"I'm just a penny on the train track, waitin' for my judgement day..."

You know why I love this picture?  It's cute.  And we are young and in love.

You know why else I love this picture?  Because we are walking on a train track.  Boldly.  Hand in hand.  You know what comes on train tracks?  Trains.  We are walking into the abyss as if to say "Bring it on, Train.  We are going to keep walking this path even if you come.  Even if we get flattened, we are going to keep walking forward."

That's how my life feels right now.  It feels like Otha and I grabbed each other's hand and decided to walk the track of foster care, following God's call in our life.

And we have been hit by trains.

Multiple trains.

Our little one is back in the hospital.  Again.  Round three.  Her body is fragile, mirroring the fragility of my emotions.  As she physically struggles, I struggle to cope with the unknown that we have invited into our life.

I want to step off the track to process our new life.  I want to scream "I need more time to figure out how to mother this little one who came to our family so unconventionally!".  I want to sit and pout like a two year old.  But there is no time for that.  We are pushed forward by a calling to fiercely love this tiny girl.

I wish I could take another "train track" picture, but one reflecting the state of our life right now.   Imagine tattered clothes, dirt, blood, and bruises covering my body, and a serious limp...mmm, like a double limp... and my hair is torn... and I am missing an arm (my left arm, so I can still hold Otha's hand with my right arm)... too much?  You get the picture?  You would look at the picture and say- "Those gross, nearly-dead people got hit by a train, and they are still walking on the obviously dangerous train track.  Crazies."

You are right.  We are crazy.  But I would not go back in time and make a different decision.  This has by far been the most challenging season of my life, yet the most rewarding.  The kind of rewarding where the Lord comforts me in the darkness where I am sobbing and questioning His plans.  Where I learn to receive from the Lord and others because I have absolutely nothing to give, nothing.  Where I have to face the ugliest parts of my soul, and still somehow believe that the Lord loves me unconditionally.  I am experiencing kingdom life, or in the words of my dear friend Lisa... Real life. The kind of life that sometimes (always) looks like dying.

And that's how it feels- like dying.  Like getting hit by train after train.

Yet we still move forward because the Lord is good.  And He gives life.

If I hear one more person say "I could never do what y'all are doing, that's way too hard", I may or may not punch them in the face.  We are not super heroes.  We are not endowed with special foster care parenting abilities.  We did not run out of all other easy life options and foster care was the only option left.  Did you not just hear how I am bruised and bloody and broken??  I cry all the time.  I wrestle through horrible thoughts and emotions everyday.

Just because something is hard doesn't mean it shouldn't be done.  The true, life-giving kingdom can be found in the most uncomfortable and challenging places.  I am not saying: everyone should do foster care.  I am saying: don't avoid what the Lord is calling you to do because you are scared.  As I have learned all too well the past nine months, fear is a terrible companion when trying to follow the Spirit. So kick fear in the gut and really ask the Lord what He wants from you.  

Then grab the hands of your people.  Step on that train track.  And walk into the unknown, for that's where real life is waiting for you.

Our People

Our foster daughter is in the hospital...again.  We have been here for three solid weeks.  Due to legal boundaries, I cannot give any more information about what hospital, what she is diagnosed with, etc. all you need to know is that we are not in Bryan for this ordeal.

What I really want to talk about is how we signed up everyone in our life for foster care when Otha and I said "yes" to taking in kids through the foster system.  It seemed like a decision that just affected our family.  Boy, was I wrong!  We truly committed our entire community to doing foster care with us.  And I cry thankful tears that none of them have protested, complained about new burdens to help us carry, or flat out punched us in the face for making their own lives busier.

Our family and church community did not begin participating after we received our first placement, they dove in months before that.  Who watched Asher during the twelve nights we did foster care certification classes?  Who logged a lot of hours putting our house together to help us pass all of our house inspections?  Who filled out recommendations and sat through interviews to prove that the Grahams would not murder foster children?  The most annoying of all the tasks, who had to get the impossible fingerprints done and deal with worst-mood-ever-fingerprinting-receptionist? (special shout-out to the Marions and Lisa; Michelle you got lucky). Our family and community.  They have been there since step one and have not skipped a beat since.

