The past year was one we will never remember. My husband and I were adopting our twin sons when the pandemic broke out, and then everything just ceased. Like so many households, we didn’t have a clue what tomorrow would be like. Then there were the protests, the unrest, the bare shelves at the grocery stores it seemed like the world was getting out of hand. Others around us began questioning our choice to adopt. “Are you sure that you are going to go through with this? ” they would ask. We are a Black family, and our twins are white.
But to us, that never registered they were already our boys.
I am Jennifer, and I am an early learning specialist and co-owner of a small childcare center. My husband, Harry, is a mechanic and the best father I know. Harry and I have been foster parents for fifteen years and have cared for more than thirty children. Some for only a few days, others for years, but all left their mark on our hearts.
We began this ministry tending to a relative’s child before we were even wed. When she finally returned home, we were devastated but realized we had a desire to continue serving. Soon after, we received a call about an eight-day-old infant girl. We already had two girls at that point one ten years old and one a baby still—but we said yes immediately. That “yes” became the beginning of our calling in life.
We currently have two biological daughters, aged twenty-one and eleven, and four adopted sons—ten, eight, and our three-year-old twins. Our house is warm, cluttered, and bursting with love. Adoption doesn’t erase the past or heal every hurt, but it provides children a second chance and a home where they’re loved for no reason at all. We were introduced to the twins when they arrived in our care temporarily. They were still in withdrawal, small and finicky, but full of life. We hadn’t had babies home for some time, so everybody was thrilled—until the screaming began! By the weekend’s end, we were spent, but we’d fallen in love. Then, a few days later, we received a call if we could take them long-term.
My husband initially said “no,” but then after a long stare between us, we both laughed—both of us knowing we’d already said yes in our hearts.
Welcoming them home suddenly made our family of four children six. It was crazy—beautiful, happy chaos. With assistance from our church and family, we survived sleepless nights and a never-ending number of diaper changes. The adoption process happened fast, and before we knew it, the twins were ours. Being a multiracial family wasn’t always simple. They gawk in public, hush at school functions, and occasionally even wonder aloud whether the children are actually ours. My husband was once at the park with the kids, and a woman believed he was attempting to abduct them because they did not resemble him. Situations like that sting, particularly when our children can overhear and sense it.
We always speak with them afterward, reminding them that different is beautiful and that love creates a family—not skin color.
Our kids are learning to advocate for themselves. Our older daughter, who was previously shy about discussing adoption, is now proud and bold when people ask questions. The boys are aware that they’re adopted, and as they get older, they’re coming to understand that their story is something to be proud of.
The happenings of last year pulled open many tough conversations within our home—conversations about race, about justice, and about kindness. We raise our children to understand that love is greater than hate, that it’s alright to notice color and still rejoice. We’re not a colorblind family—we’re a colorful family, painted by the hands of God Himself.
Our days aren’t so great. Some are boisterous, some serene, some just a mess. But at night, when we gather round to have pizza on Wednesdays or movie night on Saturdays, I scan the room at the faces of my children—each unique, each precious—and I know we made the best decision.
We might not appear to be any other family, but we’re evidence that love can create something amazing out of disorder. We refer to ourselves as “#Moore2luv,” because there’s always more room for love—and that’s precisely what our home is full of.
