“Ok, Adventurer, time to change into your pajamas. Would you like to take your bag into your bedroom or the bathroom to change?”
“The blanket fort.”
So I got a snack and drink ready while she changed, a drink in one of the various cartoon themed cups I just happened to pick up the evening before yesterday’s call that she’d be dropped off today.
“What?!” she squealed on her way into the kitchen, pointing at the cup.
“Look at that, it matches your pajamas perfectly (just as surprised and delighted as she was).”
And just like that, a silly little clearance rack cup calmed her bed time nerves and set a positive tone of comfort and belonging for what we had all anticipated would be the hardest part of day one.
It’s a relatively small example of an evident theme running through these days: A loving God who shines hope into darkness draws my attention to what’s important, “These children are mine.”
“Yours,” my humbled heart replies.
We’ve prayed for this, my dear ones and I, that this home would be ready to care for the right child at the right time always, that though rapidly drastically changing it would never not be deeply personal.
He hears. He delights. He answers well.