Chosen & Loved

adoption. family. faith.

  • Three Years Ago, Everything Began

    September 15, 2023.

    Three years ago today, Sam and I logged into an adoption forum with questions, hopes, and a quiet sense that perhaps this was the beginning of something.

    We didn’t know then how long the road would be. We didn’t know who our child would be, when we would meet her, or what the process would ask of us. We only knew that we wanted to learn more – and that we were ready to take the first step.

    That day, we listened, asked questions, took notes, and talked about what adoption could look like for us. By the time we left, something had shifted. Adoption was no longer just and idea we had been tlaking about. It had become a path we were willing to walk.

    15 Sept 2023 | online adoption forum

    And so the waiting began.

    There would be paper works. Assessments. Applications. Prayers. More paperwork. Moments of excitement, moments of uncertainty, and long stretches when it felt like nothing was happening at all.

    Visit at NACC
    filling out formssss
    one of the home visits of our social worker
    psych test – one of the many requirementssss
    panel interview at
    Regional Alternative Child Care Office (RACCO) NCR
    Oct 16, 2026 | approved
    as prospective adoptive parents!
    joined a community of adoptive and foster families
    19 March 2025 – feast of St. Joseph –
    the day we were matched!
    first meeting
    love at first sight
    28 March 2025 | Gotcha Day!
    welcome home, Lorie!

    But something was happening.

    Looking back now, we can see that those quiet seasons were preparing us for a little girl we didn’t know yet.

    And then came Lorie.

    In March 2025, we received the news that we had been matched with our daughter.

    There are moments in life that divide everything into before and after. That was one of them.

    Suddenly, the child we had prayed for had a face. A name. A personality. A place in our arms – and, somehow, a place in our hearts long before we ever met her.

    The waiting had not been wasted.

    A date that became even more special

    Today, September 15, 2026, marks three years since we took that first step.

    And it is the day we’re opening the doors to Chosen & Loved.

    This little space has been a long time coming.

    We created it because there are stories we want to remember and stories we hope might help someone else. There are things we’ve learned about adoption that we wish someone had told us. There are ordinary family moments that we don’t want to forget. And there are questions about faith, purpose, love, and life that we’re still learning to answer.

    So you’ll find all of those things here.

    Not because we have everything figured out – we certainly don’t – but because we’ve learned that some of the most meaningful things happen while we’re still figuring them out.

    Three years ago, we took one small step into the unknown. We had no idea that step would eventually lead us to Lorie. We had no idea that waiting would lead to becoming a family. And we certainly didn’t know that one day we’d be sitting here, looking back with grateful hearts, wondering how we ever imagined our lives without her.

    Maybe that’s one of the things we’ve learned most along the way:

    God doesn’t always give us the life we imagined. Sometimes, He give us something we couldn’t have imagined for ourselves.

    And sometimes, we have to walk through the waiting to see it.

    So here we are – still learning, still growing, still trusting, and very grateful for the life we’ve been given.

    Welcome to Chosen and Loved. 🤎

    We’re so glad you’re here.

  • Things We Do

    There were things Sam and I enjoyed doing as single individuals that we brought into our family life when we got married. Now that we’re raising a little girl, we’ve intentionally woven some of these into our daily rhythm so Lorie can grow up with them, too.

    Seeing her enjoy these things with her innocent amusement and natural curiosity gives us so much joy as first-time parents.

    Here’s a glimpse of our regular rhythm as a family.

    Morning and Night Prayers

    We have set up a little altar with images of Jesus, Our Lady, and the Holy Family, along with a candle and holy water. In the morning, when we get up, Daddy leads us in a short prayer and the reading of the Gospel for the day. Then we ask Lorie to say her prayers.

    Sometimes she says words like “healthy,” “playtime,” and “cousins.” Sometimes she says, “I don’t like to pray.” And that’s okay.

    On slower mornings, we sing worship songs while Daddy strums the guitar. Lorie particularly likes Worship the Lord by Norman McKinley.

