I Didn't Wake Up This Crazy (or why we are pursuing foster care)

It has been a fascinating experience telling people that we're pursuing foster care.

When we announced that we were adopting, we got adulation, encouragement, and horror stories.

When we announced that we were having a baby, we got excitement, big hugs, and horror stories.

But, when we started telling people that we were pursuing foster care, we got horror stories, horror stories, and horror stories.

And then some more horror stories.

And a few more.

In fact, I can count on one hand the number of people that expressed excitement and encouragement. There was a very small number of people who reacted with joy and a pat on the back. Only a very small percentage were thrilled that this was the path we were taking.

I was not one of that small percentage.

This was not my plan.

I have some friends who, even while they were dating, talked about their home being a haven for hundreds of children. They talked about the beauty of foster care, the selfless love, the willingness to spend yourself... and then have a baby ripped away. And they were game. They were ready.

I was not.

I don't like foster care. It's a broken system. I don't like getting in other people's lives. I don't like nurturing a baby and then have it be taken from me. I don't like the idea of countless meetings. I don't like the idea of handing a baby over to someone with sub-par parenting skills. I don't like it.

God pushed me here.

I don't have a naturally selfless heart. I don't have a generous spirit. I don't have bountiful love.

So, God pushed me here.

Adoption was part of my "plan." Natural child-birth was part of my "plan." But foster care? Not part of my plan.

God pushed me here.

Adoption is too expensive. Natural child-birth is too dangerous (for me and my sick body). Suddenly, I was out of options, and standing in the middle of a childless desert, clutching three convictions I knew to be true.

I knew these three things were true. God proclaimed them. I cling to them. And suddenly, He had cut off all other avenues. And He was there, looking down at me, asking, "Do you really believe? Do you really trust me? Do you know that my truth is enough?"

Then He asked a very sobering question, "Are you going to back-up your convictions with actions? Even if these actions are unpleasant and unplanned? Are you willing to sign-up for something you deem "miserable" because you know my commands are marvelous?"

So. Here I am. Getting finger-printed by the FBI, sitting through a sexual education seminar (in which we discussed the "right age" to make a drawer full of condoms available to your children and how to help them masturbate "appropriately"), filling out piles of paperwork, and buying cribs, dressers, and booster seats like they're going out of style. 

Because I believe these three things:

1. Love doesn't care. 

Love doesn't care if you're going to be ripped from our home. Love doesn't care if I dump massive resources into a baby and then the baby is gone. Love doesn't care if it hurts me. Love only cares about you. 

Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends. (John 15:13)

In my head, I always read this verse in the context of martyrdom. Will I be willing to die for Christ? That's not what the verse says (sure, it's what it implies, but stay with me!). Am I willing to give up  my life. My schedule. My safety. My convenience. My money. My heart. My ease. My comfort. My insulation from pain. My life. Am I willing to scrap everything that I hold dear, because of love?

My answer has to be "yes." It's a painful "yes." But if I claim Christ's name, then I must also claim his painful, inconvenient, life-sacrificing love. 

2. Children are a blessing.

We live in a world that doesn't believe this. Oh, we believe children are a rare treasure. You should only have a couple of them. You should lavish them with everything they could possibly ask or imagine. You should let the one or two you have run your home, run your marriage, and run you.

But we don't believe that children are a blessing.

Children are a gift from the LORD; they are a reward from him. (Psalm 127:3)

Notice, there are no caveats on "children." It doesn't say: "healthy children are a gift from the Lord." It doesn't say "emotionally well-adjusted children," "beautiful children," "well-behaved children." It just says "children."

I love kids. Love 'em. And if I am to live as though ALL CHILDREN are a blessing, then I can not pick and choose those I will love based on their history, back-story, or whether or not they are "permanently mine."

3. I must practice what I preach.

This basically ties into the previous two points, and all other un-listed points on life, love, and being like Christ.

Pure and genuine religion in the sight of God the Father means caring for orphans and widows in their distress and refusing to let the world corrupt you. (James 1:27)

I'm supposed to be caring for the "social outcasts." People in their distress. This isn't just about these stranded kids. It's also about their families. I am to care for these women and children in distress. If I am actually practicing "genuine religion." I hate a good hypocrite. I'd also hate to wake up one morning and realize that I am a hypocrite.

