Friends have been encouraging me to compare photographs of our sweet Little Man, side by side, from before and after he was united with our family.
I have. I concede, the change in our precious son is astounding.
But… it’s heartbreaking, to me.
It’s strange how these photographs that I so cherished and anticipated when he was still in China, that blessed me when we received updates of him, that I relished for hours on end, memorizing every minute detail, utterly break my heart to look at now.
It doesn’t compute. I scarcely recognize the boy in the old photographs. Could that really be our joyful son? Those are not his flashing eyes. Those are not his rosy cheeks. That is not his impish smirk.
Except, it is him.
I can’t even fathom how our beloved boy survived without the love of a family for so long– save for God’s own protective hand on him. The care he received in the orphanage was adequate, but nothing can compare to the attention and affection he was designed for.
The comparison is not amusing to me. While I delight in his sunny, inquisitive, and sprightly personality now, I still grieve, mightily, the great losses he incurred before he was ours.
He has always been adorable, beautiful– fearfully and wonderfully made.