Kitchen Table Conversations: Why They Matter

I have so many memories around our family's kitchen table.  I can picture the weekly staples that we grew up eating, my mother's immense dislike of our singing while seated at the table, and the time spent talking as a family.

There was no television in the background and no cellphones to distract and disrupt.  We simply had each other.

My father's anecdotal stories of growing up were shared.  (Over and over, I might add.)  Our days at our various schools were rehashed and relived.  Mom would cook, and everyone else would handle the clean up.  Dessert would always come later, usually ice cream or cookies, while watching our nightly shows.

It was a time that was a part of our family DNA.  A sacred place that began with the setting of the table and the prayer before eating.  

The menu stayed consistent, as did the presence of my mom and dad.  They were engaged and interested the stories their daughters shared.  My parents were unknowingly helping me form my beliefs and worldview, all while sharing a meal of tuna casserole and green beans.

As I look back now, I can see it was a holy time.

Race wasn't talked about much around our kitchen table, but when it was, my parents were always affirming and positive.  Growing up in small town that is 98% caucasian, we had little experience with other cultures and races.  We didn't have a lot of interaction, but that didn't mean we had to be ignorant.

When my sister's best friend, Tim, started joining us around the dinner table in high school, it was simply a matter of moving a chair over and adding a plate. The fact that he was Asian was a non-issue.  What threw my parents for a loop was that he ate more than the entire family put together.

When he became my brother-in-law a few years later, our entire family celebrated.  Our family DNA had changed and we all agreed we were better for it.

The dynamic shifted considerably when we ate at the dining room table.  We would open up our home to extended family, usually only once or twice a year on major holidays, and gather together for a meal.  Stories would be shared and inevitably, a racial slur would be uttered. A rabbit trail of disparaging remarks would soon follow. At even a very young age, I bristled at the words and language that I was hearing.  Because of the example my parents set at our dinner table, nothing about the interaction sounded redeeming or kind to my ears.  And though my mom and dad never joined into those conversations, they also didn't shut them down.

As the years went on and the stories continued, I would learn to just leave the table and busy myself in the kitchen, my mother joining me in solidarity. But still, none of us ever said anything.  It was our home, but they were ruling the table.

I don't have a great recollection of all of my childhood anymore, but those dining room conversations have never left me.  I have felt the weight of being party to exchanges that tore down entire racial groups. As a family, my parents and I look back now and know it should have been handled differently.

No excuses.  No "that's just how we were raised," and "we didn't know any better," platitudes.  Our silence was wrong and we own that now.  My lack of response to those conversations is still a difficult pill for me to swallow at times, as I look in the present faces of my three loves. But I cannot change my past decisions, so I focus now on my current responses.  There will not be a hesitation if the situation ever arises again, that my mama heart knows for sure.

These days, our family is divided across two states and three homes, and meals together are far and few between.  When we do have the privilege of eating together, there are chairs and booster seats pulled up holding beautiful faces who don't look quite like one another.  Korean, Irish, English, Congolese, and African American.  Our family DNA has expanded with wide-spread arms and open hearts.

Each one of those faces sweetly remind us that our dinner table must remain a sacred space. Undefiled and intentional.

The conversations held around the kitchen tables across our country every night are setting the stage for the next generation of leaders, thinkers, and world-changers.

Research has shown that by age twelve, most children have formed a complete set of stereotypes about ethnic, racial, and religious groups in our society.  Those first twelve years are the formative ones, where our children are looking to us for guidance, for direction, and for answers.  It's the sliver of life when they are content at home and eager to sit at the table with us.

What we bring to the kitchen table, as their parent, matters immensely.

A healthy meal is important, but what comes out of our mouth will leave a legacy much greater than what we put in their bellies.

When we speak of race and culture to our children, let it be edifying and redeeming to their ears.  Let our stories told at the table be full honest recollection and objective truth.  May our children understand that different is not weird, it is unique.

If the only words about other races and cultures that leave our mouth reek of negativity and bitterness, then our children will carry that taste with them.

Let us not provide them with the opportunity to blame their behavior or their words on their upbringing.

Our children will not always eat every meal at our dinner table. They will sit at a cafeteria table with their peers every day, year after year.  They will visit the dining rooms of friends and other family members.

