Many years ago, Bob and I took a seat inside a photo booth at Dave & Busters in Norfolk, Virginia, smiled at a blank screen, pushed a few buttons and waited, giggling, to see what "Junior" would look like. I remember thinking with some relief that our computer generated son was cute - a mop of dark hair, big eyes, and, thankfully, Bob's pert nose.
Cearra was a beautiful child who looked just like her Daddy, so in the times when such thoughts even crossed my mind, I figured Bob and I would eventually produce fairly attractive offspring (and no ego on my part there, I was banking heavily on Bob's good looks coming through).
That made me happy. Yes, perhaps it's shallow but let's be honest, after praying for good health, what parent doesn't secretly also wish, at least a little, for a cutie pie?
Of course, as you all know, God's plans didn't include a Bob-Jodi gene mix. That was hard at first. But as I looked through online adoption photo listings, I found myself strongly drawn to pictures of babies with dark hair, chubby cheeks, almond shaped eyes. And to my surprise (we had initially been researching a Russian adoption), all those sweet faces came from one place: Kazakhstan.
Our agency's referral process at the time allowed parents to specify gender and race, but you had no idea what your child would look like until the much anticipated day they sent you that magic email and perhaps a grainy, black and white video tape. By the time we got that far along in the journey I no longer thought much about how our future son would look - I just wanted him home!
Still, the video we received with our referral was somewhat surprising; the little guy didn't "look" like the son I had pictured in my head. It didn't matter, we were just to happy to finally be on our way to meet him.
That first trip to Kaz and the ensuing days were long, faith-trying, and heartbreaking, but ultimately oh so right. I've talked about it before
here. So when I first gazed down at Owen in his crib, I did think he was adorable, but more than that, I felt in every molecular of my being that he was our son.
Now I look at Owen every single day and am blown away by his cuteness. His skin, his pillow lips, his gorgeous melted chocolate eyes. In fact, I can't look at him and not think he is so, so beautiful.
But here's what I've also realized: every child is beautiful to their parents. It has nothing to do with face shape, eye color, skin tone. Nothing to do with whether or not you see your own features reflected back at you. Nor with symmetry or scars. Instead, it has everything to do with love.
I think that's the most beautiful thing of all.
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