“When people tell me they don’t want to be a foster parent because they’re scared, I always think of this night.”

These words come from a foster mother who has opened both her heart and her home to children in need—children who arrive carrying invisible scars, uncertain pasts, and fears that most of us cannot begin to imagine. She recalls one little girl in particular—a child who had met them only hours before, suddenly placed into the care of complete strangers.

That first night was filled with hesitation and uncertainty. The child was shy, unsure, and understandably frightened. As the family gently introduced themselves, they repeated the same words they had spoken to every foster child who crossed their threshold:

“You are safe here.” Those words, simple yet profound, became a sacred promise.

When bedtime came, the little girl’s fear revealed itself in tears. She clung tightly to the thought of “monsters,” insisting she couldn’t fall asleep for fear they would come for her. No one yet knew the full story of her past. Were these “monsters” simply the imagination of a scared child? Or had her nights truly been haunted by real dangers—by trauma far too heavy for her small shoulders to bear?

Her foster father did what fathers do best—he comforted her. He whispered a prayer at her bedside, gently asked what she needed to feel safe, and gave her one more promise:

“No monsters will get you while you are here.”

But words alone were not enough for a child whose trust had been broken before. So he made his promise visible. That night, he lay down on the floor beside her bed. He held her hand until her sobs softened into steady breaths. He stayed there, a quiet guardian through the night, keeping the monsters at bay—not with shields or weapons, but with presence, love, and steadfast reassurance.

The foster mother looks back and asks herself, “This is a child people say they’re too scared to help?”

The truth is, foster care is not without fear. To invite a child into your home—without knowing their full history, without knowing how long they will stay, without knowing how their pain might surface—takes courage. It takes a willingness to live with uncertainty and to face the unknown. Yet for every moment of nervousness, there are moments of unspeakable worth: a child sleeping peacefully for the first time in weeks; a smile breaking through after days of silence; a laugh, a hug, a whispered “thank you” when they finally feel safe.

For this family, fostering isn’t about perfection. It is about presence. It is about stepping into the shadows where children have been forgotten or overlooked, and offering them light. It is about showing them—sometimes for the very first time—that monsters can be kept at bay, that adults can be trusted, that love can be unconditional and healing.

Yes, it is scary. But so is the alternative: a child left alone with their fears, their monsters unchecked, their cries unanswered and unheard.

This family’s story is not a fairy tale. Foster care is messy, unpredictable, and often heartbreaking. It requires patience, empathy, and resilience. But it is also sacred work—life-saving work—the kind of work that transforms not only the child but the parent as well. As this foster mother admits,

“I would be lying if I said I don’t still get nervous sometimes. But I PROMISE you that it’s worth it.”

Every child deserves someone who will promise to keep the monsters away. Someone who will show up, even trembling, and say,

“You are safe now.”

And the truth is—you can be that someone.

Because the monsters of this world are real. But so are the heroes—those willing to stand guard through the night, offering safety, love, and hope where it is needed most.