Their home grew by opening their hands, saying yes to love, yes to loss, and yes again, until the family they once dreamed of was matched by the family God built. Their path to adoption began in a way they never expected. After two healthy pregnancies and then a miscarriage in early 2013, doctors told both husband and wife they had “secondary infertility.” The diagnosis broke her heart and remade it at the same time. Grief pushed her closer to her faith and changed the way she trusted God. She kept asking why she would carry such a strong desire for another child if she could not give birth again. Over time, the answer changed: their family would grow, just not as they first imagined.
They became foster parents in the summer of 2013. At first, they thought foster care might lead to adoption. Soon, their focus shifted. They saw their role as loving babies with open hands and showing kindness to birth mothers going through hard seasons. On the one-year mark of the miscarriage, in February 2014, the phone rang: a seven-day-old boy needed a home. She cried tears of joy. Fear and questions flooded in. What would it mean to care for a baby with drug exposure? What if he had to go back, but love spoke louder?
The next two and a half years were full of loving and releasing. Twice, reunification with his birth mom seemed confident. Twice, it fell through. Each time, she wept for two things at once: the fear of losing the boy she loved and the sorrow of a mother who couldn’t yet care for her son. Letting go of control was the lesson she didn’t want and most needed. In September 2016, with bittersweet hearts, they adopted him. Joy stood beside grief as they signed papers. His birth mom’s words, if she couldn’t have him, she wanted them to, felt like a fragile, holy gift.
By then, their home opened again. In July 2016, a six-month-old girl needed a placement. Meeting her birth mom went well, and the little girl settled in. Two months later, a court moved her to her relatives. They understood why, but it hurt to pack up a pink duffel bag and say goodbye. A weekend visit in December brought her back briefly; dropping her off again left tears all the way home. This is foster care, and they reminded themselves to love the child, love the parents, and trust God with the rest. Two days after Christmas 2016, another call came: a ten-month-old boy needed a home.
Joey arrived, and everything felt new and challenging again. He didn’t sleep, he cried often, and they were strangers to him. She prayed through the exhaustion. Slowly, routines formed, and his world felt safer. Then the phone rang again: the relatives caring for the little girl, Laylac, couldn’t keep her. Could they take her back? “Yes,” she said through happy tears. Within 24 hours, they bought another crib and car seat, shuffled bedrooms, and thanked God they had hired a helper just the week before. Suddenly, they were parenting “twins” from different families, only weeks apart in age. It was chaos and grace at the same time.
They entered 2017 with five children: nine, seven, three, one, and eleven months. A few months later, news came that Joey’s mom was expecting again, and the new baby would need a home. At first, the answer was no. They were overwhelmed and wanted to care well for the kids already there. But as the months passed, they found a new normal. When the baby, Michael, was born in the fall, they prayed and fasted. Keeping brothers together mattered. In November 2017, they brought Michael home from the hospital.
The following year blurred by. They moved to a bigger house and managed weekly visits with birth families. By the end of 2018, court dates were set. In November 2018, they adopted Layla. In February 2019, they finalized the boys’ adoption in a double ceremony. Each time, the blessing was mixed: the depth of another woman’s loss alongside the privilege of being called “mom” and “dad.” Adoption didn’t close the door on the birth family; it opened their home wider. Once it was legally safe, they invited relatives in. At first, it was scary for everyone, but love outgrew fear. There are photos of birth moms, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and even birth dads on the family wall.
They celebrate birthdays together, share Christmas dinners, have summer cookouts, read stories, toss kids in the air, and jump on the trampoline. When people ask what it looks like, it is simple: it seems like family. They admit that not every situation is safe. When it isn’t, they “dig deeper” for another relative who is. The goal is connection, giving the children roots and honest stories about their origins. It has blessed the kids and the parents alike. She never pictured this life, but she is grateful for it now, including infertility, foster care, adoption, and all the stretching in between. The path was more complex than she imagined and better than she could have written.
