The sun had barely split the morning sky as my foster son and I perched on our front porch steps. We had a shared mission: to see the first snowflakes fall to the ground.
The forecast had promised several inches of the soft, white coldness, and until that moment, he had never seen snow—never made a snow angel, thrown a snowball, or even tasted a snow slushie. His eyes were wide with anticipation, his breath rising in little clouds with each exhale as we sat there together.
The weight of the world
Wrapped in blankets, my cat Gordon nestled comfortably in my lap, I couldn’t help but feel the weight of the world around us. While we sat in quiet expectancy, across the country was burning. In California, fires tore through homes and livelihoods, ravaging communities and leaving destruction in their wake. People were losing everything—homes, memories, futures. And yet, in the stillness of this morning, we were paused.
At that moment, I marveled at the contrast: the world, in so many places, was fighting to survive, while here, in this small corner of it, we waited for something magical and pure, something as simple as snow. Life, so fragile and fleeting, had a way of reminding us of both its delicacy and its grace.
My resume is long. I started caring for children when I was twelve and never really stopped. Becoming a foster parent has allowed me to see life differently and in so doing, I’ve found a different kind of love – one that never ends even when they are no longer with me.
Silent strength
Foster children possess a strength that many will never fully understand. They move from house to house, from family to family, with a quiet resilience that comes not from the stability of their surroundings, but from an inner core of hope they refuse to let go of. Each new door they walk through may be a reminder of the uncertainty of their lives—of things they can’t control, of bonds they’ve had to break, of the people they’ve had to leave behind. And yet, despite all of that, they still carry with them a flicker of light, a belief in something good on the horizon.
There’s a kind of strength in their ability to adapt, to trust again, even when the world has not been kind. The moving, the packing, the unknowns of tomorrow—it can all feel like too much for a child to bear. But somehow, they do. They hold on. They make new friends, create new routines, and find small ways to feel safe again. They build little pockets of joy in the chaos, whether it’s in the quiet comfort of a book or the excitement of a new adventure with their foster family.
They don’t always get the chance to rest in the security of permanence, but still, they find ways to dream. They find moments of peace in fleeting things: the kindness of a stranger, the warmth of a familiar face, the laughter of a new friend. And in doing so, they show us all the strength it takes to survive, and more importantly, to keep going.
Silent warriors
Foster children are the silent warriors of resilience. They navigate their lives with courage, carrying hope in places that might seem empty. And no matter how many times they have to rebuild, they never stop believing that goodness can find them again—that love, in all its forms, is worth waiting for.
As we waited, I could feel his doubt rising. So many disappointments in life. So many letdowns. So many things that never materialized.
“It’s not going to snow, is it?” he asked, his dark eyes diverting from mine.
“I believe it will, ” I said. “I hope it will.”
We continued to watch, to listen, for something, anything that resembled snow.
“Maybe I’ll go inside,” he whispered.
For a moment I started to doubt if the flakes would fall, if the weatherman had predicted correctly.
Shared understanding
Our chunky orange cat lifted his paw and placed it gently on my foster son’s arm as if he knew what he was talking about. Gordon once lived on the streets and showed up one day in my driveway.
It is always there, the goodness of life and the struggles, the hardships and the softness.
“I see it! I see it!” he jumped to his feet.
The sky opened up in all its grandeur with the gentle pound of snow.
Foster children are proof of the human spirit’s ability to endure, to love, and to heal. They are survivors, not just of their circumstances, but of the belief that tomorrow holds something better—a new chance to feel safe, to feel loved, and to feel seen.
