It was my very first blind date, arranged because my aunt and his sister were lifelong best friends. We met at a park, and I couldn’t help but notice his outfit—an unforgettable combination of a green silk long-sleeve shirt, cut-off jean shorts, and boat shoes. He spent the first few minutes bragging about his wild weekend, and I was… less than impressed. I had a cheerleading volunteering event later that day, and honestly, I was ready to leave. It was my senior year of high school—I was editor and photographer of the yearbook, choreographer of the pom squad, working two jobs, and living life in the fast lane.
Three weeks after that first meeting, I found myself hospitalized for an eating disorder. The first time he called, I was in rehab. Bless his heart, he came to visit me in the hospital, and that visit sparked the whirlwind romance that would change my life. We were engaged six months later and married just four months after that, only three months past my 18th birthday. Rich was working as a pipefitter, and I knew my heart’s deepest desire was to be a mom and raise a family. That was nearly 25 years ago, and together we’ve built a life richer than I could have ever imagined.
We both knew we wanted a large family. Within a year of our marriage, I became pregnant, but heartbreak struck with a miscarriage. Six months later, we were blessed with our first child, and a year after that, another surprise blessing—our girls were just 22 months apart, and my heart was overflowing. When our youngest turned one, we began trying for a third child. After careful tracking and doctor visits, we conceived our son. A year later, we hoped to grow our family again, but months of treatments, medications, and procedures ended in the difficult diagnosis of secondary infertility. Even with closed doors—including a country where we had planned to adopt—we eventually embraced our family of five and poured all our love into them.
Growing up, my home was full of cousins and aunts, and my mom was a relative foster parent before adopting and fostering more children. It was no surprise that we felt called to open our home to foster children. An opportunity arose to care for one of my mom’s adopted children’s siblings, so we fast-tracked our foster care training—twice a week for four hours after work, an hour away, often cooking dinner in a crockpot in my office while commuting to class. That initial placement didn’t happen, but we were ready. Four months later, the first call came.
I was nervous as I prepared our home and met our new foster children at the ER. On the drive home, the oldest asked, “Have you ever done this before?” I said no. He smiled and said, “It’s ok, just love us like you love your own kids and it will be ok.” That first placement lasted three months before they went to stay with family, leaving us with hearts stretched and open.
Soon after, a call came for an adoptive placement of a seven-year-old girl. She brought wonder, laughter, and the joy of seeing the world anew—even marveling at a simple dandelion. Celebrating her 8th birthday with a three-tiered Princess cake—her very first birthday cake—was priceless. With joy came challenges: hoarding, food struggles, and “nest-building,” as her counselor called it. She has been with us for six years now, continuing counseling, growing into a kind, thoughtful young lady, and showing us the beauty of patience and love.
One Thursday, my phone rang, and it changed our family forever. A nurse in the NICU asked if we would consider a baby with serious medical needs. Two hours later, the tiniest little boy was in my arms. He had swallowing issues, feeding tubes, and medical needs that could overwhelm anyone. We spent six weeks in the NICU, praying and hoping, facing uncertain outcomes and advice that he might be better in a nursing facility. But every time I held him, the scent of his skin or the memory of the hand soap from the NICU drew my heart closer. I prayed, and I heard God say, “I am setting this mission before you. I will equip you. I’m asking you to love one little boy, and I will see you through it.”
After months of appeals, waivers, and advocacy, we brought him home. There were setbacks, including another eight weeks in the PICU due to a simple cold. Yet he defied every expectation—walking, talking, attending preschool, riding his bike, and filling our home with laughter. He is a miracle, shaped by doctors, nurses, therapists, and an immense amount of love.
Navigating life with five children, two with special needs, kept us moving constantly—college visits, sports schedules, and everyday life. One cold January day, with my children away or preparing to leave, I felt a quiet nudge from God: “Show me what’s next. Give me purpose.” Within an hour, the agency called with a new NICU placement—another tiny life needing a home. My husband’s unwavering support made it possible for us to say yes.
Walking into that NICU again, the smells, sounds, and faces brought back so many memories. We brought home our Tiny Girl and loved her fiercely, staying connected with her birth family whenever possible. Every child deserves 100% attachment and love, and every placement has stretched and shaped our hearts in ways we could never have imagined.
If you’ve ever considered foster care, say yes. Go all in. If you can’t open your home, support those who do. Donate, volunteer, babysit, or lend a hand. Foster care is a village effort, and it takes a heart willing to love. All it takes is a yes—and the rewards are immeasurable.
