Two years ago, I was sitting at the front desk of a pediatric dentist’s office, checking in a mom and her foster children. It wasn’t my first time doing this; in fact, seeing foster families at the office had become fairly routine. But that day, something hit me—I realized just how great the need for foster care must be in our community. The thought stayed with me for weeks, quietly nudging at my heart.
Finally, I gathered the courage to bring it up with my husband. He had mentioned, very lightly, the possibility of adopting in the future because of some experiences at his job. So I asked, “What do you think about becoming foster parents?” As expected, his initial response was, “It isn’t the right time.” We already had two young boys, ages 2 and 4, and at 25, I was still young myself. People had already thought we were a little crazy for having two kids by 23—starting fostering too? That would seem insane to everyone.
“We’ll talk about it again when the kids get older,” he said.
I was disappointed. I didn’t want to wait years. I felt like God was calling me to foster now, not in five or ten years. But I let it go and tried to be patient.
Two weeks later, Kody came to me with a surprising announcement: he had been praying about it and was ready to foster. I was stunned—this didn’t take nearly as long as I had feared! Immediately, we began researching agencies and looking for the earliest available training class. There was one just a few weeks away, so we signed up.
The process was intense. Thirty hours of training, home assessments, personal questions, and mountains of paperwork. But we pushed through, eager for the day our foster license would be complete.
Then, just a couple of weeks before our license was finalized—surprise! We found out I was pregnant. It was a total shock. Our youngest son had been hugging my belly and whispering “hi” to the baby weeks before we even knew I was expecting. We had no idea where he learned to do that, but it was sweet and mysterious. That night, after a family Thanksgiving dinner, I decided to take a pregnancy test, not expecting much. My husband was downstairs, relaxing and playing on his phone.
When the test came back positive, I ran downstairs to tell him. “Babe, I’m pregnant,” I said. His reaction? Silence. He probably didn’t believe me at first—I had to repeat it several times before it sank in. Then, after a few moments, he hugged me, and we celebrated our unexpected blessing together.
We were caught off guard, to say the least. We were already wondering what people would think about us fostering with two young kids, and now we were adding another baby into the mix.
We decided to take foster placements only up until the five-month mark of my pregnancy. A few calls came in during that time, but none fit our license criteria or needs. It was difficult to say no, but we knew timing and suitability were crucial.
When the five-month mark passed, I felt a pang of disappointment. That meant another 10 months before we could take in a foster placement, giving our new baby some time to adjust to our growing family.
Then, one month later, we got a call: “We have a 3-month-old, very premature baby girl, ready to be discharged, and she’s on oxygen.”
The baby was medically fragile, requiring extra training and attention. My first thought: There’s no way we can handle this. But something inside me kept urging me to say yes. I called Kody at work, anxious and pleading. He knew how ready I was to follow God’s calling, and within minutes, his hesitation turned to agreement.
“This is what God has called us to do, so let’s do it,” he said. He didn’t worry about the details. We had been preparing for this for six months. There is never a perfect time to add another child to the family.
The next day, I met our tiny 5lb 6oz baby girl in the hospital. She was fragile, perfect, and unreal—like holding a delicate doll. Our boys adjusted beautifully, loving her as if she had always been part of our family. We cared for her for a couple of months before she was moved to another placement.
After her placement, we took the rest of my pregnancy to prepare for our new baby. Eight months later, once our baby girl had arrived, we reopened our foster license.
Now, just two and a half months later, our second foster placement is sound asleep in the room next to me. Our four children, all five and under, keep us on our toes, and most days, I’m just trying to catch my breath.
People often say, “I could never foster because I’d get too attached.” Well, we get attached—that’s the point. These children need love, attachment, and a safe, happy home. Their well-being comes before our own, and if I can give that to them, I will, wholeheartedly.
