Man in the Gap

Before foster care, I thought love was enough.

That it was soft, emotional, instinctive.

But then I met kids who didn’t trust it.

Who flinched at kindness. Who tested every boundary.

And I realized — love has to be tougher than that.

Love is cleaning up the same mess for the third time.

It’s showing up after the worst kind of meltdown.

It’s staying in the room when everything in you wants to leave.

Love became less about aff...

I stood in the doorway as the caseworker buckled her into the car seat.

Her favorite stuffed animal was clutched in his hand.

She didn’t cry. I did — later.

I had prepared for this moment, at least I thought I had.

But there is no emotional training for what it feels like to love a child deeply…

and then let them go.

Reunification is right — when it’s safe and healthy.

But that doesn’t make it easy.

You grieve like you lost somet...

No one tells you how fostering will press every button in your marriage.

It exposes cracks you didn’t know were there.

Different parenting styles. Different thresholds for stress. Different ways of processing grief.

My wife and I had to learn how to fight for unity — not just survival.

We had nights where we didn’t speak.

Nights where we blamed each other.

And mornings where we had to choose, again, to hold hands and pray befor...

I once spent 45 minutes in a hallway with a screaming child who refused to go to bed.

I tried every tool — soft voice, stern tone, logical explanation. Nothing worked.

I was exhausted and embarrassed — and honestly, angry.

But something inside me said, “Don’t walk away. Just sit.”

So I sat. I didn’t speak. I didn’t lecture.

I just sat on the hallway floor, within reach but without force.

Ten minutes passed… then twenty.

Eve...

He said, “You’re not my real dad.”

And I get it — that’s not uncommon. But it still crushed me.

Not because it wasn’t true, but because behind those words was a wound I couldn’t reach.

What broke my heart wasn’t the rejection — it was the pain under it.

The kind of pain that says, “I’ve been hurt before… and I don’t know if I can trust you not to leave too.”

I had a choice. Defend myself? Or kneel in humility?

So I kn...

I remember standing in the kitchen that night, hands on the counter, just staring at the floor.

My foster son had just slammed his bedroom door, again. And I was frozen — not angry, not sad, just… completely lost.

Nothing I’d read or been told prepared me for the emotional minefield of that moment.

I thought, “I’m a man, I lead, I protect… why can’t I fix this?”

And worse — “What if I make it worse?”

That was the night I reali...

I had this image in my head — a warm hug, maybe a shy smile, some kind of spark that told me, “This is your son.”

What actually happened was silence. A lot of silence.

And eyes that wouldn’t meet mine.

He was scared. Rightfully so.

And I realized pretty quickly — this wasn’t about my expectations. This was about his story, his wounds, and his pace.

I thought love would come naturally, but it didn’t.

Not right away.

I had to choo...