I remember the prayers I used to say, staring out the window at the heat waves rising from the pavement.  The summer dirt opened up, parched and begging for rain.  I peered down deep and …

We’re doing something new here at Grown in My Heart…every month we’ll be featuring one of our writers (and eventually one of our amazing readers). Our first writer is Carrie from Signs of Hope, an …

I often forget we work at an orphanage.

It struck me the other day, as I sat with a new mom and dad as they met their adoptive daughter for the first time, that I’m a doula of sorts. Eyes wide with excitement and shining with glossy tears, the proud new parents watched their energetic toddler scamper across the room. Already she’d worked her way into their hearts, though they’d never met her in person until this moment.

Two steps and a knock from my front door, and I’m in an orphanage. We don’t call it an orphanage, but a rose by any other name is still a rose. No matter what we call it, Mommy and Daddy don’t come home at night.

She’s not even 21 days old. She’s one of the most beautiful babies I’ve ever seen. Fine porcelain features, flawless skin, and full lips. She’s tiny, and her little fingers look so fragile that I’m …

Twice this week I had the opportunity to be in the room when an adoptive family met their new child for the first time. It’s a beautiful moment from the perspective of the new mom and dad. But if you watch through the eyes of the foster mother, it’s heart-wrenching.

This wasn’t the life we had planned. When Jacob and I got married in August 2005, we had our own little version of an American dream to chase, and it didn’t involve living in a small Chinese village. I know it sounds crazy when we tell people that we quit perfectly good jobs in the USA, gave away or stored all of our belongings, and moved half-way across the world to become full-time volunteers.