Who do we want them to be at those tables?

What will be the words that they speak across those tables?

Most likely, they will be our words.  Straight from our lips.

Our dinner table is still sacred. Whether it's time together over fish sticks or filet mignon, these moments with our children matter.   Let's not miss them.

Goodbye, Old Friend

People have been telling me for a while that I should end my relationship with you.

They've insisted that you're bad for me.  You look innocent from the outside, they say, but you've got a way of causing pain when I'm around you too much.

I didn't believe them for so long.  How could YOU harm me?  I stood up for you, defended your honor.

But then the fall happened.

And then this started.

Inflammation. Joint pain. Swelling.

It was the cankles that made me finally draw the line.

I had to see for myself if the accusations were true.

So with much sadness, I said goodbye to my old friend, gluten.

So long, chewy, warm flavorful breads.

Farewell, cupcakes and other delightful gluten-filled goodies.  I shall miss you. 

Friends have tried to console me.  They've introduced to me to Kale.  Told me that hanging around with Kale would make me feel better.  Encouraged me to starting making smoothies and inviting Kale to join. 

First impressions weren't good. 

Kale smells gross, y'all.   

But I'm trying, really I am.  Hours have been spent googling as many fruit/veggie smoothies as I can find and shoving handfuls of Kale in the blender while holding my nose. 

Some of them actually taste pretty good.  Some taste like I'm eating weeds straight from my lawn. 

This was a good one.  You can find the recipe here. 

I've even created this board on Pinterest dedicated to gluten-free recipes.  That shows I'm serious about this, right?  

A little over a week ago I went off my anti-inflammatory medicines, started taking some natural supplements, and decided to change my diet to gluten-free.  

Results have been positive in just the past week, so I am pressing on and resisting the urge to shove baguettes and chocolate chip cookies into my mouth while hiding in the pantry. 

Before- left foot and ankle swelling

After- still swollen, but a  little cankle-less this week

I'm committed to forming new friendships with more veggies and fruits, including the smelly Kale, but gluten-filled foods, I will never forget you.  

Maybe one day we'll meet again on better terms.  But not until the cankles are gone.    

Bet Your Dog Can't Do This

Our notoriously neurotic Bandit was at it again yesterday. 

You'll notice a few things in the video. 

• Our yard looks like a war zone.  (Thanks for the incessant digging, Bandit.) 

• My sweet mother-in-law, who shot the video, was very concerned for Bandit's well-being during his jumping antics. 

• My husband, on the other hand, was thinking it was the best thing he'd seen in a really long time. 

We love our dog, but he is CUH-razy.  

Three Men

To the three fathers in my life whom I am privileged to call family. . .

The one who came first.

My father, kind-hearted and gentle, who has taught by example how to live humbly and follow Christ.  No matter the crazy injuries he's had over the years, like falling off a three-story roof or blowing out his knee playing basketball with my husband (at the age of 69), he has always chosen to have a positive outlook for the future.  He's the Chewer of bubble gum, Instructor of softball, Teller of endless stories, Lover of any foods sweet, Painter of houses, and Father in every aspect of the word.

Happy Father's Day to the first man in my life, the one who set bar the high. You have left an amazing legacy in the lives of your children and their families.

The one who gave me my future. 

My father-in-law, a big ol' teddy bear wrapped up in a no-nonsense exterior.  A mountain-mover with a heart of gold, he will go to whatever length to help his family.  Though he warned me that he wasn't really a "baby" kind of guy, he has snuggled and hugged our boys every opportunity he has had with them. He's the Driver of corvettes, Mender of wounds, Lover of dogs, Watcher of (really loud) Fox News, Giver to those in need, and Father and Paw-Paw to his family.

Happy Father's Day to the man who molded and shaped the love of my life. Thank you for the way you fiercely love our family.

The one who was worth the wait.

My Brian, in so many ways, a blend of both of our fathers.  Passionate, hard-working, fearless, gentle, and kind.  He fights daily to get to know his boys, whether it's learning how to play a video game to connect more or squeezing into a ice-cold baby pool to spend time with the two littles.  He's the Changer of diapers, Teacher of lawn care basics, Setter of curfews, Thrower of any kind of ball, Tickler of baby bellies, Giver of praise and encouragement, and Father to the fatherless.  I may be partial, but I sure do think that he's a pretty amazing dad.

