Chosen & Loved

adoption. family. faith.

  • Oh my God, wounds!

    Oh my God, wounds!

    That’s what my 2-year-and-10 month-old daughter said as she looked at a painting of Jesus being taken down from the cross. On another Sunday, she saw a crucifix and gently said, “Jesus has a bubu… put a bubu cream.”

    I was struck – amazed at how, in her innocence, she could already feel compassion and somehow enter into the story of Christ’s suffering.

    It made me reflect on my own faith. This Lent felt dry. Routine. Just another season of observance without depth. I followed the practices, but my heart was distant. Yet in that simple moment, through the eyes of a child, I was reminded that this season is not just a ritual – it is an invitation to enter into the very life, suffering, and love of Jesus. To encounter Him not as a story, but as a living presence.

    As we approach Holy Week, it’s not too late. Let us not allow distractions or worries to pull us away from fully entering into Christ’s Passion. Like a child full of compassion, let us bring our little “bubu cream” – and place it upon His wounds. It may seem small, but offered with sincerity, it becomes something beautiful before God. Let us walk with Him, not as distant observers, but with hearts personally and deeply engaged.

    *A reflection written by Daddy Samuel

  • What would this child be

    This piece was written by Daddy Samuel on the occasion of Lorie’s second birthday. We had a birthday party and invited family and friends, which also became an opportunity to introduce her to everyone. These words captured the profundity of the emotions involved in bringing her into our home just two months prior.

    a photo Daddy took a day after Gotcha Day
    What would this child be? I wondered deep inside,
    As we brought her home, with hearts open wide.
    Lorie our daughter, not born from our womb, 
    But chosen with love, where new life may bloom

    We hold her close, with joy and delight,
    Knowing she is precious in God's holy sight.
    Though she is ours, we're merely a part
    Of the love God poured into her from the start.

    For she is His - beloved and planned,
    Formed by His will, cradled in His hand.
    And we, but vessels in His gentle scheme,
    To guide her steps toward His greater dream.

    What would this child be? I ask once more,
    While God's promises echo from heaven's shore.
    Yet tears may fall, and fears arise, 
    For the weight she may bear, the questions, the whys.

    In a world where adoption is misunderstood,
    Where identity wrestles with "if" and "should",
    She may face trials no child should see,
    And I'd bear it for her, if it could be me.

    We named her Dolores, a name that bears grace,
    "Close to the cross," in that sacred place.
    For there, at the foot where mercy flows free,
    She'll find her purpose - her true destiny.

    To be orphaned holds pain words cannot contain,
    A story etched deep with sorrow and strain.
    Yet God, in His wisdom, rewrites such fate,
    Turning mourning to dancing, love over hate.

    He heals the broken, makes shattered hearts whole,
    Brings beauty from ashes, restores the soul.
    Adoption, a thread in His vast design,
    Wove our hearts together in perfect time.

    Our longing for family, our ache and plea,
    Was part of His plan, part of her story.
    For through our own pain, He opened the door,
    And gave her a home, forevermore.

    So again I whisper, with hope and with plea,
    What would this child be...?
    Only God knows the wonders she'll see,
    As she walks hand in hand with her identity.