By Paul and Christina

"I have exciting news for you," said the voice on the phone.

It was the coordinator from WACAP. Again. Feeling jaded after two failed placements, I told her I was having a tough time getting excited any more when she called.

That didn't dissuade her at all. She gave me her news: there were twin girls born yesterday in Florida—six weeks premature, but they seemed healthy. And the birth mother's agency had specifically asked for us.

"I'll have to talk to my husband and get back to you," I said calmly.

But as I dialed his number, I could already feel adrenaline racing through my body. Twin girls? Could it get any better than that? We didn't talk long. I knew we had to accept the referral. I felt less and less jaded every second. I knew I should be cautious—the last few times I had gotten my hopes up only to have them crushed. But I couldn't help my excitement.

Now, though, we had to wait. The birth mother had signed the paperwork, but her agency was still trying to find the girls' father. Minutes seemed like hours. It was almost unbearable, knowing that the girls were in a hospital somewhere alone, and that we so badly wanted to be there holding them, kissing them, talking to them. Would the wait ever end? There were so many preparations to make, but we still wanted to leave the minute we got the news.

Thursday and Friday came and passed, and the agency was still searching. Knowing we wouldn't hear anything over the weekend, we went shopping for necessities: car seats, a twin stroller, preemie clothes. My excitement kept growing, despite the fears in the back of my mind. The more we shopped, the harder it was to control our emotions.

Still, we saved all our receipts. Just in case.

On Monday afternoon the agency in Florida called again. They hadn't found the birth father, but they were ready to call off the search and proceed with the adoption.

We bought tickets for the next flight: a redeye to Orlando. It was delayed for a while, and during the agonizing wait I took note of other passengers' children. One little girl had gorgeous hair and eyes. I thought, Will my girls be that beautiful? Another was very rambunctious. Will my girls be like that?

In Orlando we got our rental car and rushed to the hospital with little time to spare. Julie, our agency contact, explained how things would work. As we got in the elevator, I thought my heart would jump out of my chest, it was pounding so much with the excitement of meeting the girls for the first time.

There was one further delay: We had to scrub down to enter the transitional nursery where the girls were being kept because they were born prematurely. The hospital's social worker brought us to a little bassinet that held both girls. They looked so angelic and petite. My hand seemed to swallow Baby A, who weighed just three and a half pounds and had a feeding tube and all sorts of monitors attached to her. I gave her to my husband and picked up Baby B, almost as tiny at four pounds, two ounces.

I could never put into words the emotions I felt. The moment I had waited for so long for was finally here. I realized then that adoption is one of the greatest things in the world.

If you're having a moment of darkness, please remember this story. There truly is a light at the end of the tunnel. Your trip may be long or short, easy or difficult, but the end is worth every moment of darkness. Always believe, always have hope.

I would never change any of the pain we went through. Because we endured it and kept the faith, we now have Kaitlynn (Baby A) and Makayla (Baby B)—two angels who needed us as much as we needed them.

Sincerely,

Paul and Christina
(A very happy WACAP family)

By Stacy Luhr

Six p.m., Friday, July 22, 2005. As I say good-bye to the last child leaving my home daycare, I assure his mother that I will be open the following Monday—because once again, for the fourth time in eight months, our adoption referral has fallen through. My customers are getting used to this, even if I'm not.

Minutes later, the phone rings. "Hello Stacy, this is Tish." My heart stops.

"You have a baby girl. She's yours and you can go get her!" Just like that.

We've waited so long to hear those words. Our new daughter is just hours old. We spend the evening and the next day searching for affordable plane tickets from Alaska to Florida. We end up with the tickets—and a new definition of "affordable." Sunday morning we board a flight with our 2½-year-old son, Aiden (also adopted through WACAP's African-American infant program). He's excited to pick up his new baby sister—but we've been talking about a new baby for months, and I'm not sure he believes it's for real this time. I can hardly believe it myself.

It takes us more than 20 hours of traveling to reach Fort Lauderdale. We drop off our luggage at the hotel and then quickly make our way to the agency, where our daughter is already waiting for us. I will never forget the moment that Kesia is placed in our arms. She's so beautiful! It's wonderful to finally have her with us. After that moment, everything is a blur. We sign paperwork while Aiden proceeds to ransack the agency, in lieu of the long nap he desperately needs. The agency staff intervene, and they're wonderful with him.