Happy Father's Day to the man who has been my friend, my partner, my advocate, my love, and now the father of our three boys.  Love you.

I'm Back! And Why It's Been Radio Silent Around Here...

It's been all kinds of quiet around here lately and much of that is due to the fact that I just don't feel good.

And we aren't sure why.

It all started about four weeks ago when I had a falling out with this guy.

And by falling out, I mean I stepped on him.  And fell.

It wasn't a bad fall, and in fact, I was holding onto the wall most of the way down.

From his high chair, J-man shouted "uh-oh," and actually used the phrase correctly for once.  (It's usually yelled when he purposely throws something across the room.)

I laughed, got up, and went about my business.

My ankle that took the brunt of the fall was swollen and my wrist that I had landed on was tender, but that was to be expected.  Soft tissue takes forever to heal.

A week later, my other ankle was hurting and my other wrist had some weird inflammation. The doctor thought it was related to the fall, so home I went with some anti-inflammatory meds.

But I know my body, and something wasn't right.  This pain was new and weird.

Over the past few weeks, I've gotten up each morning with different joints aching and new inflammation spots.

Much like the rest of my life, it doesn't seem to be very predictable.

Bloodwork has been taken and it's come back a little wonky.... my primary doctor is sending me off to the big city to see a specialist.

If left alone with my thoughts, I could wrote the Worst Case Scenario book for my life pretty quickly.

But, let's be real, I'm not left alone in any sense of the word most of my day.  J-man follows his 19 month-old call of duty and makes sure that I am always assisted no matter what I'm doing or where I am in the house...if you know what I mean.

I'm thankful it's not debilitating pain, and I can still function on a fairly normal basis.  But I have two babies to hold, snuggle, and chase after on a daily.

Ain't nobody got time for this.

So that's where I've been.

Wish I could have said Hawaii instead.

I'm sharing this in hopes that maybe my symptoms might sound familiar to some of you out in bloggy world?

I'm in my mid-30's and for this just to spring up has been a surprise.  And not in a "hey, you've won a million dollars!" kind of way. . .

Not expecting (or necessarily wanting) a diagnosis from anyone, but would love to hear from you if you've been dealing with these symptoms too.  Want to head to my specialist with as much knowledge as I can.

Hoping to be back to writing regularly again soon.  Have missed y'all!!!

Second Birthday

Last year, we had the privilege of celebrating T.D.'s birthday with him for the first time.

At that point, he had not yet moved in with us.  We were still praying about his future and just weren't sure about adding a teenager to our dynamic at home.  

A month later, Brian's phone rang at midnight, and a few minutes later he was heading to pick up T.D. for the night.  He stayed in our spare room that night and he's been there ever since.  

(Well, he's come out of the room on occasion to eat and play video games.) 

To be honest, I had quite a few concerns about bringing a teenage boy into my house.  

• How much would he eat????
• How would we set boundaries for a kid who had lived on his own for so long?
• How would I feel about it when Brian was out of town? 
• How would it be perceived by our family and friends? 
• How would he respond to being parented by us? 

In the year since moving in, he has blown all my fears, concerns, and hesitations out of the water.  

If you have had the opportunity to hear his story, then you may know the number of schools he's attended, the number of states he's lived in, and the family tragedies he's endured.  His life has been tough at times, really tough.  

But he has chosen to view it as part of his story, and he has never, ever blamed it on anyone or held bitterness for any of it.  We love that about him.   

He is his bio mom's only child, so this is T.D.'s first experience with little brothers.  J-man actually says his name, enunciating each letter with with plenty of emphasis (it's one of the first words he's learned) and has a specific head nod he gives T.D.  He LOVES his big brother.  And though he won't always admit it, T.D. loves those little brothers of his. 

He's made such tremendous strides in school this year, working hard to catch up and get on track.  We are super proud of where he has made it academically and for the fact that he's actively started thinking about his future.

For never having had to listen to parent "lectures" or having a curfew or boundaries, you'd be amazed at how teachable and responsive he is.

It's not because Brian and I have some magic touch, TUH-RUST me, we just pray that we are saying and doing what is best for him each day.

