Christians are called to love with a Godlike love—deeply, intentionally, and sacrificially. Scripture makes it clear that our love, expressed through meaningful acts of care, should be especially directed toward the most vulnerable in our society. Throughout the Bible, two groups are consistently highlighted in this regard: widows and the fatherless.

Why? Because they lack the covering God intended through the presence of a husband and father—the protector and provider designed to stand in the gap for their well-being. Without that covering, they face the harsh realities of a broken world without protection or support. But God, in His compassion and justice, does not overlook them. Instead, He leans in with tender care and fierce advocacy.

Consider the following verses:

“He doth execute the judgment of the fatherless and widow...”

— Deuteronomy 10:18

“Thou art the helper of the fatherless… to judge the fatherless and the oppressed...”

— Psalm 10:14, 18

“A father of the fatherless, and a judge of the widows, is God in his holy habitation.”

— Psalm 68:5

“The Lord relieveth the fatherless and widow...”

— Psalm 146:9

What’s more, God commissions His people to be His hands and feet in their lives.

Consider these verses as well:

“Ye shall not afflict any widow, or fatherless child. If thou afflict them in any wise… my wrath shall wax hot...”

— Exodus 22:22–24

“Learn to do well; seek judgment, relieve the oppressed, judge the fatherless, plead for the widow.”

— Isaiah 1:17

“Execute true judgment, and shew mercy… oppress not the widow, nor the fatherless...”

— Zechariah 7:9–10

“Pure religion and undefiled before God and the Father is this, To visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction...”

— James 1:27

These aren’t just theological concepts to us—they’ve shaped the course of our family.

When God Redirects a Dream

These biblical truths, combined with our personal life experiences, led my wife and me down the path of foster care and adoption. We were married in 2005 and spent the first nine years of our marriage trying to have biological children. To this day, God has not opened that door. While there are medical explanations for why that is the case, it would be spiritually shortsighted to believe that’s the whole story. God had other plans. At first, we couldn’t see all that He was unfolding—but now, twenty years into our marriage, it’s unmistakably clear. He was gently guiding us toward fatherless children who needed someone to be His hands and feet in their lives.

As our desire for children continued to grow, God began bringing people into our lives who had walked the path of foster care and adoption. Through conversations and relationships with these families, we saw firsthand how God had worked—both in their lives and in the lives of the children they welcomed into their homes. Their stories stirred something deep within us. Our interest was piqued. Could this be the direction God was leading us?

We began to investigate opportunities with local fostering agencies. After much prayer and discussion, we signed up with one and went through the certification process. It was a season filled with training, paperwork, home inspections, and heart preparation. We were learning not just how to care for children in crisis, but how to open our lives, our routines, and our hearts to whatever God had planned. Once we were certified, the calls began for placements.

Unexpected Introductions

God has brought many different children into our care over the years—each with their own story, each facing unique circumstances. Some stayed only a few days, others for months, and some for years. Some arrived joyful and resilient; others came guarded and hurting. But all of them were special. With each placement, God gave us the opportunity to be a conduit of His love and grace to these precious lives.

One placement was a two-year-old girl and her one-year-old brother. Interestingly, my wife already knew them. They had been placed with another foster family from our church prior to being transferred to us, and she had cared for them on occasion in our church’s nursery. At the time, it seemed like a simple act of service—getting on the floor to play, rocking them in a chair, and feeding them snacks. But looking back, we see now that those small moments were sacred ones. Little did we know, she was already holding in her arms the very children God had planned for us to one day call our own. After eleven months, the unforgettable day came. We stood in a courtroom and officially adopted them into our family.

The Joy and the Ache

That was 12 years ago, and our most recent placement has been a sweet baby boy. He came to us at just 19 days old and is now approaching 14 months. The joy of loving him has been immeasurable for both my wife and me. Watching this bubbly, bright-eyed little boy grow and thrive has been a blessing in every way—but even more meaningful has been witnessing our older, adopted children step into a role of care and compassion.