So, that's it. I'm falling in love with a crazy form of love. I'm not holy enough and intentional enough to have arrived here on my own. God shoved me into a corner, desperately clutching my beliefs, and then he asked me, "Are you willing to live it out?"

And I gulped.

And said, "yes."

This is crazy, but this is good. This is amazing. This is terrifying. This is where God wants me. And I'm excited. And reluctant. And thrilled. And horrified.

Hello, foster care. It's gonna be a great ride...

We Are Home

My emotions are... special.

A little delayed.

Sometimes eons behind the time.

I like them. I'm very attached to my emotions. But I'm a little oblivious.

For example, it took me weeks to break down after my grandmother died. I'm slow to find embarrassing situations funny. And I have a tendency to say, "I'm fine! I'm fine!" (and firmly believe it) and then completely lose it several weeks later.

Which is why no one should be surprised that one week ago, I finally realized... that I live in Philadelphia.

Yes. We've been here for over two years.

Yup, I've become a registered PA voter. I shop at local institutions, I say "wutter ice," and I completely and totally love cheesesteaks. Love them. I live in Pennsylvania. I love Philadelphia. And, while I'm not in the city-proper, I have grown to love this scrappy, blue-collar town teasingly known as the "City of Brotherly Shove."

But about a week ago it hit me.

THIS. IS. WHERE. I. LIVE.

Falling in love with this place means more than that I enjoy living here. It means I have willingly set my affections on this town.

And it means I'm not going "home." I'm not returning to my mid-west roots. I'm not (unless God moves the earth in massive ways) ever going to live down the street from my mama and exchange Sunday lunch hosting. I won't return to the church that I love. I won't ever do regular, weekly ministry with my brothers and sisters. I have friends that I'll only see once or twice a year. I'll have mentors that I won't regularly meet for coffee.

Also, groceries and houses are really cheap out there...

But I'm making a new "home."

And here's why...

I fell in love with a dark, lonely, hopeless spot.

Our tiny church is a tiny light. It's people are a beautiful gift.

But our neighborhood is a desperate place. It's not the jungle or some deep dark place in Asia. I think I would have been ready for this "cut" with my roots had it been more dramatic. Yes, it's a jungle, but it's concrete and trash instead of trees and snakes. The languages I don't understand are Spanish and Ebonics, not some unknown language.

I could long for a Mid-west removal. Ministry and life are not "easy" anywhere. But there are places where I'd be a little bit less of an odd ball. Sure, a stay-at-home mama who wants to homeschool and adopt 10 children would be weird in Indiana. But it's practically insane in our current neighborhood.

I look out my window and I see homeless men limping by. I drive to the grocery store and watch kids shivering on street corners without coats. I hear angry fights, drunken brawls, and raucous partying. Every night. Every day. I'm surrounded by the pain and emptiness that sin and the absence of God creates.

So, we're not going "home."

Because we love our tired, beat up, worn out, God-less neighborhood. We love our beautiful, loving, tiny church. And we believe that if the two meet... if tired touches hopeful. If church and Christ meet neighborhood. If beauty reaches down into ashes, and kindness touches pain... then light can explode.

And Acts 17:26 takes on new meaning. "And he made from one man every nation of mankind to live on all the face of the earth, having determined allotted periods and boundaries of their dwelling place..."

God determined this period.
He drew the boundaries of our current dwelling place.

So, this is our home.

Because this is where Christ is needed.

Our Assateague Vacation, or "When We Learned That Wild Horses Are Like Giant Raccoons And Toddlers Don't Sleep In Tents"

So, we went camping.

With toddlers.

On an island.

With wild horses.

Brilliant.

While I am not advocating, nor will I ever be a bill board for, "Camping With Toddlers!" it was much less traumatic than I thought it would be. I just mentally prepared myself for the fact that I would be doing the same job that I do every day, only I would be doing it in dirt, sand, and with sleep-deprived children.

That was pretty much true.

What I was not prepared for was the way in which they loved the outdoors and camping. Bets in particular (total shocker, I know!) loved camping. She loved sleeping in the tent. She loved getting dirty. She loved the sand. She loved the ocean. She loved waves and chasing down baby crabs.

