Can I tell you something? I’m SCARED!

It is about to get real!  I mean really, really real.  You see, I’m the kind of person who doesn’t like to worry, and if I can put it off until tomorrow I will.  So, when people have said to me, “I could never foster, because it would hurt too much when the kids went home”, to be honest, I just didn’t think about it, because that ‘going home’ bit was a distant reality.  It wasn’t something I cared to worry about at that moment.  But, I can’t put it off any longer, that ‘day’ is just around the corner and if I’m blatantly honest, then I’d tell you I’m SCARED!! 

I’m scared about a lot of things.  Will our kids be tucked in every night?  Will they get three meals and good snacks every day?  Will they get lots of hugs?  Will they be told how special they are?  Will they get the care they deserve and need?  Will they have someone there to help them with their homework or do a craft with them?  Will someone be there to throw the football around with our little guy?  Will someone give them the special character band aids when they fall down and scrape their knee?  Will someone protect them from the things they have seen and experienced in their past?  So many random fears are running through my mind right now.  But, you know what?  I’ve decided this isn’t so much about me being scared or my own fears, instead it is really about my ability to trust.  Can I trust God with these children?  Do I trust God enough that I believe He can keep these kiddos safe even when I am no longer in the picture?  Even when I am no longer their mom??

I love that God has been able to use me, a simple mom, in His greater purpose.  I love that He has been able to use our whole family (immediate and extended) to write a love story on these children’s hearts and vice versa He has used these kiddos to write a love story on our hearts!  And, even though, this next month might bring A LOT of  heartache, I can honestly say I’m glad God picked me to love these kiddos.   

The day is fast approaching when I will not be able to put off the hurt and heartache of saying goodbye to these four amazing kiddos and I pray that when that time comes I will be able to put ALL my trust and faith in God.  I pray I will be able to rejoice in seeing a family reunited and take heart that we were able to be a small part of this beautiful and messy redemption story.  I pray that God will take my hurt, fear, and lack of trust and exchange it for His peace. 

As my husband and I have said time and time again, it is not about us, but about God and these beautiful children and if I’m honest, I just need to trust Him with writing this final chapter, because it is about to get real….

 

 

 

 

Chosen

Adoption can be messy. Adoption can be hard. Adoption can be difficult.

During the journey of adoption, especially the adoption of older children, I believe there are times when families wrestle and struggle with several questions.

Questions such as;

What if this child never calls me mom or dad?

What if this child never accepts being adopted by us?

What if this child never chooses me?

We like to be chosen and affirmed, right? We enjoy walking in relationships where the feelings are reciprocated. As parents we are not immune from these feelings. So, when we take in a child who brings with them vivid memories of their family and their past with hopes to return home, it is easy to get sideswiped with such questions and fears.

As current foster parents our personal story is not at a place or point of adoption, but looking forward we have found ourselves asking these same questions outwardly and inwardly. Our human side wonders about the ‘what if’s’ of the future, uncertain how our story will play out. Our selfishness is concerned that children in our home may never choose or accept us as their mom and dad. In our vulnerability we wonder will we ever be enough to heal all the heartache, pain, and trauma caused not only by the temporary separation, but by the long term termination of the parental rights, if in fact that were ever to occur.

As I wrestled with these questions this past weekend God whispered these truths deep into my soul, “I chose you, with no guarantee you would ever choose me back. I loved you, with no guarantee you would ever love me back. I pursued you, with no guarantee you would ever pursue me back. I gave my life for you, with no guarantee you would ever give your life for me.” And, then it made sense again. This journey is not about us, but about God and the children that have been placed in our home. This journey is not about whether or not a child chooses us, but it is about our decision to choose them. This journey is not about whether a child calls us mom and dad or Mr. Keith and Mrs. Staci, but about our decision to call that child our own.

Sometimes we need to be reminded again and again that we have been chosen before we ever start believing it. Scripture reminds us of God’s choice, “You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you so that you might go and bear fruit–fruit that will last–and so that whatever you ask in my name the Father will give you.” John 15:16.

God has chosen my wife and me to love these children in our home. He has called us to go and bear fruit that will last. We are able to choose the children placed in our home, because we have been chosen by our God.

