Livia and I both really enjoy making valentines together. I say this as an explanation because a lot of moms feel that they are somehow “less than” when they don’t enjoy activities like this. If you are one of those moms, take a deep breath, admire the things you do well (if you actually make dinner for your family on a regular basis you can feel superior to me already, I give you full permission), and don’t feel like I’m sharing my life in order to make you personally feel like a failure. So we like markers and glue and glitter at our house. That’s all.

One lesson of making valentines is to not wait until the night before the Valentine’s Day Party. Because the afternoon/evening before probably involves an appointment with the pediatrician and a child who really isn’t in the mood to write out her name and her classmates’ names on 27 cards. You might find yourself giving permission for skipping homework and counting this exercise as homework enough (not that I’d do that, this is purely hypothetical), and you will for sure find yourself in moments where you, the mother and non-class-participant, is still gluing and cutting while the actual class-participant is nowhere to be found.

The moral of the story is this: don’t wait until the night before the party.

Livia received tons and tons—27 perhaps?—of adorable little valentines from her classmates. She’s still polishing off suckers and pixie sticks. One valentine in particular charmed the socks off me, though. It was a simple construction paper heart absolutely plastered with girlie stickers like Tinker Bell and unicorns. On the other side of the blue heart were five little tic-tac-toe boards handwritten by a 2nd grader. You could feel the sweetness and generosity and creativity of one little girl oozing from this one piece of paper.

I think sometimes we make life too complicated for our kids when maybe all they need is a ream of construction paper and a few stickers.

• Within the scope of one window I can choose to celebrate Christmas or Valetine’s Day! Nice, huh? Definitely classy.
• When it’s warmish outside I like walking Livia to school. Getting the blood pumping before academic learning is a good thing I hear.
• I do not like the return walk home when Nebraska continually and deliberately blows cold wind at my ears. My poor ears are the reason I sometimes do an awkward loping run between the corner and home. Also quite classy.
• In 2nd grade I remember having a crush on a classmate. What I did not have what the gumption to say so. Oh my poor daughter! She has plenty of gumption, God help us all.
• My husband organized and cleaned the kitchen nook last night, that conspicuous corner where crafts, random small toys and paperwork go to die. I love him all the more for his organizational skills and the way he applies them on my behalf. (You are awesome, Jeremy Tredway.)
• It’s February. Know what that means? Spring is just around the corner. Hang in there, fellow Nebraskans—we’ve got this.

I made my nephew a turkey sandwich (notice bulging left cheek) and in return he gave me some very serious, soulful facial expressions. A kid sitting still in the sunlit kitchen makes this auntie run for her camera.

Saying, “I could never do that” appears to be a socially acceptable thing when one is confronted with foster care. This I have noticed.

God bless ya, folks. I know exactly what you are saying and thinking because I’ve been in your shoes, I’ve been on that side of the issue. But now I’m on the other side of the issue, on the foster parent side, and I want to say a few things.

You could do it.

No really. You could. You really really could.

Handing back a child—for the good of that child—is not an easy thing. In fact, it can be fairly heartbreaking. But I’ve never heard heartbreaking equated with a “can’t” statement except for in foster care. Except in the case where the foster family is actually looking out for the good of the child. You can’t do it? Really now? I think you might mean that you don’t want to do it. (Which is completely fine and normal and is a statement that I understand.)

I’ve never heard someone upon meeting a potential love interest say she “can’t” fall in love because she might get her heart broken. You don’t say that you “can’t” pick up a stray from the humane society because it might get hit by a car someday. You don’t say that you “can’t” make an offer on a house because something might go poorly at closing time. We chance disappointments quite often. This is LIFE after all! If you didn’t chance being disappointed you would never experience anything at all.

Here’s the thing. I didn’t want to give back the baby I fostered. The one whose diapers I had been changing since birth, the one who snuggled in my neck after her tummy was full, the one whose chubby legs I would slather in sweet baby shampoo and then again in lotion afterwards. Yep, I kinda liked her. Scratch that, I loved her! But I loved her with the knowledge that her good was more important than the impending heartbreak I saw on the horizon. Her good, not my happiness, was the angle there.

The truth is that we’ve only fostered once and that we are total newbies here. I’m admitting that I know nothing beyond what my classes, my foster parent friends and my one foster experience have taught me.

But if you think I’m doing it because I can easily hand off a child to another parent, you’ve got another thing coming. Though I imagine some kids, the really challenging ones, are easier to hand off, in our situation it wasn’t so easy. While we were reaching for the good of this baby, we were also feeling quite sad that we couldn’t keep her.