Fast forward almost a year since we began the process and we are still continually surprised and overwhelmed by everyone's love and support.  Otha sent out an email asking for people to watch Asher all week while Otha is at work and I am at the hospital; within 24 hours every single hour was covered.  One dear friend made me a CD of songs that spoke to a part of my soul that had previously been filled with hopelessness and confusion.  People gave us a crazy amount of money to cover expenses like hospital parking ($12 bucks a day!  Who wants to run for mayor and get that changed?), food, and gas.  We are staying with a friend's parents for free and have multiple other offers of free lodging offers.  Two moms traded days watching each others' kids so that they could each come visit me.  Another friend drove down just to watch Asher for a few hours so that Otha and I could be at the hospital together.  My mom spent a whole week here so that I could spend time with both Asher and our daughter.  We have received many phone calls and emails from people encouraging us, some whom we don't even know very well.  That is a small fraction of the ways people have come around us and said with their actions "we will do foster care with you".

Needless to say, we have been taken care of on all levels.  I don't have many tears left after these few  weeks, but I never fail to tear up when I reflect on how people have loved us.  Sure, we believe in taking care of the orphan, but more importantly so does our community.  We believe suffering comes with following Jesus; our community believes they should function as the Body of Christ and carry each others burdens and suffer as one.  We believe that God can heal our little girl and thus our people pray incessantly for her.  They do not treat her or our situation any differently because she is in the foster system or because she technically is not "ours".  They are treating us with the same fierce love that they would have if it was their own flesh and blood.  One day, I hope to tell this little girl 
how deeply she was loved by this group of people when she was struggling for her life, the deepest love she could ever imagine.  And it's all an outpouring of their love for Jesus.  

If you don't have a community of people like that around you, you are missing out.  

I am thankful that everyone said "yes" with us to be foster parents, whether we actually asked them or not.  By committing to our community, we commited to support each other through joy and suffering for the sake of the gospel.   I can only hope to follow everyones example and say "yes" with my actions to others people's journey of spreading the kingdom.  

Unspoken Question

"So... how's the whole having two kids thing going?"

I get that question often.  At this point, I am fairly rehearsed in my answer and feel good walking away from a perfectly normal conversation.

I sometimes wonder if people want to ask this question instead: "So... how's the whole having a kid in your home whom you not only didn't birth, but have no idea whether she will leave tomorrow or be in your family forever thing going?"  Or maybe that's just the question I am wishing people would ask.  For everyone's sake, I am glad that I am not asked that question on a regular basis.  But tonight I want to talk about it.  Tonight I am going to pretend that someone just asked me that very question.


Our baby girl has pneumonia.

I hate that she is sick.  Hate it.  I wish I could just make it all better.  She has been sick for awhile now, but today we got the new diagnosis.  Now she seems even more fragile, which I did not think was possible in my mind.

But you know what I think about when want to hold her more because she is sick?  "Would I hold her even more if she was Asher?  Would I stop everything else to tend to her if I knew for sure she was going to be our daughter forever?  If I had given birth to her would I just not have let her cry that extra 30 seconds while I finished loading the dishwasher?"  These kinds of thoughts swarm through my head daily.  Daily, people.  All day long.  I am constantly calling into question whether the amount of attention she receives or doesn't receive is due to her being the second child in the family so I am naturally split two ways now OR is it because I don't know if she is my forever daughter?

When I think about her being in a forever family with her biological siblings, I am excited for her life.  But I also become emotionally numb when I get in the rational mindset of rooting for this reunification with her siblings.  Because if I let my emotions get involved, I feel crushed.  I know that with some foster care cases, it's a difficult fit and therefore you honestly are ready for the kid to move on to a life beyond your home.  However, this is a tiny, precious baby.  I am not dealing with a kid bringing in attitude due to heartache, or violence due to a lack of feeling safe.  I am dealing with a sweet girl who is starting to cry if I hand her to another person because to her - I am her mom.  She associates my smell, my touch, my voice with having her needs met.  If or when she is put in another family, I know that she will be fine reattaching.  But selfishly it sucks.

I wish I could have breastfed her from day 1 and built up her immune system better so she could fight off things like pneumonia more quickly.  Or I wish she had not been born so prematurely so that her body was not at such a risk for illness.  Or I wish that she didn't have any trauma in the womb that will have lasting consequences affecting the rest of her life.  Or maybe I just wish I didn't care so much.  Because caring hurts.

I love this girl a whole, whole bunch.  Thirty years from now she maybe calling me to check up on her aging mother... or she may just be an entry in my journal about our foster journey.  And either one of those has to be ok.  Either way I will love her now.  And either way I will struggle to know how to do this foster care thing well.

 Thankfully I have a God who is gracious in the midst of my mistakes and a constant peace in the midst of my craziness.  I truly only know how to take this process day by day, begging God to help me.

That's how the whole having a kid in your home whom you not only didn't birth, but have no idea whether she will leave tomorrow or be in your family forever thing is going.