It should never be about whether or not a child chooses us as their parents. After all, God has always chosen us, without any guarantee of whether or not we would reciprocate that choice.

If we get to a place of adoption in our journey, will the children in our home at that time choose us? Who knows? But, what we do know is that we will choose them, like God has chosen us and with that we can move forward and love freely, even if we remain Mr. Keith and Mrs. Staci for the rest of our lives.

Capturing the Past…

As a child, I moved around A LOT. My dad was in the Army and for the first fifteen years of my life we were at the mercy of wherever the military decided we needed to go. Every time we moved, a moving company would come in and pack up all of our possessions and take them to the next destination. It was always a cool day when the moving truck arrived at our new place and we were able to unload all of our stuff. My childhood was filled with He-Man action figures, GI Joe’s, race cars, Ninja Turtles, Lego’s and Micro Machines! At least, those were the go to items I enjoyed playing with the most. It was like Christmas morning each move-in day!

Today, I can still drive to my parents’ house in Yukon, OK, walk into their garage, climb up the rickety latter leading into the attic and pull out box after dusty box while unpacking my childhood. It’s still there, I still have the opportunity to relive my past and bring it into the present. In fact, recently my parents brought a couple of boxes to Amarillo for me to go through. We found every note Staci wrote me in high school tucked away in those boxes. I’m sure one day our children will love reading through those!

Such great memories. But, what if I couldn’t touch, feel, and connect with my past in tangible ways? What if the moving truck never showed up at our new place and I had to start all over, again? What if I couldn’t go look through all the yearbooks from my childhood that still line the bottom row of my book shelf? What if my childhood was just a fragment of memories without any real item to connect the past to the present?

Unfortunately, that is the reality for thousands of foster children every single day. In our home, one of our foster kiddos neatly tucks away new gifts and special items into her suitcase my parents gave her this past Christmas, hoping to hold onto each item. Another of our foster kiddos takes his yearbook from last year, everywhere! At this point, I know his elementary school staff probably better than any other parent, because he constantly quizzes my wife and I on names and faces as he carefully looks through the yearbook over and over and over again. Our other foster kiddo tucks all of her prized possessions away in her special drawer, so that they don’t get lost or damaged. In fact, our three older foster children all have ‘special drawers’ in their rooms. They want to keep everything and I mean everything! But, it makes sense right? What would you do if you were 6, 8, or 10 and the only items you had from your childhood were the items you had gathered since entering foster care? Wouldn’t you want to protect them, hoard them, and keep them safe? Wouldn’t you want to make sure you didn’t lose anything? Now, I’m not saying every item they own goes unfazed. They have lost and broken items in the past twelve months. But, understanding where they are at and where they come from definitely comes to light when you see your ten year old take his yearbook to bed with him. They just want to be kids and remember their childhood. They came into care with just the clothes on their backs. They’ve had a long line of moves in their short lives, but unlike myself, no moving truck showed up to pack up their stuff and then meet them at their next destination with everything they owned. They moved and left stuff behind.

As foster parents it is part of our role to help them rebuild their childhood, not just emotionally, but also through material items and memories. Here are a few ideas that we believe provide meaningful ways children in foster care can ‘capture’ a glimpse of their childhood.

Lifebook’s. These books are intended to be created to capture memories. Such as, report cards, school pictures, birthday pictures, letters, achievements, artwork, and so many more items. We have a close friend who makes 2 picture books for every child in her home. The books are a photo record of their time in her home, complete with cute sayings, milestones and tidbits about what was going on in each picture. She sends one book with the child and keeps one on her coffee table. In fact, if you were to show up at her house today, you would be able to flip through the pages of all the adorable kiddos she has had come through her home in the past few years.

Special Drawer. Encourage the child to have a special place in their room for all their ‘really special’ items, such as, letters from parents, special toys, or clothes. Give them ownership over their space and their room.

Family Pictures. Try to get a picture of the biological family, possibly at a weekly visit. Buy the child a frame or photo board for their room and help them hang up pictures of their biological family. Not only do you validate that child, but you also validate that their biological family is important to you too!

Menu planning. Allow them to help you plan the menu with things they loved eating with their biological family. Too often foster children have to ‘change’ to fit in to the foster home. That is stupid. We should change to fit into their lives as well. Create a ‘recipe book’ of the things they have liked at your house. For example, one of our foster daughters LOVES guacamole! Her brother has already told her she won’t get it at home, because their parents do not know how to make it. So, why not create a ‘recipe book’ for them to take all the recipes of the foods they loved back home?

