I tapped the steering wheel, trying to shake the weight on my chest, when I spotted a disheveled woman digging through a trash can. I slowed down, drawn in by her grim determination.
She looked fragile yet fierce, fighting for survival. Without thinking, I pulled over, rolled down my window, and asked, “Do you need help?”
Her response was sharp but tired: “You offering?”
“I just saw you there,” I admitted, stepping out. “It didn’t seem right.”
“What’s not right is life,” she scoffed, crossing her arms. “You don’t strike me as someone who knows much about that.”
“Maybe not,” I replied, then asked if she had a place to stay.
“No,” she said, and I felt compelled to offer my garage as a temporary home. To my surprise, she accepted, albeit reluctantly.
Over the next few days, we shared meals and conversations. Lexi’s sharp wit broke through my loneliness, but I could sense her hidden pain.
One afternoon, I barged into the garage and froze. There, sprawled across the floor, were grotesque paintings of me—chains, blood, a casket. Nausea hit me.
That night, I confronted her. “What are those paintings?”
Her face went pale. “I didn’t mean for you to see them. I was just… angry.”
“So you painted me as a monster?” I demanded.
She nodded, shame in her eyes. “I’m sorry.”
I struggled to forgive her. “I think it’s time for you to go.”
The next morning, I helped her pack and drove her to a shelter, giving her some money. Weeks passed, and I felt the loss of our connection.
Then, a package arrived—another painting. This one was serene, capturing a peace I hadn’t known. Inside was a note with Lexi’s name and number.
My heart raced as I called her. “I got your painting… it’s beautiful.”
“Thank you. I didn’t know if you’d like it,” she replied.
“You didn’t owe me anything,” I said, reflecting on my own unfairness.
“I’m sorry for what I painted,” she admitted. “You were just… there.”
“I forgave you the moment I saw that painting. Maybe we could start over.”
“I’d like that,” she said, a smile evident in her voice.
We made plans to meet again, and I felt a flicker of hope for what could be.
Family fostered a 12-year-old boy that nobody wants – But soon they realized who he really is
According to recent data presented by the Children’s Bureau, the number of children in foster care nationwide is approximately 424,000. In Tennessee only, there are slightly less than 8,000 children who are waiting to be reunited with their families or find a forever home with people who would love them unconditionally. The sad reality is that the number of foster families in this state is less than 4,000.
Up until recently, one of those kids who found themselves in the system was 12-year-old Andrew from Nashville. This lovely boy spent half his life going from one family to another. However, that changed when he was welcomed in by a special foster family; the Gills.
Kevin and Dominique Gill have a son on their own, Joc, who made very good friends with Andrew the moment they first met. The boys just love hanging out together. They spend their time playing games, taking walks, and doing a bunch of fun stuff. Realizing how close the boys became, Kevin and Dominique decided to let them be best friends forever by filing adoption papers.
Andrew had no idea he was about to become an official member of the Gill family. One day, as he was taking a walk at the park with Molly Parker, an employee at the Youth Villages, he was met with the news that his foster parents are adopting him.
“I just turned around the corner and saw everybody,” Andrew said. “They asked ‘will you?’ and I said ‘yeah!’”
Besides being best friends, these boys now became brothers. Isn’t that the most beautiful thing ever?
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