06/12/2026
Six men. Six stories.
I witnessed something remarkable last night.
I spent the evening with six foster dads. Burgers and hot dogs sizzled on the grill while fire smoldered in the pit outside the screened-in porch and the World Cup played on the big screen.
Around the table were stories of heartbreak and beauty. Of trauma and healing. Of failure, grace, and trying again.
Every man spoke highly of his wife—women who not only nudged (or pushed) them into foster care, but who often carry much of the load. And yet, these men lead.
Quietly.
Humbly.
Imperfectly.
There was something in the air last night: optimism.
Not naïve optimism. Optimism rooted in faith. The kind that says, “We can’t change the world, but maybe through us, God can bring a little light into one small corner of it.”
There was laughter. There were tears. There was prayer.
The purpose of the night was simple: thank these men for their sacrifice and pray for their families. But what happened around that table felt bigger than that.
If you ever feel discouraged about the world—pessimistic about people, bitter about politics, or convinced there are no real leaders left—just know that somewhere on a road off Highway 840 in Tennessee, there was a porch filled with flawed men quietly doing the best they can.
Being heroes.
Most of the world will never know their names.
And I'm quite sure they're okay with that.