He really is a special kid, who has managed to face adversity and come out stronger on the other side.  Not perfect, still full of regular teenage quirks, but with a willingness to want more for himself and for his future.  

Yesterday we celebrated the second birthday with him and his mom drove up from New Orleans to surprise him.  Loved seeing his face as it slowly registered she was actually there in the room with him.  

Tyson was excited for the party.  Then again, he pretty much always looks like this. 

Who doesn't love a good cookie cake? 

Based on facial expressions alone, you can tell they're related.   :) 

 HAPPY BIRTHDAY, TD!!! 

Redeemed

Redeem

1. Buy back or repaying a loan
2. Fulfillment of a promise or a pledge
3. To liberate, to free, to rescue

I used this word a lot to describe our family.

But hear me on this, it is NOT because I believe we "rescued" or "saved" our children.  That concept can be thrown around a lot in the adoption world and I don't feel comfortable using it.   They don't "owe" me anything for bringing them into our home and they aren't "lucky" to be in our family.   I never want them to feel like we are their saviors.  We are their mom and dad.  There is a big difference.

Brian and I are not the heroes or the rescuers, we are simply a piece in the redemption story of our family.

To be honest, I'm pretty sure TD, our oldest son, was questioning his decision to move in with us when he witnessed our J-man getting regular nebulizer treatments for his wheezing.

After a few weeks of watching J-man wiggle and squirm, annoyed at having a mask on his face every morning, TD asked us why we were putting the little guy through it.

We explained that his pediatrician had prescribed this for J-man's baby asthma and wheezing.

TD's response was classic.

"Oh, I thought that was just something all white people did to their kids."

I can only imagine what was running through that poor kid's mind the previous weeks as we held our toddler down and strapped what looked like a gas mask to his face.

Pretty sure he was hoping someone would "rescue" him from the insane asylum he'd just moved into...

Bless him.

Back to my point.

Redeemed

Here is why I love this word as a descriptor for our family - because of its antonym.

Abandoned

According to dictionary.com it is the direct opposite of redeemed.

The definition of abandoned is to be "forsaken, discarded, rejected, deserted."

There are five distinct histories in our family.  Brian and I lived three decades without each other. Thirty years contains a lot of decisions, hurts, and life experience. T.D. lived 18 years apart from us.  J-man and Tyson have a much shorter past, but still bring a history that has been marked by loss.

Each one of us have felt the sting of abandonment in a different way.  We have wondered when someone was going love us for who we were with no conditions and no expectations.

Our family is patchwork of personalities, quirks, DNA, and life experience.  We're a rag-tag bunch, full of mistakes, fumbles, and missteps.

It's not always pretty over here, as our histories can rear their ugly heads when things get hard.  Old patterns and fears emerge as a way to cope with pain and difficulty.  The feeling of abandonment doesn't just dissipate immediately upon entering a family unit.

Here is where we focus- Abandonment, for each member of our family, is now a feeling, not a current truth in our lives.  However, it has a sneaky way of lingering and whispers just at the times where we are at our lowest and most vulnerable. If we believe the soft lies spoken only for our ears, then we tend to shrink back, close off, and hide.  When we let it become a part of who we are now, we have then become a captive to its power, and it has the ability to make us believe that we are not worth loving.

The feeling of abandonment has the power to incapacitate someone for a very long time.  It can wreck marriages, families, and the future of many kids who have come from hard places. 

So, we are intentional about speaking freedom into our boys.  When things are hard, when pain is evident, and when tempers flare, we are consistent in our message of commitment, love, and a promise of forever into the hearts of our sons and to each other.   We want them to know, without a shadow of a doubt, that our family is not a fleeting trend, a whim, or a matter of social justice.  It's a life-time commitment.

Abandonment may be a part of our past, but redemption is our future.

We cannot solve each other's hurts or take away the months and years where loss has reigned. I'll leave that business to the One who is the true Redeemer.

What I CAN do is to live free.  When I allow stress to rule my thoughts, when I am bogged down in worry, and when I am held captive by fear, it only shows that I am still under the premise that I will one day be rejected, forgotten, and abandoned.

Ain't nobody got time for that.

I look back to where I have been, see what is in front of me today, and think about the potential for our family's future, I cannot help but think of the word, Redeemed.

