can only speak for me, but I can say that I now see, think about, and consider other people's stories. One of the most profound things that I have came to realize is that there is a whole, entire planet of hurting people. Many with stories far worse than mine. I've spent a lot of quiet time devoted to thinking about how big our world is and how small I am. I believe that this is important. It had a direct affect on my prayer life in that I realized I am only a small piece of a very big puzzle. And in the same instance that I can revel at the magnitude of humanity, I can also know without a shadow of a doubt that Christ was thinking of me on Calvary. That fact astounds me.

We are not puppets. Often, as a little girl, I wondered why God let Eve take fruit from that tree when I knew He had the power to stop her. I can remember the day that I came to my own realization: if we (Adam & Eve) had never chosen to eat from the tree of knowledge of good and evil, than we (Adam generation) would have never had free will. That historical moment established the choice of "good or evil" to be posed to every individual of the Adam generation. What glory would God get, if we did not have to consciously choose Him? And because of the free will that He gave us, we make our own choices. Choices that have consequences and effects and ripples. Disease, suffering, pain, sorrow and death are plentiful and powerful and no amount of prayer is going to erase that in the carnal sense. However, and this is a big however, believing in the life of Jesus Christ -our Savior who was born of a virgin, murdered for our sins, and resurrected for our hope- can and will put an end to sin's destruction in your spiritual life. When you believe in Him and submit to Him as Lord of your life, you will be made new and the promise and hope of Heaven will be yours.

So, the prayer for salvation is the single most important and precious prayer ever uttered. It is the only prayer a sinner is capable of praying. It causes the angels to rejoice. And after that prayer, well prayer becomes our gateway for conversation with our Creator. The fact that we are even given the opportunity and the promise that He -the Almighty- hears us, humbles me speechless.


Here's my personal prayer for the new year:

Heavenly Father, 

It is my prayer as we enter another year of life on this Earth that continues to grow further and further away from You, that You grant me the grace to remember that though Christians may lose battles, You have already won the war. Remind me to choose joy daily and let my light shine so that others will see You in me. Let me run my race with endurance. Have mercy on me and mine, that we may continue to grow our faith in our walk with You and seek Your face. Let our lives be a testimony of Your Love. Give us a passion for Your Word and the strength to apply it to our lives.  Forgive us for our shortcomings and our pride of life. Remember we are but flesh. Continue to strengthen my marriage so that the enemy has no room to come between us. Help us seek Your will in everything we do so that You may direct our paths. May we glorify You with our choices. Each day of 2016, help me strive to become Christ-like, put on my armor, take up my cross, and follow You. Though I desire Your favor and hand of mercy, when the bad days and trials come, help us remember that the God of the day is also God of the night. Though the events of the new year are uncertain, Your unconditional and unchanging love for us is not. I thank you for another year of life lived and lessons learned. Thank you for all the blessings we do not deserve. Thank you for both answered and unanswered prayers. I pray, Father, that you continue to work on me and my husband and use us in a powerful way to further Your Kingdom. Help us keep You as the center of our lives and marriage. Humble us so that You may be exalted. Help us praise You in our storms and know that it is well with our soul. 

It is in Jesus' precious name that I pray, 

Amen. 

Seasons

My typical Saturday afternoon involves lesson planning, TPT surfing, checking emails, doing laundry, changing sheets, doing dishes, catching up on my DVR, and picking out my clothes for the week (yes, the entire week), and just generally trying to get things in order for another go at it.

I've always struggled with anxiety; always. Granted, it was much, much worse before I began walking with Christ. Though my faith helps, I am still "me" in that I am an over analyzing, worry-wart, type A, planner. 

Even now, chilling in my yoga pants, clickin' on my Mac, binge watching Teen Mom & Chrisly Knows Best to the sound of clothes tumbling in the dryer, I feel a little anxious about the way the leaves on the trees looked so different this weekend....mostly yellow slipping in, but I know orange and deep red come next...before they all fall to the ground.  

One of the things I worry about, even though I know it does no good, is time slipping away.

The saying goes, if you don't like the weather in Kentucky just wait a few minutes...

The changing seasons keep me in check. 

It's not that I am afraid of the end of my time on this earth. I've done my meditating on death and I'm at peace with the concept. I know everyday is a gift and no one is promised a tomorrow.

I just worry that I'm not being present enough in life's daily routines. I know how nothing seems to change and then you look around one day and everything is different. It's too easy to spend time missing the way things were or wishing they'd be better in the future. And I'm worried that I'll spend too much time doing that. I see the gray in my Momma's hair and the white in my Dad's beard. My niece and nephew just keep getting taller. And although, I know I was only born in the 90's, I've still lived to see a lot of change.

My parents, sister, niece and nephew, and I spent Saturday at Camden Park. On the way to the park, Mom told stories of trips made in earlier years. I love hearing stories about the high school sweet hearts. While my sister and I held the kids tightly as the log climbed its way up the water bed, we noticed Mom and Dad sitting on a bench below...snapping their first selfie on my mom's new iPhone, which is the first cellphone she's ever had that hasn't qualified as ancient.  I took my own mental pictures all day. I snapped a pic of my dad with his hat on backwards on the tilt-a-whirl smiling so big he looked like a boy. I snapped a pic of Mom riding a horse on the carousel going up and down and around and around; a lot like life. I snapped a pic of Lexi and Colton holding ice cream cones trying to remember their sticky smiles marked by tiny and missing teeth.

The chipped, fading paint made it evident that the park wasn't what it use to be. But it still serves its purpose of allowing families to roam around and laugh together. And though no one else at the park knew, nor did we mention it ourselves, but the four us were accomplishing a big feat. A feat is something that requires strength and courage. Spending a day together at a park, laughing, playing, enjoying each other, and being happy is a feat. Allowing the happiness and the laughter and the joy does takes courage and strength...when you're doing it with one less. When you're missing someone.

I'm proud of my parents and how brave they are. They are so strong. And I know their strength comes from the Lord. It is the same strength that will get me through the time I live on this earth without them one day, if the Lord blesses me to live long enough.

I hear my husband and his new buddies from Physical Therapy school shout from the living room and it brings me back to reality. They are watching the Kentucky Wildcats play football and my husband's hope for that team is one thing that will never change.

It's scary and exciting to think about how Andrew and I are really at the beginning of our own adventure of for better or for worse. And who knows what will unravel, how God will use us, and what storms we will weather.  I guess the not knowing is the exciting and the scary part.

At any rate, we have one more summer under our belt. This past week saw the first official day of Fall. I have pumpkin patch dates, fall festivals, and pumpkin painting marked in my October.

I pray that with each day I chase Christ, choose joy, relish the moment, and go to bed with a thankful heart.

I Teach, What's Your Superpower?

I am one of the few that get to wake up in the mornings and head to a job that also happens to truly be my hobby, passion, and calling. 

