What foster care really looks like isn’t always seen from the outside. It’s not just about opening your home—it’s about opening your whole life. From unexpected phone calls to sleepless nights and courtrooms to bedtime stories, foster care holds both deep heartbreak and immeasurable hope.
This post is a glimpse into the behind-the-scenes realities many foster parents know all too well. And this barely scratches the surface.
It’s not just welcoming a child into your home.
It’s getting a call for a child into need of care, any day, any time.
It’s asking a bunch of questions, barely getting answers, and saying yes anyway.
It’s court dates, worker visits, biological parent visits, other family visits, doctor appointments. They never end.
It’s choosing to love them so deeply, knowing this is temporary.
It’s sleepless nights, or finding myself back on the floor beside the crib, just like I wrote about here.
It’s documenting everything.
It’s creating a life book.
It’s carrying around proof that they’re in your care & can receive medical attention.
It’s being responsible to care for and meet the needs of the children, but not actually having a voice in their case or future.
It’s feeling lonely & confused, as you’re torn between the nuance of everything.
It’s exhausting, heartbreaking, frustrating.
It’s the best yes. It’s worth it.
It’s having to ask permission to get haircuts and travel out of state.
It’s not knowing how long they’ll be with you.
It’s worrying if all the facts and the whole truth is being told and if the judge will make the best decision for the kids.
It’s knowing you’ll have to say goodbye someday, but holding them tightly until then.
It’s celebrating half birthdays because you don’t know if they’ll be with you for the others.
It’s filled with joy at the thought of getting to watch them grow up together, but knowing it may not be with you.
It’s having your people get a background check, fingerprinted, sign agreement forms, and get a yearly physical so they can watch the kids.
It’s high turnover of workers, and sometimes changes of judges, lawyers, CASAs, GALs, etc.
It’s keeping a range of diapers and clothes stocked—some of our everyday essentials are listed here.
It’s answering calls from unknown numbers.
It’s getting to be there for a lot of firsts.
It’s constantly living in the in-between; heartbreak & hope, temporary & forever.
It’s advocating for the kids when you know it’ll be met with resistance.
It’s getting your life turned upside down.
And somehow, even in the upside-down, you begin to see glimpses of God’s steady hand—bringing peace in the chaos and purpose in the unknown.
It’s the ache of uncertainty.
It’s extension after extension, hoping this time it’ll be different.
It’s being physically, emotionally, mentally spent; sometimes overwhelmingly.
It’s tears, grief, and other emotions that sneak up on you.
It’s the privilege of standing in the gap.
It’s messy, holy, tiresome, sacred work.
If you know, you know.
Foster care is rarely simple and never easy. But it’s sacred work—holy ground disguised as midnight feedings, court updates, and quiet moments of connection. If you’re living it, I see you. And if you’re considering it, I hope this gives you a glimpse of both the weight and the worth.
If you’re navigating the hard and holy work of foster care or thinking about getting involved in any way, two books I’ve personally found powerful are Foster the Family by Jamie Finn and Reframing Foster Care by Jason Johnson. Both offer honest, hope-filled insight for anyone standing in the gap.
If this post resonated with you, I’d love to hear your thoughts or experiences in the comments below.
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