I am so glad you asked.

The Words of Christmas Cards

One aspect of Christmas I enjoy at my parents' house is reading all of their Christmas cards from friends.  These pieces of paper came in the mail and have original, personal sentences all over them telling of the past year in each person's life.  Love them.   I can appreciate the new, fun trend of a Christmas card just having pictures on them with a fun jingle of a sentence, like "happy holidays!".  The pictures are always adorable and the cards super fun and festive.  However, I feel like the tradition of writing Christmas cards is something of the past and I want to revive it!  This makes me sound old fashioned.  But there is something precious to me about reading first hand how someone's year was from their point of view.  A picture of smiling faces in color coordinated outfits does not capture the ups and downs, heartaches and celebrations, struggles and successes of 365 days.  My dad would create fun cards each year like crossword puzzles, quizzes, and poems to portray our year as a family.  Each year I would wait in anticipation to see what he created for our family card.  Although I have heard the argument that technology keeps you plugged in enough throughout the year that you don't need to read about someone's year, I beg to argue that technology should apply even more-so to pictures.  Or "a picture speaks a thousand words"... yes, BUT there are so many words unsaid that a picture cannot communicate.  No judgement to everyone who did a picture Christmas card; we did one last year.  I  am just a sucker for words.

So here is my version of our "would-be" Christmas card if stamps weren't so expensive and it was not already 2 days before Christmas...

Deck the halls with paint and pictures fa la la la la, la la la la
Fix the holes and old light fixtures fa la la la la, la la la la

Moving boxes, replacing floors fa la la, la la la, la la la
Make a new wreath for our door fa la la la, la la la la


Build a chicken coop out back fa la la la la, la la la la
Eggs and chicken poop we do not lack fa la la la, la la la la


Planting gardens, growing food fa la la, la la la, la la la

Urban farmers in a good mood fa la la la la, la la la la

Michelle and Lisa transform apartment fa la la la la, la la la la
Marions help in the yard department fa la la la la, la la la la

Loving the community living fa la la, la la la, la la la
It is daily so life-giving fa la la la la, la la la la


Take countless foster classes fa la la la la, la la la la
Inspections, paperwork by the masses fa la la la la, la la la la

Getting licensed, finally finished fa la la la, la la la, la la la
Excitement still has not diminished fa la la la la, la la la la 


Get a baby girl in our home fa la la la la, la la la la
My emotions are as solid as foam fa la la la la, la la la la

Learning, loving, adjusting to change fa la la, la la la, la la la
Unpredictable life is strange fa la la la la, la la la la


Trust our sovereign God forever fa la la la la, la la la la
Especially in this endeavor fa la la la la, la la la la

Saving, restoring for his glory fa la la, la la la, la la la
Praise him for our life story fa la la la la, la la la la


Or something like that.  We are thankful for this year and what the Lord has done.  When I think of all the adventures packed into our marriage so far, I almost have a panic attack of what is to come 10 years from now.  But thankfully I only have to think about today.  Today I have a loving husband and two precious children to love and care for.  So many blessings to dwell on this Christmas.  I hope you all can find beauty in the ashes and find hope of restoration in the darkest of places this season... for Christ has come to save the world.  Merry Christmas to all. 

New Beginnings

If I was sane, I would be taking a nap right now.  But instead I am drinking coffee and writing… because that’s what crazy people do, right?  They intake a gross amount of caffeine and then purge their thoughts, ideas, and feelings in one way or another.  Sometimes the result is a positive contribution to society.  Other times not so much.  I hope this is the former.

I am already rambling.

Our life has changed a bit in the past few days.  Didn’t you know we are glutens for change?  Marriage, baby, people moving in and out of our homes, buying a house, taking on urban farming practices.  Change, change, change!  We love it!  And by “we” I mean “exclusively Otha”.  This current change, however, I am taking quite well.  I have been awaiting this event in my life for a very, very long time. 

Monday we received the news that we were officially licensed foster care parents.  After all the hours put into training, inconvenient house changes to meet inspection requirements, asking our housemates to jump through hoops to meet qualifications, the day finally had arrived.  We were relieved and excited. 

Less than 24 hours later, I received a phone call asking if we were ready for a placement.  What?!  Thus began the process.  Call Otha and make a decision together.  Call the case worker back.  Case worker calls three more times with new information.  We might not get the placement.  We might get the placement.  Can we do XYZ if we get the placement.  See you in an hour to bring you the child.  Just like that ladies and gentlemen. 