Now I know, just as well as any other teacher in America, that our job is hard work. I'm talking wear a cape save the world kind of hard work. 

I think you can compare teachers to doctors in a lot of ways... 

• We are NEVER truly off the clock. 
• We can't help but to bring our work home with us. 
• What we do truly does have the potential to change lives. 
• We have to fear getting sued and are constantly trying to keep everyone happy. 
• During the work day we must walk fast and talk fast. Never mind bathroom breaks-those are novelties our schedules do not include. 
• It's impossible to go a day without getting stains on our clothes. 
• The food our facility serves is terrible, but it's not like we have time to sit down and eat it anyways. 
• We spent tons of time and money getting through school and taking exams, we're professionals, yet when it comes right down to the big things- our opinion doesn't really matter; ultimately, it's up to the parents. 
• We're on our feet all day, must remain professional, and are consequently under a lot of stress. 

And it would honestly just be insulting your intelligence if I felt it necessary to point out the big difference, right? Because everyone knows that doctors...get more CREDIT. That's right. That's what I'd choose to harp about. Not the fact that they live well above middle class and can afford the finer things of life while many teachers become masters at budgeting and clearance-scouting and live pay check to pay check. (Ok, I had to harp on that a little.) But seriously, that's the least of my complaints. What gets me-- what really ruffles my feathers-- is the fact that doctors receive a lot more appreciation. It's not that they get it that bothers me, because they deserve it. It's just that we don't get it so much. 


Teaching is seriously so h-a-r-d. 

It's not the lesson planning or the faculty meetings or the mounds of papers or the extracurricular activities we must participate in outside of our "8 hour" day. No, those things are easy, peasy. It's not the sore feet or the stretched bladders.(I actually think bladder holding becomes one of our super powers.)It's not the fact that we become the focus of many observations and are subject to constant constructive criticism. And ya know what, it's not even the parents that make our job so hard.  

That's right. I can even look past the fact that parents expect us to work miracles with a child that is receiving no schedule, structure, help, or support of any kind at home. Or the fact that parents expect us to remember that little Johnny is getting picked up by Aunt June whose visiting from Florida (and is in fact NOT on the pick up list) and that Sally Sue has to be allowed to go to the bathroom 248 times a day because she has never been told no in her life has a Dr.'s note and that it's Billy Bob's Birthday so his mom will be bringing in cupcakes...except she's one short, no make that two, because I just remembered that Sally Sue can't eat foods that contain gluten. I'm alright with the fact that we must become sticky note queens and accommodate all at the drop of a hat.  

There's so much pressure that comes from knowing you are the sole adult responsible for educating twenty-five 7-8 year olds for 180 days. (Unless you have been the only adult in a room with twenty-five 7-8 year olds for more than 10 minutes, you can't begin to even guess what 180 days feels like.)On top of teaching them how to read and write and compute and to think logically, we also must nurture their souls, feed their confidence, and prepare them to be upstanding citizens. 

There's so much talent involved in finding the balance between teaching the mind and teaching the heart. And to me, that's it- that's the hardest part. 

"The powers that be" constantly change programs and techniques and resources and insist that we keep up to speed and implement appropriately. We have the ever looming standards that we teach like crazy in attempts to "cover" them all and the end-of-the-year test that we are constantly prepping our kids for along with the fundamental challenge of ensuring that all students can be successful in the succeeding grade. But at the very same time, right in the middle of all those challenges, we have the other side of the coin. We must remember the kids in our room that come from broken homes, that face problems we may never fully know about. We must remember that just as much as we're there to teach kids how to skip count, we're needed to feed the hungry child, hug the smelly child, protect the abused child, and contact help for the lice infested head... We must remember to be patient, encouraging, calm, and did I mention patient? So while we are in the middle of an observation and are trying to teach our kiddos to subtract two digit numbers with regrouping (even though we are using a "new" method that parents won't understand), we have to remember not to raise our voice or become impatient when Little Johnny keeps looking at the clock (because he's anxious to see his aunt) and Billy Bob keeps raising his hand to ask if it's snack time (because he's excited his mom made cupcakes) and Sally Sue keeps going to the bathroom (because, well, maybe she really does have an issue). You must remain patient and speak sweetly even though all those incidents mean that your principal is now scoring you low in the category of student engagement and you'll probably have to set through Professional Development in attempts to help you have more engaging lessons. 

Yes, we must dress ourself in our daily costume of smiley-patience and use our loud, perky teacher-voice. Our classroom truly is our stage and every minute children are in it we must perform. The eyes of our audience are constantly on us..and ya know what? They adore us. The children, though they can be mischievous, messy, and noisy, almost always adore their teacher. Even if their teacher isn't very adore-able. That's just one of the many awesome things about children. And about our career. 

I hope you did not get the impression that I don't love my job. I do. It's the most fun I've ever had. I truly enjoy and feel blessed to be able to get to do it. It's where I'm supposed to be at this point in my life. 

It's just that I wish we received a little more credit. Because in those moments, when we truly feel appreciated, it's not so hard. 

Have you ever thought about what it would be like if the tables were turned? What if teachers got to request the students they wanted to teach? That would go over O.K with parents, right? Seeing as how they have no problem requesting us. Or what about if, upon graduating college, our professors were held accountable for our final grades and our success in the "real world"?... you see what I'm saying? 

I'm not asking for those things. I know they are not practical. However, I am asking for you to thank a teacher. I mean, genuinely, honestly, say thank you. I had a parent call me my first week of teaching just to tell me that she appreciated me. That was all. It touched me deeply. 

I'm very lucky to work for a principal that understands the value of a pat on the back. He's pretty generous in dishing them out. It makes all the difference. 

Society often makes jabs at our profession presenting it as a "pie" job. A "cop-out" job. As "settling". Heck, I know plenty of teachers who are openly in it for the summers or practically wear a sign on their back that says "Don't Become a Teacher". 

But that's not me. I take pride in what I do. I enjoy what I do. And   I know that in the course of my lifetime something that goes on in my classroom will positively affect a child. And what's more, that's enough for me- whether I ever get thanked again or not. But hey, it sure wouldn't hurt. 

Awestruck

I am currently procrastinating unpacking. There are piles of sandy clothes heaped in the hallway. Our swimsuits have been washed and are hanging to dry. I've managed to shelve beach towels and sunscreen. The feeling reminds me of packing up Christmas decorations and taking down the tree. Sigh.

We still have a few more weeks of summer bliss, but I feel the unscheduled days slipping through my fingers. One of the biggest perks of being a teacher is getting to experience the childlike magic of a schedule-lacking summer.

I love the beach. I find the ocean so utterly peaceful and soothing. It never fails to awestruck me. I love the fact that I feel so tiny with it lapping around my ankles looking at an endless horizon as I feel the sand slipping underneath my feet. It amazes me that although salt is plentiful in its waves, the rain pours fresh. That all Earth's water runs into the ocean, yet the ocean never fills up. And no matter how many times the shore sends it away, the waves keep coming back. The ocean offers so many metaphors and is a component of many biblical stories.