As a way to remind us on a daily basis of this truth, I spent four more hours than I planned, put waaaayyyyy too many holes in the wall, and muttered a few too many choice words under my breath to put this up.

I couldn't get the pictures exactly straight, there are fingerprint smudges on the frames, and sometimes (most of time) the letters are hanging crooked.  It goes against everything in my Type-A personality, but yet, I'm proud of it.  

Slightly off. Messy. Imperfect.  

That's us.

Just two crazy white folks that put too much smelly hair cream in their youngest son's afro (according to T.D.), torture J-man with a daily nebulizer treatment (according to T.D.), are way too strict on their policy of no brotherly headlocks (according to J-man), and love the heck out of our boys (according to me.)

A work in process. Far from perfect. Redeemed daily.

Why #fitchthehomeless Is Not The Solution

Abercrombie and Fitch hit their stride in the early 2000's, with adolescents clamoring for the brand to be displayed somewhere on their body.  I was teaching fifth grade at the time in an upper income, mostly white area outside Atlanta.  Most of my students were able to afford the brand, so my classroom was a sea of A&F logos, as it was the "cool" status symbol at the time.

I understood the desire, as I had once begged my mother incessantly for any clothes from The Limited or Gap, in order to not have to shop at "The Deb" anymore. (Please someone tell me you know what "The Deb" was...) In any case, back in my day, to own some knee-length plaid shorts was a sign that you had made it.  Clearly, times have changed.

Wearing over-sized glasses before hipsters were even born.  Literally.

Abercrombie has defined its shopping experience by providing half-naked teenager "models" at the door, an excessive use of cologne spray throughout the store, and music being played at decibels that aim to keep away anyone over the age of thirty.

The CEO, Mike Jeffries, has made some pretentious and elitist statements over the years as you can read in this Salon interview from 2006.  One of his comments has garnered much attention in the past few weeks:

"As far as Jeffries is concerned, America’s unattractive, overweight or otherwise undesirable teens can shop elsewhere. “In every school there are the cool and popular kids, and then there are the not-so-cool kids,” he says. “Candidly, we go after the cool kids. We go after the attractive all-American kid with a great attitude and a lot of friends. A lot of people don’t belong [in our clothes], and they can’t belong. Are we exclusionary? Absolutely. Those companies that are in trouble are trying to target everybody: young, old, fat, skinny. But then you become totally vanilla. You don’t alienate anybody, but you don’t excite anybody, either.”

You can see why people may be a wee bit up in arms over this. 

In response, a filmmaker in California has made this video calling for Americans to "#fitchthehomeless," which means give all your A&F clothing to a homeless shelter near you.  

Here's where I see the problem in this. 

The CEO of A&F has admitted to propagating an elitist agenda aimed at reaching one subsection of America; rich, white, and good-looking humans between the ages of ten and twenty.  

It's gross.  

#Fitchthehomeless has taken another subset of America, the homeless and the destitute, and dehumanized them.  

Equally gross. 

His tactic isn't to care for the poor because the are in need, but rather, stick it to the "man."  In essense, the homeless are simply a commodity in the video, used to make a point.  

In the short documentary, the young filmmaker hands articles of clothing to the residents of Skid Row, then films them as they hold up the A&F logo.  There is no documentation that he held any conversations with any of those shown in the video or that he has spent any time with the homeless in Skid Row.  It appears that he picked the "lowest" place in society and headed there armed with his weapons, a pile full of clothing.  

I have an issue with this.  

His idea still separates America into a class system, where he views the homeless as inferior and the lowest of the low. 

He isn't advocating for anyone else to wear the clothing, just those that are destitute and homeless. Which to me, sounds a bit elitist and classist as well.  

Throwing used clothes at the homeless does not solve the problem of pretentious elitism or poverty and destitution. 

Instead of #fitchthehomeless. . .

And you are a parent of adolescents, have some conversations with your kids about the CEO's statements and what A&F portrays to the public.  Invite your teens to weigh in with their opinion on the controversy.  It's important that the generation this brand is targeting understand the implications that go along purchasing a shirt or pair of shorts from their company. 

