Emily Kronick
The second Monday of each month is one of my favorite days. It’s the day I get to spend my afternoon with the tiny humans of Contra Costa Foster Friends.
Walking into St. Matthew’s on those Monday nights, I carry a bundle of emotions: hopeful that I’ll see familiar faces, curious as to what has happened since the last time we were together, excited to welcome new children, and joyful to create a space for laughter and fun. And, if I’m honest, there is always a quiet sadness too, knowing that some faces may not return, while other children may have faced days of disappointment, anger, or sadness.
As the foster parents drop off the children, those emotions replay in a loop: never in the same order, but always present. Yet by the time the last child arrives, love rises above them all, filling the room, and reflecting in the children in front of us.
Each child we meet is entirely unique, in ways we may never fully understand. They each have different stories, different needs, different preferences. But what they all share is something deeply human: the desire to be seen, to be cared for, to do well, and to be loved.
Many of our returning kiddos eagerly share the highlights of their lives since we last saw them, telling us about a new friend, a sleepover, a playdate, a newly lost tooth, or a new haircut, many a time, they gave to themselves. Their contagious joy serves as a reminder of how powerful even the smallest moments can be.
But joy is only part of the story.
There are also tears. Sometimes easy to understand, and sometimes not. As adults, we try to meet their needs the best way we know how. Are they hungry? Thirsty? Do they need a diaper change or the comfort of a familiar face? And sometimes the questions run deeper with more complexity: Are they overwhelmed? Did something trigger a painful memory? Do they miss their parent? Are they hurting in ways we cannot see or fully comprehend?
Some of the children can tell us what they need. Others, specifically the infants, rely on our patience, our instincts, and our willingness to try, fail, and try again. As adults, we look to one another for reassurance, working together to comfort, to soothe, and to show up for these children and each other as best we can. And often, I quietly wonder if it is enough.
Each month, I do my best to hold space in my heart for every child who walks through the door. But the truth is, I will never fully understand their stories, and it is not my place to, as protecting their privacy is part of creating a space where they can simply be children.
What I can do, what we can all do, is love them and love each other.
For one Monday each month, we offer a safe place filled with laughter, care, and consistency. A place where children are held, encouraged, played with, nourished, and valued. A place where they experience unconditional love. And in doing so, we also create space for their foster parents to rest, to share a meal, and to support one another through a journey that holds both deep heartbreak and profound love.
Life is full of this kind of duality. Joy and sorrow. Hope and doubt. Clarity and confusion. These children carry more of that weight than they should. Yet love is what carries us through. The love we share with our families. The love we extend to our neighbors and our communities. The love we find in small, easily overlooked moments. And most importantly, the love we are called to give, freely and unconditionally, just as God loves us.
So for one night each month, several other adults and I choose to pour that love into these children. Because while everyone deserves to feel unconditional love, these children deserve to know the deep peace that comes with it.
Want to serve or have an impact story to share? Connect with Billy Roy at billyr@saintmatthew.org!