Bryan & Elaine’s Foster & Adoptive Journey
When we first began to consider foster care and possibly adoption, we believed God was leading us toward eventually fostering or adopting older children. At the time, our biological kids were young, so our plan was to help where we could until they were a bit older.
Working with Safe Families was the right fit for us. Each new child entering our home was a blessing filled with both excitement and struggle, joy and sorrow. Early on, we made a commitment to pursue attachment and give all that we could to each child because they needed and deserved it—children made in God’s image and deeply loved by Him.
When each child left, we felt it deeply. There was the happiness of watching them leave for home, praying it would be a place of safety and love for them—but also the sudden, painful loss that felt like a piece of our heart being taken away.
The first time was almost the last time.
After a season of sorrow and wrestling, we sat down with our biological kids and asked if we should open our home again. It was a hard question because we could tell they were feeling the pain too. Through tears, our seven- and eight-year-old responded with unexpected maturity: “If we don’t, who will?”
So we opened our home and hearts again… and again… and again.
Working with Safe Families was the right fit for us. Each new child entering our home was a blessing filled with both excitement and struggle, joy and sorrow. Early on, we made a commitment to pursue attachment and give all that we could to each child because they needed and deserved it—children made in God’s image and deeply loved by Him.
When each child left, we felt it deeply. There was the happiness of watching them leave for home, praying it would be a place of safety and love for them—but also the sudden, painful loss that felt like a piece of our heart being taken away.
The first time was almost the last time.
After a season of sorrow and wrestling, we sat down with our biological kids and asked if we should open our home again. It was a hard question because we could tell they were feeling the pain too. Through tears, our seven- and eight-year-old responded with unexpected maturity: “If we don’t, who will?”
So we opened our home and hearts again… and again… and again.
A Call Into Foster Care
After several years with Safe Families, we felt it was time to move toward fostering, so we got our license. During training, we were told most people request babies—and that we should not expect to receive one. We were clear from the beginning: we wanted older kids.
The first call was for a baby.
They knew our preference, but there weren’t many options at the time. And again, that same question rose in us: If we don’t, who will? So we said yes.
We committed fully to attachment and love, falling deeply in love with that little boy while also holding the reality that the goal was reunification. At four months, it became clear he could not return home. We were asked whether we would adopt him or allow him to move to another family open to adoption.
One of the hardest decisions we have ever made was choosing for him to go to another home—an amazing home—but still a deeply painful separation.
While still grieving, we received another call: a baby, five days old. Again, we were reminded—we know you’re looking for older kids, but we don’t have many options. And again: If we don’t, who will? So we said yes.
We opened our home and our hearts again, even when we felt like we had very little left to give. And yet, we experienced God’s grace in a powerful way—He provided what we needed to continue loving. He never ran out, even when we felt empty.
We committed to reunification again, supporting his biological mom through the process. Fourteen months later, his brother was born—and again, we said yes.
Years of attachment and love passed. Eventually, it became clear that the two boys could not return home. This time, when we were asked if we would adopt them, there was no question of “If we don’t, who will?”
This time, it was simple: we will.
Sometimes our plans are not God’s plans—but His plans are always better. Better does not mean easier.
The first call was for a baby.
They knew our preference, but there weren’t many options at the time. And again, that same question rose in us: If we don’t, who will? So we said yes.
We committed fully to attachment and love, falling deeply in love with that little boy while also holding the reality that the goal was reunification. At four months, it became clear he could not return home. We were asked whether we would adopt him or allow him to move to another family open to adoption.
One of the hardest decisions we have ever made was choosing for him to go to another home—an amazing home—but still a deeply painful separation.
While still grieving, we received another call: a baby, five days old. Again, we were reminded—we know you’re looking for older kids, but we don’t have many options. And again: If we don’t, who will? So we said yes.
We opened our home and our hearts again, even when we felt like we had very little left to give. And yet, we experienced God’s grace in a powerful way—He provided what we needed to continue loving. He never ran out, even when we felt empty.
We committed to reunification again, supporting his biological mom through the process. Fourteen months later, his brother was born—and again, we said yes.
Years of attachment and love passed. Eventually, it became clear that the two boys could not return home. This time, when we were asked if we would adopt them, there was no question of “If we don’t, who will?”
This time, it was simple: we will.
Sometimes our plans are not God’s plans—but His plans are always better. Better does not mean easier.
Feeling Alone in the Journey
Even in the midst of calling and obedience, there were long stretches where we felt very alone.
People were kind, but often unaware of what life actually looked like inside our home—raising children with trauma histories and neurological challenges. The reality included insurance battles, medical appointments, waiting lists, school meetings, therapy schedules, meltdowns, regressions, sleepless nights, and the ongoing weight of secondary trauma.
