07/06/2025
A story from an open home Carter-Johnson-Unicoi Home ❤🏠
When our teen guest walked through the red door, she quietly made her way to the couch and barely said a word. She was still, guarded—her eyes low, her voice silent. After a few minutes of letting her settle in, our volunteers, workers, and caseworkers gently began talking with her, asking questions to learn more about who she was and what she liked.
But the more we tried, the more anxious she seemed. Her hands fidgeted, her legs bounced, and she avoided eye contact. It was clear that this space—though safe—was still new, and the weight of all she’d been through hung heavy in her presence.
The next morning, something changed. Quietly and hesitantly, she asked, “Do you have... or would it be okay if I had a Spanish text Bible?”
“Absolutely,” we told her. And in that simple request, we saw a glimpse of who she was—a piece of her story, her identity, her heart.
We also found out her favorite color was pink. So one of our workers made it a mission that day to find exactly what she asked for: a pink Bible written in Spanish. At the store, they even had the option to personalize it with her name—and we knew we had to do it.
When the worker returned and handed her the Bible, her face lit up. She smiled the biggest, brightest smile we’d seen since she walked through our doors. From that moment on, she carried it with her everywhere—reading it throughout the day, holding it close like a treasure that belonged to her and her alone.
It wasn’t a flashy gift or a grand gesture. It was a pink Bible, in her language, with her name on the cover. But to her, it was comfort. It was belonging. It was love.
This is how we change the way foster care begins—by listening, by seeing, by responding with intentional love. And sometimes, that love looks like a Bible in a favorite color, with a name etched in gold, reminding one child that she is known and never alone.