She didn’t wait for perfect circumstances or perfect approval, she followed a holy nudge, crossed an ocean, and met the little girl who had been hers all along. She’d always pictured herself as a mom. She babysat as a teen, nannied in college, and spent 18 years teaching kindergarten, tiny shoes, sticky hands, the whole joy. Adoption lived in her heart, but the price tag kept that dream on a high shelf. Then a friend invited her into a home business. It worked. For the first time, adoption felt possible. Her mom and sister cheered. Friends and coworkers did too. Her dad didn’t. “You’ll ruin your life.
A child needs a mother and a father. What man wants a single mom?” She answered quietly: “One parent is still better than none.” Then she stepped away from his negativity and kept going, sharing each milestone online as the community wrapped around her.
She met with agencies, asked hard questions, and listened to her gut. Domestic adoption worried her, birth moms can change their minds, and as a single woman she might wait longer. International felt clearer: children already legally free, fewer surprises. Which country would allow a single mother and one trip home together? China fit. In early October 2015 her caseworker, Sarah, handed over the forms. She planned to wait a month. Something inside said, “Do it now.” She submitted on October 9 and was approved days later.
Paperwork stacked up: home study, immigration approvals, fingerprints, a long checklist of possible special needs. As a teacher, she knew support systems and said yes to needs she understood. She set deadlines, raised funds (a shoe drive turned her town into a donation hub), painted a nursery, and stayed calm. “It’s God’s timing,” she told her caseworker, who always ended calls with prayer. Nine months in, she dreamed of a little girl with a bob haircut and chubby cheeks. On September 12, 2016, Sarah called during school, never happens. “We have a file for you.” The photo hit her like lightning: the dream face, right there. The report said the baby had been found at birth, wrapped in a blanket near a secondary school, and taken to a hospital. Her birth date was October 6, 2015, three days before that sudden nudge to file. She didn’t put the file “on hold.” She said, “She’s my daughter.”
Approvals flew. What should take weeks took days, months took weeks. Travel was set for late November. Her sister couldn’t come; her mom could. They landed in Kunming and met their guide, Jimmy. On “family day,” a van door slid open and caregivers stepped out with babies. Her daughter, now 13 months old, cried at first. She took her gently, rocked, whispered, and the crying softened. By afternoon the little girl was all dimples and curiosity. There were small shocks. A large blue-gray patch on her lower back looked like a bruise; clinic staff explained it was a Mongolian birthmark and would fade. At the orphanage visit, a caregiver grabbed the child too quickly and she panicked, kicking and wailing until she was back in her mother’s arms. She’d been on formula and rice porridge only; the next morning, mom offered fruit, yogurt, and muffins. With eight teeth, she ate like a champion and fell into a blissful nap.
Before they left, Jimmy handed her a folded cloth. It was the blanket the baby had been found in. She cried openly then, for the loss, for the courage of a birth mother who chose life, and for the gift of a daughter whose name had been set in her heart years ago: Kenlee, after her grandparents Ken and Betty Lee. Later she learned the name’s meaning: “king’s meadow.” The file had called the baby “Kori,” but this meadow child had always been Kenlee. Home was a blur of doctors’ visits, stool tests, and sighs of relief. No parasites, no delays, just an eager, healthy toddler. Nights were the hardest; China had been noisy; her room was quiet, so she ended up sleeping tucked against her mom. Years later, that’s still their favorite place.
People began to message her, single women who wanted to adopt but were scared. She told them what she wished someone had told her: you can do this. There will be naysayers. Let them talk while you keep moving. The right child will find you, often with timing that makes no sense until it does. She and her daughter take silly selfies, eat too many theme-park snacks, and say goodnight under the same blanket that once kept a newborn warm in a field. Every part of the journey, fundraisers, forms, prayers, and plane rides, led to this ordinary, extraordinary life.
