When my husband and I met and fell in love, we shared a dream: to open our hearts and home to children in need. From the very beginning, we knew we wanted to be foster parents, and we both agreed that adopting a child, rather than having biological children, was a path we were comfortable with. Our focus was not on creating a family by birth but on providing a safe, loving, and caring home where a child could feel truly seen and belonged. We were especially drawn to older children and teens, which led us to become licensed therapeutic foster parents through an agency known for placing older children and teenagers. At the time, we assumed we’d foster for a few years, maybe eventually adopt a child who was open to it, and move forward from there.
What we didn’t know was that within our very first year as licensed foster parents, we would meet all three boys who would eventually become our forever sons. Our oldest, Isiah, came into our lives just after his 16th birthday. It was a few days before Christmas, and he was arriving for respite care—a temporary stay when a child’s primary foster family needs a short break. That day, our home was already bustling: our two little boys, ages 2 and 4, another pre-teen girl we were caring for, and a guest from Malaysia tagging along for church that Sunday before Christmas. We didn’t have a vehicle large enough for everyone, so we drove separately. I remember walking into church with this large, diverse group and feeling an overwhelming sense of peace and joy. For the first time, I felt like part of a “big family,” even if only for a weekend.
I grew up as an only child to older-than-average parents and often felt lonely, like I didn’t truly belong. That longing drove me toward foster care and adoption—I never wanted a child to feel invisible or forgotten. And from the very first hour with Isiah, it felt like he belonged. He matched our humor, gave it back with ease, and was talkative—just like my husband. Those four days became a whirlwind of memories: a huge family dinner and mountains of presents at my in-laws, a basketball game with grandparents and visitors from out of town, and last-minute Christmas shopping. When Christmas Eve came, it was time for Isiah’s primary foster family to bring him back. My husband and I went through our usual holiday traditions with heavy hearts, already missing the young man who had so effortlessly become part of our lives.
Over the next month, we had the privilege of caring for him on two more respite visits. But the third visit turned out to be the last time we’d see him for nearly two years. The foster care system is full of heroes—social workers, families, and advocates who genuinely care for children—but it can also be complicated. Decisions are made that don’t always reflect the child’s best interest, and sometimes politics and bureaucracy get in the way. Through no fault of his or ours, we weren’t allowed to communicate with him for almost two years. Three months after that first Christmas visit, Isiah’s profile appeared on Adopt US Kids. Hopeful, we requested more information, only to be told he did not want to be adopted. This didn’t align with what he had shared during visits with us. We felt hurt, confused, and powerless—emotions that mirror the feelings of countless children in foster care. Isiah had endured 12 long, painful years in the system, an ordeal no child should ever face. At 18, he signed himself out of care and joined the U.S. Army, surviving a deployment to Iraq and the 2020 bombing at Al Asad Air Base.
But we never gave up. I vividly remember a quiet moment, reflecting on the joy and connection we had shared with Isiah, when I felt an unshakable thought in my heart: He will be your son. I held onto that promise for five years until the day the adoption was finalized.
We reconnected with him through Instagram after the no-contact period ended. In July 2017, after nearly two years without a hug or a phone call, we dropped by his summer job at Dairy Queen. Standing there, watching this young man take orders with a warm smile, it felt surreal—as if a dream had come to life. Though we stayed in contact, our time together was limited. When he turned 18 later that year, we celebrated with a nice dinner, listening to his hopes for the future. Pride and sadness mingled in equal measure—he was stepping into adulthood, independent and resilient, yet we still wished he was home with us.
On July 2, 2019, Isiah left for Army basic training at Fort Jackson, South Carolina. I cried for two days, overwhelmed by pride and the weight of his journey. He had endured years of foster care, trauma, and instability and had emerged strong, determined, and unbroken. Thousands of children age out of foster care every year, often with nowhere to turn. If nothing else is remembered from our story, remember this: you never outgrow the need for family.
Even as Isiah embarked on his adult life, we sent letters, care packages, and constant messages of support. Our dream from the first day was to live as a family, not because he needed us, but because he would bring love and joy to our home. After careful prayer and conversations, we approached the topic of adoption once again. At 18, with no other permanent family ties, he agreed. In February 2019, my husband FaceTimed him during AIT in Georgia to confirm his feelings. Isiah said yes. Despite delays due to deployment and the pandemic, the adoption was finalized this year.
From the moment we met Isiah on December 20, 2015, until the day the judge legally declared him our son, we knew in our hearts he belonged to our family. It was a long road, filled with uncertainty, longing, and perseverance. Over 400,000 children in foster care experience similar journeys each day—some reunite with birth families, some endure separation, and others find healing and love through adoption. Adoption is messy, beautiful, heartbreaking, and miraculous all at once. Through it, we were blessed with three incredible sons who show us every day the power of resilience, love, and hope.
Isiah’s Story:
Life isn’t tied with a bow, but it is still a gift. Growing up in foster care, I experienced both highs and lows, struggles and triumphs. Through it all, one principle has guided me: never give up. My childhood shaped me but did not define me. It taught me empathy, resilience, and the importance of remaining genuine and kind despite hardships.
I met many people who didn’t care, whose focus was a paycheck rather than my wellbeing. That experience made it hard to trust. I pushed people away, sometimes hurting those who truly wanted to help. I even tried blaming myself for circumstances beyond my control. Foster care taught me the harsh reality of feeling unwanted, but it also taught me survival and determination.
When I first stayed with my now-family for respite, it felt like belonging. They treated me with love, respect, and joy, making me feel at home in a way I had never experienced. Over time, even when I couldn’t be with them, they reached out—sending letters, care packages, and support, through basic training and deployments. They never judged me, only offered unwavering love.
Returning home wasn’t simple. I faced complicated family relationships and personal challenges. I struggled, made mistakes, and wrestled with feelings of unworthiness. But this family never gave up. They gave me space to heal, guidance to make hard choices, and love to anchor me. They showed me what family truly means: supporting, loving, and standing by one another through every trial.
Finally, when I was ready, I said yes to adoption without hesitation. The process was long and complicated, but their patience and persistence never wavered. Today, I am proud to call them my family. Through love, perseverance, and faith, I learned that even in a world of hardship, family is not just who you are born to—it’s who chooses to stay, love, and never give up on you.
