Sabbatical

For the first time in three years we are closed, inactive, off THE list. No adoption submissions, no emergency placements, no calls, no new kiddos. No Transitions. I know who will be here when The Fair comes, when the leaves fall, when it's time to carve pumpkins, to eat turkey, to celebrate Jesus's birthday.
The cast of characters will stay the same through these next seasons. This fact makes me feel rested, tired, peaceful, and anxious all at the same time. It is right. It is ordained. It is what I need. It is what they need. It is what we need.
But it felt foreign and wrong at first. When my caseworker called me and said we would have to go inactive before we had planned on going inactive, I struggled a little bit. During the last three years, these eight kids have been so hard and so, so good. And while I know it is just for a bit, mostly it feels kind of like a death.
Last week, we went to Galveston as a family. The first night we were there, we took the boys down to the beach to see it. We were running in the water and playing and laughing. Watching my boys with their Dadda, I was so thankful. That I was here and I had not missed this.
And right then and there in the Gulf I gave it a proper burial. I ate all the mistakes and grief and joy and washed it down with salt water and a little bit of hope. And finally, after three years of waiting and praying and searching and bracing, I stopped and breathed.
I let us just be a family. I allowed myself to stop being a crusader and just be a mom. I relished the fact that for the first time in three years everyone was where they should be and I knew what my family would look like at least for a little while...and it felt like coming home even though we weren't.

                                      

Abide

I recently went through a very long dry season spiritually. For a lot of reasons. But the other day I was praying and just going on about how dry my spirit was feeling and how desperate I was for fresh water on my parched soul. I felt like the Lord said "Of course you are in a dry season you have not been coming to the well of living water" I am sure this is Christianity/Spirituality 101 for all of you but it is revolutionary for me. So I have been going to the well trying to be consistent in prayer and devotion and the word and worship. I am trying to learn to abide in peace and joy and the Holy Spirit. Sometimes I do ok. Then my toddler locks himself and his brother in my van with my keys and my cell. Or a huge bill accidentally gets paid two times out of our account. Or my other toddler wont nap. Or someone gets sick. Or .... or...or...or.....
How do you abide then? I know God is bigger than my circumstances. I know that toddlers not napping is cake compared to what other people are wrestling with. But I want to know how do you abide in the midst of the chaos that is life? Does it get easier with practice?

Days like this

                                          When I started fostering, it was for days like this:

    

 or this:

    

 or, more recently, this:

But last Friday, I got to drive my most recent foster kids home. They had been in our home since August. Their parents have worked hard. They have turned their lives around. They have earned back the right to parent their children. I have cheered them on every step of the way and I am truly impressed at what they have overcome. I drove up in front of their home, decorated with balloons and was able to witness a very happy reunion. I got to pray with their family and take a family pic of them and drive away. I never thought I would love days like that; days where I hand over the kids I have raised for the last ten months, five months, or a year to their parents. I never thought I would love letting go or that I would realize that if I am really for the kids I parent and love and minister to that I MUST be for their parents too. I never thought that I would relish my loss and their gain. I am suprised; not by their redemption or healing, but by mine.

On Mothers Day

To the woman who mothered me and really taught me what it's all about. Who labored for me for nine months plus thirty six hours plus thirty years and counting. Who sacrificed herself. Who raised me up and launched me. I cannot say enough. Thank you for letting me be who I am. For always supporting me even when you don't understand or agree. For Thai lunchs and pedicures, and laughing, and crying and grieving for being a soft place to fall but not so soft that I don't get up. It takes incredible grace which I am sure I still don't fully understand or appreciate.

For the ones who made me a mother for the first time.

 And for the ones who made me love being a mother

And for the ones who made me a forever mother

And for the ones who gave birth to my babies I honor you. And for the ones who have mothered my babies while I was still looking for them endless thank you's. For the mother's whose babies I have mothered for a season I am honored. For the mothers who I have watched fight to get their babies back...you humble me and make me proud. For all you who walk beside me. For you who mentor me. Thank you thank you thank you.

Alongside

A while back I wrote this post. I cannot express the utter generosity of the community that supports us. Amazing support in the form of meals when we get placements, gift cards, and showers , and parties when they stay, and wine and chicken nuggets when they don't,  prayer, bikes on Christmas, diapers, formula, clothes, car seats, and on and on. We are always floored at how they all show up for us. When we started this journey even though we had a great community, the life we have been called to can be lonely. There is constant adjustment and transition. There is a lot of grief and loss. There is a lot that is hard to explain and understand unless you are in the thick of it. So the first year or so we were lonely and we prayed and prayed for someone to come alongside us. Someone that we could call and not explain what legal risk meant. Someone who would know what it was like to have a child just for a season but love them for a lifetime. People who we could talk to about CASA workers, permanency plans, levels of care, respite, Star Health, bio visits, and all the other intricacies of this life. We prayed for one couple. One couple who would do life like us. Who would do family like us. In the last year we have had four couples come alongside us in foster care. These are couples at the same life stage we are that feel passionately about orphan care also. So about a month ago when we had three couples (plus us) at our house and all of them were somewhere on the road of foster care I couldn't believe it. Then a few weeks ago when we were at our shower for our new addition and those same couples were there (plus another couple who just filled out the preliminary application to our agency) I thought why not this is what God is about...multiplying things. And He is just so good at it.

                                                   Here I am with my fellow foster mama's

Read their stories here, here, and here and be blessed and challenged!

What makes you want to run through walls? or 13 miles?

Months ago after watching this video a foster friend of mine said it made him want to run through walls. I agreed. For me its the orphan crisis. Its orphans. I want to run through walls. It sets my heart on fire. It keeps me up at night . It keeps me pushing myself and my family out of our comfort zone. I talk about it. Dream about it. Recruit for it. Cry about it. And now I run for it. There is a race and a family. The race is the Chosen Marathon and the family is the Garza's. I will be running and raising money to help bring their babies home. 

Films About Ghosts

I am finally doing our last placement's book. It has been over a year since they left.

When kids leave, I make a book on Shutterfly of the pictures I have of them. It is something I need to do; yet, it is something I hate to do. I have to write the ending to a chapter when I don't know the ending. I scroll through the picture files on my computer and one day, the kids are there; the next, they're gone. *Poof* One day, we are feeding ducks as a family of five. The next, we are at a restaurant as a family of three. I seal off their rooms and donate the stuff they couldn't take. I zumba, remodel, eat dump cake, drink wine, and somehow find a new norm. Until two more kids appear in my picture files. Then, we find another new norm until they disappear. Sometimes, I think I forget. Then I start making their book and realize I never forgot at all. I arrange the pictures. I label the pages. I give name to their time here. I remember all the things documented, and all the things not. I remember the truck pulling off and turning away before it disappeared because I could not stand to watch it roll out of sight.