Dear Baby Brother...

Little man, baby boy, you changed everything.

Do you know that? Do you know that your life, your very being here, has rippled into the lives of countless others? I hope you know that.

I was that awkward teenager with braces, and glasses, and freckles. Yes, that trifecta. Ready to work and drive and looking forward to everything to come. Everything expected, just…the way life moves.  And then you came. And changed it all, made it all, blew the expected away and I am forever grateful. Do you know that, Little Brother? Let me tell you. Because you ought to know, you need to know. It's my story shaped by yours.

To be honest, I don't remember much of waiting for you. I remember the sit down. Mom and Dad telling Bean and I about you. That you might be part of our family. And I was excited. Scared, because I knew it would change us. But excited because I knew you would be great. And just like that, in what seemed like a heartbeat, you were here!

Eight pounds of wiggling, rolly, brown skin baby. Stark black hair and all perfection. I remember when you came home and I could not believe it. This little baby who we had not seen before was now ours. You were ours and I could hardly contain myself. My too-cool-teenage ways would not let me gasp and shed tears of overwhelming, unbelievable joy. But now, my embracing-my-emotions older self is bawling as I think of your way too cute face and your perfect cries.

 And I know that the age difference is hard sometimes. But I am grateful. Thankful. Because I remember the little things, with the big. You in your onesie, you in the sink -- a first bath at home. You in your feety pajamas. You with your bottle -- you couldn't get enough. The little fuzzy hairs that grew all up your brand new ears. Tiptoeing in to wake you up only to find your smiley self already bright eyed and ready to go. Your wrinkly face and sleepy sounds. You in the hallway with the unplugged iron you'd sneak off with -- ironing your socks and mine. You with the vacuum, your fave of all faves.

The little hands that would sneak their way under the bathroom door early in the morning. The squeaking of the doorknob as I washed my hair, you creeping in to lay with your blankie and fall asleep to the sounds of the water. Little barely walking one. Waking up to collect army worms and baby frogs. Running and chasing and laughing and tickling. And I carried you. Everywhere. My baby. I know I'm your sister. I know Mom is your mom, but you were always my baby.

How could I have known how much you would change my life? I sit here in disbelief. And in wonder. How great is our God? How faithful and amazing. And you, Bubba Lou, are the biggest evidence of His love. Your story, I am in awe.

And now you tower over me. You carry me. Still a teenager, I am beyond proud. The things you do, the things you say -- smart and wise and funny and amazing. My tough tackling, fast swimming, grand slam hitting, karate chopping, dubstepping, unicycling, magic marker fighting, fishing, silly, witty, gentle, sweet, wonderful brother. How would I live without you? What would our lives be without you? You complete our family. Do you know that? I hope you do.

We sat down, you and I, on a warm afternoon. You were all of 6 and sad that I was getting married and leaving. Do you remember? And I said I would visit. And you nodded your head, in that way you do. My heart broke for you. And you asked if we were going to have kids. I said, probably. And you said, I'll never forget it. "Well, you probly won't have some until next year and then I won't be able to play with them until they're about 4. So I will be at least 10 when I finally have some kids to play with!" Words of a little boy, smaller than all the rest.

And I laughed and laughed. Later I asked you who Jason would be to you after the wedding. You whispered quiet into the dark, "My bruver." And I asked, who is Dad going to be? And you, hilarious you, said, "My uncle."

You called 911 from Walmart on the day of the wedding and were scared that they would arrest you and you wouldn't be the "ring bear." And you asked so perfectly during our pictures, with your little hand on my belly, if I was pregnant yet. Still wanting someone closer to your age to play with. And you visited and I burned the garlic bread and set off the smoke detector. I'll never live that down.  Would you have believed you would grow up so fast?

And Jason knew all about you. About your story and how you came to be with us. And he loved you right away, like a brother. I hope you know how much you mean to him. His first brother. And we talked about adoption, even at the beginning. Because of you. And I told him, without a doubt, we would adopt. We would, eventually. Because I can't imagine life without you. Because you are such a blessing. Because there are others like you who need a family to take them in, even in a heartbeat and love them no matter what.