My favorite part of vacation was walking along the shoreline in the packed, wet sand waiting for the ocean to jump up and greet our feet. I find it most beautiful in the mornings and in in the evenings, when the shade is over and the tide comes in, the waves bringing in foam almost up to the dunes. In the mornings, the red sun ball would rise in the east and the ocean would slowly begin to recede exposing an array of half buried shells. I know that my hubby is not quite as talented as I when it comes to being able to just sunbathe without moving or talking very much. I find it easy to just listen to the waves and keep my sunscreen lathered nose buried in a book. (I read Jodi Picoult's Change of Heart and recommend it, BTW.) Although Andrew loves to be outdoors, he also loves to be active. So, I mentioned to him that I would love for him to collect me some seashells if he needed something to do. That was all I had to say. If we were on the beach, that's what he was doing.

I had my beach chair pulled up just close enough that the water would sometimes surprise me but not overtake me. My feet outstretched waiting patiently. I had a floppy white hat on that offered shade to my face and shoulders. I was enjoying the combination of the relentless sun and the just as committed breeze. I love the smell of salt and sunscreen that mixes in the heavy air. I juggled reading my book and staring people watching.

I don't know what it is that is so enticing about people watching, but I etched some of my observations into memory. There was a young, quite plump boy who looked to be about 6 or 7. His mom had led him about ankle deep when he dug his heels into the sand. She pulled on his arm and sighed heavily while exclaiming, "You will be fine." I couldn't help but laugh out loud as he genuinely, fervently protested, "They will eat me. I'm tellin' ya, THEY WILL EAT ME! I ain't gonna be ate by no shark!"

There were two girls, around 9 or 10, that ran from the dunes to the waves holding hands in such a way that it was evident they were best friends. They jumped into the waves, throwing their heads back with laughter and shrieks.

I noticed a mother, young, probably around my age holding a bald-headed, pale child in her arms. She ran into the water in the same way a 5 year old would and swooped him down to meet the water. She swirled him around and moved in all the ways that he seemingly couldn't.

You see chubby people, obese people, "perfect" bikini-model-body people. You see that the very young and the very old have the most clothes on. You see families and couples and a few loners. You see some modest and some obscene. You see mom-suits and speedos. Some people lay right down on the sand, giving over every inch of their body to those grains. While others try painstakingly to avoid the inevitable. You see sunscreen and sunburns, the active and the lazy.

I noticed a sky add flying over the strip of beach that read, "Christina, will you marry me? Heart, Kyle". Though I searched for this Romeo down on one knee, I couldn't find him in the sea of people closest to me. But I smiled and hoped she said yes.

And then I noticed my own Romeo approaching me with a proud smile and an armful of shells. When I think of seashells that I want to put in a vase on the edge of my garden tub or in the center of the patio table, I think of light colored, white or tan shells-- complete shells without cracks or chips. I think of pieces of coral, smooth stones, or sea glass. I was hoping to find a star fish, a conch, or a sand dollar, though I wasn't holding my breath. I had picked up any that  I had seen that resembled the most common perception of your typical seashell.

My husband began to line up his finds on the arm of my beach chair. Gray, black, broken, chunky fragments. I wouldn't have called them seashells, but I suppose in essence they were. My first instinct was to toss them back out and let the waves suck them under to be spit back out on another day. To tell Hubs those were ugly and most definitely not what I had in mind. But as he began to tell me that he thought they were cool and to look at the ridges on this one and the way that one was jagged like a tooth, I realized something profound.

 My first reaction was to explain what I wanted, what I needed, me, me, me. But my perspective shifted. I commented on his finds and scooped them up to be corralled with our keepers.

 He later asked me what kind I was interested in specifically and began to collect only ones that measured up. (Actually, yesterday evening he tossed the black clunkers over the hillside. It was just shells, not a big deal.) But in that moment, I had realized that he just wanted to show them to me. That I needed to take a moment to appreciate what he saw. Because it's easy to forget to do that.

Tomorrow marks our 2 year anniversary. We're babies in the marriage world. But then again, our 2 year marriage has outlived a handful of our friends' and acquaintances' marriages. Over the past two years we've been shocked to hear of sudden divorces and grieved for numerous marriages that ended before they really had the chance to begin. Every failed marriage has had a different story, a different scenario, but of course the public only gets his side and her side and who knows about the truth.

I don't know what the answer is or how to pinpoint the exact problem (except that we live in a fallen world). But I do feel like the way our generation has been raised has a huge effect on failed marriages. Whether the breaking point was an affair or video game addiction, I believe it stems from self-centeredness. And believe you me, I'm preaching to the choir.

I think I can speak for the majority when I say we were given a big portion of what we wanted when we wanted it growing up. I know I had my own bedroom, my own things. It's common to see kids in the backseat each holding their own expensive tablet, because Lord forbid they share.

In my classroom, I like to play a spelling game that has a component of chance in it so that even the best classroom speller can still get out. I explained this to the students, that the game would help us practice our spelling words but would not identify who was the best speller, because it was a game of chance. I even pointed out to them that there were 24 kids in the classroom and only one kid could win. I told them that if they lost they needed to think about all the other kids in the classroom that had also lost. And that it was okay. We would congratulation the winner, be happy for him or her, and play again the next day. My first year playing this game I had a 6 year old boy shake a fist at another boy while threatening to punch him in the face. He claimed the child was laughing at him, though he wasn't, I had been watching. The angered boy just didn't know how to lose. Last year, playing with 2nd graders was no better. I had a 7 year old boy lay down on the floor, kicking, screaming and crying. I had some kids that refused to play, because they were afraid they wouldn't win. When a child did win, and picked a treasure from the box, other children would snub up their noses and tell the winner that they chose a dumb toy that no one wanted to see.

I kid not. Very, very few times has a child genuinely been happy for another child, say even a best friend, to win a trip to the treasure box if it wasn't them.

Parents want and demand that their child be made to feel special. I do not believe teachers should show favoritism. I do think all children should be treasured and valued for who they are as individuals. I also try my darnest to create an environment that fosters self confidence and victory for all....But it can all be very tiresome, because like I said, parents demand that that their child be made to feel special. In reality, that means they want their child to be the best. Not as in the best that they can be, but better than everyone else kind of best. (I'm speaking in general here, I know not all parents have these motives, but gathering from my own experiences and stories from my colleagues, a lot of them do.)

I show my students a picture of two kids that are standing behind a fence trying to see over it. One of the kids is tall enough to see while the other is too short. I ask them if that is fair, and they of course say no. I then show them another picture this time with the shorter kid standing on a crate. Now both kids can see over the fence. I ask them if that's fair and you'd be surprised at how many kids still say no. It doesn't matter to them that the tall enough child can see without assistance, in their eyes that kid should have a crate too. It's the principle of the matter to them. There's really no hope for explaining to them that "fair" isn't everyone getting the same thing, rather everyone getting what he or she needs.