There were so many small things were in place to prepare our life for this change:

*I oddly did the majority of housework and laundry Sunday and Monday night, which is not the norm for me.  But our home was clean and ready for another little one. 

*Rachael and Juliette were already planning on coming over that afternoon.  So I not only had their emotional support, but they were a huge help watching other kiddos while paperwork was being completed.  Juliette stayed for a long time holding our new little friend so that Otha and I could get baby stuff down from the attic.

*Conveniently, we are part of a Meal Co-op every Tuesday night, so dinner was already going to be prepared for us that night.

*Asher’s attachment to Otha has been growing significantly over the past few weeks.  This has been such a blessing to help alleviate jealously issues for Asher as I spend the majority of my time holding another baby. 

I could go on an on.  It’s so fun to see how God put every single little piece in place to make this work well. 

Asher has been taking full advantage of my divided focus.  Thus far, he has eaten part of a banana peel, tried to climb in the toilet, and brought me items out of the kitchen trash can… all when I leave the room for about 60 seconds.  Needless to say, this new addition to the family has benefited his curiosity.  Asher also loves being close to the new baby girl.  Close is an understatement.  He likes to try to roll on her, lay his head on her head, pet her face, kiss her until he has engulfed her tiny body.  I am pretty sure I have saved her life 36 times already from the monstrous boy trying to love her to death.  Although he has some moments of wanting to be held at the same time, I have been impressed with his adjustment up to this point.  Tomorrow could be a totally different story.  But I have stopped thinking and talking about “tomorrows” because tomorrows are unpredictable.  I know I just have to keep these two little ones alive, safe, and healthy today. 

I have surprisingly kept my emotions in tact.  Thank you adrenalin.  My mind however is like a hamster running on a wheel.  There is a mad dash in my brain between logistical thoughts to keep the day rolling smoothly and deep contemplation about all the factors dictating this little girl’s life.  Well great, now I lied about my emotions; typing that last sentence brought on the tears.  This tiny baby has no idea how many people are involved in the workings of her life- past, present, and future.  It’s overwhelming for me to have the privilege of holding her in this very moment to help her feel deeply loved and cared for.  It’s even more overwhelming when I wish that her biological mom could be holding her in this very moment instead of me.  I grieve for both of them missing out on each other on this day.  But there is hope for change and hope for this missing out on each other to cease one day.  In the spirit of Advent, we hope in anticipation for God to show up and do something great.

Between meals, phone calls, texts, emails, baby items, errands run for us, we feel an inexpressible gratitude for all the love and support we have been given the past few days.
I love that we can embark on journeys such as foster care and have such a wonderful community to travel with along the way.  Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Well, Asher’s nap is coming to an end and another cup of coffee awaits my tired body.  I will forge on and embrace another afternoon in this new, beautifully terrifying season of life.

Living in Community... With Chickens.

Yes, my friends.  That's right.  In addition to the 6 adults and 1 child living on the property, we now have ten feathery creatures.  I wish I could gush about how much I love those little animals...
"The way they peck so sweetly at the ground, flap their gorgeous wings, and greet you with a cluck- it's simply beautiful".  However the gushing about chickens does not come naturally to me.  I blame the gushing of their poop for my lack of love.  Poop everywhere.  All the time.  Thankfully, up to this point the chickens have been kept in their coop so the poop has been contained.  This week they are officially being promoted to free-range chickens and their poop can "nourish" our yard.

This morning I took it upon myself to be responsible and let the chickens out for the day.  The trick is to only let the older 8 chickens out of the coop and keep the 2 little chicks inside (so they don't get eaten by the cats, dogs, or children that have attempted to get them this past week).  So just close the door before the chicks run out with the older pullets, right?  Wrong.  The chicks run in the midst of the pullets out of the coop, fast as lightening.  So then I had a dilemma- "how do I get the 2 chicks back in the coop?".  Any normal human would just pick them up and place them back inside.  But remember, I think they are gross.  I don't want to touch them or get pooped on.  And I forgot to mention I am holding Asher this whole time because he is scared of being down on the ground with the chickens.  So I grab a large stick hoping to herd the chicks back inside.  Instead I just scared all the chickens into a corner where the chicks were hiding amongst the others.  Fail.  Plan B, herd all of the chickens back in the coop... then try to just herd the big ones out again.  All the chickens except the chicks went back in the coop.  Fail.  Plan C, pick up the chicks and place them in the coop through the top door while the others go out of the coop through the bottom door.  Two older chickens stayed inside, one chick escaped the coop by squeezing between the wire, and of course I had to touch the chickens.  Fail.

