Adoption is such a wide-ranging topic, and no two journeys look the same. Our family has learned to appreciate people who understand that curiosity about adoption isn’t something explained in a quick conversation. It deserves time, sensitivity, and grace. And while our son’s full story belongs first to him, most people aren’t asking about private details — they’re curious about adoption itself and how our family came together.
I always welcome opportunities to share this mixture of joy, challenge, growth, and constant learning.
After Adam and I married in 2005, we waited seven years before deciding to grow our family. It wasn’t happening naturally, and it felt nothing like the plan we once imagined. We were treated by compassionate doctors who had helped many couples conceive, yet every attempt failed. The loss was indescribable — emotionally draining and deeply lonely — and it became one of the hardest seasons of my life.
Through it all, our marriage somehow strengthened. We leaned on each other and, even when it felt difficult, we leaned on God. Adam’s gentle patience steadied me through the roller-coaster conversations and heartbreak that infertility brings. Eventually, after multiple procedures and exhaustion settling into my bones, we chose to stop pursuing IVF. People sometimes assume adoption was our “backup plan,” but that isn’t true. We had always hoped to adopt — we just assumed it would come after biological children. Life rarely follows the script we write; God had a different story unfolding.
When adoption agencies didn’t feel right, we took a step of faith and enrolled in Florida’s foster/adoption classes. We started in February 2012, attending twice a week, learning about the system, the needs of children, and what parenting them would require. We began with a long list of “preferences” — under two, and ideally a child who looked like us. It sounds shallow now, but at the time we had a picture in our minds of what our future family might resemble. Those lists disappeared the moment we met our son.
Only four months later, we received information about a 4-year-old boy named George — along with his photo. Our hearts knew immediately. Soon after, we learned we had been chosen. The call filled me with disbelief, joy, and nerves all at once. Meeting him for the first time was unforgettable — we tried so hard to be “fun parents” that Adam went home with a scratched eye and I had burns from flying down the slide. We still laugh about it. People warned us to be cautious, to study his history, to remember that a 4-year-old might come with trauma. The hesitation was real — but love spoke louder. We knew he was meant to be ours.
Adoption has truly been a sacred journey — full of unknowns, sacrifice, and surprising kindness. Bringing George into our family reminded us of God’s power and love, and of His ability to write stories far better than ours. Adoption became a gift — God choosing us for George, and George for us — turning something once out of reach into reality.
Yet that gift has also been incredibly hard. Adoption stretches the heart in painful ways. There are days George resists us, and I am reminded how deeply God loves us even when we resist Him. The gospel is woven into adoption, and we want to live that truth faithfully — especially on the tough days.
At the same time, adoption is indescribably good. Watching George laugh with his siblings, seek comfort, or show love reminds us exactly why we chose this path — not because it’s easy or heroic, but because it matters. A little boy needed parents. Over the years we’ve had beautiful days and deeply difficult ones, and we are held up by Christ, Scripture, and the support of loved ones. That truly is enough.
Do we love George fully? Absolutely. Are we thankful? Completely. Has the road been simple? Not at all. Parenting — adopted or biological — brings struggle. But meaningful relationships always require effort, grace, and perseverance. And God continues to give us that grace.
We also recognize that George carries wounds we cannot erase — the loss of his first family, the reality of parents who don’t look like him, the emotional weight of two histories merging. We won’t hide his story or pretend the pain doesn’t exist. Instead, we will walk beside him, point him to Jesus, seek help when needed, apologize when we fail, and create a home where he is known and safe. We trust God’s plans for him, and we feel honored to watch them unfold.
I hope this offers encouragement. God didn’t adopt you by accident — just as He didn’t place George with us by chance. Of all the ways He could relate to us, He chose family. He heals grief, repairs broken stories, and brings redemption where there once was fear.
If you’re facing uncertainty, I believe peace can still be found. God meets us in our battles, heartbreaks, and dreams — and He is glorified simply through our trying and loving. Adoption is layered. It begins with loss and complexity, but over time, beauty slowly unwraps itself — right when it’s meant to.
