Imagine and Believe

05/29/2026

Some children are drowning while adults debate swimming lessons.

Sit with that for a minute.

Because that’s what foster care feels like sometimes.

A child is actively suffering.

Right now.

Not someday.
Not hypothetically.
Not if things get worse.

Right now.

They’re hungry.
They’re terrified.
They’re being neglected.
They’re being abused.
They’re carrying trauma that would crush most adults.

And instead of pulling them out of the water, everyone gathers around the edge of the pool to discuss possibilities.

Maybe things will improve.

Maybe this time will be different.

Maybe they just need more services.

Maybe they need another chance.

Maybe.
Maybe.
Maybe.

Meanwhile the child is still drowning.

And that’s the part that makes me angry.

Because children live in the present.

They don’t get their childhood back if adults eventually figure it out.

They don’t get those years returned.

They don’t get a refund on the fear.
The trauma.
The instability.

Every month feels different when you’re five.

Every year matters when you’re ten.

Every extension.
Every delay.
Every “let’s wait and see.”

A child lives every second of it.

I think sometimes we’ve become so focused on adult potential that we’ve forgotten the reality sitting right in front of us.

Children cannot survive on promises.

They cannot be fed by intentions.

They cannot be protected by hope alone.

At some point, somebody has to stop discussing the swimming lessons and notice the child going under.

Because while adults are debating what could happen tomorrow…

Children are living what is happening today.

And today’s child matters too.

05/28/2026

Cooking dinner tonight for Imagine & Believe Foundation in Searcy - a great organization that ministers to foster families in over 6 counties in Arkansas.

05/27/2026

https://www.facebook.com/share/p/196wf1cwT3/?mibextid=wwXIfr

Some of y’all really do not understand how often severe child abuse gets minimized in this system.

And before anyone starts twisting my words, let me make this crystal clear:

I am not talking about poverty.
I am not talking about a messy house.
I am not talking about parents who are struggling and need support.

I am talking about children being beaten.
Burned.
Starved.
Sexually abused.
Locked in rooms.
Babies testing positive for drugs.
Toddlers covered in bruises.
Children so neglected they stop crying because nobody ever came anyway.

THAT is what I’m talking about.

And somehow, even in cases like that, the conversation still becomes:
“Well, the parents are willing to work a plan.”

A plan.

As if parenting classes erase torture.
As if supervised visits undo terror.
As if checking boxes matters more than protecting children.

Yes, I believe people can change.
Yes, I believe reunification can be beautiful when it is truly safe.
Yes, I believe families deserve support.

But some of these children are being sent back into the exact environments that nearly destroyed them because the system is so desperate to preserve the family at all costs that it forgets to protect the child standing in front of them.

And I’m sorry, but not every parent deserves endless chances when a child’s body is carrying the evidence.

If a grown woman showed up beaten, burned, starved, and terrified, nobody would say,
“Well… let’s just give the abuser a few classes and see how it goes.”

So why do people say it when the victim is a child?

Why are children expected to survive things we would never expect adults to tolerate?

And the younger the child, the easier people seem to dismiss it.

Because toddlers cannot sit on a witness stand.
Because delayed speech means they cannot explain what happened.
Because trauma in little kids gets labeled as “behavior problems” instead of survival.

But their bodies tell the story.
Their fear tells the story.
Their trauma tells the story.

A three year old should not have to almost die before people decide they deserve safety.

Read that again.

Children should not have to almost die before adults stop giving “one more chance.”

Because while everyone is focused on whether the parents are “trying,”
the child is the one carrying nightmares.
The child is the one flinching at touch.
The child is the one living with lifelong trauma from things they should have never survived in the first place.

Children are not rehabilitation tools for adults.

They are human beings.

And they deserve safety the first time.
Not after the fifth failed attempt.

05/23/2026

Posted with permission:

Last month we had an extra special visit. We cannot post pictures of the children in foster care that we serve, but we can post their pictures with permission after adoptions! Congratulations to this sweet family that we have had the honor to walk beside. We will continue to walk with them on their journey and are honored to do so.

When you support Imagine & Believe, you are directly impacting over 200 foster and adoptive families in 6 counties and counting.