And then there was the emotional layer: well-meaning advice that didn’t fit, misunderstandings about trauma responses, and behavior being misread as simply “bad behavior.” It could leave you feeling misunderstood, frustrated, and exhausted all at once. There were moments where it felt like no one really saw what was happening behind the scenes.
“We often felt alone, as if no one really understood what we were going through.”
People were kind, but often unaware of what life actually looked like inside our home—raising children with trauma histories and neurological challenges. The reality included insurance battles, medical appointments, waiting lists, school meetings, therapy schedules, meltdowns, regressions, sleepless nights, and the ongoing weight of secondary trauma.
And then there was the emotional layer: well-meaning advice that didn’t fit, misunderstandings about trauma responses, and behavior being misread as simply “bad behavior.” It could leave you feeling misunderstood, frustrated, and exhausted all at once. There were moments where it felt like no one really saw what was happening behind the scenes.
“We often felt alone, as if no one really understood what we were going through.”
Finding Community Through LoveMoves.Us
When we first attended a LoveMoves.Us family gathering, we weren’t sure what to expect.
What we found was something we had been missing: people who understood.
Not just in theory—but in lived experience.
We saw children struggling in ways that mirrored our own. We met parents navigating the same systems, the same appointments, the same challenges. For the first time in a long time, we didn’t have to explain everything before being understood.
We could ask practical questions and receive real answers—from hospital accommodations, to therapy recommendations, to school advocacy strategies. We could share struggles without needing to justify them.
And just as importantly, we saw celebration. Real, genuine celebration of small victories that others might overlook—but that mean everything in this journey.
It became—and still is—a place of encouragement and hope.
Love doesn’t erase hardship, but it moves us to keep showing up, keep learning, keep advocating, and keep caring deeply.
It is a place where we can be a messy, real, and deeply loved foster and adoptive family.
What we found was something we had been missing: people who understood.
Not just in theory—but in lived experience.
We saw children struggling in ways that mirrored our own. We met parents navigating the same systems, the same appointments, the same challenges. For the first time in a long time, we didn’t have to explain everything before being understood.
We could ask practical questions and receive real answers—from hospital accommodations, to therapy recommendations, to school advocacy strategies. We could share struggles without needing to justify them.
And just as importantly, we saw celebration. Real, genuine celebration of small victories that others might overlook—but that mean everything in this journey.
It became—and still is—a place of encouragement and hope.
Love doesn’t erase hardship, but it moves us to keep showing up, keep learning, keep advocating, and keep caring deeply.
It is a place where we can be a messy, real, and deeply loved foster and adoptive family.
Why Community Matters
This journey was never meant to be walked alone.
Foster care and adoption stretch every part of a family—emotionally, spiritually, physically, and relationally. Without community, the weight can become overwhelming.
Community doesn’t remove the hard parts, but it changes how you carry them.
It gives language when you don’t have words. It gives practical help when you’re stuck. It gives understanding when others misunderstand. And sometimes, it simply reminds you that you’re not the only one still standing in the middle of something hard.
For us, community has been a reminder that love is not just an emotion—it’s something lived out in shared burdens, shared wisdom, and shared hope.
And while the journey has not gone the way we expected, we can say this with confidence: we are not walking it alone.
— Bryan and Elaine Heller
Foster care and adoption stretch every part of a family—emotionally, spiritually, physically, and relationally. Without community, the weight can become overwhelming.
Community doesn’t remove the hard parts, but it changes how you carry them.
It gives language when you don’t have words. It gives practical help when you’re stuck. It gives understanding when others misunderstand. And sometimes, it simply reminds you that you’re not the only one still standing in the middle of something hard.
For us, community has been a reminder that love is not just an emotion—it’s something lived out in shared burdens, shared wisdom, and shared hope.
And while the journey has not gone the way we expected, we can say this with confidence: we are not walking it alone.
— Bryan and Elaine Heller
Join Us in the Work
Stories like the Hellers’ are not meant to be read and forgotten—they are meant to invite others into what God is doing in families like theirs.
If their journey resonates with you, there are meaningful ways to step into this work alongside foster and adoptive families and the children they serve.
You can:
You don’t have to do everything—but you can do something, and it matters more than it may seem.
If their journey resonates with you, there are meaningful ways to step into this work alongside foster and adoptive families and the children they serve.
You can:
- Give to help provide the resources families need for therapy, education support, and daily care for children with complex needs—and to help fund free family gatherings and other events that support foster and adoptive families and children.
- Volunteer your time, skills, or presence to support children and caregivers who often carry this journey in isolation.
- Attend Family Gatherings or events hosted by LoveMoves.Us to learn, connect, and better understand the realities of foster care and adoption.
You don’t have to do everything—but you can do something, and it matters more than it may seem.
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