Seven years ago, right around this same time, I stood, holding Bob’s hand, Aidan kicking in my stomach, and stared at the stern, older gentleman behind the desk and dais in front of us.
His position in the room was raised to help indicate his position in the building – for he was a judge…the judge, to us. Our papers lay in front of him as he weighed the final decision in the case, and then his words came, directed to the husband at my side.
“This adoption is done now. It’s final. And you… [he waved the gavel in Bob’s general direction] I have words for you. You didn’t have to do this, but you did it anyway and I want you to know that you’re a man of exemplary character.” And then, turning to me, he made sure I had heard the words that Bob has jokingly said should be framed ever since – “You know that, don’t you?”
Bob had taken the daughter born into my arms alone and made her the apple of his eye and his firstborn with a knit beauty that surpasses even blood and DNA. And now, seven years later, it’s so strange to write those words because it’s as if he has always been her father – in fact, I believe he was destined to be that person for her.
And forever, there’s this living, breathing picture of adoption – one person to another saying…
“I don’t care where you came from or what you bring with you, but I LOVE YOU, and what’s more, I want you to be with me forever and I’m giving you my name.”
“For everything comes from Him and exists by His power and is intended for His glory. All glory to him forever! Amen.” Romans 11:36
Moment by moment.
