It was already late when the phone rang. The kind of late where most families are winding down, tucking their kids into bed, and preparing for the next day. For one foster family, however, 9:30 p.m. was the beginning of something life-changing.

On the other end of the line were social workers—tired, desperate, and out of options. Three children needed a place to stay. They had been driving around for nearly four hours, searching for a home that could take them in.

But the family receiving the call already had six children of their own. The request sounded impossible. Nine kids under one roof? At 11:00 p.m., the social workers arrived at the door with three weary children in tow. And with that, the impossible became reality.

“Yesterday, I woke up with six kids. Today, I woke up with nine,” the foster mom later wrote. “It sounds crazy, doesn’t it? But if not us… then who?”

That question—if not us, then who?—captures the heart of fostering. It’s a system stretched far beyond its limits. Across the country, social workers scramble every night to place children in safe homes. Too often, there simply aren’t enough beds, enough families, enough people willing to step forward.

For this household, saying “no” wasn’t an option. “I dare you to say we should’ve told these kids ‘no’—how could we?” she asked. “A friend reminded me today: even Jesus was born in a barn because everyone else said there was no room. Well, I’ll make room.”

Those words reflect a truth that is at once humbling and inspiring. Fostering is not convenient. It is not tidy. It is not easy. It’s messy, exhausting, and sometimes overwhelming. But at its core, it’s about children—children who, through no fault of their own, need a place to belong.

This family’s story is not unique. Across America, thousands of foster parents are quietly making room in their homes and hearts, even when they feel stretched thin. They juggle doctor’s appointments, school schedules, emotional meltdowns, and endless laundry. They endure skeptical looks from strangers in grocery store lines who wonder why someone would “take on so much.”

But what those on the outside may never see is the other side—the laughter around the dinner table, the tiny victories when a child finally feels safe enough to sleep through the night, the joy of seeing a little one run across the yard without fear.

For foster parents, these are the moments that make the sleepless nights worth it. These are the reminders that love isn’t something you divide—it’s something you multiply.

“People may give me the side-eye at Wal-Mart, and that’s fine,” the mom admitted. “But the truth is, we have nine kids because there simply aren’t enough foster homes for all the children in need.”

Behind the statistics are faces, stories, and fragile hearts longing for stability. Each time a foster parent says “yes,” even when it’s inconvenient, they’re giving children more than just a roof over their heads. They’re giving them dignity, belonging, and the radical message: you matter enough to make room for.

In a world where it’s easy to turn away, this family chose to open their door wide, late at night, to three frightened children who needed someone to say, “Come in. You’re safe here.”

It wasn’t convenient. It wasn’t planned. But it was love in action.

As the foster mom concluded with humility: “Stepping off my soapbox now…”

Yet in truth, it isn’t a soapbox at all. It’s a call—a reminder that sometimes the bravest thing we can do is simply to make room.