When Broken Roots Yield Sacred Fruit

In the garden of human experience, some seeds must first endure darkness before their blooms can transform the landscape. Carmen's life embodies this paradox—a testimony to how the deepest wounds can become wellsprings of extraordinary purpose when surrendered to something greater than oneself.

Growing up immersed in complex trauma, Carmen's childhood was not marked by single traumatic incidents but by years of relational damage that created complex layers of hurt. This form of trauma carried unique challenges; when harm comes from those meant to protect you, safety becomes an elusive concept. Carmen learned that entering safe spaces later in life meant confronting the ever-present fear that history would repeat itself—that connection itself was dangerous.

The addiction that surrounded her in those formative years left its mark, shaping her understanding of brokenness from the inside out. When Carmen became a Christian, her background naturally oriented her heart toward those society often overlooks—the marginalized, the unseen, those suffering in silence whom she instinctively recognized as kindred spirits.

About ten years into her faith journey, Carmen and her husband encountered a painful roadblock that reopened old wounds: infertility. Her body, still carrying the physiological imprints of childhood trauma, couldn't conceive. This compounded her earlier pain, creating what she describes as "feeling like my body was failing me." The longing for a child seemed an unanswerable ache.

It was in this valley that divine intervention reshaped her story. During prayer, Carmen experienced what she could only describe as supernatural—God lifting the burden of her maternal longing and replacing it with something unexpected. "The Lord said, 'I'm going to take that pain from you,'" she recalls, "‘and I'm going to replace it with a love for children that are not from your womb, but they will be as if they are.’"

When their church began encouraging families to consider foster care, Carmen and her husband recognized the seeds God had already planted in their hearts. What seemed at first like merely the miracle of emotional healing—taking away her ache for biological motherhood—revealed itself as something far greater: a vision for the future.

They stepped into the foster care system with hope, only to discover a reality darker than they had imagined. "It's dark, it's messy," Carmen explains. "There's a lack of proper resources for foster families as well as for birth families, which sets everyone up for failure." Though she acknowledges there are good people working within the system, the infrastructure itself is fundamentally flawed—"failing people, failing kids, causing more harm, causing more trauma."

Carmen's nature wouldn't let her accept surface-level problems. "I'm a root cause person," she shares. "If I see something on the surface that's not right, I’m going to ask why and want to dig deeper to find the reason so the problem can be resolved." The brokenness she witnessed demanded more than passive acceptance.

Their first foster placement was a two-month old baby boy. What followed was a four-year journey to adoption, during which the foster son reunified with his birth family twice. Carmen and her husband supported these reunifications despite the heart-wrenching pain it caused them. "We love these kids like they're our own," Carmen shares, revealing the emotional investment foster parents make despite uncertain outcomes. 

They remained engaged with the birth family throughout, but addiction proved too powerful an obstacle for both mom and dad to overcome. The available support programs— "three-month drug programs"—proved woefully inadequate for the depth of healing required. Having experienced her own trauma and witnessing the cycle of relapse firsthand with this family, Carmen knew that addiction and trauma recovery demands much more than brief interventions. The system's approach failed to address the root causes or provide the consistent, long-term support necessary for sustainable change.

"You need long-term care," Carmen insists. "You really need someone guiding you through healing and supporting you as you navigate the challenges that come with child separation." The journey toward healing isn't linear or quick—it requires ongoing guidance, accountability, and compassionate presence through each setback and victory.

"Three months is not going to do it," she adds, highlighting how these abbreviated programs set families up for failure rather than success. Without comprehensive support addressing both addiction and the underlying trauma, the cycle of separation and reunification continues, leaving children caught in an emotional pendulum between hope and disappointment.

The fostering experience stirred up Carmen's own unresolved trauma in unexpected ways. She says, "If people are going to foster, they need to know God called them to it. It’s going to draw everything that's hidden in you out. And then you’re left with a choice— let God heal it or perpetuate the problem.”

Carmen reflects, "God used foster care to help me heal in places I didn't know I still had buried, but He also helped me heal so that I could walk these kids through their story of loss." Her hard-earned wisdom revealed a significant truth: "Kids are only resilient when they have true presence, connection, and safety on the other side."

Eventually, Carmen and her husband welcomed three more boys into their family. All four children are now flourishing—"beautiful, powerful, and called," as Carmen describes them with unmistakable maternal pride.

From these deeply personal experiences emerged a vision for a nonprofit called Thousand Oaks, named after Isaiah 61:3 about being "oaks of righteousness displaying splendor." Carmen envisions thousands of lives being restored through holistic family healing.

Carmen’s approach unfolds in phases. First, she'll serve as a mediator, providing resources, curriculum, training, and wrap-around support for families experiencing separation. "Community so that they're not alone," she emphasizes. Carmen will organize events for families to connect "organically, but also with intention."

What makes Carmen's vision revolutionary is its focus on complete family restoration. When possible, children reunite with healed birth families, but the care families who supported them during crisis don't disappear—they become extended family.

"Maybe there is adoption," Carmen explains, "but maybe there is family reconciliation, which is even better. But then the family that cares for those kids during that time of trouble now are integrated as part of that family. And it's a holistic look of what it can be. Those children don't lose anyone in that. They gain family."

The second phase involves acquiring land. Carmen wants to create sacred spaces for family visitations—not McDonald's restaurants or sterile government offices, but "holy ground that's been prayed over" where families can build relationships. Her goal is to provide the healthy family dynamic that many birth families lack because they usually "don’t have family or anyone they can count on."

Carmen stands at the edge of her vision with the wisdom of one who understands that planting trees is an act of faith in a future you may never see. "I know that there are things that I've seen in the dream that I may or may not see the fulfillment of with my hands on it. It may have to be a full transfer over to them," she says of her sons, the very children once considered "placements" who will now become the torchbearers as Thousand Oaks becomes their inheritance, a living testament that will continue growing long after its planter has gone. "But God knew all of that when he called us to foster care." 

In Thousand Oaks, the full circle of redemption takes magnificent form—a thousand points of light growing from a thousand points of darkness, each story of restoration echoing her own. Carmen's journey has revealed the alchemy that transforms suffering into service. "Part of our story, as painful as it is, will get us to the place of empathy and depth that we need for our season," she says. The trauma that threatened to define her became instead the very soil from which her purpose grew. Nothing is wasted in the economy of grace.