Our life was everything I had ever dreamed it could be, and yet, I sensed there was more. We had a choice: stay in our comfort zone, or step into something no one we knew personally had ever dared. At the time, I was able to stay home with our three boys, work part-time for a creative outlet, my husband’s career was thriving, and we had a supportive circle of friends. I loved our family deeply and felt grateful for where we were—but my heart whispered that life had something bigger in store.
My hopes for our children went beyond good grades or popularity. I wanted them to be inclusive, authentic, and kind. I wanted them to understand that small-town Alabama was just a tiny dot in a vast, diverse world. I sensed that a meaningful opportunity awaited us, though I didn’t yet know what form it would take.
One ordinary day, while waiting in the car outside my children’s school, I turned on the radio and heard a segment about foster care. The hosts shared urgent statistics, spoke about supporting children in need, and encouraged advocacy or adoption. I had heard all of this before, but on that day, it struck differently. Something stirred deep within me. I felt compelled to act.
“Where were these kids in my town?” I wondered.
“Why were they invisible to the rest of us?”
“Where could I volunteer or donate? Anything!”
I realized that doing nothing was no longer an option. I called local churches to find a foster care or adoption ministry, hoping to give my time and resources—but there was nothing. Confused but determined, my husband and I decided the next logical step was to take foster parent training classes ourselves.
To most people—and even to us—this decision seemed crazy. Friends warned that it could negatively affect my husband’s practice and labeled it a huge mistake. We couldn’t understand how loving an orphaned or foster child could possibly hurt business. Still, we knew it was the right thing. We completed the classes with a clear purpose: to help a child in their time of need, honor and love their birth family, and show our boys what it means to lay down your life for another—even when it’s uncomfortable, heartbreaking, or unpopular.
After overcoming countless roadblocks, we finally received our foster license. We didn’t specify a child’s race or gender; we trusted that God would bring exactly the right child to our family. Then, one holiday weekend, we got the call:
“A baby boy is in a hospital across the state and needs a home.”
Fear gripped me—so many unknowns—but ultimately, I trusted a good God who loved this child and had a plan for both of us. Our three biological sons were part of the conversation and excited to welcome a new brother, understanding that opening our home would be a sacrifice—whether for one day, one year, or forever. I could not be prouder of the compassion and courage they displayed.
Just three hours later, a car pulled into our driveway carrying a 6-pound, three-day-old, healthy baby boy. I texted my husband, who was out running, “He’s here!!” As the caseworker stood in our kitchen, I saw my husband sprinting back home through the window. In that moment, time seemed to freeze. A child born into a broken and uncertain world had found a safe place, and here came a father racing to meet him. The caseworker handed him to me, along with two Walmart bags of random items and some paperwork, wishing us well. We had no idea what the future would hold—but we had faith.
As we settled into a new routine, I learned that navigating hard things would become a part of life. It was maddening and exhausting to encounter the silos of the system and the limits of human nature—but because I believe Jesus calls us to walk toward the hard, not away from it, hope carried me through. When whispers and judgments surfaced—people questioning if he was a “drug baby” or why his birth family hadn’t taken him—I held firm: if God approved, nothing else mattered. Hard is not the same as bad.
For every negative encounter, there were countless acts of kindness. People stepped up, spoke up, and loved well. Communities rallied, sowing seeds of generosity and compassion that grew into tangible revival. Through this journey, I witnessed God’s redemption in the foster care system, the transformative power of collaboration, and the beauty of loving those we may not fully understand. Proximity, I learned, is the key to empathy.
When it became clear our foster son was meant to stay with us forever, we rejoiced. God was writing this story, but joy did not erase heartbreak. I love his birth mother deeply and cherish her request that he always knows her love for him. Adoption is not merely a Plan B—it is a powerful, beautiful way to give a child the family they need.
Eventually, we launched the foster care and adoption ministry we had once sought in vain. Today, several families have opened their homes and hearts, and countless children have found love and stability through the organization. We remain hopeful for the lasting impact it will have on children, families, and volunteers in our community.
Our youngest son officially became a permanent part of our family 900 days after his birth. In a joyful courtroom ceremony, his three older brothers raised their right hands with us, promising to love and protect him forever. It was a day of celebration shared with friends and family in our small town—once known for racial divides and civil rights struggles—but now, a place full of opportunities to love and witness a harvest of hope, for those willing to step into the hard.