If you aren't buying clothes for anyone in this demographic, lucky you.  I would imagine trying to explain to your 15 year-old daughter that shorty shorts and see-through shirts is not an appropriate clothing choice can be rather stressful. 

Instead of #fitchthehomeless. . .

What if we take the time to evaluate our thoughts on how socioeconomic status and demographics affect the way we interact with others.  Let's take the controversial statements and the video and use them to consider whether we are quietly living out the same narrative in our own everyday interactions. 

Let's continue to fight against the cultural norm that tells our teens they must look a certain way to be known and accepted.  Let's consider our homeless neighbors in our surrounding towns and communities as people who deserve dignity and more than an article of our clothing.  

And finally, let's bring back the long, plaid short. 

And the ponytail with the long side bang.  That looked awesome. 

A Deep, Fierce Love

"Oh what a power is motherhood, possessing
A potent spell
All women alike
Fight fiercely for a child."
-- Euripides

A mother's love is deeper than biology and shared DNA.  It stretches across oceans and continents, race and ethnicity.  A mother's heart can lead in directions that are completely counter-cultural and make decisions that seemingly go against all reason.

Let me introduce you to Robin and Brenda. 

Before each of these women held their child in their arms, they knew that life for them may look a little different. They knowingly chose the path of motherhood that would require a deep trust in God's sovreignty and a His plan for their child.  

People warned them that it didn't make sense, this path of motherhood, there would be too much at stake.  Too much of a risk for loss.  

These mothers knew, despite the uncertainty, the questions of others, and the overwhelming odds, that their child was waiting for them. 

Here are their stories.

This is Robin.  Mom to three amazing girls and to this special little boy, Gabriel.  

Gabriel was born prematurely with special needs.  At a few months old, he was placed into foster care and put into the arms of one of the foster families in our church.   Not long after entering his foster home, he became gravely ill and was placed in the NICU.  This little one is a fighter, and he battled for his life through ventilators and tubes and needles.  While in the NICU, he had a church full of people praying for him.  The Pass family were some of those people praying.  They had met Gabriel one morning at church.  As soon they had laid eyes on this sweet boy, they knew that he was meant to be a part of their family.  Robin he was what her arms had been missing.  He was her son. 

The Pass's became licensed foster parents and Gabriel was transitioned lovingly into their home last Mother's Day.  Despite his medical conditions, constant doctor's appointments, and round-the-clock care, Robin jumped in headfirst.  With a fierce mama's heart, she has made sure that he has the best care, that his medicines are regulated perfectly for his little body, and that he has the therapy he needs.   

Last month, Gabriel was officially adopted by the Pass Family.  Today, exactly a year after joining his family, Gabriel was baptized.  A miracle baby adored by his family and usually found in the arms of his mama. 

This is the Gorman Family.  Brenda Gorman and her husband adopted Zia, on the right, from the DRC.   

A few months before they were supposed to travel to get her, the Gormans were told that Zia had serious health issues.  Their agency asked if they still wanted to pursue the adoption.  

There was no question.  Zia was their daughter. 

Brenda flew immediately to the DRC to be with her.  She fought to get Zia moved to a better hospital in the DRC and was able to get an emergency visa to bring Zia home to Texas for medical treatment.  

Zia was able to spend 33 days with her family before passing away last week.  Please read more of her story here.  

Brenda was featured on the CBS evening news this past Friday night.  It was a beautiful piece about the love of a mother who fought so valiantly for her daughter's life.


  


I've not met Brenda personally, but through our Congo connections, have followed her journey on Facebook.  She is a true warrior, risking everything for a child to know what it means to have a family. Despite heartbreak and loss, she has remained steadfast that God picked Zia specifically for their family. 

Brenda's words on losing their Zia: 
"Death is not the end of her story. My baby girl still gets the fairytale ending; she is in a new body that is healed, she has all the bumba she wants, she is resting in the arms of Jesus, and she is rejoicing in the 
victory"

As we celebrate mothers across the world today, I needed you to meet these two women.  I think you can understand why. 

The Village People

When someone decides to become a foster parent, they knowingly agree to play a role in a story birthed from trauma and pain.

Children do not come into foster care as a result of healthy, thriving families.  They are placed in the system because somewhere along the way, their biological family chose addiction, abuse, neglect, or crime over everything else in their life.