I want to be careful here. Because in some ways you are like the others. Adopted and loved and a story unlike all the rest. In someone else's tummy, always in our hearts. 

But in other ways, you are not like the others. Your story is not one of a mistake, neglect, abuse, or  unwantedness. You were valued and loved and wanted, even before you were born, before we knew about you.  You know your family. You visit your family, because, wonderfully, your family is part of our family. And you are loved by your family. And your birth mother, bless her heart, loved you so much that she chose to do the most impossible, difficult thing. And I'm not sure what was going through her mind, could she have done it all on her own? Probably, other women have. But she didn't. And for whatever reason, not for lack of love, she chose to give us the most amazing, incredible gift. You. I think about this all the time. How you came to us and how God worked it all out. I think about all of this and am just so thankful, grateful, in awe. You didn't have to come to us, but you did and I am so glad you did.

So yes, you are like the others, adopted or waiting. But in many other ways, you are not. And I breathe deep, thankful.

Yes. Oh, yes. We talked about adoption. And I was settled on this. And I found it strange to have to articulate this because it was such a normal, natural, regular part of my life. I know you are adopted, as a fact. But forever you have been my brother in my heart. From first sight. So it is strange, to talk about it so factually. "Jason, we are adopting." It feels like a decision rather than a way of life. And this is just our life, isn't it? 

And we didn’t think about it for a long time. Dear brother, I don’t know how much you know about our story. About our trying to having babies on our own, our struggle to grow our family, and make little nieces and nephews for you. And I was so sad, still sad, that quite possibly we will never experience children of our own...

And I would watch you. Learning and growing and becoming an amazing young man, loving God and others. I am proud. And think of you, with my broken heart and worn out spirit. And it hit me, clicked, and sparked a fire. There must be others, others like you and not like you. And I thought this most awful, painful thought -- what if there was a little Alex somewhere waiting for a home? A little boy, much like you, who didn't have anyone to care for him, love him, spoil him, teach him…

I imagined Little AJ and your love for all things Toy Story or Cars, imagined that little boy sitting alone and waiting. I remember scooping you up so easily when you were little. Oh, how I long to do that for my own children -- scoop them up, love on them, teach them about Jesus and Nebuchadnezzar, and see their wisdom grow. So how could I just sit here and whine when there were other little ones just waiting and wishing?

I watched you and I thought of how little I am reminded that you are adopted. I don't think of you any different than Bean, my sibling, a part of our family, and I love you just as much. And I knew in that moment, for sure and for certain, that any child coming into our family would be loved just as if they came from us, and they would be loved just as much by others -- you, Bean, Mom, Dad…so I didn't worry or wonder anymore. Because of you. Because of your story. Because of how easily you swept through our lives, changed everything, and just...fit. Perfectly.

We're adopting. Did you know that? And did you know you are a big part of that? If you and your surprise bursting of my expected life, the wonderful gift of you and all you are, was not part of my journey through life I might not be here, in this moment. I might not have let the idea of my children go in order to take in others. And just as I believe you were always meant to be a part of our family, just taking a different road to get here, I do believe, with all my heart, that our children, wherever they are, will always be meant to be a part of our family. They're just taking a special road to us. And this revelation is because of you.

Do you know how important you will be to these little ones? You may not have our noses or our toes, but you do have our love. And you can walk alongside them as they try to figure out this crazy family we all love so much. And when they are wondering about adoption and family and what all that means to them, you are the only one of us who can tell them from experience how it all works and how this family doesn't care about flesh and blood. But only sees the amazing gift and potential in everyone.

And because of you, young man towering over me, growing up so fast and so wise, becoming a wonderful young man after God's own heart, who knows how many lives you will change? One is worth it all, but I'm thinking there will be more. And I am honored to be a part of your amazing story. I'm honored to have been changed by you. Honored to call you my brother.