Speaking of wonderful … Tish is the greatest person we could ever hope to work with. Despite all our ups and downs, we can tell that she truly cares about our family. She kept us up to date on everything, and was always quick to respond to my many e-mails and phone calls. When we were feeling down, she even sent cards to lift our spirits. I know Tish worked extremely hard to bring our baby girl home to us, and we're forever grateful to her, WACAP and Adoption by Shepherd Care in Florida. Thank you so much for completing our family!

To families waiting for your little one: Hang in there. It can be a huge emotional roller coaster, but one day that call will come. The moment you see your new baby, you'll know why things happen the way they do!

By Bethany Verner

I was really tired when I went to bed Friday night. The school year had just begun, and after my third full week of teaching, all I wanted to do was sleep in.

But the phone woke me with a start at 6:30 a.m. "Hi Bethany, this is Tish," said a familiar voice, through my early morning fog. I'd heard this phrase many, many times over the last 18 months, and had eventually conditioned myself not to get overly anxious when it happened.

"Hi Tish," I mumbled, wondering what form she needed, or what little bit of information for my file was so important that she had to have it this darn early on a Saturday.

Instead, Tish had news, the kind that's welcome any time of day: "Karen went into labor late last night, and the baby was born early this morning!"

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Three years ago I began researching adoption agencies across the country. After finally selecting WACAP, I filled out my paperwork, completed the homestudy and began the adoption process, which turned out to be longer and more complicated than I might have imagined.

The first challenge to my sturdy spirit occurred in January 2004. My mom and I raced 90 miles to the airport during a snowstorm after an agency worker in another state told us, "You have to get on a plane tonight— there is no foster care available for your baby." Obediently…expectantly, we went. While we were in the air, the grandmother convinced the birth mother to change her mind—even though neither one had any means to care for the little five-pound baby girl. Devastated, my mom and I spent the night in an Atlanta hotel with nothing but our grief and a suitcase full of little pink clothes.

Throughout the next year, a few other babies and birth mothers turned out to be disappointments for me, but nothing like that first one. I still think about that little girl and wonder where her little feet have carried her.

In May 2005, I was matched with another birth mom. Kimberly was in college (an A student!) studying to be an accountant. She had two bright, healthy children and financially just couldn't swing another. Great! I could relax. I was matched. Even though I wasn't actually in contact with Kimberly, I felt as though I was "bonding" with her over the next three months. I constantly thought about her and her little baby, and wondered what gift to bring when I went to Alabama to meet them.

The call from WACAP came on July 27— three long years after I started researching adoption. "Kimberly had her baby!" said a jubilant Tish on the other end of the line. It was a girl! I was overjoyed at the prospect of flying down to Alabama—hurricane evacuation or not—finally picking up my baby girl and bringing her home! The next day, as I searched the Internet for last-minute travel arrangements, I got another call. I knew immediately what had happened; the flatness in Tish's voice told me what she was about to put into words. "Kimberly changed her mind, didn't she?" I said.

It took me longer to bounce back from losing that baby girl, as I felt I had bonded to Kimberly in a special way.

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Four months later, in September 2005, school was in full swing, and Karen was due in three weeks. Tish had been telling me about her for about a week. I wasn't sure my heart was strong enough to take another disappointment—this would make number five. So I was casual and cautious. I didn't tell many of my friends and family about Karen, because I couldn't take on their sadness along with my own if it didn't work out.

There is no waiting period in Florida, where Karen lives, so once she signed, I knew my three-year wait was almost over. Mom and I were on the first plane to Florida before the ink was dry on the documents. We drove straight to the agency, where I signed the papers with the agency director as Mom looked on and nervously snapped pictures with her digital camera.

Meanwhile Karen and the baby left the hospital and made their way to the agency. My little baby girl and the new chapter of my life were literally just around the corner! Mom and I waited alone in the conference room for an interminable amount of time while the agency directors went to the lobby to escort Karen and the baby in to meet us. Everything was in slow motion, or was I underwater? I was thinking about everything and nothing all at once.

Then Karen walked around the corner, holding the baby girl. At this point, because all the paperwork was signed and because it was finally official, I finally allowed myself to think of the baby as "Ella"—my grandmother's name, the one I'd chosen over three years prior to this moment!