I say all this because in the pictures that follow, Bets does not come off as though she enjoys camping. In fact, she would seem to hate it. And the outdoors. And the ocean. That's because most of those pictures were taken just before she fell asleep for an hour on my lap. Bets never naps in public. This nap on the beach indicates her extreme exhaustion level. There. I feel that I have exonerated my daughter. Someone tell her this when she's sixteen and wondering why I have more pictures of Grant from this trip.

We were also visited by wild horses. Twice. There is no photographic evidence of these visits. Here's why:

Our first visit was at two in the morning. We heard horses. Scott peeked his head out the tent, and started throwing shoes at them, trying to get them to go away. Why? Because they were eating our food. I peeked my head out of the tent, and my reaction was much more violent. It probably had something to do with the massive amount of time and energy and money that I had put into making sure my family ate well on this trip, but for whatever reason, I snapped. I charged out of the tent, grabbed a lawn chair, and went yelling and flailing in the direction of the horses. I, for one, am glad that there's no photographic evidence of that encounter. They left us alone for the rest of the night.

The next day, after a trip to the store to replace our stolen merchandise (seriously, wild horses can open Ziploc containers), we spent the rest of the day on the beach. When we returned to our campsite, the horses were back. This time, they had broken into our Rubbermaid tub, smashed our "bug tent" flipped open the cooler and eaten almost everything. Even my super-expensive organic, tummy-approved snacks. Gone. This time, I snapped a different way. It is an excellent thing that the delinquent park ranger who thought saying, "Stay away from the wild horses" was enough of a warning wasn't in the vicinity. I raked that idiotic man up one side and down the other. I'm not a stupid camper. I pack up all my food. But... NO ONE TOLD ME THERE WERE DEMON, TENT-DESTROYING, COOLER-CRUSHING HORSES ON THE LOOSE! So, obviously, I was too steamed to take pictures of that encounter. If your aspiration is to be a park ranger don't be like bleary-eyed, lazy "Steve" (real name forgotten) at the guard gate. The man was flipping useless.

I wasn't upset or anything...

We ate trail mix and peanut butter out of the jar for dinner that night. And we buried our s'mores rations in the sand so that the horses wouldn't find them.

All that to say... we're probably going again next year. And we've already devised a very rigorous, continually-locked-in-the-car food system.

We found tons of (dead) horseshoe crabs. Props to Daddy for knowing what they were.

Our beach oasis. 

Hunting for baby crabs.

Right before "The Nap."

Ready.

Set.

Go!

If you can't tell, this is his "ohmygoodness-I-love-being-buried" face. No sarcasm. He legitimately loves it.

These are "our" horses. The herd that attacked my $12 bag of granola.

Their leader.

It was seriously amazing. And fun. And exhausting. And sandy. And we realized our first "official" vacation in 3+ years. It was time.

My Sister Is Amazing {and other such sentiments}

During the month of February, Scott and I returned to Lafayette Indiana for the Biblical Counseling Training Conference.

Go to this.

No. Seriously.

It trumps a week on the Florida beaches and it will change your life.

Promise.

Go.

I mean, who doesn't want to hang out in Lafayette, Indiana in the dead of winter?

While we were there, I mooched off of my sister's amazing talent, and we had family pictures taken for the first time in 14 months. If Bets ever complains to you that she's not in the family pictures that are currently hanging around our home, please inform her that she was in those pictures. She was just in my uterus and hadn't made her formal debut into the world. BUT SHE IS IN THE PICTURES.

Okay. Kind of.

I got super-excited because of my radically inventive suggestion of taking the kiddies back to some of the sites where Scott and I had our engagement photos snapped almost exactly four years earlier. (My sister had already thought this. And she also had already come up with some additional cute ideas... so... Basically anything creative in the following shots is because of her amazing genius.)

All that to say, she's incredible. (Seriously: http://www.erikaaileen.com/)

Last time we stood there, we weren't "allowed" to kiss. We made up for that on this day!

I'm fairly confident we will always spend hours in bookstores as a family. We may be single-handedly keeping B&N afloat.

Mr. Grant loves running the aisles.

And Princess Bets is selecting her first journal.