    My personal favorite is our night prayers. Sam again leads us in a short thanksgiving prayer, and then we sing. When we were single, Sam and I learned a chant that we sing before bed, which Lorie probably finds soothing. She has already memorized it, and it always amuses me when she sings it with us!

    Then she asks for a blessing (in the Philippines, we call it “mano po” or “bless”) and kisses us.

    Of course, Lorie doesn’t keep still throughout these prayers. She roams around even while singing. But it’s important to us that she appreciates, from an early age, that we start and end our days with prayer.

    Mealtimes

    As work-from-home parents, it’s a privilege that we get to spend every meal as a family. By now, Lorie is already the one leading the blessing of the food and the thanksgiving prayer to close the meal.

    She would say, “Everybody, let’s pray,” and police those who aren’t holding their hands together in the prayer gesture.

    During meals, she always wants to be included in the conversation. Since she goes to a community playschool in the morning, we ask her what she did in school. Funny how she always starts her story with, “I did not push somebody anymore.” LOL.

    During dinner, she finds it amusing to tell everyone her bedtime routine. She’ll raise her hand and say, “Lolo, this is my routine.” Then, raising one finger at a time, starting with her pinky, she’ll say, “Bath, milk, brush, read, pray,” before putting both hands together under her cheek in a sleeping gesture: “and sleep.”

    Some meals are a struggle to get her to eat more – or even to eat at all. But most of the time, mealtimes are our way of connecting and including her in the conversation. It’s where she picks up little things like not talking with her mouth full, listening when others are speaking, and asking for something politely.

    Playtime and One-on-One Dates

    Having a toddler around, everything is playtime. But we try to do things more intentionally.

    Early on, Lorie established that Mommy was the preferred parent. After Gotcha Day, it took a while (around six weeks, to be exact) for Sam to connect with her and have some Daddy-Lorie time. But with consistency, Sam has wooed her over, and they can now spend hours together without calling Mommy every five minutes.

    Somehow, we’ve established that mornings are with Mommy, while afternoons are Daddy’s playtime with Lorie.

    Regular dialogues and dates are also important for our marriage. Since our engagement, we’ve committed to protecting our weekly check-ins, where we discuss household matters and major decisions – or even just tell each other (mostly me telling him) what annoyed us (me) that week.

    Date nights used to mean weekly eat-outs, movie time, or coffee. With a toddler in tow, we’ve had to get creative. Now it looks like beer and chips over a movie on the laptop, singing along to our road-trip playlist while driving to the next province (aka travel time for errands), or tending to the vegetable garden together.

    Our regular one-on-ones with each other and with our daughter don’t need to be extraordinary or fancy. What’s important to us is the discipline of consistency and the connection we’re building.

    Observing the Sabbath

    We are a Christian family, and attending Holy Mass on Sundays is important to us. We’ve managed to make Sunday mornings less chaotic by preparing on Saturday – both body and soul.

    Celebrating the Lord’s Day on Saturday evening has apparently become one of Lorie’s favorite family customs. Lord’s Day is simply a festive meal bookended by longer-than-usual blessings and thanksgiving prayers. More importantly, it’s a remembrance of the Lord’s Resurrection.

    After nap time on Saturday, I’ll tell Lorie, “We need to prepare for Lord’s Day.” She’ll instantly go through her wardrobe and look for fancier clothes. Mommy prepares a special meal, while Daddy practices worship songs on the guitar.

    During the meal, we ask everyone to share what they are thankful for. When it’s Lorie’s turn, she’ll say things like “Mommy and Daddy,” “school,” or “playtime.”

    We’re also trying to establish that weekends are a time to rest – and her time to have some screen time and watch Stillwater or Daniel Tiger.

    Before bed, we tell her, “Tomorrow is Sunday. Where do we go on Sundays?”

    “To church,” she replies.

    Then I ask, “What do we do in church?”

    “Pray, listen, and sing.”

    And then I let her choose her Sunday’s best.

    There are many things we wish Lorie would learn as she grows up, and many fond memories we hope she’ll have of her ordinary childhood. With intentionality and naturalness, we hope she comes to appreciate that faith is an ordinary and beautiful part of our family life.

