Our guy looked down for a minute and replied, “I think I need to say it as a secret.” He walked over and whispered into my ear: “Love.”

No matter if our kids are fostered, adopted, ours for a short time or forever…

No matter what their parents have done or not done…

There is something that can & should always be true of us as foster & adoptive parents.

Most of what I share speaks directly to foster and adoptive parents. This one’s for the rest of you. You read what I write, but I want to make sure you’re not reading into what I don’t write, so I’m going to spell it out, clear as can be.

As important as it is for my kids to experience consistent love from their mom, I know it’s even more important that they watch how mom repents & repairs when she fails at loving them the way she should.

Are you overwhelmed by the brokenness that surrounds you?
Have you wept in sorrow over what you’re walking through?
Are you brokenhearted by what your children are experiencing?

These tears, they have an expiration. This sadness is coming to an end

Being a foster parent doesn’t have to be seen as a forever life calling. It can simply be an opportunity to serve, a way to help. You don’t need faith for the whole journey, you only need it for the first step.

Foster care means living in the both/and.

Foster care is two families unified through separation,
a child experiencing the loss & gain of a family,
the brokenness & blessing of “all one family together.”

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Our kids’ parents have so much to overcome. May our judgment of them not be added to the list.

It’s all of these and no one of these things alone. We grieve what he lost. We celebrate what he—and what we—have gained. And we hold the nuance. For our kids, for their families, for our own hearts, we hold—in broken & beautiful tension—all of it at once.
We keep space for the sorrow. We hold onto the joy. And we cling, with our whole hearts, to the love.

I’ve watched my (afraid, overwhelmed, pragmatic, reluctant) husband be intentional, affectionate, protective, compassionate, faithful, willing, brave, and so very loving. And I’ve watched our guy begin to experience the healing that comes from a love like that.

But the gift of this life—besides, of course, the kids & work & blessings that all this busyness represents—is that it keeps me on my knees in absolute desperation.

I can see a picture and stop for a moment and sit in gratitude of the blessing of this life of mine—without the arguing or pooping or spilling cereal across the floor or kicking holes in the wall or getting calls from the principal or stealing candy or eye rolling or “but momming” or streaking or coloring on the walls or crying or...

Real talk: Sometimes, I regret jumping into this life of foster care & adoption. I crave normal. I resent the hard. I grieve the loss. I long for ease.

I’m trying to keep it real. I had *no idea* that she had a vision problem until she failed her screening at the pediatrician recently. I was absolutely shocked. The doctor: “She can’t see.” Bella: “I told you!” Me: “You did?!”
Mom fail. 🫣🫠

“Drowning” is a word I’ve been using a lot recently. I’m drowning—drowning in children, drowning in tasks, drowning in my emotions and everyone else’s, drowning in needs and struggles, drowning in the heaviness of it all.

Foster care affects every member of our family—in the hard and in the healing.

We love our children, and we are doing our very best. If you have questions, ask. If you’re confused, spend some time & learn. If you’re concerned, pray & love & show up. Our children need you, we need you.

If I was too busy mourning the moments that never happen, I would miss the beautiful moments of connection—moments like this—that do.