I enter the little pink playhouse at the edge of the playground. The summer breeze drifts lightly through the air and sunlight spills through the windows. Here I am, surrounded by three of my favorite girls in the entire world. Malaisa is nine years old and Kim and Reondre are both eight. Kim reaches for a doll in a crib.

"Let's play house!" She suggests excitedly.

I beam at her. My mind flashes back to summer days when I was eight years old. My sister and I could have played with dolls for hours.

Reondre takes the baby and rocks it gently. "Shhhhh, it's okay. You're safe here."

I snap out of my image of happy eight year old days as her words register in my mind.

Malaisa smiles with excitement and takes another doll from the crib. "Here's another baby!"

Kim takes charge, her blue eyes sparkling and her mind brimming with ideas. She steps out on the porch of the pink playhouse, holds a doll up with one hand, and calls "Child for sale!".

I step out on the porch. "Hey now, Kim! We can't sell the baby! We have to take care of it!"

Kim turns to me and shakes her head. "No, we're taking care of the baby! But we're just a temporary home. We take kids who don't have nobody until we can find a family for them."

I start to realize what this is about. "You mean," I ask slowly, "Like foster care?".

The other girls join us on the porch. "Yeah! We'll call it Jerusha Care!" They place the dolls in my arms. "And we'll make sure they're safe until they get real families."

For the next half hour, we brushed the hair and changed the clothing of the dolls. We cooked them food and sang them to sleep.

And as Reondre pats the doll on the back and whispers that it will be okay, I wonder if she's really saying it to herself. Because Reondre doesn't have a mom or a dad. Her parents are in prison and she lives with her aunt.

I wonder if Kim is remembering that, just like this doll she is holding, there might come a day when she has a real family. There might come a day when she's not shuffled from home to home like an inconvenience.

And I wonder if the pretend plastic feast Malaisa has prepared for dinner reflects her own deep fear of going hungry. Malaisa is one of the 15.8 million children who comes from a food insecure household.

I look at my watch and realize that it's time for dinner. "Come on, girls! Time to close up Jerusha Care! We're gonna go get some food!".

The girls gently tuck their dolls back in the cribs before they scramble onto the porch of the pink playhouse. I shut the door and smile at my girls. I hoist Reondre on my back as Kim and Malaisa take my hands. As the last rays of summer light dance across the playground, we turn towards the dining hall.

And as I sing my girls to sleep that night, I whisper an extra prayer over them. Kim, Malaisa, and Reondre: Please never forget how to be compassionate. Never forget to love. I look into your eyes and I see the future. You are here for a purpose. Don't ever forget how to be a family to those without a family.