05/22/2026

Sometimes the holiest answer a foster parent can give is no.

No, we cannot take another child right now.
No, our home is not ready.
No, our hearts are still trying to recover from the last goodbye.
No, we cannot pour from a place that is already running dry.

And I need people to understand this:

That does not make us selfish.
That does not make us cold.
That does not make us less called.

Because this life will absolutely pull everything out of you if you let it.

It will ask your children to share their parents again.
It will ask your marriage to stretch again.
It will ask your nervous system to hold another story, another trauma, another heartbreak.
And sometimes wisdom sounds like,
“Not right now.”

Some of y’all think foster parents prove their love by always saying yes.

But I actually think there is something deeply honorable about the families who know their limits before a child pays the price for them ignoring it.

Because children do not need exhausted people trying to play hero.
They need regulated adults.
Present adults.
Safe adults.
Adults who are emotionally healthy enough to keep showing up when things get hard.

And sometimes the most loving thing you can do for the children already sleeping in your home…
is protect the peace they fought so hard to find.

I know people don’t like hearing that.
They want endless sacrifice.
Endless availability.
Endless room at the table.

But foster parents are human beings.
Not machines.
Not emergency shelters without limits.
Not saviors.

Just people trying to love well without drowning in the process.

So if your answer is no right now?
Take a deep breath and let the guilt go.

Rest is not failure.
Healing is not selfishness.
And pausing does not erase your calling.

Even Jesus stepped away to rest.
Even Jesus stopped to breathe.
Even Jesus understood that being faithful did not mean destroying Himself in the process.

So heal.
Laugh with your kids again.
Reconnect with your spouse.
Sleep.
Go to therapy.
Take the trip.
Sit in the quiet.

And when or if the time comes to open your home again, do it from a place of peace instead of pressure.

Because this was never about how many children you could say yes to.

It was always about how deeply and safely you loved the ones God placed in your arms.

05/21/2026

We had the sweetest donor stop by today!!! Sasha was so excited to make a new friend

05/20/2026

https://www.facebook.com/share/p/14c6tEGYhZH/?mibextid=wwXIfr

I read a post today from a foster mom I deeply admire, and honestly… it made me angry.

She shared that a child was brought into court and asked to speak to the judge.
Asked what they wanted.
Asked where they felt safe.
Asked to use their voice.

And then the adults did the exact opposite anyway.

So what exactly is the point?

Y’all fight in these comments every single day about what adults need.
More time.
More chances.
More grace.
More reunification efforts.
More patience.

And yes, sometimes those things matter.

But what absolutely blows my mind is that a child can be old enough to sit in a courtroom and tell adults exactly how they feel… and somehow their voice still carries the least amount of weight in the room.

Make that make sense.

This is supposed to be CHILD protective services.

Not adult reputation protection services.
Not endless second-chance services.
Not “ignore the child until they age out traumatized” services.

A child should not have to beg adults to feel safe.
And they definitely should not be taught that their voice only matters when it matches what the adults already planned to do anyway.

Because let’s be honest:
some of these kids are not being asked because adults truly care what they think.
They are being asked so the system can say,
“See? We let them speak.”

Meanwhile the decision was already made before the child ever opened their mouth.

That is cruel.

And then people wonder why so many former foster youth grow up angry at the system.

Maybe because they learned young that adults love the idea of children having a voice…
until the child says something inconvenient.

If a child is mature enough to be brought into court and questioned about their safety, their future, and their life…
then maybe somebody should actually listen.





Foster the Family Blog

05/02/2026

This week we welcomed a new foster parent into our program. We are now serving close to 240 families.

04/29/2026

After she had finally collapsed into bed from exhaustion that night, I took a picture through the cracked bedroom door.

Not to shame her. Not to prove anything to anyone.

Just because I needed to remember that I wasn’t imagining it.

She had had a great day at school. Her teacher sent a positive note home. She followed directions. She was kind to her classmates. She participated. She offered to help without being asked.

And then she walked in the front door.

Within minutes, things went sideways.

We pulled out every tool in our trauma toolbox. Calm voice. Co-regulation. Choices. Space. Connection before correction. Sensory breaks. Movement. Deep breaths.

By bedtime, she was raging.