These are the greatest children's books EVER. Hilariously simplified classics as board books. Here we are enjoying "Huckleberry Finn" while Bets lobbies for "Pride and Prejudice." hashtag: raisingthemright.

Precious.

So, Bets was a pickle this entire shoot. She had just come off a twelve hour car ride the day before, and was working her way into a stomach bug. But you would never know all that from these pictures. Seriously, my sister is amazing. Have I said that yet?

I can't believe this is my life. Delightful happiness!

Lil' ham. Loves the camera.

Bets' face. :)

My handsome men!

Exploring hot cocoa!

I don't know... it's like they're used to seeing their parents make out. ;)

Chuggin' the hot cocoa.

Like a man.

Which cracks Daddy up.

Thank you, Er!
The Allisons
2015
Bets {12 months}, Grant {26 months}

My Fear, My Friends

Today I woke up from a nap (a Sunday nap, mind you, this qualifies as heaven in the napping world, I should awake beautifully content and rested, but instead...), I was anxious. Low-grade dread hung over my head, and I struggled to wake up and identify what it was.

Do you know what I'm talking about? A low-grade, nebulous, unidentifiable fear?

I had it.

I've actually had it a lot since becoming a stay-at-home mom. All the silence and free time opens me up to worry. Where my mind could be using this time for creativity and joy, it instead chooses to dwell on future (imaginary) trauma, horrible fear, and a low-grade sense of impending doom.

Here's a sample: as I'm waving good-bye to my hubby.... what if this is the last time I see him?... What if I'm left to raise these children alone?... What if I have to sell this house?... What if I have to move back to Indiana and find a job?... What will my children turn out like?... Will anyone ever love me again?... OH, MY WORD, I'M A SINGLE MOM OF TWO SMALL CHILDREN, LIVING IN MY PARENTS' BASEMENT, BARELY SCRAPING BY ON A PITTANCE OF A SALARY, WITH CHILDREN THAT WILL GROW UP TO OPENLY RESENT ME AND RUN AWAY FROM GOD WHILE I DIE ALONE AND UNLOVED.

Yeah. All this happens in my head while I'm waving goodbye. I single-handedly widdow, impoverish, and strip myself of all hope and joy in the short 60 seconds it takes my husband to drive out of view.

Basically, when I'm going through suffering, I'm freaked out, and when I'm brought to a place of relative rest and ease, I'm freaked out.

I'm constantly doubting my God, doubting his good gifts, and doubting my joy and security.

Over the past year, God has given me wonderful triumph in this area. I no longer have to consciously slow my breathing and repeat, "My God is good" as my husband drives away each morning.

But on some days, like today, there's a nebulous fear that is incredibly difficult to shake. Today it stemmed from a harmless comment and a fear about what someone was thinking of me. I did not know what they were thinking, but I guessed. I felt. I panicked.

And that's when I was so thankful for the people that God has placed in my life.

I am thankful for my mama. She planted the idea of daily dwelling on a different attribute of God and a corresponding verse.

I am thankful for a dear friend who is doing the verse activity along with me, and whose transparency in her own walk is encouraging to my soul.

I am thankful for a God who has so many amazing attributes that I couldn't narrow down my choice for today.

I'm thankful for the generous people that He has placed in my life. People who pray, give amazingly generous gifts, and who walk through terror and truth with me.

I'm thankful for these ladies...

The lovelies at my bachelorette party!

Whose hubbies walked through seminary with mine. These beautiful women who shared our time of preparation in humility and honesty. Ladies who welcomed me into the "Seminary Wives Club" with open arms and gentleness.

And who, twelve kids, two years, and 3 churches later, can still come together and talk honestly, encourage with truth, and laugh and cry. I'm so thankful for these iron-sharpening-iron friendships. These ladies don't lie or sugar-coat. Their transparency is never unduly raw or without purpose. Every single on of them shares struggles and triumphs through a lens of grace.

The mommies, wives, and friends. (Minus Tori!)

And so today, as I fought of irrational fear, I took up truth. And I was able to pick it up, in a large part, because of these encouragers that God has placed in my life. Let us never get distracted by things of earth and forget the One who created all the things. And may our friendships never sink to mindless sharing of little nothings. Because when we are honest and humble, we not only praise our Creator, but we encourage His daughters.