Clothes shopping. Allow them to help you pick out their new clothes. Believe me, I HATE shopping, but don’t you remember how it felt when your parents took you shopping and let you buy new clothes. I felt like a million bucks in my new Nike’s back in the day!

What other ideas have you tried? What other ways have you helped a child in your home ‘capture’ the memories of their childhood while they were with you?

Dear Biological Family

There are a few things we would like you to know. 

Your children being taken away from you was not their fault.  They did not ask to be neglected.  They had no choice in the matter.

You get to see your children once a week.  Please, please enjoy your time with your children.  No doubt, they look forward to visits all week.  But, then when you are not engaged or choose to be grumpy with them, it makes them feel like crap.  Do you know who is there to pick up the pieces when you treat them bad and break their hearts?  We are, the foster family. 

Your children want you! They do not care about the money we spend on them or the trips we take, or even where we go out to eat.  They only want you.  So, this isn’t a competition, you win.  At least, we hope you win.

We are not your enemy.  In fact, foster parents aren’t the enemy.  We are here to love and keep your children safe until you can get it together and start making mature decisions that have positive impact on your children’s lives.  We are not here to judge you, belittle you, or talk bad about you.  In fact, we are here to cheer you on!  We are here to build you up in your children’s eyes, but also have the hard conversations with them when you choose to make a bad choice.  Even in that, we try and keep it positive.  We want them to believe in you!  Oh, it is hard some days, really it is.  Because remember, we are the ones picking up the pieces and defending their little hearts.  So fragile, so hurt, so confused.  We don’t understand the choices you have made, but we also have never walked in your shoes and lived  your life. 

We need you to hear this.  Your children are so incredibly precious that nothing should ever be placed over them.  You should fight for them, sacrifice for them, and give all you’ve got to get them back!  Until then, we promise to love them so deeply that it will hurt when they leave.  We promise to keep them safe, secure and surrounded in love as they walk through this journey.  We promise to protect them as if they were our own biological children, and honestly we treat them as if they are.  We promise to be there to pick up all the pieces that were broken and put them back together as best we can, even if it is really hard sometimes. 

No, neither of us could ever understand what it is like to have our children taken away from us, but we do know how to love, protect, defend, and sacrifice for your children like they are our very own. 

We are rooting for you.  We want you to succeed.  Your children want you to succeed.  Please make the right choices, cherish the moments you have with them, and understand that no matter what, you are their parent, and that makes you special to them and to us.

Sincerely,

The Foster Parents

 

Mo Brown – One of the Best Ones to Ever Live…

“Hey bro, I just wanted to call and see how you were doing?”

That’s how the phone call started, as most phone calls from him did.  I leaned back in my chair and I immediately decompressed.  We joked about how we both hated writing home studies, ‘no matter how much someone is willing to pay!’, even though neither of us were even eligible to be paid because of our positions.  He had just left Freebirds and as food connoisseur’s we both agreed Freebirds over Chipotle any day. We talked about his thirty year reunion this past weekend.  He mentioned he had such a good time and shared several memories about  his classmates back then and now.  We talked about our wives and our children, especially our children.  He loved his children something fierce, from Josh on down to his three little ones about to be adopted. His love for them was evident by the three year foster care journey to be their daddy! We talked about the upcoming golf tournament here in Amarillo next week.  He had been telling me since day one, ‘golf tournaments are the way to go bubba!’ I was so proud to let him know it looked like it was going to be a success!  And, then he mentioned how a former youth he had helped recently reached out to his office with the consideration of a large donation to Arrow, because of everything he had done for her.  You could tell he was so humbled and honored.  I affirmed to him that he was that good of dude and everyone knew it!  Then we said, ’talk to you later’ and hung up the phone. 

