Sometimes family doesn’t arrive as planned; it comes when you say yes. They married in September 2016, dreaming of a noisy, whole house. They thought children would come easily; instead, the tests were negative month after month. As their friends planned playdates and compared nap schedules, they felt themselves sliding to the edges of conversations, and sometimes to the edges of their own families.
At church, they were the only married couple without kids; it was a lonely season. They chased anyway. They drove four hours, again and again, to see one specialist, then flew to Texas to see another. Years passed with no explanation, just the label “unexplained infertility,” the one nobody knew how to fix. Eventually, they stepped away from doctors and needles and let their hearts heal. They prayed, slowly, and peace replaced the ache. In May 2021, both felt the same precise nudge: consider adoption. It wasn’t a fallback; it felt like the path they had been prepared for.
Those five years had taught them patience, grit, and how to keep showing up, precisely what an adoption journey demands. They compared public and private routes and chose private adoption, which fit their state’s system even though the price tag, around $40-50k, was staggering. They prayed again, applied for an interest-free loan, and planned a fundraiser. On May 22, their chosen agency accepted them within hours. Then came the mountain of tasks: background checks, medicals, training, home studies, photos, profiles. They were warned that most families wait a year or two to be picked. They braced themselves for the long haul.
Nine weeks later, on February 3, the phone rang, and a birth mom had chosen them. The baby, a tiny boy, was ready to leave the hospital that day. Her husband was stuck in a meeting. She stuffed clothes into a suitcase, reached him at last, and they hit the road. The attorneys urged her husband to explain why they were there, and strangers waved them to the front.
At the hospital, papers were signed and details shared. Their son had been born a few days earlier at 4 pounds, 5 ounces, small but strong. In the NICU, behind a curtain, they met him. His birth mother held him and cried; they hugged and cried with her, honoring the courage and love it takes to place a child. Soon, they were cradling him too. He fit as if their arms had been waiting for him all along. They named him Robert. The following days were tender and tense. The birth mom had 96 hours to change her mind, so they focused on loving Robert and letting the rest be. He weaned off oxygen, then took more from the bottle than the feeding tube.
Discharge came far sooner than expected. They had no baby gear, so they dashed to a store for the basics, learned infant CPR, and watched him pass his car seat test. With temporary custody granted, they stayed with relatives while both states’ paperwork cleared. Two weeks after leaving home with almost nothing, they returned as a family of three. Two months later, the adoption was final. To celebrate, they planted a tree that will grow as he does. Before Robert, they had quietly wondered whether they’d love an adopted child the same way. That question was gone. Their love was complete and ordinary in the best way: diapers, midnight feeds, and a thousand small joys.
Robert, eight months old, was thriving, all dimples and sunshine. They were honest about the cost; it keeps many good families from adopting. They hope grants, loans, and policy changes can make adoption more accessible, lower fees, and lighter legal costs, and provide more support. They point to creative ways to raise funds, such as yard sales, car washes, T-shirts, food drives, and auctions, and to the conviction that doors open when a child is meant to be yours.
People ask how they knew they were ready. Their answer was simple: peace and a willing yes. When the yes arrived, not saying it would have been harder. They feel called to adopt again, maybe every other year if they could manage it. Looking back, they even notice how the timing of that first strong nudge lined up with Robert’s conception. It feels less like change and more like grace.
