This Day Will Never Be the Same – On Adoption and MLK

My five year-old bounded into our bedroom well before I was was ready for any kind of activity. My wife and I had been up late, gone to bed tired, and laid awake until the stupid hours of the morning with our minds racing. We weren’t ready for the sun to come up yet. And we certainly aren’t ready for what’s on the horizon.

I looked at my son, laying there with his head on the pillow next to mine. This is good, I thought. He snuggles up to me, settling into the pocket between my shoulder and...