    Connecting with Community

    It really does take a village to raise a child.

    Since we live in the faraway countryside (saving that story for another post), our village now looks like family and friends who are miles away from us, connected by technology.

    Random video calls with our favorite people are simply part of our day. Lorie would request to call this cousin, that Tita, or this friend – and that would be my cue to reconnect with people who matter to us.

    Lorie also knows my officemates by name. She knows when I’m having a meeting when she sees heads bobbing on my laptop screen and will try to pop her head in, too. She’ll ask to say hi or goodbye to them.

    It’s the same when Sam and I have our respective online meetings with our small support group based in Manila. Lorie says hi to them and asks to see their children on the screen.

    When I think about it, this is one of the silver linings of the pandemic: making us closer and the world smaller.

    When we visit Manila occasionally, we also make sure to see these people in person. When we can, we plan trips or quick get-togethers with them. It takes a lot of planning and effort with young children in the mix, but we gladly take the inconvenience for the excitement of seeing Lorie enjoy the company of these people – and finally having adult conversations in person!

    There are also growing relationships with the literal community where we live now through the BEC (Basic Ecclesial Community) we are part of, and we strive to nurture these friendships.

    We show up every week for the Sunday service or gimong in the native dialect – a liturgical celebration in lieu of Holy Mass, since there are only two parish priests pastoring the whole town. We are also visible in the larger parish community and available in any capacity in which we can be of service.

    It’s more complicated with Lorie by our side, but we make sure to involve her as early as now. She joins us in the gimong every Sunday and in other parish activities, visits to elderly relatives and wakes, and, of course, clan and tribe reunions dressed in our native attire.

    I remember a time before Lorie joined our family, when Sam told me that he wished for our children to be hospitable and visible when we have visitors or when we engage with people.

    I think we were blessed with a child who genuinely enjoys connecting with people more than her introverted parents.

  • I Had Coffee with My 20-Year-Old Self

    I Had Coffee with My 20-Year-Old Self

    I had coffee with my 20-year-old self.

    She wanted a fancy coffee shop.

    I said we’d go where the beans are harvested, roasted, and brewed.

    She would have wanted a frappe, but she settled for piping hot black.

    We sat together for a while.

    Then she asked me a question I wasn’t quite prepared for.

    “How are we?”

    I smiled.

    “Two decades past were nothing short of awesome,” I told her. “The journey to forty wasn’t easy, but it was worth every while.”

    And it really was.There have been countless peaks and valleys since that last year in college.

    We were heartbroken more times than we thought we could bear. We grieved more than once.

    We thought we knew grief when Mama passed, but you’ll be surprised how much more we would cry our hearts out.

    There would be losses we could never have anticipated at twenty. Some would have names. Some would not. Some would be spoken about openly; others would remain quietly tucked away in the heart.

    But there would also be so much life.

    We explored the world and its cultures. Our eyes have seen some of the most beautiful beaches and mountain ranges, and we met people speaking languages we never knew.

    Our palate has tasted every possible flavor, and we learned that some things in life become an acquired taste.

    If we weren’t discerning, we wouldn’t know the difference between artificial and authentic.

    We learned that not everything beautiful is good for us.

    Not everything that glitters is gold.

    And not everything that looks like love is Love.

    We had sand on our feet, sun on our face, wind in our hair.

    A tattoo on the shoulder.

    Solo biking everywhere.

    Hiking mountains and mossy forests.

    We’ve experienced them all.

    But the most precious of all, we experienced – and continue to experience –

    Love.

    It is what has kept us moving forward.

    Love in Every Season

    In every peak and valley, there was Love.

    Extending a hand.

    Even carrying us.

    In every grief, there was Love.

    Crying by our side.

    Whispering that it doesn’t have to make sense.

    In every victory, there was Love.

    Celebrating.

    Cheering.

    Smiling, silently assuring.

    In every season, there was Love.

    Even in the seasons I did not recognize it.

    At twenty, we made a decision to live a life of celibacy.

    We tried to be faithful, even in our unfaithfulness.

    There was the heartbreak of leaving.

