FACT

No one tells you how easy it is to lose your marriage in foster care.

You say yes to a child.

Then another.

Suddenly your life revolves around court dates, therapy appointments, home visits, paperwork, trauma, behaviors, and just trying to make it to bedtime.

If you’re not intentional, your marriage becomes whatever is left over.

Donny and I have been together for twelve years. Married for ten. And if we’ve learned anything, it’s this:

If Jesus isn’t at the center of our marriage, foster care will crush it.

We’re not experts.

We still have nights where we’re exhausted. Where we barely have anything left to give each other.

But we protect one thing fiercely.

Bedtime.

Not because we don’t love our kids.

Because we love them enough to know they need parents whose marriage is still intact.

Once everyone is asleep, sometimes we watch a show. Sometimes we sit in complete silence. Sometimes we’re on separate couches, too tired to talk.

It isn’t glamorous.

But we’re together.

We’ve learned to stop keeping score.

To give more grace.

To apologize faster.

To remember that the enemy would love nothing more than to destroy the very foundation of our home.

It isn’t me against him.

It isn’t him against me.

It’s both of us standing shoulder to shoulder against the chaos.

Foster care has a way of exposing every weak spot in your marriage.

It will test your patience.

Your communication.

Your faith.

Your endurance.

If Christ isn’t carrying the weight, eventually one of you will try to.

And neither of you was created to carry that burden.

Some seasons don’t look romantic.

They look like faithfulness.

Like choosing each other when you’re exhausted.

Like praying when you don’t have words.

Like refusing to quit.

Because one day your children will leave.

That was always the goal.

But your spouse is the one you’ll still be sitting beside when the house is quiet again.

So fight for your marriage now.

The children in your home deserve to grow up watching two people who never stopped choosing each other.

By the grace of God, we’re still here.

Still choosing each other.

Still choosing Jesus.

Because the greatest gift we can give the children in our home isn’t a perfect marriage. It’s one that keeps running back to Christ.

“Not every Christian is called to work with the foster care crisis.”
I’ve heard that line a hundred times.

And here’s my response:

James 1:27 doesn’t say “if you feel called.”
It doesn’t say “only if it fits your lifestyle.”
It doesn’t say “this verse is only for foster parents.”

It says:
“Pure and undefiled religion before God the Father is this: to visit orphans and widows in their distress…”

VISIT.
Not adopt.
Not foster 10 kids.
Not give up your entire life.

Visit.
Engage.
See them.
Show up.

And yes, there are pastors and teachers and missionaries and evangelists.
There are many callings in the Church. Absolutely.
But none of them cancel this one.

You don’t have to take in a child to obey James 1:27.
But you can’t use “different callings” as an excuse to stay uninvolved.
Because that verse wasn’t written only for the “called.”
It was written for the Church.

There are a thousand ways to show up without being a foster parent.
You can make a meal.
Hold a baby.
Mentor a teen.
Pray by name.
Give rides.
Drop off diapers.
Sit with a mama in court.
Text a foster family and say “I’m bringing dinner and staying to help.”

Don’t confuse calling with obedience.
We’re not all called to foster.
But every one of us is called to care.

So no, you don’t need a license.
But if you’re going to quote James 1:27 on Sunday,
don’t ghost the foster care system the rest of the week.

The Church should be leading this.
Not ignoring it.

“The deep shame of struggling with adoptive parenting felt crushing,” wrote Kristin T. Lee in 2024.⁠
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“Since childhood I’d been taught that adoption was beautiful, precious, and God-ordained. Why didn’t it feel that way for me?⁠
⁠
When churches oversimplify adoption—treating it as a glorious reflection of God’s plan, as an answer to abortion, or as a form of missions—we distort a complex relationship and set adoptive parents up for failure by putting us in a role that was never ours. ⁠
⁠
Adoption is not a panacea; rather, it’s the beginning of a long journey.⁠
⁠
By reframing how we speak about adoption, recognizing that it originates in brokenness, and presenting a range of adoption stories rather than only the easy or resolved ones, we better prepare prospective parents and normalize the difficulties that adoptive families may face. ⁠
⁠
The goal is not to discourage or discredit adoption but to ensure it is undertaken with realistic expectations.”