All The Wild Things

My boys have special knitted blankets that my Mom made them, and while all three adore their “lovies”, Camden loves his most of all. Picture Linus from the Peanuts comic, toting his beloved blanket everywhere he goes, never apart. The blanket has been so well loved, it began to fall apart. First it was just one string that came loose, but before long it began to completely unravel. It seemed as if it was beyond saving, something precious beyond repair.  Thankfully my Mom, skilled with the needles, began mending the blanket. She took new yarn and weaved it in with the new - not replacing the old blanket but strengthening it, adding to it, weaving something new.  When something in our lives begins to seemingly unravel, often our first reaction is one of panic and doubt.  The disciples had been doing ministry with Jesus for just a few years, in that time they’d done quite a bit together. They had shaken up ideals, challenged the status quo, ushered in a new kind of thinking, on

Tomorrow is 3 weeks since we said goodbye to our girl. Where she slept is now filled with blankets and boxes and clothes that need to be organized- our dog still wanders in sniffing around wondering where she went. Sometimes I think I hear her from down the hall, or from outside where she spent most of her time... exploring and getting dirty and jumping on the trampoline.  It’s a weird space- grieving the loss of a child that did not die. There is no book for this type of loss, barely any words written around this topic. How does one write about rejoicing in a reunification that you don’t think should have happened but are hopeful and prayerful while also terrified at what is down the road. How do you balance the tension of believing in restoration but believing that does not always mean reunification?  My plan of keeping busy and filling the days with activities has been hampered by a back issue I’m seeking answers for. I was mad that I could not numb my pain by being b

This past Tuesday I got a phone call from our caseworker that was nothing short of a gut punch. After hanging up the phone I started sobbing right there in the Pilot gas station parking lot. I had just had my hair cut for the first time in over a year, and was coming off of weeks of illness and texted Trevor that I was going to drive around for a bit and enjoy some quiet and fresh air. I pulled off to grab a bite from good ol Taco Bell when the phone call came through.  The words she spoke were the last things we wanted to hear- in fact they were the things we’ve been praying we would not hear this entire past year. It seemed unfathomable, and in fact is quite ludicrous which she herself admitted to thinking as well. I cannot imagine working for a system that so blatantly traumatizes children who have been victims of trauma already. It is hard enough as a foster parent to watch this happen. I cried, I texted Trevor I couldn’t come home until she was in bed, that I had gotten a