This has been my ‘norm’ for the past three years, phone calls to and from Mo Brown, who I affectionately called Mo-Diggity.  So, what do you do when you learn your ‘norm’ is no more?  When you learn that the call 36 hours ago will be the last, “hey bro, how are you doing?” call you get from Mo-Diggity.   I tell you what you do, you pick up your phone and scroll through your voicemail and you listen to every single message that man ever left you.  Even the five second ones that say, ‘hey bro, give me a call when you get the opportunity…’ and then you cry, scratch that, you sob, you yell, you punch your desk…because you are all out of ‘opportunities’ to give that man a call.  And, men like that are few and far between.  You know it, because he was special.  You know it, because he cared about you and always had your back.  You know it, because you always felt like, ‘this is a guy, I want to be like..’  And, when you lose that, it hurts

Heroes are few and far between in this world, but Mo Brown was one of my heroes.  He loved his wife like Christ loved the Church.  Their love was contagious.  He loved his babies more than life itself and he fought, battled, protected, nurtured, and prayed over those little ones as a proud father.  He was in one accord with his Heavenly father, ‘the Defender of the Fatherless….’, and his life was evidence of that fact. 

He was a man who stood for what’s right, no matter who was looking.  He was my sounding board, venting board, and shoot the breeze guy in the child welfare field.  And, as a guy in this field, finding those dudes are few and far between.   But, more than all that, he was my friend.  He was someone who made me believe I had it in me to lead, grow, and prosper not only in this field, but life.  And, now he’s made his exit.  But, he’s not gone.  His lessons are rich, his laugh still rings in my ear, his heart for his family is still admirable, his desire to be the best man he could be every single day will still challenge me to get up and do it like Mo.  Oh, there will be days I’ll find myself just staring at my phone wanting to hit the Mo-Diggity button (afterall, we talked several times a week), but now I’ll just close my eyes, lean back in my chair and listen to everything he ever taught me and told me.  Mo Brown, you impacted my life more than I ever told you and I’m a better man, because of you.  Thank You! We will never get that last gutpak at Vitek’s we had scheduled for this past June 18th (before the child welfare world got in our way!) But, I’m glad I got a day with you last week in Dallas. I’ll cherish that day and your phone call yesterday for the rest of my life bro.  

He loved Jesus, his family, football, East Texas, cooking out and serving children and families in foster care.  What a legacy.  When I grow up I want to be like Mo Brown.  He was one of my heroes and my heart will have an empty spot until we greet each other on the other side and I get a, ‘how you been bubba?’…..

Tonight, I not only remember the good times with Mo, but my heart also breaks for Shirl and their four beautiful children.  They need us, they need our prayers, and they need our support.  Mo was also their hero, their husband, their daddy, and that is a void no one will ever be able to fill. 

Pray for them and remember Mo.  He was and is one of the best ones to ever live! 

It’s Okay to Suck, Really It is.

As Foster Parents we have heard it several times, “Oh, y’all are amazing!!  I don’t know how you do it!!” 

True Confession:  Sometimes we suck as foster parents.  There you have it.  Real life.  Transparency.  Open book.

We wish we didn’t.  We wish it was fairy tales, cotton candy, and white picket fences.  But, let’s face it.  When we willingly opened ourselves up to take on four children that we did not have anything to do with for the first 20 months, 5 years, 7 years, and 9 years of their lives we opened ourselves up to a BIG task!

From day one, we began to take on the stress of their trauma, the frustration of their boundaries, their struggle with food issues, and the heartache of their hearts.  

We willingly chose to do something fundamentally in contrast to our human nature side that shouts ‘protect yourself, protect your family, protect your nice little life.’  Why on earth would we choose to reject that shout?? Because, we hate playing it safe, and well, we hate white picket fences!!

But, that does not make it easy. 

We get asked the same question 20 gazillion times!  Not 19.999999 gazillion, literally 20 gazillion.  Most people’s patience runs out at 11 gazillion, so give us some props people.  Just last week we had a 10 minute conversation about glow sticks and if they would make your skin light up if you busted it open.  After answering the question 17 times, there was absolutely no redirecting, NONE, I tell you.  They just kept going and going and going.  What the crap?!?   At that point, one of us (whom shall remain nameless) said, “We are done, and now we will never get that 10 minutes of oxygen back EVER, thank you.”  Therapeutic?  No.  But, we are being transparent, right? 

Food issues??  Oh man, these are hard!  Some of it there is no rhyme or reason too, they simply Will. Not. Eat. It.  As parents, one of us understands this a little, the other one is a ‘eat what I give you kind of person’.  So, do we always make the best decisions with food issues?  Nope.  But, the children never go hungry!!  So, pat us on the back, right?