Luckily in the midst of this circus, my fellow commune dweller Lisa came out in the yard.  She quickly jumped in to help, after laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation.  With some discussion and more failed attempts at keeping the 2 chicks in and the rest out, I decided to put them all back in the coop.  I was not going to have those little chicks die on my watch.  So Lisa grabbed a large piece of wood, I had my stick, and we comically herded all of the chickens back in the coop... except one little chick.  Ugh.  I handed Asher to Lisa and chased that fast, little chick around until I caught it and put it back in the coop.

Besides the terrible smell, gross talons, and poop everywhere, I think I could learn to like these birds.  When they are in their coop, I feel bad for them.  I become attached to them through empathy and imagine they have elaborate thoughts, feelings, dreams for their lives.  I adore them from afar.  It's the up close and personal day to day care-taking that I am not wild about.  But I am their woman and they are my children.  Otha is back at work and eventually Josh and Merinda will take another trip to Ghana.  That leaves me with the chickens.

The coop Otha and Josh built.  Manly Men.

The men also kindly built this fence so that they chickens don't poop all over our back patio.  Thanks guys.

One day we will have fresh eggs and I will cuddle those chickens in thankfulness for feeding our family.  But for now, I will keep my distance and herd them with a stick.

Grumps About Frumps

A few days ago, my friend and I were discussing very important topics such as sweating and choosing paint colors.  Somewhere in between the exchanged intellect, we stumbled upon the subject of clothing and how much confidence women derive from what they wear.  This got me thinking about "frumpy moms".  If you have never heard that phrase before, you have probably never hung around moms for more than thirty minutes.  The phrase is bound to reach the surface of conversation.  


According to my good friend Dictionary.com, the definition of "frumpy" is 

frumpy or frumpish  (ˈfrʌmpɪ, ˈfrʌmpɪʃ)
— adj
	(of a woman, clothes, etc) dowdy, drab, or unattractive I hear "frumpy mom" used in sentences such as: *(In response to a clothing compliment)"Thanks!  Don't want to be a frumpy mom!" *"No need to look like a frumpy mom, you know?" *"Ugh, I just feel like a frumpy mom." It's apparently the worst of the worst.  No one wants to be a frumpy mom.  But my question is why?  What is so, so terrible about not being up to date with the latest fashion while you are raising children?   This should be the most forgiving season of life when it comes to being trendy.  You are raising small human beings who poop on themselves, sling yogurt at your face, and always end up with something sticky in their hair.  Why would I want to spend time putting on face foundation when my toddler is going to wipe with banana fingers on my cheek?  Or wear an adorable shirt when it's guaranteed my little boy will want to be picked up when he is filthy from playing outside?  Or wear heels when I am chasing around a tiny person all. day. long.? This past weekend we were waiting to be seated at a restaurant and I was observing the crowd around me.  With this "frumpy" subject on my mind, I spotted a women who would most likely be labeled with the Frump Card.  I watched her interact with her family and friends and guess what?  She was confident, seemingly satisfied, and most importantly showed love and affection to her children who were sitting with her.  I'm pretty sure she was not about to fall off the face of the earth because of her "dowdy, drab, or unattractive" outfit.   It seemed as if her ability as a mom was not crumbling due to her clothes.  I'm not sure what women think will happen if they become "frumpy".  Maybe they will transform into an alien with three more sets of arms (which would actually be a miraculous asset in raising multiple children). Or better yet, maybe they will curl up in a permanent ball and only be able to somersault wherever they want to go.  Or who knows, maybe frumpy moms wake up with a tattoo covering their entire body saying "I will never be as good of a mom as you because your garments are better than mine"... in greek, because that's trendy these days. I am not saying I do not struggle with wanting to look cute.  I do.  Way more so than I wish to admit.  But I do not want to live in fear of this lurking invisible monster that eats your fashionable wardrobe and turns you into the dreaded "frumpy mom".  That monster is not real.  However, I kind of wish that monster existed simply to give us all a reality check of what is important.   I am not saying we should all strive for frump, but maybe we should become a little less concerned with whether we are frumpy moms or not.   So here is my tribute to those moms who care more about other things than their clothes.  Thank you for setting an example that outfits don't matter, fashion fades, and time is better spent with people than in front of the mirror or  digging through your closet.  Thank you for showing me that lacking in the cute department does not mean you are neglecting yourself as a woman and as a mom... I am pretty sure you still brush your teeth and wash your armpits.  Thank you for finding your confidence elsewhere that appearance.  Even if you don't realize you are not in fashion because you are completely oblivious to societal trends, that's a rare gem that would benefit us all.