A Cup of Humility

(Photos by  Alacia Adrienne Photography ) Have you ever been called to do something?   Something a little scary & uncomfortable, yet simultaneously something you could not shake unless you answered?   Something that seemed completely out of your capacity, but it kept nudging you? Adoption called us.   Adoption and foster care have been woven into the thread of our relationship since the beginning.   Looking back, I am in awe at the selfless (& insane) decision my parents made to open their home to foster children after already having six biological kids of their own.   My dad had a great response to anyone who raised an eyebrow in question of our family dynamic.   “Yes, they’re all ours & with my ‘first’ wife.”      It was near my 6 th birthday that we took in my first two foster sisters, who had just turned 5 and 7 years old.   That year-long placement turned into a 10-year adventure of housing almost 60 children, two of which became my youngest sibl

I’ve spent a lot of time in the recent months reflecting on my dad’s life and the impact he had on me as his daughter; the good, the bad, the things I wish I would have done differently, and the things I will never have the chance to do with him again.   Even in his final days as his body dwindled & suffered greatly, his mind remained sharp and his gift of conversation was very present until that, too, was finally taken away.   In this season of remembrance, I recently recalled one of the most hilarious memories I have from my childhood.   It took place one scorching summer afternoon in 1991 when we attended a luau in our little town.   This event was a fundraiser for our local hockey association, so in all things hockey-related, my parents loaded up all of their tots – foster kids included - to partake in the festivities.   Hockey association supporters near and far showed up in Hawaiian shirts, grass skirts, and leis for an afternoon of tropical celebration; a very diff