When we have been told for the 37th time that a parent was arrested for stealing from the very store we are walking through, our heart will usually do two things.  First, it will break that a child had to experience that and secondly, it gets mad that a child had to experience that!  Seriously, last night, while at Target we went through our whole family with one of our foster kiddos asking the question of, “Have they ever stolen anything?”  Rest assured Nana, Gigi, Papa, Gramps, Uncle Paul, Aunt Jessica, Aunt Christal, and Uncle Tim you are all free and clear of any theft charges.  We do our best to love the biological family, but dang if their choices don’t occasionally piss us off a bit! 

Let’s see, what else makes us not so awesome?  We raise our voices, we get frustrated, we feel burn out, we wonder why we can’t be more therapeutic, we ignore questions  after they’ve hit their 20 gazillion max, and we don’t always respond in the way that each individual child needs in that exact moment.

But, you know what?  It’s okay.  God didn’t call us to be foster parents because we were perfect (well, one of us is, the other not so much!). No, He called us because He knew we would say ‘yes’.  And, most days, a ‘yes’ is hard to come by when He wants His people to do something really, really hard! 

It’s okay, because we love.  We love like crazy! 

It’s okay, because we admit our wrongs.  We are a family of grace and forgiveness and ultimately, that starts with us, the parents (suck!).  If they see us admit failure, they are more likely to understand it is safe to do so too.

It’s okay, because we are committed.  We are committed to see the lives of these four kiddos changed. 

It’s okay, because even when we are frustrated with the biological family, we know they love these kids, just in their own way.  And, it’s okay if that is different than our way.

We are okay, because He called us.  We are, broken, flawed, unworthy, struggling, and yet, useable. 

What we know is this:  It is okay to not always have it together, to struggle, to lose our patience, to get frustrated, to be stressed, and to not always respond therapeutically with every single question.  No family is ever perfect, including ours.  We are just willing to learn how to be better parents and love these kids better, even when we are not very lovable ourselves.

So, on the days we suck, we remember, it has never been about us, but it has always been about them and Him and that is more than enough to get up and try again. 

NOW, NO. MORE. QUESTIONS ABOUT GLOW STICKS!:-)

-Howard, party of 8

To Fix or Not to Fix…

Most of us like to ‘fix’ things.  Now, that doesn’t necessarily mean you want to fix things in the physical/structural sense.  I, for one, have very limited skill when it comes to tools, carpentry, mechanical and/or work revolving around such.  Likewise, I have very limited interest in ever really learning. 

And yet, most of us would be hard pressed to disagree with the fact that we all have this built in desire to ‘fix’ something in us, in others, or in our world,

  • our weight
  • our appearance
  • our attitude
  • our life situation
  • our job situation
  • our spiritual walk
  • our relationships
  • local/national politics
  • world issues
  • And, on and on and on…..

So, is it any wonder that most of us inherently address fostering the same way?  We want to ‘fix’ the child and in the process we forget that it is just a child, with a lot of brokenness inside them.  Most of which, we have very limited capacity to touch, if we don’t first accept, love, receive, admire and affirm who they are ‘unfixed’. 

As foster parents, we can get so busy in the ‘innocence of fixing’ that we forget we are just called to the journey.  God enables the ‘fixing’ in His season, but more importantly, in His timing.  (This can be really, really, really hard!)   

The reminder to myself:  Don’t miss the journey, because you are too caught up in the ‘fixing’.  Model love, model boundaries, model appropriateness, model acceptance, model patience, model trust, model healthy relationships and one day, maybe,  just maybe that kid you started out trying to ‘fix’ will be the best adult he or she can be. 

Let the journey continue…….

 

Dear Church: Racism is OUR Problem

Dear Church,

I love you. You have helped raise me, you have taken care of me, and you have shown me immeasurable amounts of grace and mercy. You have taken me in with all my scars. Scars formed by failures past and present. Scars formed from sins small and large. For this I will forever be thankful. You are the Bride of Christ. This makes you beautiful. You are His hands and Feet, this makes you powerful. And, yet, as the Bride you are not perfect. In fact, your scars are also evident. The brokenness of your heart and walls is on show for all to see. People love chipping away at your cracks, mocking your Groom and mocking you, his Bride. But, I still think you are special.