Kids in the classroom show more and more signs of selfishness, a sense of entitlement, the inability to share or lose, and the determination to oppose authority. They absolutely take these traits into their marriage. I know I did.

Marriage is hard. You have to share. Everything. All the time. The money, the bed, the CLOSET, the food, the bathroom, the REMOTE, relatives, and lots of time, among other things. Sharing can become a huge issue.  Mainly, because we never practiced that much and certainly not enough to get good at it.

Marriage is hard. You aren't number one. You aren't the best. It isn't all about you. You don't always win a trip to the treasure box. You have to learn to sacrifice. To put someone else's needs above your own. I can't list the things I do for my husband without it looking like I'm tooting my own horn, but I'll be the first to tell you that I don't always enjoy doing them and that I also don't do nearly enough.

Within the first year of our marriage I noticed a huge problem. A huge fault. And it was mine. I had spent the day letting my anger fester, at what I can't even remember, but I had created a mental list of all the (silly, petty) things  Andrew had done to offend me or upset me. I was laying on the bed going over how he was the problem in our argument and what all his faults were. I was listing all the areas that he fell short in and what he should do or say to be better. Then I noticed the canvas that hung on our bedroom wall. It was an engagement picture with a scripture from Genesis painted near the bottom that said "and the two shall become one". Through my tears, my eyes glued to the word one.
One. Not two, but one. And I realized that I was wrong. I couldn't condemn Andrew and look for his faults without looking at my own. We were in this together, as one.

It is our human nature to want to fix a problem by starting with "correcting" someone else. This is magnified in a marriage. Even after that realization, I would still trip up on my selfishness. I would identify my own faults but insist to myself that I didn't have it in me to do better if he wasn't going to put for the effort. Even though I knew what I needed to fix within myself, I wasn't willing to do it if he didn't. I didn't think I should be the one to give in, didn't want to give in. Why should I apologize if he doesn't? Why should I go out of my way to be sweet to him if he isn't? Wrong, wrong, wrong. That may be easier, but it isn't marriage.

Marriage calls us to be selfless and in a world that just created the "selfie stick", that's a dang hard thing to be. (Not that I have anything against the ingenious invention; I own one, but you get what I'm saying.) I know Andrew and I have a lot of learning, growing left to do. I pray that we continue to grow in our individual walks with Christ, because I know that this will consequently bring us closer to each other.


In light of our anniversary, I want to say thanks to my hubs for a few things, because just like I am awestruck by the ocean, I am awestruck by him. Yes, he is stubborn, hates to lose, or be wrong. Did I mention that he hates to lose? But there is a whole lot of good in that heart of his, and I am so glad that it is linked to mine.

Thanks for killing the spiders, sharpening tons of pencils, bringing pizza to my students, and sitting through multiple foster parenting classes. Thanks for the massages that come so regularly and telling me every single time I get dressed that I look pretty. Thanks for respecting my parents, letting my niece and nephew crawl all over you, and asking me about my sister you never knew. Thank you for pumping my gas, looking forward to church, and trusting me when I go out with my friends. Thank you for going grocery shopping with me, doing all the heavy lifting, and asking me about the books I read. Thank you for taking turns picking movies, always trying what I cook, and wanting to be in whatever room I am in.

I feel so secure and safe in our relationship. You are my best friend and my biggest supporter. And I am so thankful that God gave me you.

A Politically Correct Hand Basket

I feel like it is my Christian duty to blog about the landmark ruling that Obama says “came like a thunderbolt”.

 I’ll tell you what I have seen; I’ve seen a picture of the Whitehouse lit up in rainbow colors. I’ve seen people attack others, spewing hate and stereotypes. I’ve seen a friend cry because her younger sister asked her to come to her wedding, a lesbian wedding. And I’ve also seen many, many Christians sit in SILENCE.

But first, like many Christians who are brave enough to speak, I feel like I have to post a plea bargain. I have to explicitly explain myself. Or else, it's off with my head. I do not agree with bullying anybody. I think every single person on God’s green Earth is cherished and loved in His eyes. I have already previously posted my views on casting judgment and allowing individuals the freedom to follow their own convictions. (You can read that post here: A Judge Without A Gavel .) I am not against homosexual people. However, I AM against the homosexual lifestyle. And ya know what? That shouldn’t surprise anyone…that a Christian believes the Bible. I can love people without loving the sin. We’re called to love everyone. I also know that I lived just as a perverse lifestyle before I came to know Christ. No, I didn’t have an intimate relationship with someone of the same sex, but sin is sin.

I have some friends that celebrated Obama’s decision, publicizing their joy and claiming that love wins. I do not agree with them, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to attack them for standing up in what they believe or terminate our friendship. People need to learn to agree to disagree. Rather than attacking someone for standing up for what they believe, you just need to stand up for what you believe. And therein lays the problem: silent Christians-SO many silent Christians. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: shame on you.

It doesn’t surprise me that people who do not have a strong faith or seek to follow Christ support same sex marriage. I can understand their point of view. They see this nation as being one that does not discriminate and offers freedom. They believe this should include the freedom to love whoever you choose and the opportunity for that relationship to be recognized just like heterosexual ones. It’s the people who support the act and claim to be believers; those are the people I get frustrated with. (Also, if you claim to be a believer and you don’t voice your disagreement, then you are supporting the act. It’s as simple as that.)

I know that there are plenty of people who say they are Christian and also say they’re gay. I also know that there are plenty of people who say they are Christian and openly advocate gay rights. I can’t judge you or convict you. That will come from God. But I can and will voice my opinion, which is that it is wrong.

My argument isn’t whether people are born gay or not…quite frankly, we are all born with sin. We ALL possess a wicked nature. That’s a fact. I personally don’t see homosexuality any differently than an addiction, be it to drugs or porn or what have you. I think it is a real feeling. I think many individuals truly do feel tempted by an  attraction to members of the same sex. But I also think it is something they should fight…just like any other sin anyone faces. To act upon it is an abomination to God. Now, I know there are people who would jump to say that “loving” someone shouldn’t be compared to dirty, harmful things. But no matter who you believe created the human race, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to examine our anatomy and determine exactly how we fit together. Without the joining of one man and one woman, our population would go extinct. Some gay advocates would agree with that, but still claim that even though it’s obvious we humans don’t connect like that, it should still be up to the individual to determine the lifestyle he or she chooses. And that’s right. We are all given the freedom to make choices. God doesn’t play puppets with our lives. (We all also will say amen to our own condemnation.) Although I believe in loving LGBT individuals and witnessing to them an example of the Gospel, I do not want to see our country grow so drastically away from the Bible. This shouldn’t upset or shock anyone; I am a Christian.   

