I didn’t wake up one day and suddenly decide to become a foster parent. It was a slower unfolding. I remember as a kid knowing I wanted to adopt one day—I was so sure of it that I used to think any man I married would need to be open to adoption too. But at the time, I didn’t know much about foster care.
That changed when I moved away to college. One of my roommates talked about wanting to be a foster mom, and after graduation she became a house parent for an organization. That sparked something. Later, I spent time serving on the Yakima Indian Reservation, where kids would stay with us for different periods of time. That experience made a deep impact. When I moved back to Chattanooga, I knew I wanted to be involved with kids in some capacity, even if I didn’t know what that would look like yet. It was a mix of conversations, a few movies, and a growing ache to do something that finally made me look into foster parenting—though I still assumed it would be something for “later.”
When I started seriously pursuing licensing, I had a lot of fears. As a single woman working full time, I didn’t know how I’d manage logistics or meet the emotional needs of a child. People were worried for me—especially about the pain of attachment and loss. But my time on the reservation had already begun to teach me that love, even if it ends in heartache, is still worth it. I was also afraid of how I’d manage my own anxiety and depression while caring for someone else. I knew I wouldn’t be doing this perfectly.
That became even more real when I got the call about my first placement.
I was doing this with Pop, and we’d decided to start with respite care for kids ages 6–12. About a week or two after getting licensed, I got a call about a 3-year-old boy who needed a place for the weekend while his foster parents traveled out of state for a funeral. I talked to Pop, got more info, and we agreed I’d be home and available. That one weekend turned into two weekends back to back.
I’d been on pins and needles waiting for a call—and then suddenly I was an anxious mess. I had never cared for a toddler overnight on my own. I just wanted him to feel safe and cared for. I also wanted to do everything right. Being able to set an age range but still have the flexibility to go outside of it ended up being a gift. It gave me the space to stretch and to test the assumptions I had about what I could or couldn’t handle.
During the licensing process, I learned about the idea of “good enough” parenting. That was so freeing. I didn’t need to get everything right. I just needed to show up as a steady, stable, loving presence—and to repair when I messed up. I also learned to care a lot less about what other people thought. Parenting a child with trauma looks different. Sometimes it means doing things that might seem strange to someone with a traditional lens. I had to learn not to feel embarrassed when others saw my child acting out, and instead focus on what they needed most in that moment.
One of the best pieces of advice I ever received came long before I started fostering. A pastor once told me, during a missions commissioning, “Don’t wait until you think I am ready, I am able, I can. Rather, obey, knowing He is ready, He is able, He can. And you’re just called to be faithful.” That stuck with me. I never really felt ready for foster care. And honestly, the deeper in I went, the less capable I felt. But God called me to it—and in that calling, He has prepared and provided.
If you’re considering fostering or adoption, don’t let fear of heartbreak or the unknown stop you. Not everyone is called to be a foster or adoptive parent, but if you are—it’s worth stepping in. Even when it’s scary. Even when it’s messy. When you step into this world, in whatever capacity, you’re stepping into the center of where God’s heart is.