    The searching for the lost soul.

    The healing, and the longing to love again.

    The relapses, and the holding on.

    There was serving and giving our prime for mission.

    There was a season when we thought that perhaps this was what our life would look like: given away in service, belonging entirely to God and to the people He entrusted to us.

    And perhaps, in some ways, it was.

    But God was not done writing our story.

    There came a time when we finally opened our fragile heart once more.

    We allowed ourselves to be found by someone suitable.

    We said yes to forever.

    And we discovered another kind of vocation – not one that replaced what came before, but one that grew from it.

    Then came another kind of longing.

    The inexpressible grief of barrenness.

    There are prayers you pray with your whole body.

    There are hopes that become so deeply woven into you that when they are taken away, it feels as though something inside you has been pulled out with them.

    And yet, even there, there was Love.

    There was becoming a second mother to a child born to another.

    There was learning that motherhood does not always arrive through the door we imagined.

    There was uprooting and replanting.

    Learning to flourish in unfamiliar soil.

    Learning that sometimes God answers a prayer in a way we could never have imagined for ourselves.

    And sometimes, even an answered prayer has to be surrendered.

    There was rejoicing for an answered prayer –

    and letting it go.

    What I Know at Forty

    If I could tell my twenty-year-old self anything now, I don’t think I would warn her about the heartbreak.

    I wouldn’t tell her about every valley ahead.

    I wouldn’t try to spare her the grief.

    Because if I took away every difficult thing, I would also take away some of the things those seasons taught us.

    I would take away the discernment.

    The courage.

    The tenderness.

    The capacity to recognize what is authentic.

    The ability to love more freely, because we had learned what it meant to lose.

    Most of all, I would take away the evidence of God’s faithfulness.

    Because looking back, I can see something I couldn’t always see while I was living it:

    Love has been the constant in every changing season.

    Not every season was good.

    Not every prayer was answered in the way I wanted.

    Not every goodbye made sense.

    Not every loss was redeemed in the way I imagined redemption should look.

    But Love remained.

    Sometimes Love looked like a person extending a hand.

    Sometimes it looked like being carried when I could no longer walk.

    Sometimes it looked like a child.

    Sometimes it looked like a husband.

    Sometimes it looked like a community.

    Sometimes it looked like an open door.

    Sometimes it looked like a closed one.

    Sometimes it looked like being given what I prayed for.

    And sometimes it looked like being given the grace to let it go.

    But it was there.

    Always there.

    Looking Ahead

    “What do you want me to remember?”

    I almost forgot she was there.

    My twenty-year-old self was sitting quietly across from me, listening.

    Fearful, but hopeful.

    I looked at her and thought about all the years she had yet to live.

    All the people she had yet to love.

    All the places she had yet to see.

    All the grief she had yet to endure.

    All the joy she had yet to discover.

    All the ways God would surprise her.

    I could tell her to be brave.

    To trust more.

    To worry less.

    To make better decisions.

    To avoid certain mistakes.

    But perhaps she wouldn’t listen anyway.

    So I gave her the only advice I could think of.

    “Get as much caffeine as you can.

    And take heart.

    It was quite a ride.”

    And then I looked toward the next forty years.

    Still hopeful.

    Still a little fearful.

    Still learning.

    Still becoming.

    God’s favorite daughter, still.

  • Celebrating Lorie’s Name Day

    Today, we celebrate a special occasion in our home – Lorie’s name day.

    Her full name is Dolores Amparo, a name rich with meaning, memory, and love.

    Dolores comes from Our Lady of Sorrows (Mater Dolorosa / Sorrowful Mother). Providentially, her feast fell on September 15 – the very day we attended an adoption forum in 2023, already holding in our hearts the certainty that our child would be a girl. In naming her Dolores, we entrust her life to Our Lady, who remained faithfully close to the Cross of her Son. We pray that Lorie, too, may have the courage to stand firm in life’s sorrows, yet never without hope – because like Mary, she will also be close to the victory of the Risen Christ.