That is why I want to talk to you. You, the Church. I need you to know something. I need you to hear the heart of the Groom. His heart is one of diversity, and yet, Church we often fall short of the Groom’s heart.

It is not your fault. You didn’t create the shades, but you did allow the shades to divide in your name.

In fact, it is not within your walls that I learned of such evil. I learned it from those in the community who claimed to be a part of you and from those who claimed not to be a part of you. That both agreed, often made it very confusing for me. Aren’t we supposed to be different?

I still remember my grandpa using the word. You know the word, n****r. He said it during his normal conversation while talking about the recent signings of the Dallas Cowboys. I sat there as I heard him say, “Well, they signed a bunch of n****rs.” I’ll never forget that moment. I won’t. I was confused. My closest friends were all African American. I was blessed to be raised around a very diverse, accepting clan of Army Brats. We were not white, black, brown, or tan. We were simply, children. Children, who loved and accepted one another regardless of the color of our skin.

Church, do you remember when I was in the 8th grade in San Angelo, Texas? Do you remember that day at lunch when I was sitting with all my friends (all African American’s) and one of them asked me why I never sat with the white kids? You remember me being confused and angry, right? Why would I sit with the white kids? Why did it even matter? Those were my friends and I sat with my friends. But, that day, I began to feel some of the racial divides of our country.

And, then I would hear that word again. It was in the ninth grade, my family and I had just moved to Yukon, Oklahoma. One morning, while in the locker room, a teammate mentioned, “n****rs.” Once again, I sat there stunned, speechless, and unsure of what I was really hearing. It hurt. It hurt deep. In fact, I wondered, why in the heck was I living in such a place like this?

And yet, nothing would hurt as deep as my college years. It was post 9/11. My roommate, my brother, my friend is of East Indian heritage; somehow this would classify him as an ‘Arab’. As if, being of Arab descent was bad? Every day he would mention things that were yelled at or spoken to him on campus in those following weeks. I would get so angry. You remember don’t you Church? I had quite a temper back then. I would fight anyone, anywhere, anytime. And so, I was mad. That set up that fateful night during an intramural basketball game when an opponent asked him if his ‘camel was parked outside.’ You remember that don’t you Church? That was not my finest night, but I had to fight, I had to defend, I had to stand up. All around me I didn’t see a single member of your body getting angry. That was the only night in my life that I threatened to kill someone. In fact, I’m ashamed to say I threatened to kill the guy’s whole family. I remember the anger, the rage, my body shaking and being held back by others. In that moment, I would have done it Church. I would have murdered everyone who dared speak racism against my brother. I’m not proud of that moment Church. It is a moment that the Groom covered with His grace. For that I’m thankful. But, I’m also not ashamed for being angry and reacting. Why would no one else stand up?

And yet, in the days, weeks and months to follow it has only continued to spiral. I’ve heard it since then. All the stereotypes of supposed ‘Arab’ people. They are ‘towel heads’, they ‘own 7-11’s’, and they are all ‘extremists’. Church I know this breaks your heart. Especially, since your Groom, of Jewish heritage, most likely had a darker, more defined complexion than that of the Caucasian Jesus I grew up looking at. I bet you hated having that picture on your wall, didn’t you?

It still hasn’t stopped. Church, it is your body I have seen rallying against the ‘Mexicans’ who are here illegally. I know you don’t mean too, but your name is all over it, because we, your body, love to do things with a sprinkle of the Groom on top. And, yet, ‘those people’ are part of YOU! They are members of your body, they are also the Groom’s Bride. Why, why can’t we see that? Church, why do we promote racism in the name of being an American, being a Republican or being a Democrat?