   We now live in a society that is obsessed with being politically correct. I say that our nation is going to Hell in a politically correct hand basket. We are so focused on not offending anyone except God. And that’s right, you DON'T have to worship or follow Christ. He doesn’t make you, and I can’t make you. But the Bible says that you’d been better off to never have been born than to deny Him. So my heart does ache for you. I want you to know the true freedom, peace, rest, and love found in the arms of our savior. It is only then that the longing desire you have for love will be completely met and filled.

I also get frustrated with the number of truly indifferent people that have jumped on the LGBT supporter’s bandwagon solely because it is “trending”. For a big majority of people, you’re not emotionally invested at all. You just see it as being the popular thing to do. It gets you the most “likes”. For those of you who fit this scenario, you are weak.

   

The heart of my message is that I will not be a “closet Christian”. I think that just as much as there may be a war against homosexuality there is also a war against Christianity. And if you can feel compassion and pity on a homosexual who feels bullied or pressured to be silenced, then you should feel it too for the Christian. There is just as much hate projected upon believers as there are LGBTs. And NONE of it is okay. But Christians need must speak up. Others need to realize that name-calling and stereotyping those of us who stand for what we believe is exactly what you don’t want done to LGTBs. We have a right to speak what we believe, same as anyone. And it’s a shame that so many Christians don’t take advantage of that right. 

As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord. I believe the Bible from cover to cover. No one can take that belief away from me. I stand on it. I live by it. I’d die for it. Whether my nation does or not, I fear the Lord. You mock Him with the rainbow that He gave us as a promise. You do not tremble at the thought of His return, because you have stony hearts that do not care to read ,let alone believe, His word. You try to redefine marriage when you didn’t define it in the first place.

But no matter what, no matter how far we stray, it is still well with my soul. Yes, the state of our nation saddens me. Yes, I get depressed thinking about the world my children will grow up in. Yes, I get frustrated with weak, lukewarm Christians. Yes, I am bothered by the amount of hate I witness towards all parties. But, Jesus is still on His throne of mercy. He is still in the saving business, and THAT is good news. There is still hope for all sinners: your soul can be set free.

I do not expect everyone to get along with one another or to live in world where sin does not exist. If that was so, we would not have needed Jesus to go and prepare a place for His children. I know that we live in a fallen world and this is the wages of sin. But by the grace of God, I have found forgiveness. Christ died for me. He had my very name in mind. What’s more, is that he ROSE from the DEAD. You tell me, who among us has done that? And yes, it’s true. If it wasn’t, you wouldn’t know His name today. When I believed this and accepted Him as my Lord and Savior, my eternal destiny was sealed. I strive to live for Him and I try to use my understanding of the Bible to guide me in doing so. No, I’m not perfect, but there is an outline provided in the Bible of the way Christians should live. And that means something to me.

 You see, love DID win. Love won on Calvary 2,000 some years ago. Love didn’t win because Obama and 5 lawyers wanted to make history. Love won when Christ hung on the cross with you in mind.  It won the day He rose from the dead. Either death will come to you or the Lord will come back, but one way or the other you’re going to cease to exist in your natural state. And when you do, you will answer for the choices that you did or didn’t make. Every knee shall bow. Every tongue will confess. One day, God’s judgment will come and it will be a far greater thunderbolt than Obamas. Jesus will come like a thief in the night, and on that day you will either wish to hide and not be able to or run into the arms of your savior.

So although my heart aches for my country, it rejoices in my salvation.

 I hope that I have not offended anyone. It was not my intention. However, spreading the Gospel can step on toes. If offended, it’s possible that the Holy Ghost is pricking at your heart. If so, that’s a good thing.   

I pray that Christians everywhere will not feel defeated. We may lose battles, but Jesus won the war. I pray that we always, no matter the cost, profess the goodness of the Lord and validity of His word. I pray that we can be a light- showing love, forgiveness, and compassion. We need to love one another, despite our differences. I pray that we can run our race with endurance.

As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.

Love won on Calvary, walk in it.

10 Things My Dad Taught Me

When I think about my Dad, I think of 1, 238 good things. He was my first love. He is the rock of our family. He hung the moon. I believe a daughter thinking that is just evidence of a job well done.

Here is a list of the first 10 words that come to mind when I think about what I've learned from my dad.

• The Gospel

This was hands-down the very first thing I think about when considering lessons my dad has taught me. My dad is a preacher, so it happens to be his life's calling to spread the Gospel. Here's the thing, though, he didn't teach me the Gospel by thundering about it behind a pulpit. He taught me the Gospel by living it every day. He practices what he preaches. He extends love, grace, mercy, and forgiveness. My dad never forced me to go to church, to read my bible, or make any spiritual commitments. Rather, I witnessed my dad going to church, reading his bible, and keeping spiritual commitments-- faithfully. No matter what. Growing up, I knew that every morning (if I woke up early enough), I'd find my dad reading  his Bible in his chair. Every Sunday, I'd see him on his knees. I can remember being a little girl and gravitating toward him when he would go down in prayer. I'd sit next to him and watch in awe as he went to another place, unaware of anything. I'd listen as he poured his heart out so passionately, so fervently...so honestly. I'd listen to those prayers, and I'd start thinking about who it was he was praying to. Of course my curiosity was peaked because the man I respected so much invested his life in his faith, but because my dad did not demand I seek Jesus, I came to realize you don't follow Jesus because someone else does. It's a personal thing.

• Work ethic

Be 10 minutes early. Give it 110% 100% of the time. Stay 10 minutes late. Before I was born, my dad was a foreman in the mines. Today, it never fails that if we run into someone that used to work for my dad they comment on the type of boss he was. There have been many times that someone has made such comments to me in the absence of my dad's presence. (Which is when a compliment counts most, I believe.) I'm sure my dad was hard to work for...he has high standards. Growing up, dad wanted the bed made before we left the house each morning, and he wanted the dishes done as soon as dinner was over. He keeps his truck spotless and the yard mowed. It's more than just doing something that needs to be done. He looks for things that need to be done. He spoiled Momma and us girls growing up by taking care of any car problem, leaky faucet, squeaky door, or broken anything. Many times he fixed things choosing duct tape and ditching the manuals-- but it got fixed. He found a way. He showed me, by his example, that the only way to go through life is choosing not to give up, not to make excuses, and not to complain.

• Reputation

I can sum this one up into just a few sentences: A man is as only as good as his word-- so keep it. Don't be in debt to anyone. Extend your hand to help whenever it's needed without expecting anything in return. I learned these lessons of character by observing my dad handle people and situations and through the guidance he would offer me when I was handling people and situations. Living in the mountains of Eastern Kentucky, I think it is fitting that this is our code of conduct; it represents the mountain way.  My parents never told us that it doesn't matter what other people think. Don't get me wrong-- we weren't told to follow the crowd or be a "people pleaser". But we were taught to consider the image that we were creating, the message that we were sending. It does matter if you care about your appearance and keep your place tidy. It does matter who you hang out with and fall in love with. It does matter what you say and where you go. We live in a world today where young people are given a sense of entitlement. Do what you want with who you want. Those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind...that's the saying, right? Well not in my house. Those who care about you do mind and their opinion does matter and out of respect you take heed to it. That's what I was taught, and that's what I'll teach my children.

