Nathan and I grew up together in the same church in rural Georgia. He dreamed of going to medical school, while I imagined a life as a stay-at-home mom. From early on, we talked about adoption, but it always seemed out of reach financially. Two years into our marriage, we welcomed our first child, Erin. Nathan had set aside his medical school plans for something more family-friendly, and he was accepted into The College of Pharmacy at UGA. By the time I was six months pregnant with our second child, Landon, we moved to Athens. Nathan often jokes that he thought he might die during that first year of pharmacy school. They really do try to weed out the weak.
At the start of his second semester, I gave birth to Landon, a baby who never slept and who vomited four times the amount he consumed—every single hour. Life with two kids under two was a blur of sleep deprivation, endless diapers, and a very tiny budget. Looking back, I don’t know how we survived it all—but we did, by the grace of God.
Fast forward a few years through countless bottles, doctor visits, and the inevitable extra pounds that came with both babies and stress. Somehow, we made it through, and Erin and Landon blossomed into compassionate, smart, and joyful young people. They have hearts for Jesus, a love for helping others, and the bond of true friendship.
When Erin was in fifth grade, we met Kylee. I had seen her on school field trips and occasional lunches—she would look at the floor when spoken to, timid and terrified to speak. Her voice, barely above a whisper, revealed a child weighed down by trauma. But I saw potential where others might have seen only fear. Later, Erin told me Kylee was in foster care. Nathan and I realized that all our years of talking about fostering had been leading to this moment—and this child. We didn’t yet know she had siblings.
The journey to becoming foster parents was intense. We attended classes, completed mountains of paperwork, and learned about trauma, ODD, conduct disorder, abuse, bio parent visitation, per diem, and more than a dozen other topics that would blur together once our first placement arrived. After five long months, we were approved and ready for placement.
I immediately called to request Kylee, only to hear no—she had siblings, and we couldn’t accommodate them all. I was shocked. How could she remain in a group home, already separated from her brothers, rather than move to a private home? But as a timid new foster parent, I didn’t push. Perhaps we were meant to help other children first.
Over the next year, we hosted a sibling group of three, along with several other children for nights and short stays. Those experiences quietly prepared our hearts for Kylee. Eventually, I couldn’t ignore the stories she shared with Erin from her time in the group home. I made the call that changed everything: I told our caseworker I wouldn’t accept any more placements unless it was Kylee. She had spent a year in care at that girls’ group home—safe in a sense, but exposed to things no child should witness. She was eleven when she came into foster care, removed from her home, separated from her brothers, and forced into a world of confusion and fear.
Imagine being eleven, sitting in a classroom, and suddenly learning you cannot live at home anymore, and your siblings can’t come with you. Countless nights were spent crying, unsure how to process anger, hurt, and fear. When I asked Kylee about that first night in care, she simply said, “Mom, I can’t. There aren’t words.”
When she moved in with us in December, just weeks before her one-year anniversary in foster care, her biological family was still working toward reunification. For months, we parented alongside them, celebrating birthdays, cheering progress, and supporting growth. But sometimes, despite our hope, things don’t turn out as planned. Kylee and her siblings experienced the termination of their parents’ rights—an incredibly painful process to witness. In July 2018, we were finally able to adopt Kylee.
Today, at sixteen, she is thriving. Therapy and family support transformed her into a loud, outgoing young woman with mountains of friends, a successful academic career, a lively after-school job, and a deep love for her siblings and parents. She thinks I’m the “coolest mom to ever walk the planet,” and openly admires Nathan for his quiet wisdom.
By the end of 2015, I wanted a break from fostering traumatized children. A newborn, any newborn, found its way to us—bringing a fresh chapter of unconditional love. That child, a part of our soul and story, awaits the world it so deserves.
Shortly before finalizing Kylee’s adoption, Nathan felt compelled to adopt her siblings as well. I was recovering from a procedure for a breast cancer scare and thought perhaps it was the Valium talking—but it wasn’t. Prayer and conversation led us to bring her brothers home. Suddenly, our three-bedroom house was filled with seven children. Showers required scheduling, and space was tight—but joy overflowed.
Soon after, Nathan felt called to leave his job due to ethical concerns. We moved to Texas for a better opportunity, navigating ICPC processes to finalize the adoptions. By July 17, 2019—a year after our move—we officially became a family, celebrating a joy deeper than words can capture.
Nick spent 1,628 days in foster care, moving through multiple homes, schools, and states, carrying trauma in ways uniquely his own. Aiden, now ten, entered foster care at five, experiencing multiple placements and schools. Both boys, like many foster children, love their biological families, even as they heal and thrive in a safe home.
The foster system is broken. Resources are scarce, sibling groups are often separated, and both biological and foster families face incredible challenges. But what matters most is showing unconditional love, being a consistent presence, and walking alongside children as they grow into the people God created them to be.
Fostering isn’t about growing your family it’s about stepping into a child’s story with grace, patience, and Jesus’ love. It’s about messy, imperfect, sacrificial love. You will stumble. You will fail. But you get back up, ask for grace, and continue to show up. For these children, your love is life-changing.
