When One Size doesn't fit All

When support only comes naturally for the easiest stories to understand, something deeper is being revealed.

Recently, I watched a video of a couple celebrating the arrival of their beautiful new baby girl, Franchesca, who was just two months old. They had walked through years of infertility before finally deciding to pursue adoption, and seeing their stunned, overjoyed faces—and the pure excitement from their family—really touched my heart.

And it got me thinking.

The more I think about it, the more it stands out to me how naturally the church knows how to rally around some family stories, and how uncertain it can get around others.

A pregnancy announcement goes up, and everybody already knows what to do. Meal train. Baby shower. Diapers. Hand-me-downs. Congratulations. The support is familiar, built-in, and almost automatic.

But when it comes to adoption, fostering, or single parenthood, that same kind of support often is not already there.

Not because those families matter less.

Not because their needs matter less.

But because churches often support what they already understand.

Pregnancy, biological children, and marriage fit neatly into the usual script. People know what to say. They know how to celebrate. They know how to help without having to think very hard about it.

But adoption and fostering are often wrapped up in things like grief, trauma, attachment issues, identity questions, court dates, financial strain, behavioral challenges, and emotional overload. And single parenthood carries its own weight too—parenting, finances, schedules, discipline, survival, and emotional labor without another adult in the home to help carry it.

So, the tone often changes. It gets quieter. Less confident. More awkward.

Not always cruel. Not always intentional. But noticeable.

And I do think some of that is personal sometimes. People can feel convicted, exposed, insecure, or uncomfortable. But I think it is bigger than that too. I think this is both a cultural problem and a logistics problem. The church often pours automatic support into the family structure it already knows how to celebrate, while families outside that structure are left hoping someone will know how to care when the time comes.

And that creates a cycle.

Biological parenthood feels familiar, supported, and resourced. Adoption and fostering feel more isolating, more complicated, and less visibly sustained. Single parents are often praised, vaguely acknowledged, or quietly admired from a distance, but not always practically considered.

And discomfort plays a bigger role in this than people want to admit.

Sometimes people do not know how to step into a complicated family situation without feeling awkward. Sometimes they do not know whether to admire, pity, avoid, or keep a safe distance. So instead of drawing close, they offer vague encouragement.

“You’re so strong.”

“I don’t know how you do it.”

“Let me know if you need anything.”

And yes, those words can be kind. But they can also function like emotional distance dressed up as support. Because there is a difference between praise and help. There is a difference between acknowledgment and actual care. There is a difference between being noticed and having some of the weight lifted.

That is part of what unhealthy church culture sounds like. Not always open rejection.

Sometimes just distance, discomfort, and a lack of practical thought.

A healthier church culture would treat adoption, fostering, and single parenthood as real family life. Not niche side ministries. Not inspirational side stories. Not awkward categories to tiptoe around. Real family life. Messy, sacred, exhausting, complicated family life.

It would stop offering only generic support and start asking better questions.

What would actually help this family right now?

What assumptions are we making about what a normal household looks like?

Who gets automatic support here, and who has to fight to be noticed?

Who feels celebrated, and who merely feels tolerated?

Because maturity is not just saying the right things. Maturity is noticing who your systems were actually built for.

Real support sounds more like:

“How can we support your family in a way that is actually helpful?”

“What part of the week feels heaviest right now?”

“Would meals, childcare, rides, errands, or help at church make the biggest difference?”

That is what support sounds like when it is trying to reduce burden instead of merely acknowledge it.

And different families need different kinds of care.

A family welcoming a newborn may need meals, diapers, and help adjusting.

A family welcoming an adopted or foster child may need meals too, but they may also need privacy, respite, flexible childcare, transportation help, patience, support during court dates, help with siblings, and people who will not act weird if the child struggles in public.

A single parent may need dependable childcare, grocery help, rides, emergency backup, help during church, or simply a church culture that stops assuming there is another adult at home covering the gaps. The point is not that one need matters more than another.

The point is that real support requires attention.

I also think churches need to normalize asking for help more openly. When honesty becomes normal, support becomes easier. When people stop feeling like they have to perform having it all together, the church starts looking more like a body and less like a stage.

And churches need to communicate better too. People cannot support what they do not know exists. If needs, plans, ministries, and gaps stay hidden until everything is polished, then the same small group of people will keep carrying most of the weight while everyone else stays in the dark.

At the end of the day, I think a lot of churches confuse warmth with support. But warmth is not enough. Smiles are not enough. Casseroles are not enough. Good intentions are not enough. These are all wonderful things, but they are only half of the things we can do for others.

Support also means reducing isolation, planning with people in mind before they are desperate enough to ask.

Support means noticing which burdens your culture automatically makes heavier and refusing to make people carry both the hardship itself and everyone else’s discomfort about it.

The deeper issue, to me, is simple: the church often rallies most naturally around what it already understands, and hesitates around what requires more maturity, flexibility, sacrifice, and emotional tolerance. But the gospel does not only call us toward what is easy, familiar, or socially comfortable. Sometimes it calls us toward what costs us something.

Sometimes it calls us to become the kind of people who know how to love beyond familiarity.

And I really do wish more churches understood that adoption and fostering should not feel like lonely special assignments for a heroic few. I wish more churches understood that single parents should not have to survive on praise, pity, or scraps of convenience. I wish more churches understood that support should not disappear the moment a family story becomes less cute and more complicated.

Because real support does not just say, “We’re proud of you.”

Real support says, “You do not have to make this look easy for us to stay beside you.”

That is the kind of church culture I hope we see more of. One where families are not forced into the same mold. One where the people who do not fit the easiest script are not quietly left to fend for themselves. One where compassion is not just verbal, but structured.

One where the church does not merely celebrate what is easy to understand but learns how to carry what is harder to hold.

That, to me, looks a whole lot more like the heart of Christ.

And when we learn and truly live like that, I believe God will do more than we could ever ask or imagine.

“Here I am, Lord. All I have to give You is my heart and these empty hands.”

And really, that’s all He wants.