Welcome
As we were out of town visiting Reach Church in Indiana, I had some time on the drive home to think about this week’s devotional. Over the last couple of weeks, God has been threading a story together. Two weeks ago, He spoke through a song — Spare Change by Brandon Lake — reminding me that He doesn’t deal in leftovers but pours out His mercy and grace in full. Last week, He showed us His abundance, the kind that multiplies loaves and fish and meets needs beyond what we could imagine.
And tonight, as I sat down to write, God began showing me pieces of our story that I don’t think I had ever put together before now. I honestly don’t know if I would have seen them apart from writing this devotional. But He is faithful like that — to bring things to the surface in His timing, to connect the dots of our story, and to remind us that every piece has always been held in His hands.
Honoring Bill Williams
This week, my heart has been tender as we honored the life of Bill Williams — WBIR Anchor Emeritus in Knoxville, Tennessee. Bill wasn’t just a familiar face on the evening news; he was a man of compassion, faith, and quiet strength who forever changed my life and the lives of more than a thousand children through his television program, Monday’s Child.
In 1980, Bill launched the program to give a voice to children in foster care who longed for a forever home. Week after week, he told the stories of boys and girls who had been overlooked, forgotten, or considered “hard to place.” And God used him as an instrument of provision. Because Bill said yes to compassion, families were formed, children were given hope, and the ripple effects are still being felt generations later.
As I wrote tonight, I realized something I had never fully pieced together before: what began with Bill Williams’ decision to shine a light on children like me became the very turning point of my life — the place where God’s provision stepped into our story in ways I could never have imagined.
Reflection
Every Monday, without fail, Fred Mundt was away at Lions Club. That was his rhythm, as steady as the clock. But on this one Monday — by nothing less than God’s divine intervention — he was home. Diane stood in the kitchen stirring pots on the stove, the sound of silverware clinking as their three children bustled in and out, waiting for supper. The evening news flickered in the next room, background noise to an ordinary family night. They were not my parents then — just a husband and wife with a full life and a full table, strangers to me and my siblings, watching a program called Monday’s Child.
And yet — only God could have orchestrated this. That Fred would be home on the one Monday he normally wasn’t. That Bill Williams chose our story to showcase as one of the first episodes of Monday’s Child. That the television would be on, at the right time, on the right day, in the right moment.
Looking back tonight, I see His fingerprints all over it. After watching that special episode of Monday’s Child, my mom turned to Fred and said the words that changed everything: “I think we can help those children.” And Fred agreed. They didn’t just feel moved in that moment — they took a huge step of faith and acted on it. The very next day, they called the number to inquire about us. That call was their obedience to God, their way of walking out the yes they had spoken the night before. It was a yes that would change not only our lives, but theirs, forever.
In that moment, they said yes to God — and our lives changed in an instant. It was Philippians 4:19 in living color: “And my God shall supply all your need according to His riches in glory by Christ Jesus.” That night, God saw the need of five children scattered across foster homes — and He provided a family.
What I don’t think anyone fully understood at the time was how deeply we loved the homes we were already in. My brother said something this week, on the way to Bill Williams’ visitation, that I don’t think I had ever heard before: “I loved my foster home too.” His words stopped me, because they echoed exactly what I carried in my own heart.
I couldn’t imagine walking up the holler from the bus drop-off and not seeing my foster mom waiting on the porch, or hearing her call my name, or knowing supper was waiting inside. I couldn’t imagine the nights without the familiar rhythm of being tucked into bed at dark, only to wake before dawn to the same steady patterns of life. That house was more than walls and a roof — it was my sanctuary. For the first time in my young life, I felt safe. Protected. Cared for.
And my siblings felt the same. Each of us, scattered in different homes, had finally found a sense of belonging after years of trauma and loss. We wanted to be together — oh, how we longed for that — but we didn’t want to lose the families who had taken us in, the people who had loved us like their own. At twelve years old, that tension felt unbearable. My heart was torn in two: one half clinging desperately to the home I already knew, and the other half aching for the brothers and sisters I longed to be with again.
Looking back, I see now that even our foster families were part of God’s provision. He gave us love and safety in places where we had once only known fear. Those homes became the stepping stones that carried us to the family He had waiting, the ones who would gather us all under one roof.
When I watch the old video clip that aired on television, I see my 12-year-old self, and it’s almost too painful to bear. I wish I could step back into that moment, wrap her in my arms, and tell her, “It’s going to be okay.” I wish I could whisper that the love she shared with her foster mom would never be taken away. That Fred and Diane would make sure those bonds were honored and kept alive. That the love she carried would last a lifetime.
