I’ve grown to love our sedum plants. Their leaves are rubbery and they seem more fit for the desert than Nebraska. But they are hardy. And green. And so eager to grow towards the sun early in the spring. I love ’em.

Jeremy and I decided to become foster parents in January. We just completed our coursework last night and I’m sitting down to try and make sense of both where we are today and how we got here.

As it turns out, I had preconceived notions of foster kids and foster families and, well, the entire foster care system that I couldn’t even put into words before we began our training. I never really understood why people would choose to become foster parents. It sounded kind of messy. It also sounded like something I had read in an old Christian fiction book in 6th grade. Wasn’t there a Libby character who was a foster kid and always messed up while her bio sister looked and acted perfectly? And then Libby’s dad would show her grace, I suppose he was the Christlike figure. So there you go, the extent of my knowledge and education. Gross.

My ideas began to be changed and molded by a deep friendship with another adoptive mama, who also is a foster mom. She was (and still is!) a normal and loving mother. Her kids are normal and loving kids. Foster or adopted, they are just her kids. Normal kids. Normal meaning hilarious, fun, precious, crazy sinners like the rest of us. My old notions began falling away and I began to build new thoughts. I, a mom by adoption, wanted more children. There are lots of local children in the foster care system, many waiting to be adopted, but I would *never* be able to adopt them unless I became a foster parent.

Our tale really kicked into gear when Jeremy—who had to, by his own admission, be dragged into parenthood to begin with—said we should become foster parents. Really, this fact still hits me as remarkable and miraculous and I am grateful that God was working in his heart. What a blessing to be on the same page here. So we called Christian Heritage, a local agency that shares our Christian worldview, and we began our ten weeks of classes in February. It’s been a long time since Jeremy and I took night classes for college—this was definitely comparable in terms of time commitment. We signed up for the training with friends from church, my foster mom friend encouraged me all along the way, and my parents supported us by caring for Livia so we could attend the classes.

We filled out a lot of paperwork. We got background checks. And physicals from doctors. And completed a lot of homework. And met with Christian Heritage folks in our home. And our hearts have been changed in the process.

Foster care is far more than a way to build our family. It’s an amazing way for us to invest in the future of our city and state. One of my preconceived notions is right, though: it is messy. By its very definition, it’s messy, sin is messy. We’re talking about families that are being torn apart by abusive and neglectful behaviors committed by parents and guardians. And here, right in the middle of the situation is a child who has no control over their crumbling world and is desperately in need of some loving care. Can you see how someone might get starry-eyed at this point? I want to save the children, love the children! Well, foster care training does a darn good job of wiping those stars from your eyes. More often than not, we would end our evenings feeling like we were in way over our heads. And we still feel that way to some degree. We are humbled by the task. We know we can’t do it alone. We trust that God will give us what we need, when we need it—and that includes support from family, friends, church, schools, Christian Heritage, etc.

We are not going into this system alone. Not by a long shot.

So, now that classes are done, are we ready to have kids placed in our home? Not quite yet. There are loose ends to tie up, a waiting game to play, and then we’ll be added to a list of foster families awaiting placements. Even then, it’s my understanding that fostering requires a large amount of flexibility and a willingness to go with the flow of the court system of the state of Nebraska. If we are looking for absolute control and strong deadlines and a life of “sure things” then foster care is simply not the way to go. Jeremy and I would be kidding ourselves if we thought we were in control anyway. God has carried us through the sufferings and joys of our lives—and He is the one we serve in all this.

Now listen, you who say, “Today or tomorrow we will go to this or that city, spend a year there, carry on business and make money.” Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes. Instead, you ought to say, “If it is the Lord’s will, we will live and do this or that.” [James 4:13-15]

May God be praised by the misty offerings of our lives.

Livia accidentally described Shiloh as being “furrzy” (fuzzy + furry) and the new term has become a favorite of mine. In Shiloh’s case, it’s incredibly accurate: he is one of the furrziest dogs I know. See all the fluff on him? He’s really quite Chihuahua-like on the inside, the rest is all fluffy Coton fur. Besides his high state of furrziness, he’s also—as these photos prove—quite adept with his tongue.

Christ the Lord is risen today! We serve a risen Lord—praise God.

Happy Easter, friends!

As promised, more pictures from my time with friends Joie and Jake in St. Paul, Minnesota.

Ever have a dream, and wonder if you can say it out loud to people? Well, here’s mine: I want to photograph women and their children. As in, for the rest of my life.

These images of Bryonie and Judah are not the first Mother & Child shots you’ve seen on the Prairie Box. I thought I’d let you know that they certainly will not be the last. What a joy it was to capture such maternal love in the Moon household last week.

Any words I throw down in this blog post will be insufficient to express my amazement and joy for this baby boy. In fact, I’ve deleted this second sentence three times now because I can’t figure out what to say and how to say it. So for now, let me note that I got to meet Judah last week for the very first time—and he is a remarkable and delightfully squeezy 14-week-old baby. His mama, Bryonie, has been a good friend of mine for 16 years now (right, girls?). I stayed with Bry and Josh last week during my Minnesota trip, so yep, I do have more photos of Judah to show off.

My beloved friend Joie is getting married this June! So last Friday I was presented with this trifecta of loveliness: spend time with Joie and get to know Jake, explore downtown St. Paul, and fire up the creative juices by shooting their engagement photos. They also bought me lunch at Mickey’s Diner where I stuffed myself silly with hash browns and eggs. It was a good deal all around. More photos coming soon.

I am made for sunshine, green grass and little jewels like miniature daffodils and sprouting red buds. The cold, dying cycle of winter is behind us for another year and the reward of warm seasons stretches before us. The trees here in Lincoln are still bony statues, but I can take it in with hope and excitement because soon their arms will be covered in green. Everything rejoices at new life. It’s the season of resurrection—which we’ll celebrate wholeheartedly in a few weeks on Easter Sunday. Christ the Lord is risen today, alleluia! Even more than being made for spring, I am made to worship and live in the joy of the resurrected Son of God. Easter, like spring, is worth waiting for.