Artwork ripped off the walls.
Toys thrown.
Her Barbie house broken in a heap on the floor.
A hole kicked clean through the drywall.

Her little sister sat on the bottom bunk, knees folded up, wide-eyed and unsure whether to comfort her or duck out of the way of the anger. We made eye contact, and I dodged a flying jewelry box as I scooped her up and placed her in the safety of the hallway.

I remember feeling that familiar mix of heartbreak and exhaustion.

The next day, I sat in a tiny school chair at her teacher conference trying to explain what home looked like.

The teacher blinked at me.

“I just can’t believe it. She is an angel in class.”

And there it was.

That moment when you feel like you have three heads.

Because if she’s an angel there…
then what does that make me?

Maybe I’m doing something wrong.
Maybe our house is the problem.
Maybe I’m exaggerating.

Except I had a picture on my phone of the aftermath.

Here’s what I wish more people understood:

For many children with trauma histories, home is where the mask comes off.

School requires performance.
Compliance.
Self-control.

Many trauma-impacted kids are incredibly skilled at reading the room. They scan for expectations. They hold it together. They survive the day.

But when they walk into the place that is safest… their nervous system finally exhales.

And sometimes that exhale looks like rage.

For some kids, that pattern overlaps with diagnoses like Reactive Attachment Disorder (RAD), Oppositional Defiant Disorder (ODD), Intermittent Explosive Disorder (IED), PTSD, ADHD with trauma overlays, or other regulation challenges. Labels aren’t the whole story, but they can help explain why behaviors shift so dramatically between environments.

Children with attachment wounds often save their hardest behaviors for the person they trust most.

Children with ODD patterns may escalate when they feel loss of control.

Children with IED can experience sudden, overwhelming bursts of anger that even they don’t fully understand.

And parents are left trying to explain a version of their child that few people ever see.

One of the hardest parts isn’t even the destruction.

It’s not being believed.

“There’s no way.”
“She doesn’t act like that here.”
“I’ve never seen that side of her.”
“Maybe try a different approach.”

When you are living it every night and being gently questioned every morning, it can make you feel like you are losing your mind.

So let me say this clearly:

You are not crazy.

You are not making it up.

You are not the only one whose child can be an angel in public and unravel at home.

Sometimes the very fact that they fall apart with you is evidence that they feel safest with you.

That doesn’t make it easy.
It doesn’t make it less exhausting.
And it absolutely doesn’t mean you don’t need support.

But it does mean this isn’t proof that you are failing.

If you are parenting a child who saves their hardest behaviors for home…

If you are trying every tool you know…

If you are sitting in tiny school chairs feeling unseen…

I see you.

You are not crazy.

You are parenting a nervous system that learned survival before it learned safety.

And that is heavy, holy, invisible work.

04/16/2026

I’ve been trying to find the right words for this… and honestly, I don’t know if there are any that feel big enough.

This week has been heavy.

Not because of the little ones.
Not because of behaviors.
Not because of the day to day chaos that usually comes with this life.

It’s been heavy because of what I’ve learned.

Because when a teen starts to open up… really open up…
you don’t just hear stories.
You feel them.

You hear the gaps.
The things that should have happened but didn’t.
The things that never should have happened but did.

And it shifts something in you.

It’s the kind of weight you can’t fix with a schedule or a routine.
It’s the kind that sits with you long after the house is quiet.
The kind that makes you replay conversations in your head and wonder how many times this child had to carry it alone.

And then you look around at the system that was supposed to protect them…
and you realize how much was missed.
How much was overlooked.
How many chances there were to do better.

That’s the part that’s been hard this week.

Because we are told to advocate.
To speak up.
To do what is in the best interest of the child.

But sometimes when you do… it doesn’t feel like it’s received that way.

And that tension?
It will wear on you.

I can hold compassion. I do.
I know this system is overwhelmed. I know there are people trying.

But I can also be honest and say this…

When a child finally finds the courage to tell their story,
the response should never make them feel like it didn’t matter.

And it should never make the people standing in the gap for them feel like they have to fight just to be heard.

This week didn’t break me.
But it reminded me why this matters so much.

Because these aren’t just cases.

They are kids.