It feels like yesterday.

My husband and I had just begun our foster care journey. Around midnight, we welcomed two siblings into our home—just 18 months and 3½ years old. At home, our biological daughter had just turned 3.

The very next day, I thought, Let’s do something fun. A kid-friendly event seemed like the perfect way to help everyone settle in.

I couldn’t have been more unprepared for what happened next.

In the middle of the event, my foster daughter became completely overwhelmed. She was screaming, melting down, unable to find her way back to calm.

At that same moment, my biological daughter was looking at me, waiting for me to ride with her.

My heart broke.

I couldn’t be in two places at once .

One little girl needed connection in her chaos.
The other simply wanted her mom.

I remember standing there feeling pulled in every direction—trying to meet needs that all felt urgent, while silently wondering if I was failing them both.

Within minutes, I gathered everyone up and left.

What I expected foster care to look like… and what it actually looked like… were two very different things.

That day taught me something I’ll never forget:

Sometimes love doesn’t look like getting it all right.
Sometimes love looks like staying present in the middle of the unexpected.