My oldest child is adopted. She loves for me to tell her our "adoption" story. I start off telling her how we were praying for a little girl and God heard our prayers..... Then, I get to the point where we met her for the first time. I reminisce about how were driving to the zoo and I was wondering what she would look like, what she would say, what her favorite color would be, what her smile would look like. I told her about how we waited and waited at the zoo and then she came bouncing around the corner. I explain how she was the most beautiful little girl I had ever seen. How I knew immediately that she had grown in my heart all these years and I had finally given birth -- and there she was. I thought her eyes looked just like mine. I could see her in me and me in her. They were our windows to each other.
I go on and on about this story. I have told it to her so many times. She will beg me to tell the story about the first time I saw her and go into detail about the zoo, and I always do. I tell it so clearly and in so much detail, there is nothing missing. You can visualize the entire meeting.
Well, the other day it was freezing cold and she came running in from the front yard. She swung open the door and left it wide open, frigid air blowing through the house. I yelled across the room. "Hello! Close the door! Were you born in a barn?"
She ran over and slammed the door closed. She cocked her head to the side, looked up at me with her innocent blue eyes and whispered, "Not in a barn, Mom. Remember? I was born at the zoo."
Apparently I left a few details out.