I remember walking over to Karen, ready to take the baby, but I was afraid to just whisk Ella out of her arms. Karen looked so beautiful and so peaceful at that moment, I wanted to memorize her. Mom walked over and put her arms around Karen and said, awkwardly, "Thank you." For the first time since deciding to relinquish her baby, Karen began to cry. I must have looked worried, because she reached out to reassure me. "I'm crying because I'm happy," she whispered in a soft Jamaican accent.

Ella was a tiny bright-eyed package topped with a white satin bow. Only four days old, she smiled at us all. "She's beautiful," I exclaimed. Mom, the proud grandma, snapped a photo.

I was honored to meet Ella's biological father and brother, who had accompanied Karen. I'm not sure how long we stayed in that conference room, staring at the baby and expressing our deepest gratitude and admiration. "I love her so much," Karen said to me. "I never want to worry about where her next meal is coming from and whether she'll have what she needs in life." I promised her that Ella would be adored and cared for her whole life long, and that she'd always know how much her biological mother loved her.

In those surreal moments in the adoption agency conference room, the very real pain of the last three years melted away as I took my baby in my arms. I knew that everything up until then was getting to Ella.

By Clif and Sherry Jackson

We asked our social worker if we could expect a baby under our Christmas tree. "No," she laughed. "But how about flying to Atlanta to meet your son on December 27? It’s the best I can do."

We were thrilled! We had finished our homestudy and training process four months earlier. In hindsight, that it was a short time to wait, but at times it felt like it would never happen.

Our social worker supported us throughout the waiting process—and WACAP staff were available throughout our trip. We enjoyed meeting the social workers from the other agency, who so lovingly cared for our son while we were traveling to pick him up. It was like Christmas all over again when the agency foster parent walked in and placed Emmanuel in our hands. We took pictures and laughed and cried.

People ask us why we adopted, and we answer, "Because we all need each other." Adoption brought a miracle into our family—and if we hadn’t done it, we’d regret it at the end of our lives. Our neighbors exclaimed, "Emmanuel is so lucky to have you!" But in reality, we’re all lucky to have each other. Thanks, WACAP, for making the journey bearable—and possible.

By Marybeth Lambe

Even at midnight, the Seattle airport was bustling and noisy. As I looked at the crowds racing to catch planes or to meet relatives and friends, I was amazed no one even glanced our way. Surely, someone must notice. Wasn’t it there, shining in our eyes? Whenever my husband, Mark, or I caught each other’s gaze, we grinned like idiots. Both of us paced nervously, aimlessly. We had arrived hours early, too anxious to wait at home any longer. What if there was a traffic jam? What if the weather turned ugly? What if it snowed so hard the roads closed down? No, we weren’t taking any chances, because tonight, our daughter Emma Rose was coming home for the first time.

We had always planned to expand our family through adoption. We had two biological children, Brendan and Sara, but wanted a larger family. Adoption seemed a wonderful way to build families. We researched many adoption agencies before we fell in love with WACAP. They encouraged us to explore our vague desire for more children, helped us sift through our many options, gave us time and held our hand. With the patient counseling of our social worker, my husband Mark and I eventually settled on a U.S adoption. WACAP contacted an agency in Georgia, The Open Door—and that’s how we became the parents of our beautiful little girl.

Emma Rose was two months old when she was escorted to Seattle late that January evening. After a 12-hour plane ride, she was still grinning and cheerful when she was placed into our waiting arms. I remember how my arms shook with excitement and tears ran unheeded down my face. She gave me a lopsided smile and my heart melted. That first meeting remains fresh in my mind’s eye. Emma Rose’s huge brown eyes and soft brown skin, her downy curls and toothless smile—"our daughter"—such beautiful words!

Emma Rose is now 10 years old and has held our hearts ever since that winter night so many years ago. She has six brothers and sisters. WACAP helped us three more times, and is currently trying to convince my husband we need "just one more" to make our family complete. As a family we have dealt with her hurt at those who did not understand adoption, her frustration with the ignorance of racism and her yearning to know her birth family. I too hope to meet her birth mother one day, if only to say "thank you" for this wonderful daughter.

Adoption makes families, but it also makes miracles. When Emma Rose cuddles up for a chat, when we chase each other in soccer, when we make cupcakes for the family, when we dance, or laugh, or cry, life is so very sweet. Who knew, as we waited in the airport those many years ago, that our lives would be so full, so joyful, when our daughter, Emma Rose, came home?