For this I am truly thankful.

Two are better than one, because they have a good reward for their toil. For if they fall, one will lift up his fellow. But woe to him who is alone when he falls and has not another to lift him up! 

{Ecclesiastes 4:9,10}

To Valentine Or Not To Valentine.... {written 5 years ago}

**The following blogpost is something I wrote five years ago. It was written before my husband, before two babies and a crazy move, before I had plunged into marriage and all that it entails. In fact, it was almost a year before I had even met Scott. Now, less than four years into my marriage, I feel like I'm still splashing in the shallow end of love, but that doesn't change my delight in being chosen to portray the Gospel in this way.

I did not edit this post. My single heart was lonely, and this is what it wrote.**

Happy weekend, dear reader.

As you may, or may not have noticed from the proliferation of pink, red, and white cardboard hearts which seem to pop-up in the oddest places (i.e. Taco Bell drive thrus and bank teller windows), this is the weekend of that fateful day of St. Valentine.

I remember when one of my dear friends snorted and stated an aversion to "single awareness day." I chuckled along with her, glad to have some sort of phrase to put with my distinct out-of-place feeling I get every time I try to do anything (alone) on Valentines Day.

That being said, I've had a Valentine before. In my 24 years, I've had one February 14th that wasn't spent in contemplation of my singleness. (Technically two, but Prince Charming the First didn't "believe" in Valentines Day. Huh.) But that one year was really lovely (and chocolatey), and as I fell asleep on my boyfriend's shoulder watching "Mary Poppins" (yes, "Mary Poppins"), I realized why people celebrate this holiday.

It's delightful to feel wanted, and cherished, and special, and (in serious cases) loved. Why would you not want to exploit a day which promises all that and more? Women don't want Valentines Day because of the chocolate (which is heavenly) and the expensive dinners (after months of fast food), and the diamonds (who doesn't love sparkles?). Women, on Valentines Day, want to feel special and cherished and loved, and showing that is harder than spending money and making plans. How does one make arrangements to show love? How do you find something that makes a person feel like a prize?

You can't, really. So you buy chocolates (because of the chemicals which induce feelings of satisfaction and love), you buy sparkles (because spending money, lots of money, surely means that you care), and Valentines Day becomes a time of panic as you try to express something at the level you feel. ("I cherish you like a cherish my new wax job on my car." or "I want you like I want to watch the Superbowl for the rest of my life." "I love you, so will you promise to love me forever, too?")

The angst from Valentines Day isn't created by the cheesy, shiny hearts in Walmart (although the things are cringe-inducing), but rather by the necessity of vulnerability. "How much do I show I care? How much do I care? What if it's too much, too fast? Does she think I'm making up for something? Is he okay with me liking him this much?"

For me, a single with commitment problems, I prefer to not look at people who, like myself, haven't said "I do" just yet. Such individuals tend to be splashing and paddling inefficiently in the shallow end of affection. I like, instead, to look at people who have plunged into the depths of love, and find years later-- the vulnerability, the love, and the commitment are still there. They still wanteach other, they have seen the dirty, nasties in each others' lives, and yet stillcherish one another. There may be no chocolates, it might be a year to pinch pennies rather than flaunt diamonds, but there's a constancy and commitment that has been worn every day of the year, not just on Valentines Day. Those ordinary days are the true Valentines days. So don't smirk in disdain, you singles (happily or unhappily single, it matters not to me). Buy yourself a box of chocolates and smile at the little old couple holding hands.

Constant commitment and sacrifice is true love, as God meant it to be portrayed.

Elizabeth Wynne {Happy 1st Birthday!}

Elizabeth Wynne.

Your name shouts "God is abundant." You are daily proof of His unceasing love and creativity. We can't believe our "wynne-some" little lady is a year old!

A year ago, at this time, I was waiting for contractions to become more consistent. My heart was so ready to meet this little lady who so surprised us with her coming. Through a roller coaster of fear and physical trials, it was not easy to "grow" you. You forced your mother to her knees before she even saw your face. And God taught me the painful lesson over and over, "My God is enough." Your beautiful birth story was a picture of God's love and faithfulness.

