What Is Foster Care Actually Like

Fifteen.

That’s how many children came through our home in 4.5 years. Not all at once, not all for long, but each one long enough to leave fingerprints on our hearts and echoes in our hallways.

Fifteen stories. Fifteen names we still whisper sometimes when the house gets too quiet.

People often ask what foster care was like, expecting words like hard or messy or beautiful. And yes, it was all of those things. But what we didn’t expect… what surprised us the most… was this:

Fourteen out of fifteen families didn’t push us away. 

They leaned in.

The first time it happened, we were braced for distance. We had been told, gently but firmly, not to expect much connection with biological families. “It can be complicated,” they said. “Guard your expectations.” “Don’t give them personal information.”

So when we packed the kiddo’s things for that first visit: extra wipes, a sippy cup, a little stuffed animal, we also packed quiet assumptions. We assumed we’d be seen as outsiders. Maybe even as enemies.

And then, unexpectedly, after awkward conversation, when we showed support and not judgment, they started coming back to us. It became a pattern.

Different faces. Different stories. Different heartbreaks. But again and again, instead of walls, there were small openings.

A dad who stayed after the visit just to ask, “What helps him sleep better?”

A mom who texted to check if her daughter liked her new shoes. And asked if we would be able to pick her up for church on Sunday. 

A grandmother who cried with us in a parking lot because she didn’t know how to fix everything, but she wanted to try.

They didn’t need us to replace them.

They needed someone to stand with them.

Our home filled with more than children, it filled with shared effort.

Our church family showed up in ways that still leave me in awe. Meals appeared on doorsteps. People prayed by name for children and for their parents. Diapers, clothes, car seats, milk, groceries, encouragement… it all flowed so freely, like everyone understood that this wasn’t just about “helping kids.” This was about restoring families. And slowly, something sacred began to grow.

We started seeing it in the little things. Parents asking for advice, and actually using it. Families inviting us into their plans instead of shutting us out. Conversations shifting from guarded to honest.

There were still hard days. Court dates that didn’t go as hoped. Setbacks that felt like starting over. Moments where grief sat heavy on everyone involved.

But even in the hard, there was connection.

We weren’t working against each other.

We were working together.We watched courage rise where shame had tried to live.

We were reminded that people are not their worst moments.There is always redemption. We want to be a part of that. 

And through it all, one truth that rooted itself deep in us: When you lead with humility instead of judgment. When you show up not as a savior, but as support. When a community wraps around both the child and the parents, healing becomes possible in places you never expected.

We thought we were opening our home to children. But what God really did was open our hearts to families. And God did great things. Thirteen of those kids were reunified with their families.