Little miracles

I’ve always been a fan of coincidences.

When I was at youth camp the summer after 9th grade, an older woman came to pray and talk with me after a service. After about 20 minutes, we discovered that my grandparents got engaged on the lawn in front of the home she and her husband owned.

When I arrived onto the campus of SAGU, I didn’t think I knew a soul. There were only 3 students on campus from Illinois, and one happened to be an old friend from Illinois youth camp. I wasn’t alone after all.

I’ve learned, though, that coincidences are far from accidental. It’s these little, seemingly minute connections throughout the 80+ years we live that make life LIFE.

So, when I look back at the phone call I received this past June about three children needing a foster placement, I know it was no coincidence.

It was no coincidence that I happened to have only 3 spots available in my home.

Or that their ages fit perfectly into the ages of my biological children.

Or that last fall, when they were being placed with a family member, my home was full.

On February 4, 2013, we finalized the adoption of our 3 new beautiful children, and they officially became Escamillas. The strange thing is, I barely remember what life was like before they came. I always wondered what adoption felt like.

Would I TRULY feel like the same about an adoptive child as I did about my biological children?

Would kissing their cheeks seem as natural as it did when I smooched my brown-white beauties?

When they fell, would my instinct be to run to them with tears in my eyes, or would it feel like they were someone else’s to protect?

I can honestly answer a whole-hearted “Yes!” to every one of my questions. My babies are my babies. Sure, we still talk about their bio-mom occasionally, and we aren’t going to dance around the difficult discussions as they grow and begin to understand how they ended up in our home. But none of that changes the fact we belong to each other.

At the beginning of April 2012, I went through about a week of what I can only describe as a strange depression. It really was like those terrible anti-depressant commercials! I didn’t want to get out of bed, I felt emotionless, and I had no idea why. I even started taking different vitamins to see if it would help.

I mentioned it to my husband one day, and he mentioned that he’d been reading this book, Seven by Jen Hatmaker. He said that a similar thing had happened to her while she and her husband were in the process of adopting from Africa. She ended up finding that the week she struggled with those feelings was the same week her yet-to-be-adopted daughter was lying, future uncertain across the world. Aaron encouraged me, saying maybe God was doing something similar with me- allowing me to feel whatever a child somewhere was feeling in an effort to connect us.

We didn’t have plans to really adopt at this time, although we were open to it. But I just started to pray for this child- whatever child- was out there feeling as I did, but without the support I’ve been blessed with.

When I got that call in June about our new kiddos, can you guess how they described our oldest boy? Can you guess when he was getting moved, future uncertain, to another home?

Little miracles. Changing our lives. If we’re willing to stop, notice, and acknowledge the One placing them in our paths with purpose.

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