At the end of the day though, we could get over it because it’s not about us.

We’re all tougher than we think we are really. You can do it. Really really, you can.

A surefire way to remind yourself of God’s goodness to you is to count your blessings. You can do this via Facebook status the entire month of November or you can keep a journal ala Ann Voskamp. However you do it, just do it. Remind yourself of the good things and let them win, in your heart, over the harder things of life. This post is to remind me.

My folks. My mom massaged my hands, my wrists and my feet yesterday while I was luxuriously tucked under blankets watching HGTV and—it gets better if you can believe it—my dad helped Livia do her homework. Seriously amazing.

Jeremy. My husband has been a rock. He’s endured my frustrations of late with grace and gentleness and he’s been a big help before, during and after elbow surgery. Our time together in Rochester was as sweet as it possibly could’ve been and even here at home he’s taken on dad and mom duties with more sacrifice than I ever would have shown. God has paired Jeremy and I together for a reason. I like to say we’re a bit firework-y in our relationship, but that’s what happens when iron sharpens iron, right? At 14.5 years of marriage, we’re definitely more humbled and more in love than we were in the early years. I’m grateful for this man!

Piping hot mercy meals. Our church provides meals to those who are sick or have had babies or are dealing with death in the family. We ate something tonight that was 100% comfort food—love in a foil pan. A huge thanks to our church family for feeding us.

Flowers. People magazine and chocolate. Texts. Phone calls. Emails. As a giant extrovert it means a lot to hear your words of encouragement over the past few weeks. Thanks, dear friends, for not forgetting me even though I’ve been out of commission.

Being on the receiving end of lots of help has me thinking about friendship and generosity. Credit also goes to Tim & Kathy Keller’s The Meaning of Marriage, which we’re reading for a small group discussion, and my friend Kerri, whose latest blog post speaks of visiting new churches.

Friends, it means to the world to someone else when you go out of your way to remember them, when you take time from your own concerns to consider how you can help them. You don’t have to do anything world-changing or profound. You can send a card, drop a gift certificate in their front door, call and ask how they are doing, or text with plans to set up a coffee date. You can remember their birthday. You can shake their hand on Sunday and ask their name. You can ask about their kids (parents kind of love that) or you can offer to share your Sunday lunch (I loved that in college especially). When you’re making dinner, double the batch and deliver half to a friend for no good reason. Bake cookies for yourself and then take a plate to that neighbor you’re embarrassed you don’t know. Pick up a plant at your grocery store’s floral section (or a special juice or cheese and crackers that feels a bit extravagant) and drop them by your coworker’s desk the next day.

There are a million tiny ways to bring light and joy to the world around you. Just do it. For the glory of God, do it.

These beauties showed up on my dining room table yesterday to cheer me along in my recovery from surgery. Charity has encouraged me to just get this surgery done already for many months now—how sweet is she to send flowers after I’ve finally done it? Thanks so much, friend! I love how they brighten up my kitchen on these overcast winter days.

For those curious about such things, I had an arthroscopic debridement of my left elbow done. (Sounds fun, doesn’t it? Mmmm.) I have no need personally to Google this surgery or watch youtube.com videos on it. What happens at Mayo stays at Mayo, in my opinion. Speaking of Mayo Clinic, we pursued medical professionals in Rochester, MN, because apparently no one in closer driving distance “does” elbows. And frankly, when you need your elbows to work for the forseeable future, you want the very best in elbow care. I’ve consistently received excellent care at Mayo (of course, it’s MAYO) and so far my elbows and me, we are grateful.

Final word of gratitude goes to my husband who is a really good caregiver. He’s a far better nurse than I’ll ever be and he takes great care of me. Right now I’m still in that post-surgery phase where you need a nap after getting dressed for the day, but things are gradually improving. My left arm will take some time before feeling strong again—two to three months of time—but I expect to be up and running more normally long before then.

Livia came out of school empty-handed. Children had poured out of the building before her, one even proclaiming, “Look, I have four bags!” I could smell the steaming hot popcorn and knew she had taken a quarter to school to buy a bag on Spirit Day. When she finally appeared, empty-handed, she sadly explained that they ran out, and I couldn’t help but feel kind of angry towards the kid who got four bags while my kid got none.

Sometimes, oftentimes, always—life isn’t fair.

While my mama defenses were on high alert for this very small injustice, and while my hackles were raised, I knew in my heart that popcorn wasn’t a huge deal and Livia knew it, too. I can’t remember, but in all likelihood we probably went out and bought ice cream cones instead. It all worked out.

