Day 13: I LOVE Adoption
I know that goes without saying...obviously. But you see, 6 years ago today Billy and I were at home and childless. We did not know who God would bring to us but we knew it would be through the foster care system. That afternoon, I got a phone call about a little brown skinned toddler who desperately needed adoptive parents.
It was our dream come true. We waited 3 days to meet him.
He came home on February 6th.
He was scared.
We were scared.
He had so many physical and emotional needs.
He had the worst diaper rash I have ever in my life seen. He was emaciated.
He needed a mother so very badly.
And he didn't know that I needed so very badly to be someone's mother.
I still can feel what that ache in my soul felt like.
But God knew. He knew us both.
He knit our hearts together that day when my son came home.

Once upon a time, my child had two names.
The one given to him at birth and the one we gave him when he came home.
But today, he is simply...Isaac.
The name he will be for the rest of his life.
This weekend we will celebrate him.
We will celebrate the day we became Mommy and Daddy.
We will celebrate the journey our Lord has brought us on...6 years and 4 kids later.
The one given to him at birth and the one we gave him when he came home.
But today, he is simply...Isaac.
The name he will be for the rest of his life.
This weekend we will celebrate him.
We will celebrate the day we became Mommy and Daddy.
We will celebrate the journey our Lord has brought us on...6 years and 4 kids later.
I end with a poem I once posted...I am not sure what the title is, but it has a lot of meaning to me:
A baby is placed in a well-woven basket
It moves with the current
carrying its little fruit
from one woman to another
who plucks the bundle from the stream,
whose arms are ready to tend,
whose body has remained empty
of what she is in need of carrying.
I stand at the river that brought my son,
and think of the woman upstream.
How she could-in the middle of hardship
and loss-trust a basket, water,
that a person would find her child,
lift him up, raise him for many years
the descendant of two mothers,
each who labored,
each who was faithful
to the river.
-Margaret Hasse
carrying its little fruit
from one woman to another
who plucks the bundle from the stream,
whose arms are ready to tend,
whose body has remained empty
of what she is in need of carrying.
I stand at the river that brought my son,
and think of the woman upstream.
How she could-in the middle of hardship
and loss-trust a basket, water,
that a person would find her child,
lift him up, raise him for many years
the descendant of two mothers,
each who labored,
each who was faithful
to the river.
-Margaret Hasse