Because I can still remember it — the way my foster mom held my hand, brushed my hair, corrected me when I needed it, and gently led me back to bed when nightmares caused me to wander in my sleep. She was a shelter in the middle of my storm, a steady presence who gave me what trauma had stolen: safety, nurture, and care. For all the damage done in those early years, she was one of God’s ways of showing me healing. That kind of love leaves a legacy, and it never leaves you.
The psalmist wrote, “When my father and my mother forsake me, then the Lord will take care of me” (Psalm 27:10 NKJV). We lived that verse. God used foster parents to protect us, Bill Williams to give us a voice, and Fred and Diane to welcome us home. His provision was not abstract — it was personal, tangible, and life-changing.
I realize now — even though it still feels almost abnormal to me — that not just everyone has the ability to love other people’s children as though they were their own blood. But my parents did. They feel that way about all of us — our children, their children, our spouses, and even our spouses’ children. Every one of us has been grafted into the Mundt family line.
Living this story out was never easy — not by any stretch of the imagination. The road was often difficult, the process was messy, and even now, as adults, we still have things to work through. But through every hardship, somehow God provided. What started with one man’s decision to create a news show to showcase hard-to-place children, and one husband and wife’s yes to six children — five at once, and later my best friend from foster care when she was a teenager, simply because they were asked — has created ripples that keep reaching further than any of us can measure. And along the way, God wove in one more — a brother who was never legally adopted but has always been one of us. Papers never made it official, but love did. He has been, and always will be, part of our family’s story.
The Legacy Connection
And those ripples continue. Through us. Through our children. Through their children. Through our spouses, and even our spouses’ children. Each life touched becomes part of a legacy — one that began with a simple yes and has been multiplied through generations. This is the love of Christ flowing outward. Because we were loved, we now love. Because we were welcomed, we now welcome. Because we were grafted in, we now extend branches wide for others to belong.
And maybe that’s the part I never saw so clearly until tonight: that our story isn’t just about what happened in 1980. It’s about what is still happening. Every act of love, every choice to forgive, every moment of grace in our family tree is another ripple of God’s provision.
Because we were grafted into a family on earth, we can understand more deeply what it means to be grafted into the family of God: “And you, being a wild olive tree, were grafted in among them, and with them became a partaker of the root and fatness of the olive tree” (Romans 11:17 NKJV).
In biblical times, grafting was an agricultural practice where a branch from one tree was carefully cut and bound into another tree so that it would share in the life of the root. Over time, the grafted branch would be nourished by the same sap, strengthened by the same root system, and bear fruit as though it had always belonged there.
That’s what Paul wanted us to see: we weren’t naturally born into God’s family line, but through Christ, we have been grafted in. His root now sustains us. His Spirit now flows through us. His inheritance now belongs to us. When God grafts us in, we don’t remain outsiders looking in — we become fully part of the tree of life He is growing.
And just as Fred and Diane’s yes made us part of their family story — their name became ours, their history became ours, their legacy became ours — so Christ has done with us. To be grafted is to belong, to be nourished, and to bear fruit from the same source of life. And this legacy doesn’t stop with us; it flows through our children, their children, our spouses, and even our spouses’ children — generations who now share in the same root of love and provision.
His story became ours. His name became our identity. And His provision became our forever blessing. And the same is true for you — His legacy of love is still being written in your story, too.
Journaling Prompts
- Where has God asked us to leave what was safe to step into something greater?
- What does it mean for our family and our generations to be grafted into the family of God?
- How can we carry forward the legacy of love we’ve received so it ripples into others’ lives?
- In what ways do we see Christ’s life, Spirit, and inheritance flowing through us because we’ve been grafted into Him?
Prayer
Lord, thank You for the people You placed in our lives at just the right time — foster parents who gave us love and safety, Bill Williams who gave us a voice, and Fred and Diane who said yes to Your call. Thank You for grafting us into a family on earth, and grafting us into Your family forever. Help us to walk in that legacy, to love with the same fullness we have been loved, and to trust that Your provision will ripple far beyond what we can see.
Closing Thought
God’s provision doesn’t erase the past — it redeems it. The sanctuary we once knew in our foster homes, the ache of leaving them, the yes of two strangers, and the ripple of one man’s compassion — all of it has become part of His greater story. Because of our foster families, we first learned safety and care. Because of Bill Williams, a door was opened. Because of Fred and Diane, our adopted parents, we found a forever home. And because of God, we found a forever love.
And today, I give thanks for Bill Williams, WBIR Anchor Emeritus, whose simple yes to telling children’s stories became the spark that changed not only our lives, but the lives of thousands. And I give thanks for Fred and Diane, whose willingness and obedience to God turned that spark into a blazing testimony of love. Their legacy — alongside the love of our foster families — reminds us that one act of obedience can ripple into eternity, shaping not only a single moment in time but the generations that follow.
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