My husband and I don’t always feel certain about the path we’re on. We’ve always loved the idea of moving around, trying different jobs, and embracing change, but often we find ourselves adrift in the daily rhythm of life, unsure of what comes next—for our son, for each other, or for our little family.
Yet, amidst that uncertainty, a few things remain steadfast. We love God. We love each other. And we love people. Brennan Manning, in The Furious Longing of God, writes, “Simply do the next thing in love.” So, we ask ourselves, “What would the next love-thing be?” and we ask each other the same question, letting it guide our choices.
Our hearts naturally lean toward foster care. I grew up in the system, and that experience shaped the way I see children and families. We want to see children feel loved, seen, and like they belong. We pray for broken families to be restored, and we hope to be vessels of healing, not of hurt, for children who are suffering or vulnerable. Over time, the idea of fostering had bounced around in our conversations—but it wasn’t until we asked, “What is the next love-thing?” that we found ourselves walking into the human services office to begin the certification process.
Our county’s foster system makes the path relatively simple, and the process seemed almost overnight. But we knew we couldn’t rush. I’m still navigating my own trauma, which has left marks on my closest relationships. Though I am a mother and confident in my care for my son, my own healing journey is fragile and ongoing. I’ve learned the hard way that I cannot bring broken children into my life without being mindful of my own wounds.
We also wanted to ensure our motives were right. Foster care isn’t about expanding our family or glorifying ourselves—it’s about serving God’s Kingdom. It’s about advocating for children, supporting families, and showing love to all involved. We are weak humans—especially me—and we knew we needed to offer care in a way that was sustainable, safe, and full of love. That’s why we chose to begin with respite care: providing temporary care for foster children while their parents take a break, recharge, or simply have a night off. Strong, rested parents love their children better, and we wanted to support that.
This past weekend, we stepped into that role for the first time, welcoming a seven-month-old baby boy and his four-year-old sister into our one-bedroom home, alongside our own one-year-old son, Leyonder. Our house quickly became full, lively, and playful.
Leyonder and the four-year-old—let’s call her Sweet-Gal—immediately began playing with the curtains. Their game started with hide-and-seek, Sweet-Gal covering her face with the red satin drapes and popping out with a cheerful, “Peek-a-boo!” Leyonder’s giggles filled the room, and soon Sweet-Gal was swinging the curtains with all her energy.
And then it happened. The curtains and rods came crashing down. Thankfully, no one was hurt, but Sweet-Gal froze, buried her face in her hands, and slouched in defeat.
I knelt down, spoke slowly and softly, and said, “We were all just having fun. It’s okay. Accidents happen.”
Peeking through her fingers, she slowly walked into my arms. We hugged, and I reassured her, “Jacob will hang the curtains back up when he gets home. We understand—it was an accident. Are you okay?” She nodded, squeezed me again, and ran off to play with a toy.
I turned away and felt tears sting my eyes. God had given me the words, the patience, and the heart to respond. Memories of my own childhood came rushing back—of being scolded, yelled at, or shamed for accidents—and I saw how fear had once shaped me. I thanked God for His redemptive love and His presence in that moment. I realized that what Sweet-Gal needed in that moment, I was able to provide—and in doing so, I felt God healing something inside of me.
I’m still in the midst of healing, still navigating CPTSD and the deep imprints of my past. A friend recommended The Body Keeps the Score, which arrived just hours before the children were dropped off. In the introduction, I underlined a single line: “We will also see that the imprints from the past can be transformed by having physical experiences that directly contradict the helplessness, rage, and collapse that are part of trauma…” I underlined it not for anyone else, but because I knew it was what I needed. That day, I became the person I needed when I was a little girl. Sweet-Gal may have been the recipient of love, but she gave me a profound gift in return.
That experience affirmed God’s work in me. I may doubt myself, I may feel inadequate, but I cannot doubt Him. He dwells in me, and He is enough. And He dwells in you too, making you enough.
We still don’t know exactly what God has planned for our family. But we know we were meant to offer respite care that weekend. It was the right next love-thing.
If you’ve ever felt drawn to foster care or adoption but weren’t sure you were ready, consider respite care. It’s deeply needed, genuinely appreciated, and can be unexpectedly healing—not just for the children and families, but for you as well. God’s love works in mysterious, transformative ways, and sometimes, offering care is the first step toward being cared for in return.
