One sunny afternoon, my younger son and I were driving home from his grandparents’ house, and we were chatting about the relatives we had seen.
He was commenting on how tall a few of his cousins are—and I agreed.
“That’s because Uncle Ricky is tall,” I said. “I’m not as tall as he is, so that might be why you’re not that tall.”
We both fell silent for a minute. Then he said, “Um…Mom?”
I realized what he meant, and we both burst out laughing. Because of course, my height has absolutely nothing to do with his height. My husband and I adopted this child when he was a toddler in China. I can take credit for feeding him many meals and helping him grow, but we have no genetic link.
I know this. He knows this. But, every once in a while, just for a moment, my heart pushes my brain out of the way, and I forget that this amazing child and I aren’t biologically connected.
He is my son. Without question, without explanation, without parameters. He is my son, and I am his mother. Today, tomorrow, and forever.
Biology doesn’t make a family. You don’t have to give birth to a child to be his mother. Genetic links don’t matter more than the love of a family.
It’s one of the great wonders of adoption. Nothing is bigger than love. As St. Paul tells us in that marvelous letter to the Corinthians, “It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.”
During the month of November, we celebrate National Adoption Month. Adoption is truly an extraordinary gift. My husband and I would not be parents without adoption—and we would not be parents to these two boys, who were born on the other side of the world and whose lives are now forever woven into ours.
We weren’t part of our children’s stories at the beginning, and we hold those stories close with reverence and love and gratitude. We pray for all those who cared for our children before they were placed in our arms. Adoption stories are full of grief and loss, but they’re also full of love and connection and joy.
Since the days we met our sons, so many people have loved them—extended family and friends and childcare providers and teachers and sitters. These extraordinary young men are not ours alone. They never were. They were never meant to be. They belong to God, and He’s letting us walk this part of their journey with them.
What an extraordinary honor and blessing.
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