A Blessing Born Right on Time

Were they meant to be parents?

by - Posted on Nov 17, 2014

Close-up of a precious baby foot

“You’ve been approved!” There were no sweeter words our adoption case worker could have said to us that cold March day. For nearly a year, my husband, Femi, and I had been subject to interviews, training weekends, home studies, criminal checks and a whole lot of waiting in order to pass through the intensive process required by the Canadian government to adopt a child. The case worker wasn’t done talking, though. “The average wait for a baby could be two or three years, even more,” she said. “You might as well begin your biological family first.”

My excitement turned to despair. The case worker’s words had touched a nerve. Seven  months earlier, my first pregnancy had ended in a miscarriage. We’d been gleefully anticipating the April day when our first child would be born; we even picked out names to go with a boy or a girl. Miscarriages were common, I knew, but never thought it could happen to us. I had been shattered.

Femi and I had always wanted to adopt, to follow Christ’s command when he said “look after orphans in their distress.” We’d begun the adoption process even before I discovered I was pregnant. In the wake of our loss, Femi and I pressed forward with our application, while continuing to try to bring a baby into this world ourselves. All these months later, here we were, still waiting to hold a little boy or girl in our arms.

In the days following the case worker’s call, my mind was clouded by doubts. My husband reminded me, “God knows best and he will continue to direct our steps.” But what if God’s plan wasn’t our plan?

Ten days after the call, the case worker rang us again. “We’ve found the perfect match for your family,” she said.

Was it true? I listened calmly as she described the baby boy, where he’d come from, his health—trying not to get my hopes up prematurely. He sounded exactly like the child we’d always wanted. “What is his name?” I finally blurted out, as if it mattered at all.

“His name is Joshua,” she told me.

I started sobbing. “It’s all right,” the woman said, “You can always change his name.”

“It’s perfect,” I said, catching my breath. “It’s the name we had picked out for our first son.”

Joshua came home with us that April. Four years later, he’s the best big brother we could imagine to our three younger children. The family we were always meant to have.

Editor’s note:
November is National Adoption Month. This year’s initiative seeks to highlight the bonds between siblings that have been put up for adoption, and stress the importance of maintaining those relationships. To learn more, visit www.childwelfare.gov/adoption/nam.

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