Small feet shuffle across the hallway in the middle of the night. A thickly accented voice whispers, “Mommy”. I pull back the covers and let him crawl in. I snuggle him close and listen as his breathing turns to soft snores. I know that he knows he is HOME.

Our story was so very different from what is typical. My birthing room was void of the usual bright lights and sterile equipment that had been there during my other four. There were no soft blankets or a bassinet waiting. That moment belonged to another. I did not nurse him in the middle of the night or spend hours rocking him to sleep. It is not I that holds memories of his toddler hood accomplishments of learning to walk and potty training. I was not even there to witness his first day of school or the loss of his first tooth.




And so, we work hard these days to win back lost moments.  We are thick into the redemption process, and the one I am seeing who is being redeemed the most is me.  We are training little hearts who were once strangers to become brothers.  Children born with selfish natures and years spent apart, melded together now working to become a family.  I spend late nights praying HIS Word over sleeping forms, asking the Redeemer to redeem these little hearts and lives and make them His.  And I see myself, not so far removed from them, still far less in HIS likeness as I should be, and as I pray over them, I ask my Father to continue this redemption process in this heart.

And I know He will.  He Who adopted me, and called me His, He loves adoption.  I am so glad I get to be a part the process.



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