Welcome to Man in the Gap, a podcast for foster, adoptive, and kinship dads — and the men who dare to stand in the messy middle. I’m Vance Acker, a husband, a father, and a man called to show up even when it’s hard.Here, we tell the unfiltered truth about fatherhood in the trenches of foster care — the doubts, the breakthroughs, and the quiet faith that keeps us going.Inspired by Ezekiel 22:30, this space is for the men who say, ‘Here I am, Lord — I’ll stand in the gap.’
It was bedtime. Everyone was tired.
And I lost my patience — not with a yell, but with cold silence.
I withdrew. Shut down emotionally.
And he knew it.
He felt the distance immediately.
That night, I sat …
People mean well, but sometimes their words sting:
What I wish more people understood is:
I’m not a s…
There was a day I slammed a door.
Not at a child — I had the presence of mind for that. But still, I slammed it.
I was mad. Frustrated. Completely drained.
He had destroyed something I cared about — aga…
Before foster care, I thought love was enough.
That it was soft, emotional, instinctive.
But then I met kids who didn’t trust it.
Who flinched at kindness. Who tested every boundary.
And I realized — lov…
I stood in the doorway as the caseworker buckled her into the car seat.
Her favorite stuffed animal was clutched in his hand.
She didn’t cry. I did — later.
I had prepared for this moment, at least I th…
No one tells you how fostering will press every button in your marriage.
It exposes cracks you didn’t know were there.
Different parenting styles. Different thresholds for stress. Different ways of pro…
I once spent 45 minutes in a hallway with a screaming child who refused to go to bed.
I tried every tool — soft voice, stern tone, logical explanation. Nothing worked.
I was exhausted and embarrassed —…
He said, “You’re not my real dad.”
And I get it — that’s not uncommon. But it still crushed me.
Not because it wasn’t true, but because behind those words was a wound I couldn’t reach.
What broke my hea…
I remember standing in the kitchen that night, hands on the counter, just staring at the floor.
My foster son had just slammed his bedroom door, again. And I was frozen — not angry, not sad, just… com…
I had this image in my head — a warm hug, maybe a shy smile, some kind of spark that told me, “This is your son.”
What actually happened was silence. A lot of silence.
And eyes that wouldn’t meet mine.
…