Lately, I’ve been realizing that the stories we set out to write in life often aren’t the ones we end up living—and sometimes, that’s a beautiful thing. Let me explain.
When I was a senior in high school, my sociology teacher gave our class an assignment: imagine your life in ten years. “What will you be doing? What will your life look like? What are your dreams for the next decade?” he asked.
For me, this was easy. I was 18, so add ten, and I’d be 28. I pictured a life I thought was already mapped out: I would graduate college, marry my high school sweetheart (whom I had been dating for just nine months), and be immersed in full-time motherhood. Little Scott, Hannah, and our third child—whose gender I hadn’t yet decided, though I had names ready for either—would fill my days with love and chaos.
By age 28, in my mind, they would be the tender ages of 4, 2, and a newborn. It was a picture-perfect vision of family life, and I couldn’t imagine anything better. Growing up in a quaint suburb of Cleveland, Ohio, and later attending college in Cincinnati, my world had been small, familiar, safe—and my imagination of the future fit snugly within those boundaries.
My story, as I envisioned it, would have been simple, smooth, and easy. No one when imagining their future thinks of hardship or heartbreak. With a steady boyfriend by my side, I felt certain we could navigate whatever life had in store. We would live the “American Dream,” or at least my 18-year-old version of it: a happy family, a lovely home, and no complications.
Yes, the waters I foresaw were calm, like Narragansett Bay at dawn: glassy, smooth, reflecting perfection—or something very close.
Almost eighteen years have passed since that assignment. I did marry my high school boyfriend, and we are blessed with two incredible sons. Little Hannah, though never born, lives in our hearts, while our boys—neither named Scott—have brought us more joy than I could have imagined.
Life, of course, has brought its share of challenges. We’ve moved several times, faced serious illnesses in our families, lost loved ones, endured school bullies and ER visits, and weathered many trials I could never have predicted. Yet, despite it all, the waters have been fairly smooth.
And now, we are preparing for the next chapter of our story—one that is entirely new, uncharted, and, I’ll admit, terrifying. We are stepping into foster care. Even months away from our first placement, this chapter has already stirred more worry, anticipation, and reflection than I ever expected.
My oldest son recently drew a picture capturing his fears about what might happen to our family when the new baby arrives. In it, he placed me and his little brother in one corner, smiling as we held the baby. He drew himself far away, frowning, and his father on the opposite side, asleep, a “zzzzz” floating above his head. Comic relief, indeed—but also a window into his heart.
His drawing mirrored the story I’d been writing silently in my mind and heart, filled with uncertainty, questions, and fear. I wanted calm waters and confident composure for my children. But life, as always, is writing a different story—one rich with growth, challenge, and love.
What if this journey overwhelms us? What if my children struggle to understand it? Or worse, what if they resent us? These questions hover over us, but we hold our breath, move forward, and trust that, as a family, we can face what comes next. Our lives will change—each of us individually and all of us together. Our hearts will expand to new experiences, new emotions, and perhaps even new endings.
The future is impossible to predict. Adoption? Reunification? Something else entirely? We don’t know yet. But day by day, inch by inch, as we approach that first life-changing phone call, we grow stronger, closer, and more united.
About a week after my son’s drawing, we found ourselves in a canoe on the lake behind our home. My husband steered from the stern, I paddled from the bow, and our boys sat between us, squealing with delight at the turtles, osprey, and swans surrounding us.
Savoring that moment, I blurted out, “Boys, do you know we’re a team?”
“Yes!” they both replied eagerly.
“Do you know Mom and Dad are a team? You two are a team? And together, we’re all a team? No matter what happens, we can get through it—just like right now?”
“Yes! And God’s the coach!” my youngest shouted without hesitation.
Smiling at my husband, I nodded. “That’s right. There’s nothing we can’t handle as a family, and nothing we can’t face with God’s help.”
I treasure that moment—and every moment leading to it. I especially hold close the memory of my oldest son insisting we take new family photos after the baby arrives, so everyone feels included and loved.
I am deeply grateful for this team—the family I am writing my story with. I am grateful for a life far different than the one I imagined at 18. I am grateful that stories rarely unfold as planned, because sometimes, the detours and surprises are what make them truly beautiful. And just like a story that began in Eden and ended on Easter, I now anticipate that our story—full of twists, joys, and challenges—will have a glorious ending, come what may.