Now, our sweet baby is ending her first year. If I thought time went quickly with the first baby, that's nothing compared to the second. By the time my **fictitious** seventh child finishes his/her first year, I'm going to need Dramamine just to keep from getting dizzy!

Character {at age 1}

{Less than 1 month}

"Betsy-Boo-Boo," as she is affectionately known, is a remarkably happy, contented baby. She loves people, and seldom fusses or whines. That being said, when she's convinced that something is wrong, she reacts as though she is dying. Her reaction to early bedtimes is the most vehement, and her sobs would make any theatre connoisseur proud. But her volatile moods are few and far between (and usually reserved for when Daddy is present).  Her general state of contentedness lets her play with one toy for hours and remain calm when there's nothing to entertain herself with. She sits quietly, loves books, and delights in watching the antics of her brother. This contentment also sometimes transfer to indolence, and wee Bets is not always fond of hard work (like rolling over, sitting up, or crawling). Each physical milestone has been a battle because of her proclivity for lying still. (No, don't worry, there's not anything actually wrong. She just loves being still!)

{3 months}

Bets is a quick study when it comes to obedience. She learned what the word "no" meant with less than five repetitions! She's very quick to respond to verbal correction and doesn't require a lot of repetitions to learn what is expected of her. She is very docile and obedient (although more creative in trouble-making than her brother was!), and her parents are incredibly thankful for her tender heart and her desire to make Mommy and Daddy happy.

And she does make us very happy. Laughter is very common when Bets is present. She is already a dynamic "story-teller" with crazy facial expressions and flailing arm movements. She will react to different sounds and sights with over-done drama. She will watch other people's faces and attempt to mimic their facial expressions. Our darling comedian already uses her flexible face and big blue eyes with great effectiveness.

Milestones {at age 1}

{6 months}

As mentioned above, physical prowess is probably not in our daughter's future (although we would be delighted for her to surprise us!). Bets does a "sea-turtle" crawl on her belly and can cover a lot of ground rather quickly. This morning, just in time for her birthday blog, she propped herself up on her knees and rocked back and forth. She's also gotten fairly good at "standing" when supported by Mommy or Daddy. Can't wait for the little sea turtle to turn into an official crawler. Mommy is ready to kid-proof the house again!

While perhaps not fond of physical endeavors, Bets is incredibly verbal. She does different voices, sings, and "talks" all day. She growls, blows bubbles, and makes silly noises with her tongue. Bets said her first word at 10 1/2 months of age (it was "uh-oh!" produced with huge eyes and a big round mouth) and has since added "no," "Dadda," "hi," and "I love you." (Very social words from our very social Chicken Little).

Favorites {at age 1}

{6 1/2 months}

Because of her easy-going nature, Bets doesn't seem to have a large amount of strong opinions. Our easy-going girly is really okay with letting her brother dictate his favorites, and then going along with him.

She loves her new "Cinderella" Little People toy, and gravitates towards all Little People in general. (She loves to carry them around as she turtle-crawls from one room to the next). Bets loves books and enjoys joining her brother in anything that he is playing with.

{11 months}

Food is also an area of general compliance. Baby Girl will eat anything. She loves penne pasta and also enjoys cottage cheese, yogurt and fruit. Leafy-green veggies are still not her favorite, but she will try them without too much protesting. What Bets really loves about eating is feeding herself. From day 1 of "grown-up" food, she has loved stuffing her own mouth full. It's one of the few areas in which she is incredibly stubborn: for Bets everything tastes better if she can do it herself.

Bets is also a cuddler. She initiates cuddle times. She loves hugs. And she's always happiest perched in someone's arms. If she ever crumples down onto your shoulder, that's a "Bets hug" and it means she likes you. Please don't be too excited, though. She likes pretty much everyone...

Beautiful girlie, your Daddy and Mommy pray that you will daily become more aware of your Savior and your need for Him. We delight in seeing your gentle, teachable spirit and pray that this, coupled with your joy and thirst for drama, will lead you to the only God who can give you the dramatic life, filled with joy, that we know our little chicken would love. We love you, darling.

You make known to me the path of life;
in your presence is fullness of joy;
at your right hand are pleasures forevermore.
{"Bets' Psalm": Psalm 16}

Happy Birthday, Bets! We love your beautiful sunshine!