The Invisible Weight of Foster Parenting...

Memorizing the sound of their laugh, aching with the reality that these moments might soon become memories.

Fighting to heal wounds you didn’t inflict. Absorbing the cost of righting wrongs you had no part in forming.

Making plans, not knowing if they’ll be here. Not knowing how to answer when they ask if they will.

Holding space for the silent presence of a parent who isn’t there, yet somehow always is. Their lack of a presence a presence itself.

Smiling bravely for a frightened child who is looking to you for comfort and assurance, while you yourself are terrified.

Advocating fiercely and showing up gently—fighting for what you believe is best and having to walk your child into something you would never choose.

Knowing devisions about my life aren’t only mind to make. That strangers have a say of what happens within my four walls and on my calendar.

Living in the tension of two realities: “I want your family to heal” and “I hope you never leave.”

Showing up every day without guarantees. No promises, just faithful, ordinary love in the middle of uncertainty.