Saturday, August 29, 2015


When Miles came home from Ethiopia, I noticed that people let their gaze linger a little longer than normal. At first, it was hard to get used to, but I quickly discovered that our obvious differences was an open invitation to talk about Jesus.

You see, more often than not, curiosity wins.
People have to ask.

I've been asked questions like…
"Is he yours?"
"Is he adopted?"
"How much did he cost?"
"Where is he from?"
"Why did you adopt from Ethiopia?"
"Aren't there a lot of children in the U.S. that need to be adopted?"
"Are you his REAL mom?"
"Did you birth him?"

When people ask questions, they often ask right in front of Miles. So from the moment we got home, my hearts desire was to learn to answer questions in a way that makes Miles feel confident in his place in our family. I have grown to love that Miles gets to hear his story from my perspective over and over again.

Unfortunately, I don't always get it right.

Photo by Ruth Eileen Photography
After being home about two months, Miles and I were picking up a few things from our local home improvement store. We were in line to check-out and the friendly lady working was talking to me about Miles. She was going on and on about how beautiful he was and how she probably shouldn't say beautiful because he's a boy but he was so pretty and she just loved his lips and his eyes, wow, such pretty eyes they are!

I just smiled because, well, I happened to agree with everything she was saying.

Then, at the end of her run on sentence, she asked,
"Does he have his Daddy's eyes?"

The question caught me off guard.
It was so matter of fact.
It was the first time someone assumed he was my biological son.

I looked up at her and without even thinking, and said,
"Oh, um, I don't know who the father is."

*nervous smile*

The look on her face.
It was sort of a mix between shock and confusion.
My reply was not the "help Miles feel confident and secure while telling the world about Jesus" answer I was going for.

So, in an effort to make the poor lady feel better and, at the same time, try to make myself sound a little less slutty than I inadvertently did, I quickly blurted out, "I don't know who his mother is either!"

*awkward silence*

Well crap! Now I sound like a kidnapper.

"He's adopted! I never got to meet his birth parents! He's adopted!"

Not many people have the amazing ability make a sweet, Southern Baptist preacher's wife sound like a slutty kidnapper in a matter of seconds.
That, my friends, takes real talent.

Next time, Jackie.
You'll get 'em next time.

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