Both Things Are True
I have cried more this week than I think I have cried in all of 2026.
Some of those tears were the best kind. The ugly, happy, can't-catch-your-breath kind. And some of them came in a hospital bed, when I didn't have any answers and couldn't fix a single thing.
If you know me, you know I like order. I like a plan, a next step, and a clear path forward. This week handed me the most beautiful news of my life and the scariest news of my year, practically in the same breath. I'm learning that I don't have to pick one. Both things are true.
The high: our little man gets to stay
On November 10, 2026, our boy will officially become a Sankey.
He came into our care through foster care on June 24, 2024. By the time a judge makes it legal, he will have been with us for 869 days. But here's the truth: he has been a member of this family since the day we walked into Children's Hospital to meet him. The paperwork is just catching up to what our hearts decided a long time ago.
Every foster child carries a quiet question: Do I get to stay? On November 10, that question finally gets answered out loud, in a courtroom, for everyone to hear. Yes. Forever. You're ours.
And because his story was never only ours, we'll go straight from the courthouse to church, where he will be baptized and named a child of God. He was His long before he was ours.
It feels like the most beautiful ending to one chapter, and the start of the next one, right here in our home. Period.
As if one miracle weren't enough, I found out this week that Angels on Earth picked up a story I wrote back in 2025. It's called "Love Like a Momma," and it will run in the March/April issue.
When I wrote it, I wasn't thinking about magazines. I was just trying to put words to what this foster care journey has taught me about love that stays. To know those words might land in the hands of someone who needs them? That's God multiplying something small. I'm honored, humbled, and still a little bit squealing about it.
The low: when the plan isn't mine to make
This week didn't start with good news. It started on Saturday with a hospital visit for extreme pain in my current pregnancy. Before I went home, I learned I have gestational hypertension.
That diagnosis rearranged my calendar overnight. My new normal looks like this:
Weekly OB-GYN visits
Weekly ultrasounds to watch over baby, me, and the placenta
Weekly lab draws
Pharmacy check-ins every other week
I can handle a full calendar. What I can't handle is not knowing. I'm a fixer. I'm a planner. And I feel completely out of control when it comes to this pregnancy, my own health, and the health of my unborn son.
There is no spreadsheet for this.
There's no system I can build that guarantees a healthy outcome.
There's just showing up to the next appointment, and the next, and trusting.
Here's what I keep coming back to. The same God who carried our soon-to-be, legally ours in every way, son, from a hospital room to our forever family is the same God holding this baby right now.
He didn't stop being faithful on Saturday. He didn't start being faithful when the adoption date came through. He just is.
I spend so much of my life telling kids in foster care, "I'm not going anywhere. I'm steady. You can trust me." This week, God turned that around on me. I'm the one who's scared. I'm the one testing whether He's steady enough to stay. And He stays.
I like order because it calms me. But I'm learning, again, that connection matters more than control. I don't need to hold every outcome. I need to hold onto Him.
So I'm letting the joy be loud, and I'm letting the fear be honest. Gratitude and grief can sit at the same table. Mine has a seat for both this week.
"He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds." (Psalm 147:3)
How you can stand with us
If you've followed our story, you've been part of it. You've prayed on the hard nights and cheered on the good ones. Here's how you can walk with us now:
Celebrate with us on November 10. Say a prayer of thanks for 869 days of faithfulness, and for the forever that starts that afternoon.
Pray for our baby boy. Pray for steady numbers, a strong placenta, and a healthy, full-term little one.
Pray for this momma's heart. Pray that I keep choosing trust over control, one appointment at a time.
One chapter is closing with a gavel and a baptismal font. Another is being written week by week in an ultrasound room. Both are His. Both are good. And I can't wait to tell you how they unfold.
With a full heart and tear-stained cheeks.
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