"Take Me Home"

I brushed the bangs from my forehead and clicked "send" on an e-mail, answering a question from a fan about a character in one of my novels.

A child from Haiti. The words popped into my head like an e-mail popping into my inbox. It had been a really long day: working on my new book in the morning, taking care of family and household stuff in the afternoon, then back to my study to answer fan mail in the evening. I tried to dismiss the thought. But it wouldn't be dismissed.

At that time my husband, Don, and I already had three children, but wanted more. Don had a good job as a high school basketball and football coach. I had published half a dozen novels. By any yardstick we were a blessed family.

But when our youngest, Austin, now two, was only three weeks old, he had undergone major surgery to correct an inherited heart defect. He survived, but the ordeal practically killed me. My doctor said that it was fortunate that neither of our other children had inherited the condition. And Don and I didn't want to take a risk with our next child. We started talking about adoption—tentatively at first, then just about every day. We met with an adoption facilitator to explore our options.

"There are plenty of kids in America who need good homes," she told us. "But if you really want to go where the need is greatest, consider Haiti. It's the poorest country in the Western Hemisphere."

The facilitator mentioned one orphanage in particular—Heart of God Ministries, just outside the Haitian capital of Port-au-Prince. Don and I had agreed to take things slow. The orphanage had a website. But we hadn't yet looked at it.

Now, with the kids in bed, Don up in our bedroom reading and me down here in my study with my writing done for the day, I couldn't resist. I typed in the name of the orphanage and clicked.

Heart of God's homepage popped up. "See our list of adoptable kids," said a banner down at the bottom.

Kelsey, our oldest, was 12. Tyler was seven. Don and I wanted to fill the gap between him and two-year-old Austin. I narrowed my search down and clicked again.

A boy's face appeared on the screen. A boy with big brown eyes and a gentle, tentative smile. I could almost hear God whispering in my ear, Adopt that boy.

"Emmanuel Jean's grandmother dropped him off a year ago," said the text. "She believed with all her heart that a loving American family would make him their son."

I ran up to our bedroom and pulled Don away from his book. He followed me into my study and leaned over the screen.

"Are you sure?" he asked. "There are hundreds…"

"I know, I know," I said. "It sounds impulsive. Crazy, even. But I just know God wants that boy to be our son."

Don pointed to another banner that offered a free video.