Before I met my husband, I had a strong intuition that having biological kids wasn’t in my destiny. It was something I recognized as instinctively as inhaling. Nevertheless, I didn’t fully grasp the emotional significance of that decision until I met the man I would marry. As the daughter of a pastor, there were obvious expectations: marry a good man and have enough kids to fill a church pew. Nonetheless, I sensed that God had a different plan for me. That didn’t mean it was easy. It’s typical for individuals to overlook what sets someone apart, and they might display cruelty and severity towards those who deviate from the conventional path.
Regardless of everything, my husband selected me without any doubt. He embraced the labels that others assigned to him for marrying someone who didn’t desire children in the conventional way. He never wished for a more conventional existence. Shortly after we got married, we started working as youth pastors at our church. Every Sunday, our pew was occupied not by our biological children, but by the kids we supported. And it felt completely correct.
We collaborated with adolescents from financially disadvantaged households, many of whom did not have secure, nurturing environments. They were suffering, seeking, and requiring direction. Three years into our marriage, we sensed a desire to contribute further. Sundays and Wednesdays weren’t sufficient—we desired to support these kids daily.
That was when we started exploring fostering and adoption options. However, when we planned this with others, especially as a young pair in our mid-twenties, we faced powerful oppositions. people advised us to prioritize having “our own” children initially, suggesting my husband should preserve his legacy, or noted that adopted children bore “too much baggage.”
Some suggested us to just keep waiting and praying for a biological child, presuming that infertility was the cause.
Rather than heed the critics, we enrolled in foster care classes with CPS—and arranged for a vasectomy. We aimed to clarify that adoption wasn’t our alternative option. We chose to concentrate on adolescents, which only amplified the criticism. People cautioned us that adolescents could be perilous or overly challenging, and some offered harsh remarks, implying I was misusing my body or that no teenager would ever view us as genuine parents.
The nine months required for licensing were laden with these hurtful comments. Numerous evenings, I lingered in our vacant bedrooms, weeping and praying for the kids who would eventually consider our house a home. I wished they might somehow sense the love I already possessed for them. Once we finally received our license, the caseworker showed up at our door and, without even entering, inquired, “So you’re the ones wanting teenagers… are you out of your mind?” I simply grinned and replied, “Something along those lines.”
She mentioned a few teenagers available for adoption, but before departing, she inquired if we would be open to accepting a teen in an urgent situation. I replied affirmatively. While still in our driveway, she received a call regarding a 16-year-old boy who required a place to stay that evening. I said to her, “Take him back home.” My husband, astonished, inquired if we should pray about it. I explained to him, “I don’t need to pray again for something God has already addressed.” His prayer was brief: “God?” He then remarked, “She is correct.” “Take him here.”
As soon as the door shut, dread overcame me. I glanced at my husband and inquired, “What have we done?” However, as I entered our son’s room, tranquility enveloped my heart. Three hours later, he showed up—with just a tiny fishing rod. He offered us a gentle smile along with a handshake. He was slim for his age, and his bags contained torn and unclean clothes. Tears fell as I cleaned them, my heart aching for everything he had suffered.
Our child was left behind at birth. His birth certificate failed to include his name, birth time, or weight. He was brought up by his grandmother until she fell too sick. Subsequently, he was moved from one household to another, enduring mistreatment and exclusion. At 16, he contacted CPS on his own and stated he had nowhere to stay. His intention was to be employed at Walmart, consume Ramen, and use marijuana—since he believed that was all life had to offer.
Gradually, he began to think that we were unique. One day, he returned home in tears and said, “I’ve spent my entire life waiting to be treated this way. “I’ve never experienced having genuine parents before.” Although he occasionally attempted to distance himself from us, we remained persistent in our support for him. Three months later, we obtained legal custody. He wasn’t eligible for adoption as a minor, yet we pledged we would always keep him. One day, he inquired, “Mom, can I remain here even after I turn 18? “Will you continue to tuck me in, even if it’s a bit strange?” I responded affirmatively, without delay.
On January 10, 2019, we officially greeted him as an adult. He took up our surname and, for the first time ever, finally had a mother and father of his own. Today, Randall is finishing high school and signing up for college courses. He’s a dedicated baseball player aspiring to play at the college level or to become a coach or a fish and wildlife scientist. His ambitions have expanded now that he understands he’s valued and supported. We continue to support and adopt teenagers.
We plan to finalize two more adoptions before the year’s end. We often declare, It’s not that our family needs additional children it’s that additional children need our family.” Therefore, when individuals inquire about the number of children we intend to have, we just respond, “We never intended to have any.”