Fostering can produce stories of beautiful restoration.  It can also be hard and exhausting.  At times, it's really, really, REALLY lonely.

Not everyone understands why one would choose to this path.  Almost every foster parent can share a story of friends or family questioning why they would involve themselves in such a messy, broken system.

But then there are the others.  The ones that subscribe to the "It takes a Village," mantra.

They are the hand-holders, the shoulders to cry on, the meal-bringers, the baby-snugglers, the prayer warriors.

I'll affectionately refer to them The Village People.

The Village People are the ones who still may not totally "get" the crazy world of foster care, but they trust your heart and your calling.  They know that this is what your family is MEANT to do. They do everything they can to support your family in the journey.  

I've got to brag about the Village People that have come alongside the foster families in our church the past two years.  They are doing ordinary things that are extraordinary blessings to those that are fostering.

I want to share these examples because they are do-able, practical, and can easily be put in place anywhere for foster families.  Whether you know one foster family or have a community full of them, these are ideas that can be easily implemented and make a significant impact their life.


Foster "Care" Bags:  These bags are made up of donated used/new diaper bags, wipes, diapers and other supplies.  The bags are age and gender specific for infants through school-age children. Foster "Care" Bags are delivered to families upon receiving an immediate placement of a child to get them through the first 24-48 hours.  Most of the time, a child is brought to the family with just the clothes on their body.  The bags aim to alleviate some of the immediate stresses on a foster family during the first few days of placement.

Foster Care Bag for a 12-18 month-old girl

Foster Care bag for a 6-12 month-old girl

Meals-  Simple, easy and a HUGE help when a family first gets a placement.  Takethemameal.com is an extremely easy online program that someone can set-up and share with others.  Sign up online and the date is reserved for when you are going to deliver the meal.  Over 150 meals have been provided to foster families by people in our church.  And man, can they cook!

House Cleaning-  Sue, a member of our church, cleans houses professionally.  She is not at the place in her life where becoming a foster parent is an option, but she wanted to do something to help.  Sue has offered to clean the house of one of the foster families every other week.  As you can imagine, there was quite a response from the families on this one!

Blankets-  Little ones need security and something to call their own. What better than a blanket that is made just for them?  Two ministries at our church, Prayer Shawl and Threads of Love, have donated hand-made blankets for the children in care. A soft blanket is the perfect comfort for small children who have just had their world flipped upside down upon entering foster care.

Hand-knit by the Frazer Prayer Shawl Ministry

Hand-crafted by Frazer's Threads of Love Ministry

Artwork-  Jamie Mitchell, an amazingly talented local artist, has rendered these beautiful creations for each child who comes into one of the foster homes. When all you own can fit in a backpack, gifts like this hold tremendous value and meaning.  We have already seen the excitement and joy on the faces of children who received a painting.

Pictures- For the past year, two professional photographers have taken pictures of the foster children in our church every three months.  Suzanne and Lori donate hours of their time, resources, and their immense talents to provide childhood keepsakes for kids who may otherwise have no documentation of their early years.  I can't show you any pictures of the foster children, so I will share the latest photo they took of our son, T.D.

The pictures have also been a gift to the biological families.  When a foster family gives the biological parents these pictures, two things happen.  One, it reminds the biological family that the the foster family is on the same team.  Two, the pictures become a daily reminder to the parents to keep fighting for the restoration of their family.  A blessing in so many ways.

Prayer- Lots of it.  We have a prayer team made up of ten women who are committed to specifically be praying for our foster families and adoptive families in the church.  When a prayer request arises, we share as much information as confidentiality allows with the team and they get to praying, praying, praying.


What are your Village People doing?  I would love to hear some stories! 



To our Village People at Frazer UMC: 

You are unbelievably awesome.  The meals, the hugs, the encouraging words, and the prayers have gotten us through some of the most difficult days.  We need you, though we may not always let you know it. Thank you for loving us and the children so, so well.  When you treat our foster children just as every other child that walks through the door of the church, you let them know they are valuable and wanted.  By providing them with normalcy, stability, and love, you are validating every truth we are trying to instill in them during the time they are in our homes.  Village People, you play such an important role in the lives of these children.  Thank you.  (And we hope you like your nickname :)

With Love,
The Foster Families