• Leadership

I took a leadership class in college only to learn that I already knew all the characteristics of a good leader. I'm not saying that I could lead as good as my father-- I couldn't, but I do see what it takes. My dad has always lead by example. I know, from watching him, that a good leader makes plenty of sacrifices. They have to be strong enough and willing to take the weight of a problem, to shoulder the responsibility, and to take blame even if it isn't theirs. A good leader doesn't seek to glorify himself but strives to lift others up. A good leader is a peacemaker, a moderator, and a confidant. A good leader shows mercy and freely forgives with or without being offered an apology. A good leader is positive and speaks hope and raises spirits. Also, a good leader is mature, wise, and humble enough to know when it is time to step down.

• Awareness

This is a huge ongoing lesson that I am very weak in. My dad often gets annoyed at my shortcomings in this area. But, nonetheless, he has succeeded in teaching me a thing or two. As you go through life, put forth the effort to notice what is going on around you. Be observant. Pay attention to the details. Listen more than you speak. I know that my sister and I could not sneak a single thing pass him in high school. But it's even more than that. Be present in the moment. Know what's around you. When someone speaks, listen to what they are saying. Pay attention to the details of the conversation- their body language, their expressions, their tone. Notice what they aren't saying. If something is going wrong, be it a washing machine or a relationship, observe the problem.  You have to know exactly what to fix.  I've seen that practicing being observant can save you a lot of trouble and hassle as you go through life.

• Attitude

I think that my dad's attitude can be bottled into this: not why me, but try me. All my life, my dad  has told me to pull myself up by my bootstraps. "Cowboy up," he would say. I would insist, "But dad I'm a girl." My dad never had a son to raise, but I know he would've raised a good one. We girls sure put him through the wringer with our tears and hormones and sensitivities. I think it'd be safe to say that we taught him a thing or two as well, especially in regards to patience. My dad is tough, determined, persevering, motivated, disciplined, and genuine. He is also humble. He has a servant's heart. One day, nearing my wedding, dad and I were walking to lose some pounds. We approached a hill and he offered me his hand. I took it and kept rambling on about whatever I was talking about-- until I realized I couldn't talk anymore, because I was out of breath. He had picked up the pace and wasn't backing down. My legs and sides were burning. I wanted so badly to stop and take a breather, but he wouldn't let go of my hand. The steeper the hill got, the tighter his grip. Just when I was sure that I was going to fall on my knees, we reached the top. I've learned that if we quit our "bellyaching" and push ourselves, we'll realize that we're capable of a lot more. Dad always says that limitations come from your own mind. When the climb gets higher, you push harder. Attitude is the key to having happiness in this fallen world.

• Jokes

Now, here's a category I learned well. Make jokes, take jokes, and play jokes. My dad is a practical joker. He's constantly hiding to pop out from behind things, throwing snowballs into mom's shower, and playing all sorts of pranks. I couldn't imagine how boring my childhood would have been without all of his jokes. That's part of life, finding the laughter. And being the laughter. You have to be okay with being laughed at. It's good to laugh and make people laugh...it's the best medicine. My dad has crow's feet creased around his eyes as a result of the laughter he filled my childhood with.

• Chivalry

My dad belongs to a dying breed. He wears his camo proudly, has a gun hanging near the backdoor, and a skoal ring etched in his jean pocket. He has a firm handshake and loves to be outdoors. Because of my dad, I know that men should respect women. They should open doors, mind their language, and make them feel safe. My dad would pick a flower from the rosebush and bring it inside to Mom often. He tells her that she's pretty. He apologizes when he's wrong. I've watched them be a team, and I've watched as he delicately draws a line. He stands beside her, not over her, yet manages to lead.

• Humbleness

I've talked about how humbleness is woven into many of these lessons. It is an important quality to strive to have. It isn't achieved easily. It's the nature of man to be full of himself. In the flesh, we battle being conceited on a daily bases. It's more than just physical appearances, though. Humiliation is the absence of pride. It leads to a state of lowliness or submission. It has negative connotation in today's world. Today's young people are growing up with no respect for authority of any kind. They are being brainwashed that it is never okay to be submissive or acknowledge a personal lack of importance or worthiness. The lack of humbleness is playing a huge role in the fall of our nation. My dad has taught me that there is whole, huge, entire universe of people in the world beyond my mountains. And that Christ died for all of them, too. Christ died for and loves the murderers as much as the martyrs. He died for and loves the fornicator as much as the saint. I also have learned to realize that Jesus doesn't rescue or save the flesh. He isn't concerned with the flesh. It is a deeper level, the inner man, that Jesus works on and cares about. Humbleness enlightens you on that level.

• Legacy

I used to think that I wanted to be just like my dad. I used to think that I wanted to marry someone just like my dad and raise sons to be just like my dad. Dad lives his life to represent his faith. He is constantly pointing people towards Jesus. I don't meant to make him sound like he's perfect...he isn't. He can be hardheaded, impatient, and quick tempered. He's human. I realize now that the best qualities I see in my dad, the ones I want for myself, my husband, and my children...aren't really my dad's at all. I realized that my dad makes an effort every day to pray for the guidance and the strength to be Christ-like. And that's the desire that I have for me and mine...that we can press on towards the mark of the high calling. As you go through life, you learn a lot about people. Many times they aren't who you thought they were or they let you down. Dad says you prove your character until the day you die. And hopefully, when you're gone, you've left a legacy of love.

"A father is neither an anchor to hold us back, nor a sail to take us there, but a guiding light whose love shows us the way."

Happy Father's Day to all men who dedicate their life to raising a child. It is the most important job you will ever have. May God bless you!



An Open Letter to Child from Foster Parents

PS-MAPP Class Homework Assignment:

An Open Letter to Child from Foster Parents

 

Dear Little One(s),

               We have been thinking about you for a long time now. Wherever you are, I'm sure life seems big and scary. We all have days like that sometimes. Please know that you are loved and wanted. There is only one you in all of the world-- our Creator created you special.

               

                My name is Katie and my husband's name is Andrew. Our home has a room that is waiting just for you. Our hearts have a place in them that is waiting to be filled just by you. You see, we are waiting for you. If you are reading this, then life is about to introduce us....finally. There will be some changes in your life and some of them may be scary. I will meet your parents and you will meet mine. There will be many new things. It will be an exciting journey that we will go on together.

            Please know that you have not lost your family, you've just gained some more members. We all love you and will work together to make sure you are safe and happy.

             Welcome to our lives, whether you be in it for a day or for forever, you will remain in our hearts and prayers for an eternity. We  hope you will open your heart to us as we have opened ours for you.

