When I was just two and a half years old, my mother asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. Without hesitation, I said, “A mommy.” I was certain. Even as I grew older, through every stage of childhood and adolescence, that desire never wavered. For as long as I can remember, my deepest longing was to become a wife and a mother—to nurture a family of my own.
While my classmates in high school dreamed of careers, college majors, and ambitious paths, my “future plans” looked very different. My school projects were filled with sketches of a husband, at least three children, and family vacations at the beach. People didn’t always understand—sometimes I didn’t even fully understand myself. Some peers even labeled my focus as a lack of ambition. But nothing could shake the certainty I felt: family was my calling.
When I finally met the right man—the one who shared my dream of a home filled with children—it felt like destiny. He was not only handsome and brilliant, but he also embraced my vision of being a stay-at-home mother. After four years of dating and a year-long engagement, we were married in November 2014, ready to start our family immediately. The thought of giving this man a child thrilled me to my core. I knew he would be a wonderful father, and I was determined to be the mother who poured love into every moment of our children’s lives. I had no doubt in my heart that this was our path.
But then, month after month passed—one, four, seven, twelve…still no pregnancy. Each negative test felt like a dagger, a reminder that something was wrong. Everyone told me to wait for the doctor’s guidance, but deep down, I sensed it: our path would not be easy. I spent countless hours curled up on the bathroom floor, tears streaming, clutching yet another negative test, willing it to say yes. At work, I stifled cries in the bathroom after learning yet another co-worker was expecting. And every time someone asked, “When are you going to start a family?” my heart broke a little more, even as my husband held my hand, silently sharing in my pain.
Finally, we met with an OBGYN who began the series of tests we knew were coming—cold, sterile rooms, unfamiliar faces in white coats, procedures that were physically uncomfortable and emotionally draining. But I clung to hope: answers meant a solution, right? I just had to get through it.
Then came the diagnosis that shook us: unexplained infertility. I didn’t even know that existed. I thought modern medicine could solve anything—but we were given no clear reason for our struggles, and no guarantees that any treatment would work. We proceeded with five fertility treatments, each ending in disappointment. The heartbreak of infertility was nothing compared to the devastation of hope repeatedly unmet. I felt broken, empty, and shattered.
It was then my husband, gently and lovingly, suggested we pause. Pause the treatments, the injections, the diets, the doctors. He whispered that maybe God had a different plan for us—one we couldn’t yet see. That’s when the idea of foster care emerged. We went through classes, training, and paperwork, becoming licensed foster parents. We didn’t know what to expect—but we felt ready to welcome children into our lives, whatever the circumstances.
Within weeks, we got our first call. That same hour, two young boys arrived in our home: ages two and four. It was not instant bliss. These children carried trauma, loss, and confusion, and the first few months were extremely challenging. But with patience, love, and structure, they began to bloom—and so did we. We became parents in ways we never imagined, pouring ourselves entirely into these boys. Though we knew foster care always carried the risk of reunification with biological parents, we loved fully, without holding back.
Even as my heart grew with love for these two little boys, a quiet longing remained—a desire to raise a baby from infancy. Adoption became our next path. We completed the home study, paperwork, and inspections, only to face months of waiting and repeated rejections. Then, in October 2018, we were chosen by an expectant mother. We were overjoyed—our baby girl, Julia, was due in February. Nursery prepared, showers celebrated, name chosen—it all felt surreal.
And then, just a week before Julia’s due date, we received one devastating sentence from our agency: “The mother has decided against adoption for her child.” My heart shattered. I mourned a child I had loved for months but never held. Every corner of the nursery felt like a heartbreak. For months, I couldn’t even look at the ultrasound, the pink pillow, the bows on the wall. I simply wanted Julia—but the grief felt too heavy to voice.
In May, my husband encouraged a reset. We took a quiet beach trip, reconnecting and relaxing. On May 14, 2019, we finally spoke openly about our grief and our dreams again. He took my hands and said, “Rachel, I think we just need to wait. God will bring a child to us when we aren’t expecting it.” We made a pact that night—to trust His timing.
Two days later, less than two hours after landing home, we received a call: a woman had just given birth to a baby boy and wanted to place him for adoption. We rushed to meet her in the hospital. After hours of conversation, a tiny newborn was brought in. His name was AJ. The moment I held him, my heart knew: we would do anything for him. AJ had been born on May 14—the very night we made our pact to wait—and now, God had placed him in our arms.
Today, our story is one of three precious sons. They are thriving, strong, and loved beyond measure. We have finally made official what we always knew in our hearts: we are a family. Every hardship—infertility, failed treatments, adoption heartbreak—led us here, to a love deeper than I could have imagined.
I share our story not just to tell of our joy, but to offer hope to others in despair. Life rarely goes as planned. Yet, every heartache, every detour, every tear prepared us for the blessings that now fill our home. Love knows no bounds, family is not defined by DNA, and God’s timing is perfect—even when we can’t see it.
What I never expected is how sharing our journey has touched others—encouraging them to explore adoption or foster care, offering hope, or simply letting them know they are not alone. Our story is a testament to resilience, to faith, and to the extraordinary ways life can surprise us with beauty. And if I had to go through it all again, I would—in a heartbeat—to be where we are today, with our three beloved boys.
