7 years today I held my 12 pound one year old son in my arms for the first time. I met my shy, scared 4 year old. I can bet you neither of them remember the date, but their bodies remember. A brain somehow etches into permanency the trauma of adoption.

My first encounter with my whiteness occurred my 6th grade year. We lived in Tampa and they were trying to integrate the schools (click the link for a great video explanation of redlining and current day segregation) so they were bussing our suburban neighborhood into the inner city.

Maran and Levi – I cannot believe its been 5 years since we met your sweet faces in Congo. Those days are forever etched into my memory.

Raise your hand if you have ever had a problem in your life. All of us. No one escapes problems. Not if you have a masters degree, live in a gated neighborhood, live in the slums of Africa, have a great family, etc, problems and suffering are unavoidable. Yet, culture points us to avoid it at all cost and keep it at arms length from ever touching our children.

Yesterday, Levi came home with a whistle from the kindergarten prize box, bless kindergarten teachers. He was so excited to blow that whistle wherever he was, including the car, kitchen and right next to my ear.

Maran Grace – September marks several things in our journey together. This year especially. September is the month we submitted our application for adoption in 2010.

Sweet Levi. How are you 5 already? I am so grateful to have had these last 4 years with you in our lives. You are thoughtful and kind, you love to be held close and tickled.

Six. Six years of growth. Each birthday brings a new year for us together. But your birthday is also a time for me to look back. I missed your first 4 birthdays. Your story had not intersected mine yet.

You are 3 my sweet boy. I cannot believe it. It feels like just a short time ago someone passed a small, 13 pound, 13 month old boy into my arms.