Since Carol was adopted herself, we never sweated too profusely not being able to have “our own” kids. We always knew we would adopt. And we struck pure gold with Laura, and then Yohannes. And, admittedly, after trying for a number of years, one grows reluctantly resigned to certain unalterable facts. There’s some anger there. Disappointment. A good amount of wondering. That pain dulls into a familiar appendage.

And then your daughter walks in from school one day distraught and in tears— not because she’s been laughed at or beat up; she’s giving up hope that God hears her prayers. She’s wanted a baby brother.—

And then your wife walks in one day after a particularly hard confrontation at school and declares that she’s healed...

Read Carol’s Story