Dear Wednesday’s Child,

I see you. I know the silence you sit in. The kind that hums between heartbeats and memories. I know what it feels like to wonder if you’ll ever truly belong to anyone, anywhere. I know the ache of waiting for someone to come back, the fear of being too much or not enough, and the unspoken prayer that maybe, just maybe, this time love will stay.

I was you.

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I was the child who carried her belongings in grocery store bags and her dreams in whispers. The one who smiled to hide the pain, who tried to be perfect so no one would send her away. The one who learned how to survive in rooms that never felt like home.

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But let me tell you something — you are not what happened to you. You are not the mistakes of the adults who couldn’t stay or abused you, nor the labels that the system tried to place on you. You are not forgotten, unworthy, or unlovable. You are a miracle in motion, still becoming everything, God designed you to be.

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The world may have called you a foster child, but God calls you Chosen. And that title; that divine truth, can never be taken from you.

You may not have had a fair start, but you have the power to write a different ending. Every time you rise, every time you forgive, every time you refuse to let your past define your purpose, you prove that Wednesday’s Child is not a tragedy; it’s a testimony.

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Hold your head high. You are light wrapped in resilience, grace stitched together with faith. Your story is still unfolding, and there’s beauty in every line that’s yet to be written.

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So, this letter is for you. The dreamer, the fighter, the survivor. The one who made it this far by faith even when the world said you wouldn’t. You are living proof that broken beginnings can still lead to beautiful endings.

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With love, always and all ways,