Most couples enter marriage with a simple dream get married, enjoy a few years together, and then have children. That was exactly our plan too. But God clearly had something different in mind for us.
Twelve years ago, I turned a corner at work and saw Kelsey sitting in the waiting area for an internship interview. The moment I saw her, I felt something I couldn’t explain. I greeted her, we talked briefly, and as soon as I walked away, I called my best friend and said, “I just met the girl I’m going to marry.”
A month later, Kelsey joined our team. Three months after that, we were engaged. Eight months later, we stood together at the altar in the spring of 2010, promising to build a life together. Everything felt so right.
Our plan was simple: enjoy the first two years of marriage, then start our family. We bought our first home, traveled, spent lazy weekends watching new shows, went on long drives, and truly enjoyed being together. When the time came to have children, we were filled with excitement and hope. But as months turned into a year with no positive test, worry slowly crept in.
After several doctor visits and countless tests, we were told that having children would be extremely difficult nearly impossible, actually. We tried two rounds of IUI with no success. Thankfully, my insurance covered IVF, so we poured everything into it our hope, our prayers, our emotions. Four rounds later, still nothing.
The first failure crushed us. I still remember Kelsey’s voice breaking over the phone when she told me the test was negative. I felt pain, but hers broke me more. She wanted to be a mom more than anything, and each failed attempt chipped away at that dream. Over time, sadness turned into numbness. We stopped crying when the tests came back negative we just stared at the results, quietly accepting that maybe parenthood wasn’t meant for us.
We began to adjust our dreams. Maybe we’d be the fun aunt and uncle, the couple who traveled the world, spoiled our dog, and lived a full life without children. We even made peace with that possibility until adoption came back into our hearts.
Some close friends had adopted, and their experiences inspired us. After years of uncertainty, we finally felt ready. We completed the paperwork, the interviews, the home study all of it. We were told to expect a long wait, maybe up to a year. But on the very first day our profile went live, we were shown a birth mother’s profile. We hesitated, unsure if we should jump in right away. But Kelsey said, “Why not? She probably won’t pick us anyway.”
The next morning, my phone rang. I stepped out of a dentist’s office and heard the words that changed everything: “She picked you.” I could barely breathe. After years of hearing “no,” finally finally someone said “yes.”
The months that followed were a whirlwind of preparation and faith. Friends, family, coworkers, and even strangers supported us through donations, prayers, and words of encouragement. Every act of kindness reminded us we weren’t alone. We even sold puzzle pieces to raise funds for the adoption each donor’s name written on the back of a piece that now hangs above our son’s crib.
A few months later, we got the call that our son’s birth mother was in labor. We packed in minutes and raced to the airport. Hours later, we held our son, Bennett, for the very first time. In that moment, years of heartbreak vanished. Every tear, every prayer, every disappointment had led to him. He was perfect.
Since then, our lives have been beautifully chaotic sleepless nights, baby giggles, first rolls, and tiny hands reaching for ours. We couldn’t be more grateful. Adoption changed everything.
Then, just when we thought our story was complete, we got another unexpected call: Bennett’s birth parents were expecting again and wanted us to adopt the new baby too. Without hesitation, we said yes. Siblings deserve to be together.
We started another puzzle fundraiser to help cover the costs, writing names on each piece just as before. One day, we’ll show our children the puzzles and tell them the story behind every piece the people who helped bring them home.
Adoption wasn’t the path we planned, but it was the path God wrote for us. As I sit here watching my son sleep, his tiny chest rising and falling, I’m overwhelmed with gratitude. Tomorrow, when he wakes up with that bright smile, I’ll hold him close and whisper how loved he is. Then I’ll look up at that puzzle above his bed a reminder that every piece of our story, even the painful ones, fit together perfectly.