Church, is your heart breaking yet? Mine is. It hasn’t stopped. You are aware of the recent trial that took place and the racist undertones that have accompanied it. The President spoke some strong truths yesterday. Did you hear it Church? Did you hear him express the reality of profiling and stereotyping that he, as a bi-racial African American man, has faced throughout his life? I know it’s true, because I’ve seen it. I know it’s true, because as much as I’ve touted my diversity and openness I too have made judgments based on conceived ideas about certain populations. I’m guilty. I’ve laughed at jokes that only enhanced racist stereotypes. I’m guilty. I’ve made blanket statements about people based on their race in my mind, even if I never spoke it out verbally. I’m guilty. I’ve stood quietly by while listening to others spew brokenness without standing and rebuking it every time. I’m guilty. Those moments have not been my finest moments Church. Admitting these failures hurts. It hurts deep, because all my life I’ve said I’m not that person. But, it is also freeing. Don’t you see Church, when we admit it, own it, and bring it to light, then the light will cast out all darkness, evil, and ugliness. Church, it is okay to admit we’ve failed. In fact, it is more than okay. It is beautiful.

I’ve heard friends, co-workers, church members and family members say things that don’t make you proud. I’ve seen them post things on Facebook or forward an email with a racist undertone. And, you know what hurts? I didn’t always respond Church. I didn’t. I wish I had. But, Church, I failed you, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I have not been who you need me to be. I’m sorry I have not been who the Groom needs His Bride to be.

Church, why am I talking to you? I’m talking to you, because your body operates like this. Racism, prejudice, and bias are real inside your walls. I know you know. You see it every single Sunday. Caucasians worship within your walls with other Caucasians, African Americans worship within your walls with other African Americans, Hispanics worship within your walls with other Hispanics, Asians worship within your walls with other Asians and on and on and on. You see Church, I understand, it is not just a Caucasian problem, African American problem, Hispanic problem, or an Asian problem. I understand the problem is not centered around one tone of skin, or one society, or one culture. Within each race there is racism, prejudice and bias toward others. Church, within your walls, no matter the color, racism still runs its course like a virus. Why Church?

Why are we like this? Why Church? Why are we okay with racism and at times even try to ignore it? As if, it will just go away? Or, act as if it really “is not that big of a deal”. Our silence on the issue only further perpetuates and condones it. The words not spoken speak volumes. Why are we so quick to praise the Groom with our lips and hearts, but decimate His beautiful creation with those same lips and those same hearts?

Why am I talking to you Church? I’m talking to you, because you can change this. You can call all people to the table and hold everyone accountable. You alone can blend the shades and spread the message. You can call racism what it is, sin. And, as we know Church, sin will always separate us from the Groom. The Groom covers our sin, but we have to address it and then we have to confess it. We have to own our sin; we have to be accountable for our sin. You know this Church. You know the Groom stands by wanting to take His Bride by His side. But, she is ugly. She is racist. She is prejudice. She is bias. She is broken. Church, you can fix this.

I still believe in you Church. You are beautiful. You are the Bride. But, Church, racism is OUR problem.

Please Church, please let the Groom restore you to the beautiful blend of shades you were meant to be.

Sincerely,

A guy who loves the Church & loves the diversity with which it can be..

“I am not what I ought to be.
I am not what I hope to be.
But I am not what I once used to be
and by the grace of God I am what I am.”

~ John Newton (1725-1807), former slave trader turned minister and abolitionist; author of the hymn, Amazing Grace

*These are my thoughts and honest reflections about the issue. Some terms in this post are not politically correct, and it was meant to be that way, to highlight the racist under tones in our society. Some things may offend you. If they do, ask yourself, why? Why are you offended? Full disclosure, I’m a 33 yr old white guy trying to be more like Christ, but often falling short of who He wants/needs me to be. I struggle daily with my own temptations, sins, struggles. I have not experienced extreme racism or prejudice directed at me, so I don’t claim to be a victim or even to fully understand. But, I do believe the conversation needs to be had. And, what better place than the Church? The very place that was intended from day one to be full of diversity. We’ve dropped the ball, we’ve been silent, and we’ve perpetuated evil in places evil should never have a foothold.

Parenting Individuality With a Touch of Trauma..

As we pulled up to the amusement park, we heard a sweet voice in the back seat say, “When do I put on my swimsuit?” My wife looked at me and then turned around and asked, “Do you not already have it on? Where is your swimsuit?” “No, it is at the hotel”, came the response, along with a very confused look.

The simple instruction to our five oldest children prior to getting dressed earlier that morning was, “kiddos, be sure to put your swimsuits on under your clothes.” This child heard the direction, but had failed to do so. So, what were we to do? Is this a life lesson moment? Perhaps a logical consequence of, “Well then, no swimming for you!”?

