These aren’t my words. But, they are the words of someone who has become very dear to me. They are the words of the very special person who opened our daughter’s file, quickly typed in our names, and clicked a button, changing our lives forever. This very special person announced yesterday that she will be resigning her position as Adoption Director at our adoption agency at the end of this month so that she can stay at home with her toddler son. But, before she leaves, I’d really like to give her a very special gift–one very special match.

Please read and share this link. This Christmas, we want to see [Bo’s] family say yes to bringing him home.

Working in the field of adoption, I have read countless heartbreaking stories of the injustices children are forced to endure. Sometimes, I have to remind myself that each “referral,” each “document,” each “jpeg,” is a child. An actual child. Waiting. Is it easy to forget this fact after opening 3000+ attachments? Yes. Until God sends one of these “files” my way that forces me to take pause. To remember. This day, God sent [Bo] to me.

On an insignificant Tuesday, while searching the list of over 1,600 waiting children, I came across a birth date. A date that is so engrained in my heart, it immediately forced me to open this “file” to meet this “referral.” August 13, 2010. The day I gave birth to my first child, Murphy. One of the happiest days of my life. One of the most nerve-wracking days of my life. On August 13, 2010, I was happy-excited-nervous-scared-in pain-full of joy-exhausted. And, across the world, on August 13, 2010, I know [Bo’s] mother shared these same feelings. Though, her day ended much differently than mine.

I spent the night waking when Murphy woke. Doing my best to feed my baby, change my baby, and cater to his every need. I called the nurse many times throughout the night. Am I doing this right? Is he eating enough? My husband was right there with me, getting me water, cradling our new angel. It was hot and humid outside, and I was cool and comfortable in the hospital. I had all of the supports I could need. And after very little sleep, I awoke on August 14, 2010 to my beautiful baby boy.

On August 14, 2010, at not even 1 day old, [Bo] was on his own. Alone. During the night, after realizing that she could not provide the medical care her baby would need, [Bo’s] mother made the heartbreaking decision to give him a chance at life. Her only option was to leave him outside of an apartment building and hope that a good Samaritan would find him and take him to safety.

I think back to those first few days following Murphy’s birth. He had jaundice. They heard a heart murmur. I was a wreck. But, Murphy also had doctors, nurses, and state of the art medical equipment to care for him–not to mention a mother, father, and countless other people who already loved him and doted on him. Now, I find that I cannot stop thinking about [Bo] on those few days following his birth. The same exact days that Murphy and I experienced. But, [Bo] did not have doctors. He did not have nurses. He had no one.

God sent [Bo] to me. Murphy’s twin, in a way. [Bo] reminded me that each birth date, each “referral,” each “document,” each “jpeg,” are all Murphys–all children of God who deserve the love and support of a family.

Could you be [Bo’s] family?

In July, my husband and I traveled to China to serve with Bring Me Hope to provide a camp experience for orphans. As prepared as you think you are with packing lists and immunizations and reading all you can beforehand, I wasn’t at all prepared for what God had in store for me.

My heart was broken. My heart was broken over each one of those children He brought to that camp. Broken.

During my second week in Xi’an, I had the tremendous blessing of spending 5 days with a sweet little boy [David]. I’ll never forget seeing him for the first time. He immediately reached for my hand and held it with a tight grip. He didn’t want to let me go. I noticed right away that he had some difficulty walking. And, as we walked to the edge of the room together to play, I became more aware of the trouble he had walking. As I walked easily in stride, I could feel his body shift from left to right as we walked hand in hand. He has scoliosis. I imagine that the years of little to no treatment and no family to help him get what he needs has contributed to his rhythmic gait.

But, his spirit is so bright. He smiled up at me with an excited grin and told our translator he was excited to come to camp. Every few minutes, he would shift his entire body to turn and smile at my translator and me. I remember consciously noticing what a beautiful smile he had.

That first afternoon, we played badminton until we could play no more. And, he laughed and played with joy despite the differences in how God formed his shape.

When I think about [David], I think first of his sweet spirit–quick to listen, eager to try new things and soak every bit out of camp that he could. He had two close buddies at camp. They all lived in the orphanage together, and it was very easy to tell that they were best buds, three peas in a pod. It occurred to me that they were probably the closest thing he has to a family, the closest thing he has experienced of what it feels like to belong.

He was made paper ready, made available for international adoption when he was only 5 years old.

He just turned 8.

And, for nearly 3 years, he has waited, paper ready to be adopted.

[David] seemed most happy when he was beside his two best friends. I couldn’t help but picture him home with a family, HIS family, and how happy he would be, how much potential he has, how much he’d grow and thrive. And, how tightly he’d hold the hand of his mother and father.