Tristan and I got married just a month after I graduated from high school. As high school sweethearts, we’ve grown up together, and who we are has changed in so many ways over the years. But one thing that has remained constant is my dream of having a big family—and my desire to adopt along the way.
Even as kids, I told Tristan I wanted 12 children of my own someday. I knew I wanted to adopt at least a few of them, though at the time I hadn’t fully decided on the path—international adoption seemed like the most likely route. Tristan, deeply in love, probably would have agreed to anything, and he told me he wanted a big family too. When we got married, I scaled my dream down to six kids, which is where I’ve landed for now.
We started having children in our third year of marriage. We still hoped to adopt someday, but first, we wanted to try the old-fashioned way of becoming parents. Tristan was in the Army and stationed at Fort Eustis, Virginia, and we had a little townhouse we couldn’t wait to move out of. Looking back, though, that tiny home holds so many fond memories for us.
When I was just three months pregnant with our first child, Tristan called me from work with devastating news—he had orders to go to South Korea. We began talking through logistics, but mostly, I was a hormonal, blubbering mess. I could go with him for two years, or he could go alone for a year. We prayed about it, talked with our families, and ultimately, I left the decision up to Tristan, trusting he would choose what was best for all of us.
I stayed in the States and moved back to Indiana to live with my parents while Tristan left for South Korea alone. Thankfully, he was able to return in the fall for the birth of our daughter, Maxine, and we even visited him in Korea for three weeks the following spring. That year was hard, no doubt, but also filled with unexpected blessings. It was during that time that God first planted the seed of foster care on my heart.
At that point, there were seven people living in my parents’ 1,844-square-foot home. I’m the oldest of four, and my three younger brothers were still in school. Our parents’ home has always had an open door policy, so there were usually even more people around—including two of my brothers’ girlfriends, who often spent the night. After putting Maxine to bed in the room we shared, I would escape to the only other quiet room in the house: the bathroom. There, soaking in the bathtub, I scrolled through blogs—until one post completely changed my perspective on foster care.
I had been seriously considering fostering as a way to eventually adopt, but I couldn’t get past the “what-ifs”: What if I fell in love with a child and had to let them go? What if I never saw them again? What if my heart broke? Then I stumbled upon a post by Jason Johnson titled, “Foster Care: Loving a Child That Might Leave.” In that moment, my walls of fear crumbled.
Johnson shared a conversation with a fellow foster father who had voiced the same fears I had. His response struck me: “We were committed to experiencing the pain of loving a child we might lose if it meant a child who has lost so much could experience the gain of our love.”
Foster care wasn’t about me. Johnson continued: “Our call is to fully love these children while we have them and accept the costs, knowing the gain they receive is worth it. This is nothing more than what Jesus has done for us—laying down the infinite value of His life so we might know the immeasurable worth of being fully loved. Foster care is a beautiful expression of the gospel, demanding a selfless, costly, and potentially painful love, but always worth it.”
My world was rocked. I realized these kids might never experience the gospel unless we could give them a safe, loving home—even if only temporarily. I could teach my own children what it means to love unconditionally, to show grace, and to sacrifice for others.
While there’s never a perfect time to start fostering, Tristan being in the Army was absolutely the wrong time. So, we waited anxiously. After he returned from Korea, he still had three years left before discharge. We moved back to Virginia, this time to Fort Story. Living on the beach, we loved the change, but we still felt called to foster. Then, in August 2018, a clerical error worked in our favor: Tristan could leave the Army the following April. Looking back, it felt like God’s perfect timing. We bought a house in Indiana and moved back that year, ready to settle into home and work before adding more chaos to our growing family.
Our second daughter, Willow, was born in October 2019. By January, I was ready—I felt God calling me to foster. Tristan, understandably, was more hesitant. He had valid concerns, and I knew I couldn’t do this without him. But we decided to reach out and ask questions. Both sets of foster parents we knew recommended KidsPeace. We called and, by June, were signed up for the new foster parent classes.
The next six months were challenging. COVID-19 turned the world upside down, and we faced spiritual growth alongside practical hurdles. I spoke in terms of “when we become foster parents,” while Tristan still said “if.” I questioned whether God had called him too. Then, out of the blue, a high school mentor emailed me. She had prayed for me and shared a prayer for courage to take a risk that year. I stopped everything, shaking and crying, knowing somehow God was guiding us.
Somewhere along the way, Tristan shifted from “if” to “when,” and we began Zoom classes, met incredible people, completed mountains of paperwork, and endured delays—but eventually, the week before Thanksgiving, we were officially licensed foster parents.
In the next six weeks, we got four placement calls. The first child ended up with a relative, a sibling set was too large for our home, and a little boy had safety concerns. Then we got a call about two brothers, ages 3 and 4. After some missed connections, we finally learned the children were still available. By the following Wednesday, they arrived at our home. They became ours—at least temporarily—and we vowed we would be their last foster home. They had already experienced three placements, and we wanted them to know stability, love, and safety.
Life now is chaotic. Four kids under four fill our days with noise, mess, tears, and laughter. Maxine has embraced the boys as her brothers. We’ve had good days and very hard ones. But we are not alone. Our community has rallied around us—bringing meals, clothes, toys, and prayers.
Tristan and I aren’t special. We are just two high school sweethearts who chose to obey God. We don’t know how long these boys will be with us, whether they’ll return to a safe home, or what the future holds. But we know God is in control. Without His strength, or the support of our community, we could not do this. He is our song and our guide.
Whether these boys stay or leave, I pray they remember joy, family, and love in our home. That they know they are wanted and valued by their Creator. I may not know them forever, but they will always be in my heart and prayers. And now, I’m left with one final “what if”: what if we had never said yes, and never met these beautiful children?
