A two-month old baby who had a rough entry into the world was in the arms of foster parents at lunch today. She slept through a lot of it, and then quietly sucked down a bottle of formula offered by her foster dad. Mom and dad couldn’t take their eyes off her, even though they’ve had her for some weeks and have three other girls at home. Her welfare at noon was their number one priority.

Yesterday, we celebrated the 23rd anniversary of the first moment we held our adopted son. That was a crazy beautiful night.

I too was adopted some thirty-plus years before that.

Some parents because of illness or youth or other big troubles have difficulty functioning as parents. It can be an act of love and great sacrifice to acknowledge that in an attempt to get adequate care for one’s child. Adoption has its own quirks and issues that arise, but isn’t it an act of beauty that we can deeply recognize family in those who do not share our genes? Be loved as son or daughter, mother or father regardless of DNA?

Blood may be thicker than water, but love trumps all that.