By Chelsea Drown 
I’m the one who gets to watch everyone else’s babies.
Diapers and bottles have been out of my home for years now, and yet that familiar yearning for “just one more” still catches me off guard. It comes quietly, in moments when I least expect it.
My younger years were a whirlwind—marriage, two babies, schooling, moves, and seasons when living for the world took priority far more often than I’d like to admit. But time has a way of softening us, shaping us. I’ve grown, not just in age and (I hope) a little wisdom, but most importantly in my faith. Because of that, my desires look very different these days.
Now, I find joy in the slow, sacred moments: cuddles with my two not-so-little ones, warm coffee in hand while their schoolwork covers the table like it always does. I dream of tending our garden, raising a mini bunny farm, and filling our home with the sound of children rushing to the door when their daddy comes home from work.
Back then, we made choices believing that two kids were plenty. It felt sensible. It felt right at the time. But God is almighty, sovereign over wombs, plans, and futures, and He can do anything. So I’ve prayed. And prayed. And prayed some more.
While friends and family celebrate new pregnancies, tiny milestones, and seasons we said goodbye to years ago, I keep praying. Maybe, just maybe, God will do a work in our family and bless us with one more little one, whether He brings that child naturally, through fostering, or through adoption.
For now, I am entrusted with the sweetest honor: caring for babies who aren’t mine but who I love as if they were. Their giggles fill my days. Their tiny fingers wrap around my heart. And still, I pray.
It’s been many years, and I’m still hoping, still waiting. But blessings have come in so many unexpected forms for our little family. And while I wait for God’s will—whatever it may be—I will continue to pray.
by Alicia K. Albertson 
by Caroline Murray 
by Leslie Means 