We headed down that path, but then, we stopped. My wife and I looked at each other and asked, “What was our role in reminding her?” It sounds simple, it really does. But, the deeper discussion we were having was not about swimsuits, but more so, about where our 6 year old was functioning due to the trauma she had experienced in her life.

We’ve been to the trainings and even read a few books, but for it to come to life, we had to own it, understand it, and respond properly to it.

What did we have to own? We had to own the fact that trauma almost always stunts development. So, while we were hearing our 6 year old say, “she forgot”, in reality, it was the 3-4 yr. old child in her speaking. This was in contrast to our own biological children. They’ve grown up with limited trauma, they have developed properly (whatever that really means) and have an understanding of our expectations and we have an understanding of their capabilities.

We both agreed that due to where she is at, we probably should have given her a reminder and followed up to make sure it was done. We even purchased her a swimsuit at the amusement park, so that she could enjoy the time with all the other children. If you know us, then you know this action is contrary to who we are as parents, but that is what foster care has done for us. It has taught us to be different, much better parents. It challenges us to get out of what we think is right and really invest in what is right for ‘this child’.

Here is what we know, trauma almost always stunts development. It messes up boundaries, it alters brain development, and it wrecks trust.

We also know, that when we parent with a clear understanding of ‘WHO’ each child is, we are able to be more effective, more caring, more attentive and the headaches that follow statements like, “no, it’s at the hotel…” begin to come less and less, because our expectations and understanding evolve to meet that specific child’s needs. The expectation of “you’re six, so you should act six” will lead to a lot of frustration for both the parent and the child. The action of, “I’m your parent and will meet you where you are.” will always be a game changer in dealing with children from backgrounds of abuse and trauma.

So, what are your thoughts? Have you seen how trauma has effected the development of a child and have you catered your parenting style around that?

You liked the frosting, I liked the cake!

It is crazy how fast time flies…..Just yesterday we were 14 and 16 hanging out in Yukon, Ok.  I thought you were beautiful and you thought I was cute.  My friends told your friends, and your friends told my friends.  Of course, you had a boyfriend, so we had to get rid of that joker.  Nevertheless, who would have thought back then, that we would be here now?

Our first ‘official’ dating day was June 14, 1996.  We played capture the flag with the youth group and we held hands in the back seat of the car on the way home.  My heart was racing, even though I played it cool.

What a first date we had, right?!?   Our parents dropped us off at the Dollar Movies, Cable Guy (horrific movie and probably why I still hate Jim Carey movies), but you were beautiful, innocent, sweet, and amazing.  I just remember staring at your legs thinking, “those have to be the most amazing legs in the universe.”  I can say that now that we are not teenagers and can’t get in trouble!

And, that first kiss on a dark bus while on a youth group trip to Mexico, breaking all the rules!!  I might have been every Youth Pastor’s worst nightmare, even though I was the ‘good kid’.  Of course, isn’t it always the ‘good kids’?  And, we were two of the best!

3 proms, endless dates, long phone calls, taco bell, cruisin’ in the Mercury Tracer, basketball games (where you cheated like none other!), youth group outings, college dorms, sharing cake (you liked the frosting, I liked the cake), college classes together, friendships, breakups, falling in love all over again, all of which, led us to April of 2002 when I dropped to a knee and asked you to marry me….

And, then we went and did it, tied the knot, took the leap, passed the point of no return and what a day it was, June 14, 2003…..or blur, as everything seemed to move so quickly!  But, the pictures look amazing!  And, you were BEAUTIFUL!

Now, 10 years later….we’ve had 2 incredible little girls, fostered 4 amazing kiddos, purchased a home, sold a home, moved 3 times, had 3 dogs, 3 guinea pigs, a gillion fish, 3 birds, 8 vehicles, several vacations, one super fast jet ski, you’re still BEAUTIFUL……and, we aren’t done yet!

Happy 10th Anniversary beautiful lady!  You are the one who has shown me what mercy, grace, love, and awesomeness looks like!  Here is to at least 50 more years!  Much more than that and we will be racing wheel chairs down the nursing home hallways and I know you’d cheat, so let’s just shoot for 50!

I love you more than you’ll ever know!!