                                                                                                                    Your new friends,

                                                                                                                      Katie & Andrew





An Open Letter to Birth Parents from Foster Parents

PS-MAPP Class Homework Assignment:

An Open Letter to Birth Parents from Foster Parents

Dear Parents, 

            If you are reading this letter, then it is finding you at a difficult time in your life. My husband and I want to express our deepest sympathy. We need you to know that you will receive no judgement from us. We do not know your life story nor what has led you to this day, but we do wish to get to know your child. We understand that though mistakes have been made, you love your child and want him/her to be safe and happy. We wish to work together and extend you grace, as it was extended to us by our Lord and Savior. Our goal is to encourage and support you as you travel your journey to getting your life in order. We only want to help you with that journey and speak hope. In case no one has told you before, there is nothing that you have done that is beyond the grace of God. He can make all things new. He uses desperate, seemingly hopeless situations to create victories. We aspire to be a part of your victory story.

            To ease your mind about your child's whereabouts, let me tell you a little about us and our home. My name is Katie and my husband's name is Andrew. We are both 25 years old and celebrating our 4th year of marriage this summer. I met him at church and said yes to his proposal after only 3 months of dating. He is a huge helpmate to me. He spoils me and will spoil your little one as well. We both graduated from Alice Lloyd College and have our Bachelor's Degree. Andrew is  currently in grad school pursuing a doctorate in physical therapy. He loves sports, fishing, and children. 

            I have a degree in Elementary Education and am taking online master classes to become a reading specialist. I currently teach 1st grade at a wonderful elementary school. So your little one will ride to and from school with me. Our home is made up of gratitude, grace, and grit. We are simple people that enjoy the outdoors and spending time on our front porch. We'll seek to know your child's interests and passions...whatever they may be. 

           We have no children of our own, so we have lots of time and love to spare. It's easy to see that a parent can love more than one child, so we believe that a child can love more than one set of parents. That's the wonderful thing about love: it can be limitless if we let it. Throughout your child's stay, we will encourage your child to maintain a safe and healthy relationship with you, if at all possible. We will never speak badly about you to anyone, especially your child. We anticipate and look forward to the day when you can be permanently reunited with your child. But we want you to know, if that day doesn't come, we have enough love in our hearts to give to your child forever.

            We hope you can open your hearts to us as we already have to you. We pray that we can all work together with the best interest of your child in mind. Thank you for taking the time to read and consider our words and know that you are in our thoughts and prayers. 

Your new friends, 

Katie & Andrew

10 Things My Momma Taught Me

10 Things My Momma Taught Me

I don't know about you, but my momma is my best friend. I am so very thankful that the Lord blessed me with a God-fearing Momma who has loved the same man (who happens to be my daddy) since she was twelve year olds. She's never even kissed anyone else. I love sharing that about their love story, because I think it is so very special. I could not have picked a better set of parents if I could have looked the world over. I do not take for granted that I was blessed with selfless, dedicated parents. I know how blessed I am to have experienced a long, sweet childhood. It is something that I thank God for often.

My dad jokes that I'm my mom's twin. My sisters got some of her traits, sure, as all offspring do...but not like me. Mom and I are the same person. And yes, there are moments that we clash because we are so very much alike. But ultimately, she's my best friend. I admire her. I crave her approval in all things. And I need to know that she is happy.

As I prepare Mother's Day Activities for my kiddos in my 2nd grade classroom to take home to their mommas, my mind wonders to my own mother. I put together a list of the first 10 words that came to mind.

• Laugh

That was the very first word that came to mind. When I think of my mom and what she has taught me, I think of laughter. She has taught me that it is ok to laugh at yourself. Life is much more enjoyable when you learn to do that. She's taught me that you can't take things too seriously. Laughter is her most common reaction, and I credit her youthful looks to that fact. Growing up, I watched as she chose laughter over tears time and time again. That has made a big impact on the way that I navigate this world. I couldn't count the times I've seen Mom hold her sides, tears rolling down her cheeks from laughter. It's the image I hope stays with me the longest.

• Lip-gloss

Ah, the importance of color on the lip. She'd hound us before we'd go out the door in the morning for high school, before a date, or before church on Sundays. My sister and I use to joke that that's what Momma thought the criteria was for getting into Heaven. Of course, that was just to tease her. Momma isn't vain, and she didn't teach us to be vain. But she did encourage us to take care of our appearance. As I've made my way in the world, I've been thankful for that.

• Smile

I smile as I think about "smiling" memories. I don't just mean from happy ones. I can recall momma whispering warnings to my sister and I in a church pew. She'd be jumping all over us to stop fighting and act right...all through the gritted teeth of a smile. From a few pews over why you'd just think she was telling us how lovely we were. When we were really little, she'd prep us in the car before church mornings by saying, "Girls, you need to smile. Look people in the eye, shake their hands, and tell them good morning." Sharing a smile with people is our duty. It might not be what we always feel like doing, but it's important. I saw the truth in this as my momma had to put her smile back on after we lost my sister. I know there are days when she doesn't feel like smiling, but she does anyway. And I know some of those smiles are just for me.

• Bravery

My momma is a brave lady. I've seen it many times from the simple such as singing in front of congregations to the larger of burying her daughter. Before my daddy was a preacher, he was a coal miner. Both occupations can be very scary ones. She's been right beside of him, being brave the entire time. I can recall countless times growing up where she just jumped into motion when a crisis arose. It's just what mothers do.

• Manners

As children come through my classroom, it's evident to see that all mommas are not teaching manners like mine did. She taught us to say please and thank you. To let an elderly person have our seat. To not interrupt two adults talking. To chew with our mouths shut. To take our shoes off when we entered someone's house. She went beyond the simple one though. She encouraged us to ask other people about their lives and to listen to their answers. I can remember her asking us to compliment at least two other students in our class that day at school. Many times, she reminded us it isn't all about us. She taught me how to make small talk with just about anyone.

• Tactfulness

If manners are dying off, than tactfulness is all but extinct.

Tact- a keen sense of what to say or do to avoid giving offense; skill in dealing with difficult or delicate situations.

Many times my jaw drops at the tactless responses from adults. Some people may just have this keen sense naturally, but others need to be taught. It amazes me how many seem to be clueless. Momma taught us that you don't ask people personal questions. You don't go announce your business (even if it isn't particularly embarrassing-- it's still personal). You don't say names when talking about someone in public places (even if you're not talking badly about them). Take care not to leave people out. Decline invitations politely. Don't ask someone how much something costs, and don't broadcast how much you paid for something. You say thank you for whatever someone gives you-- even if it's the most God-awful thing you've ever seen. (You don't just say thank you. You say thank you while you are smiling a smile that better pass for genuine.) You don't argue in public (even if your voice isn't raised). Think before you speak. Choose your words carefully. And notice who is around you. It's all about being sensitive to others. There's no wonder it's becoming a rare thing. 

