Family Not Genetics

The truth about Santa Claus

Good influence for Haralson

Family does not always have to be genetic

By Michelle Huskins
Staff Writer

When most people travel out of the country, they are sure to bring home a memento, souvenir or token that will always remind them of their journey. By that description, my husband and I are no different from any other travelers. Except that on our trip to Peru, we brought back a 12 year-old boy named Michael. Michelle holds Michael at the orphanage

His long awaited homecoming was the result of nearly two years of adoption lawyers, paperwork and determination.

My husband met Michael on his first missionary visit to Iquitos, Peru. His previous ministry trips had prepared him for hungry, barefoot children.
But Michael was different; he was like a member of our family who had been missing for 11 years. Our home was almost full with our three boys, but we eagerly agreed that we had room for one more.

Within a matter of weeks, we found ourselves on a crash course of international adoption laws and regulations. It as not an easy process, but when I met Michael for the first time, I knew I would do whatever it took to give him a better life.

More than once during the lengthy process we were told that his adoption would be impossible. As I watch him ride his bike, play soccer or wrestle with his brothers, I wonder what would have happened to him if we had believed that. He no longer has to shine shoes for money or fish in the Amazon River for food.
Michael with his new father
Seatbelts, band practice, making a bed and sibling rivalry were new to him just two years ago, but now these things are a part of his daily routine.
So is his gratitude, he still does not eat a meal without thanking us, and few hours go by without one of his hugs. He is genuinely grateful to be here, but not as grateful as we are to have him in our family.

It was bonding, not biology, that made us a family because the gift of a child is not always delivered in a hospital room. I do not have one picture of Michael as a baby, and I was not there when he took his first steps.

When Michael stands with his blond-haired, blue-eyed brothers, it is quite obvious that he was not born to us.

When I look into his brown eyes I may not see a family resemblance, but what I do see, I like better. I see my son.