Orphan Sunday

What a weighted word. Most of the time, I am able to sort of "forget" that R was an orphan for part of her life. But there's the part of her life that is different from most other people she'll meet. She was born in a country far from here, beautiful and amazing-- yes, but one fraught with disease, hunger, and suffering.

I think sometimes about what would have happened to my beautiful daughter if she had remained in Ethiopia. It is hard, even harder now that I have not one but two Ethiopian daughters.

I often think about the path my life took to become the mother of two...well, I'll just say it... two orphans. One I tuck into bed each night and whose little curly head greets me in the morning right after I wake up to the sound of her little feet running down the hall. The other, a sweet, precious baby whom I've never held or comforted, but who has completely stolen my heart.

My sweet girls. Orphans no longer...

I leave you with a picture of R and me taken at the orphanage where R spent the first weeks of her life before coming to HH and becoming my precious daughter.