    Amparo comes from the root word ampon (“to give shelter, to take care of”) – a word that carries the essence of adoption. It is also the name of Sam’s late mother, who herself was an adoptive mom. In honoring her name, we also honor her legacy of love and shelter.

    Together, Dolores Amparo tells the story of who our daughter is and what we pray for her to become: someone who always knows she is chosen, sheltered, and deeply loved.

    I took this photo randomly, only to find out later the beautiful juxtaposition of the sorrowful Mother at the background.

    A Family Tradition

    Celebrating name days has long been a Catholic tradition, but for us, it’s also becoming a family tradition – a way to remind Lorie that her name isn’t just a label, but a story and a prayer. Just as we’ll mark her birthdays with cake and candles, we’ll celebrate her feast day with flowers, stories, and small reminders of the grace behind her name.

    In time, we hope Lorie will look back and see how these celebrations connected her to something bigger: to her family’s history, to her faith, and to the truth that she is, always, chosen and loved.

    Happy Name Day, our Dolores Amparo!

  • Letter to the Daughter We Finally Found

    March 19, 2025

    Solemnity of St. Joseph

    Dearest Lorie,

    Today, we officially accepted you to be part of our lives permanently.

    I cried a lot – from the moment we received that fateful call from Alliah yesterday, through this morning as I listened to your profile presentation, watched your videos, and read your case study report.

    I have so many overwhelming emotions, but they are mostly joy and gratitude. You are worth every tear, every prayer, every waiting day. I can’t wait to bring you home!

    I have loved you since the first letter I wrote to you almost two years ago. But now, this love has taken shape and flesh. And somehow, I have loved you even more.

    You have changed our lives in ways we couldn’t have imagined. And I pray that, with God’s grace and provision, we will be the best parents we can be for you.

    Love,

    Mommy

    On the feast of St. Joseph, we heard Holy Mass and wrote the official letter accepting you as our daughter.

  • Letter to the Daughter We Are Waiting For

    June 8, 2024

    Memorial of the Immaculate Heart of Mary

    Dearest Lorie,

    Last year, on this same feast day, I wrote you a letter and dedicated you to the Immaculate Heart of Mary.

    You know Mama is big on dates, and especially feast days. Since we had today a home visit from Ate Alliah, our social worker, I felt even more the intercession of the Blessed Mother in our adoption journey.

    You are named after Our Lady – Mater Dolorosa. May you be strong of heart and courageous like her, my child. There is something great in store for you. And know that we are praying for you even at this moment, wherever you are.

    I am excited to embrace you, my darling. For now, bask in the embrace of Mama Mary and Jesus.

    I love you!

    Mama

    with our social worker, Alliah | Mandaluyong, June 2024

    *By the time I wrote this letter, we had already attended an adoption forum and had named our future daughter Dolores. We gave her the nickname Lorie, as we fondly call her now.

  • Letter to the Future Child of My Heart

    June 17, 2023

    Memorial of the Immaculate Heart of Mary

    My daughter,

    Wherever you are, whoever you are – know that I have prayed for you, my darling. Mama loves you even now.

    You are entrusted to us by God. You are a precious gift, a testament to His love for the world. Because He loves all His children, He desires that each one be loved and brought back to Him.

    You are from Mama’s heart, my child. A heart that has been pierced and has pondered; a heart cleansed by God’s own blood and purified by His mercy, trying so hard to model itself after Our Lady.

    My child, my love, my darling, we will give you as much love as we can. But you may still find yourself to be a sign of contradiction. Know that you, too, are set apart for a mission. More than being mine, you are God’s.

    I love you, my child.

    Mama

    Our Lady at the foot of the cross | Cathedral of St. Dionysius | Athens, May 2023

    *I wrote this letter before we even attended an adoption forum – before we knew anything about the child who would one day be ours. Yet, in the deepest recesses of my heart, I already knew that we were being called to parenthood in an unusual way.

    As I reflected on the Feast of the Immaculate Heart of Mary, my eyes turned to Mary, who, with her yes at the foot of the Cross, received a new mission: to become our mother. I was reminded that motherhood is not limited to bearing children of our own; it also extends to those entrusted to our care.