• Indulgence

My sweet momma has taught me the beauty of indulgence. You don't just eat a treat, you indulge in it. You don't just take a nap, you indulge in it. There's an art to this, and let me tell you, it makes life so much  more precious. Of course, too much indulgence could be a bad thing. You can't indulge in everything...but it does have a time and place. Momma has shown me just how much fun life can be. The simple things. Embrace them. Slow down and actively embrace the pleasure.

• Sacrifice

Momma sacrificed over and over again. Growing up, we never wanted for anything. We had the newest clothes, shoes, and gadgets. We had cars when we turned 16. We had vacations and opportunities. We were always given the full nine yards for every event in our lives. And not because we have money to spare, but because Momma did without. Momma put her girls first, always. She still does. You can't accurately describe the sacrifice that goes into that, except that it's selfless.

• Beauty

I've always said that if Dads make the world a more safe place to live, than Moms make it a more beautiful one. When I think of my mom, I think of her pointing out the beauty in life. She does it so often it's just part of who she is. She'll point to a painted barn sign as we pass by on the road. She'll point to the pink in the sky as the sun sets. She'll point out the stitching on a quilt or notice the sound that water makes against the bank. She notices the simple, every day things. She appreciates their beauty. It's not only what she sees, but also what she does. I couldn't imagine what my life would have been like without her making things beautiful for me. She has a way of putting her touch on something and changing it. She's fixed countless articles of clothing and formal dresses, painted walls, decorated cakes, and laid out tablescapes. She has also taught me that beauty is a verb and not an adjective. You need to be a beautiful person from the inside.

• Love

And of course, there's love. No one loves like a momma does. It's sacrificial, selfless, and unconditional. It's given freely and forever. I know that I always have someone on my side. Fighting my battles. Feeling my pain. Celebrating my joy. Listening and caring and praying.

Happy Mother's Day to all women who have dedicated their lives to raising a child. It is the most important job. May God bless you.

Visible Grace



One night, a few weeks ago, I awoke in the middle of the night. It was the oddest thing, because one word was on my mind: adoption. Ever since that night, I haven't been able to put it out.

I've thought long and hard about "adoption" and what it means to me. I've meditated on the fact that I was adopted by my Lord and Savior. I read the verses calling Christians to care for the orphans. I asked my husband if he would ever consider adoption. And then I called up a friend.

My first year of teaching led me to a tiny, rural K-8 school that consisted of only about 130 kids. My year was as long and winding as the road I traveled twice a day. I love to catch a glimpse of how true it is when we say that "hindsight is 20/20". Looking back, I can see many things that came from my 1st year experience of teaching 1st grade at that school. One particular result is that I met Dawn. She is the mother of a student that was on my Speech team.

I don't really know the word for what I was feeling. Not exactly the same as "obsession", but somewhere in that ballpark. I didn't know what I wanted to do or what I was supposed to do or how to do it, but I was going crazy trying to figure it out. I just felt the urge to move. I still don't know the exact direction, but staying still was not and is not an option.

Anyways, back to Dawn. It was during one of my sporadic days when  I was trying to get a grip on what it was that I needed to be doing that I remembered her. It was my planning period on a busy day at my current school and though there were exactly 50,341 things that I could have been doing, I picked up my cellphone. I recalled Dawn mentioning that if we ever wanted to adopt to let her know. She had said she would love to help us out. I wasn't sure how she would help or what I wanted to ask her, but I called her. When I got off the phone with her, after days of agony, I felt a little bit of peace. (I can't adequately explain it, that's just how it was.) I had known that she did social work and that was about it. Turns out, she is the director of the foster care program for our region. She talked with me about adoption through her program and how most families start out as foster parents and then sometimes an adoption becomes available. Of course I had a bazillion questions (and I still do!), but right in the middle of our conversation, a new word seeped into my heart. Foster.

After that phone conversation and speaking more with my husband, I channeled my energy. I did some research and the statistics I came across are some heavy ones. On a national basis, there were approximately 399,546 kids in care in 2011. An estimated 20,000 young adults "aged out" of the system when they turned 18 without ever finding a forever family.  Statistics easily turn into "just numbers", but think about how high that number is. And then think about those numbers as children...because that's what they are: innocent children. Even more heartbreaking is taking a look at the statistics of "aged out" foster children in particular. When those young adults are left to their own devices in our society, only 4% of them obtain a college degree. Close to half of "aged out" foster kids become homeless.

I don't know about you, but that made my heart feel so heavy. It's one of many results of living in a fallen world.

As I began to mention foster care to my close friends and family members, I was hit with another wave of realization. I was cozy on my couch when another word just -BAM- seeped into my heart. Birthparents.

 

 









 Because connected to those 399,546 kids are set of birthparents. That are not so innocent. Quite frankly, most are probably headed straight to hell. And THAT is the saddest statistic of all.

I thought about just how different we really are, those broken people that can't get their lives together and myself. What it comes down to is this: the only thing that separates us is Jesus.

So as my husband and I strongly consider embarking on the journey of fostering, we do so with the birthparents front and center on our minds.  For you see, fostering isn't just about the kids. The goal of foster care is to reunite children with their birth family to a safe and secure environment. The system is designed to offer services, therapy, and rehab to birthparents. No matter what the circumstances (abuse/neglect/etc.) we have to speak with hope about these people. We have to show them the right way. The goal isn't to keep their child, but to give them an opportunity to fix themselves, to show them the worth of their child, and to offer encouragement and purpose...

The goal is to extend them a little grace.

So as I fill out pages and pages of a profile and prepare to attend another class tomorrow evening, I think on that five letter word-- grace. And how it was extended to me. And how it has made all the difference.

I know some have been hesitant to comment on our decisions. And I understand that. Especially those closest to us that love us the most. They don't want to see us get hurt. They want to protect us. Others, acquaintances, look at us oddly and wonder why in the world essential newlyweds would want to have foster kids in their home. And I honestly really can't write up a fancy answer for you, except we just feel it. I've always prayed for the Lord to direct my path and fill my hands and use me.

As a little girl, I wanted to be a missionary. Even now, I sometimes feel like I'm not doing enough to reach others and spread the gospel. I see pictures of people on mission trips to third world countries holding dark skinned children with big eyes and easy smiles. Sure, I would enjoy an experience like that, but what about our mountain children? Can we be missionaries right here at home? I think absolutely yes. And I think it's absolutely needful.

I also feel like I need to say this: I do not think I can save the world. Andrew and I are not donning a superhero's cape. I won't deny that we may be naïve about the ways of the system; however, we are not that naïve. But just because the chance is there that we won't help a single person, doesn't mean we shouldn't try.  Just because "foster care" is going to bring the ugly, devastating truth of a broken family, doesn't mean we shouldn't open our door. And just because foster care isn't trending and won't come in a monogrammed, chevron bow, doesn't mean we shouldn't accept it.

 



Lord, if there's a road we should walk...help us find it.