Still, I’ve been reflecting lately on how life really is not fair.

I’m going to hand our foster baby, this teeny small child of amazingness, to her future family on Sunday. (At least we’re all hoping they are indeed her future family. Fostering is never a sure thing; adoption is.) After waiting to adopt for over six years, after becoming foster parents, after praying and praying and praying and praying and praying, I am going to hand over this child that we brought home from the hospital last month.

Now, we knew what we were getting into. The situation was presented to us and we jumped in with both feet. We knew it was a short-term gig and we’ve explained it that way to everyone we’ve met along the way. We’ve met and genuinely like this baby’s future family and it’s been so good to be a support to her future parents. There is goodness, yes. Fairness? Yes. And no.

In my struggle to find fairness I look into this baby girl’s face and I’m reminded that life is absolutely not fair. Fair would mean she was born into a mother’s arms and could stay there forever. Fair would mean she’d have a mom who would call her sweetheart and soothe her when she cried and wipe her tears and bandage her knees when she trips and falls. Fair would mean a home that is safe, food that’s always on the table, and a childhood free from fear and worry.

This life is unfair. It’s hard. And sometimes I want to cry FOUL! from the rooftops and demand justice until I am satisfied and complain loudly and without pause because THIS IS NOT FAIR.

It hurts. Oh goodness, the unfairness hurts.

I took my little foster baby to my monthly mom’s group today and looked around the room knowing that every other mom there would still have their infants next month. Mine is a loaner. (Did you know you can laugh and cry at the same time? I highly recommend it.) While I was taking this little girl home from the hospital—an incredible privilege as we didn’t get to do so with Livia—I was doing it with the knowledge that I could not keep her, that she doesn’t belong to me.

Today I am sad, for many reasons. I’m sad that I can’t make babies and thus have to deal with the twists and turns of adoption and foster care. I’m sad that God hasn’t answered our prayers for children in the affirmative. I’m sad that we have to wait and wonder some more. I’m sad, deeply sad, that I can’t give my daughter a sibling. (There is great grief in this fact.) I’m sad my foster baby wasn’t born into a simple situation and I’m sad that her future family couldn’t take her right away. I’m even sad they have a longer road to walk before being able to adopt her.

A day is coming when all will be made right and the tears and sadness and general fist-shaking of this life will all fade away. Jesus will one day heal every wound and right every wrong. Would I look forward to heavenly glory if I didn’t experience injustice today? Probably not. Does the knowledge and expectation of heaven make me feel less pain right now? No. There is hope. There is beauty. But damn, sometimes the unfairness just plain sucks.

My folks have been a huge help this last week. They’ve come over several times to feed and snuggle and bathe this little one in our charge. You know what that means I did, right? I slept. And when I awoke, I hardly knew my own name or what day it was. Ah, the sleep of a parent of a newborn!

It’s a curious sight to see newborn diapers and baby wipes on my office bookshelf, but there it is: we are preparing for our first foray in the world of foster care. People, I am tremendously excited, honored and anxious about what we’re doing and I am certain that I am the most ill-equipped woman for the job. Some of you know how long we’ve been praying for more children and yet, here we are prepping for short-term foster care. We’re going to take in a little one (who is oh-my-goodness-gracious the most charming thing you’ve ever met) and we’re going to hand her off to her forever family after a short time.

Why in the world are we doing this?

Because we think God wants us to do this. We have the space in our house, we have the love to share, we are incredibly blessed. Also, there were people that cuddled and fed and loved Livia in the seven weeks before we adopted her and words can’t express how much their care means to us still. We have the opportunity right now to bridge the gap for another family. So we’re going to do that.

Those who know me understand that I’ve cried over this situation. I’m sure I’ll cry again, and that’s okay, too. Doing what’s right sometimes comes at a cost.

Keep on praying for more kids for my family. I’m grateful.

On the evening of Thanksgiving I found three chefs buzzing about my kitchen, two dudes talking around the table, and—where was my child?—probably two little people watching Phineas & Ferb. A few minutes later my parents showed up and we ate some crazy good tacos for dinner. Our Lawton Thanksgiving meal was held on Friday instead and that evening started my hosting duties.

I love to host. I love having the party right there in my house. Sharing our home with friends and family, letting them make me dinner (not a required thing, but those yummy tacos were not made by me!), getting up in the morning knowing the fun continues; I really enjoy it all.

So now I have a question for you all: What do you appreciate when you are being hosted in someone’s home? What special touches make you feel comfortable? What kind of attitudes are helpful when you are a guest? What should a host do? And what should a host avoid? I welcome your thoughts!