It was quite on Sunday afternoon, not the scary quiet when you know your kids are really doing something terrible, but good quiet. The weather was phenomenal, had the windows open and the kid were playing in the backyard. Our middle son, who's four, ran in with pink cheeks and grabbed a juice to reboot so he could go jump on the trampoline some more. He's jumped over to me and asked a very simple and frank question. "When is my sister coming home?" Chris and just looked at each other, not ready to answer the question. He saw us take the car seat out of the car, not head to the hospital and put the baby girl clothes back in the garage. I knew he was thinking about her. We all do at some point. As honest as we could be we've told our boys that she'll be here. That God is good and in His timing we'll see her. We tell them that God asks lots of things of us. To be patient, kind to people who others would assume to be outcasts. He never promises that we won't hurt, or suffer or cry. But He's there to walk us through our sorrow. Our oldest two would really love to have a sister. It started out as a calling for Chris and I to extend our family and it's blossomed into our family needing her. We have a meeting tomorrow about adopting our daughter. I feels to be a familiar place, but different at the same time. Our skin is tougher, our expectations are different and we've surrendered this to Jesus. Time to be molded and shaped into what we need to be for all of them.