They were once in his shoes—facing uncertainty, needing comfort, and receiving love in a season of turbulence. Now, they are the ones offering that same love. Watching them help feed him, make him laugh, and soothe him when he cries has been a beautiful full-circle moment. What they once received, they are now able to give. It’s one of the clearest pictures we’ve seen of God’s redemptive work in action: taking what was broken and using it to bring healing, hope, and wholeness to others.

The Gospel Made Visible

Along the way, onlookers have approached my wife and me with questions about our journey in foster care and adoption. Many are genuinely curious—asking how the process works, how we manage the emotional ups and downs, or how we cope with the difficult realities like visitation schedules, court dates, and the constant uncertainty. Some wonder how we can open our hearts to inevitably have them broken knowing the children may one day leave. Others quietly admit, “I don’t think I could do what you're doing.”

We understand those reactions—we had the same questions ourselves in the beginning. The truth is, it’s not easy. There have been days filled with tears, sleepless nights, and moments when we wondered if we could keep going. We’ve faced emotional exhaustion, hard goodbyes, and the ache of loving children who may never stay.

Our current placement is scheduled for reunification with his biological family in a few weeks. From the very beginning, we’ve known that reunification is the primary goal of foster care—and rightly so. But we’d be lying if we said it wasn’t hard. We’ve held this baby boy since he was 19 days old. We’ve celebrated his first smile, his first steps, and every tiny milestone in between. We’ve rocked him to sleep, soothed him through sickness, and watched him light up our home with joy. He knows us. We know him. And we love him with our whole hearts.

So now, as reunification draws near, we find ourselves holding two deep truths in tension: rejoicing in the possibility of restoration and grieving the reality of loss. This is the emotional cost of foster care. This is the call of God to love. You give your heart knowing it might break. You love fully, even when it hurts.

When Love Reflects the Divine

In these moments, we are beginning to understand something profound about the love of God—and the love He calls all Christians to embody. It’s not a love rooted in convenience or comfort. It’s not cautious or calculated. It doesn’t wait to see what it might receive in return. God’s love is bold, initiating, and sacrificial. It steps into brokenness. It embraces risk. It chooses to stay, even when the cost is high.

And that’s the kind of love we are called to reflect.

The more we lean into the hard, the inconvenient, and the emotionally costly aspects of loving others—especially the vulnerable—the more clearly we begin to see the contours of divine love. It's not abstract or distant; it's personal. It's practical. It's the kind of love that holds a crying child in the middle of the night, shows up again and again when it's easier to walk away, and opens its arms with no guarantee of being held in return.

In loving this way, we become living pictures of the Gospel. Our homes, our hearts, our sacrifices—however imperfect—begin to tell the story of a Savior who loved us at our worst, gave His best, and invites us to do the same for others… even when it hurts.

What Now?

Maybe you’re on the fence. You feel the tug—but fear is loud. The unknowns are real. What if I get too attached? What if I’m not strong enough? What if it costs more than I can give? Those questions are honest. And you’re not alone in asking them—we’ve asked them too.

But don’t let fear have the final word.

Let this be the nudge. Take the next step—pray honestly. Ask God what He’s stirring in your heart. Talk to someone who’s been on this journey. Ask questions, even the hard ones. Seek godly counsel. And as you do, begin to imagine what costly love might look like in your life.

It might mean opening your home to foster or adopt. It might mean mentoring a teen or supporting a foster family through meals, childcare, or friendship. It might mean giving generously to organizations that serve vulnerable children and families. Or it might simply mean being more intentional with the people around you—loving deeply, even when it’s inconvenient.

The expression of that love may vary, but the call is the same: to reflect the heart of a God who loves with open hands and a willing heart. You don’t have to have all the answers. You just have to be open.

Ask Him: “Where do You want me to love even if it hurts?” And then, take one faithful step forward.

Because when we love like that—even when it hurts—we are never closer to the heart of God.