The Email I Read Three Times

I opened my inbox this morning expecting the usual: a school reminder, a calendar invite, something I forgot to sign. Instead, there was a note from a photo editor at Guideposts.

My story, "Love Like a Momma," will be featured in the March/April issue of Angels on Earth magazine.

I read it three times.

Then I read it out loud.

Then I made Joel read it, because clearly I could not be trusted to process this alone.

If you know me, you know I move fast. I want the plan, the next step, the follow-up email sent yesterday. But this one made me stop. Because the story they chose isn't a polished, tied-with-a-bow kind of story. It's the one I've carried quietly for years.

Every foster parent has a moment. Not the day you got licensed. Not the first placement call. The moment your heart quietly decided, "Oh. I'm in this."

Mine happened early. Our first long-term placement had been with us just a few weeks. We were tired, unsure, and running mostly on coffee and stubborn faith. Nobody in the house was sure yet whether love was safe.

Then, on an ordinary, messy holiday afternoon, one small voice changed everything.

I'm not going to tell you what happened. Not here. That part belongs to the magazine, and honestly, I want you to read it the way it's meant to be read: slowly, with a little room to breathe.

What I will tell you is this. That moment became the root I've held onto through every hard season since. Through reunifications that broke my heart. Through goodbyes that came too fast. Through the nights I wondered if this calling was more than I could carry.

I sent this story to Guideposts on Wednesday, July 2, 2025, at 9:12 p.m.

I wasn't writing from a mountaintop. We had just walked through a failed reunification for Navia, our then four-year-old. If you've been there, you know that kind of grief. The house is still full of her, and your arms don't know what to do with themselves.

Adoption wasn't on the table. We hadn't even pictured it. We were just trying to breathe.

So that night, with the house finally quiet, I went back to the moment that first rooted me in this calling. I needed to remember why I said yes. I wrote it down, hit submit, and handed it to God along with everything else I couldn't fix.

Here's the part that gets me. When I hit submit that July night, I was grieving a goodbye. I had no idea God was already writing the next chapter.

Deuteronomy 31:8

“The Lord himself will go ahead of you. He will be with you. He will not abandon you, and he will not forsake you. Do not be afraid and do not be overwhelmed.”

On September 15, 2026, more than a year after submitting this story, our girls officially became Sankeys. Yes, Navia too. The same little girl we prepared a goodbye to the summer I hit submit.

Forever Day. Signed, sealed, celebrated loudly. And in November 2026, our little man's adoption will be finalized.

So by the time this issue lands in mailboxes, every one of them will be forever family. I didn't plan that timing. I couldn't have. But I see His fingerprints all over it.

Jeremiah 29:11

“For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans to give you peace, not disaster, plans to give you hope and a future.”

The roots that started growing years ago at a kitchen table? They're holding up a whole family now.

For the foster parent in the thick of it

If you're in a season where the court dates won't end, the case plan keeps changing, and nobody said thank you today, hear me: your root moment is coming. Or it already happened, and you were too tired to notice.

Here's what I wish someone had told me in year one. Don't just have those moments. Keep them.

1. Notice it. It's rarely big. A word, a reach, a kid who finally sits close on the couch. Train your eyes to catch the small yes.

2. Name it. Say it out loud to your spouse, your support person, or God: "That was one." Naming it makes it real.

3. Write it down. Same day if you can. A notes app counts. You will not remember the details in month eleven, and you'll need them.

4. Go back to it. When reunification guts you or a hard behavior week has you questioning everything, reread it. Let it remind you why you said yes.

   
   

I didn't write mine down right away. I wish I had. It took me years to put it into words, and now it's going to print.

Yours doesn't need a magazine. It just needs you to hold onto it.

"Love Like a Momma" will appear in the March/April issue of Angels on Earth, published by Guideposts. You can find it in print or digitally through apps like Zinio, Magzter, and your library's OverDrive or Libby.

When it comes out, I'll share it here. Until then, here's my ask:

• Tell me your root moment. Drop it in the comments. I want to celebrate it with you.

• Share this with a foster parent who needs a reminder that the small moments count.

• Pray for the kids who are still waiting for someone to stay.

Grab the tissues for March. You're going to need them.