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.

There’s no nice way to follow a super serious post. So I found myself digging through my 2012 DPP folders for something random. And random was exactly what I found. I’ve never snapped a shot of the inside of my kitchen cupboards (at least I don’t think I have, feel free to prove me wrong) and I’m slightly pleased that the glasses don’t look as haphazard as I thought they did. There’s actually a little balance and interesting composition going on here. Nice.

I’ve been in a moody, navel-gazing funk the last several days and it’s shaking off slowly. I am incredibly appreciative of your affirming and helpful words. I’ve gotten texts and emails that show that I truly know the best people in the world.

Local friends know that I have more going on than foster care. I’m gearing up to do this again quite soon—on the left elbow this time—and the stress has been a bit much. In bright moments I can acknowledge that someday as soon as three months down the road my left arm will be strong again and I can recognize the goodness of foster parenting, even for a short period of time. But to be honest, I identify more with Pollyanna on her sickbed, all frowns and pouts, than I do with her in the majority of the movie. (I love me some Hayley Mills.)

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.

As I suspected, there will be a learning curve for all of us with this foster baby.

First up for Shiloh: diapers are not for eating. He’ll get it eventually.

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.

Canine photographer, I am not. Yes, I can certainly capture the cuteness of a pooch and I have lots of fun snapping pics of families with their beloved dogs. But it’s safe to say I’m not going to set up a pet photography studio anytime soon as I’m more passionate about people than pets right now.

The reason I’m showing an image of this pet above is because that’s pretty much all I can show from a photo shoot a few weeks ago. On a surprisingly mild day in August, my friends met me on another friend’s acreage for a family portrait session. It was beautiful. The kids were hilarious and super cute, and even as I edited the session, I found myself laughing out loud at their antics.

But you will not see these shots published online because the children are currently wards of the state. And, as you can imagine, their privacy is an utter necessity.

Spending time with foster families and taking family photos is a huge pleasure for me. I hope I get more and more jobs capturing the love of foster families across Nebraska. The only drawback is that I can’t share the shots here with you!

I’m putting this info on my blog for my own family as well. It’s no secret that we’re certified foster parents awaiting the placement of a child. When the day comes that our household grows a bit, I won’t be able to put his/her face on the blog. And that’s okay. Maybe Shiloh will end up getting more moments in the spotlight.