It all begins with an idea.

We met with the foster care social worker for a question session. We imagined hearing how messy it could be and running. And then as she told story after story our eyes peered out from our the cover of our privilege and into the immense need in our community. From that moment on we could no longer pretend we didn't see.

This is my everyday hallelujah. It is worship even when there is no melody being sung. My honest offering even when I have only tired and jagged pieces of my heart to lay down. My hosanna even when I’m not squeezed between the pews on Sunday morning.

My oldest (now 9) used to climb into our bed every single night. Without fail, her tiny feet would pitter patter their way down the hallway and then she would wiggle her way between David and I. I thought this would last forever until all of a sudden this past year it didn't. I noticed her feet stopped shuffling to our room in a sleepy haze. Instead she now keeps the covers over her head and doesn't want to be woken by sun. She's happiest sleeping in and in her own space. So last night when I heard a lately unfamiliar sound- my oldest girl trying to find my room in an half slumbering state- I pulled open the comforter and made a spot to wrap up in my arms. I wiped the whispy curls from her face and thought, "this could be the last night I get this." And it really could.

It all begins with an idea.