The following entry was written by Mary of Owlhaven

Twenty years ago this month my husband proposed to me. In the intervening years, we’ve fit in lots of dates, lots of Valentines, lots of precious moments. But in my mind, one romantic thing he did stands head and shoulders above the rest.

In 1997, we had been married 11 years and had 4 children, 2 girls and 2 boys. We’d decided a couple years before that we were ‘done’ having kids. But then, within weeks of my baby’s 3rd birthday, I started having baby longings. Serious baby longings. I really wanted to adopt a baby.

This was not a logical longing. Four kids should be enough for anyone, right? My husband, a sensible, cautious man, thought I’d lost my marbles. He was perfectly content with the status quo, and not at all willing to stretch our finances or start buying Huggies again just months after we’d finally gotten done with them (he thought) for good. It just did not make sense.

I tried everything I could think of to convince him that my idea was a good one, the next logical step in our lives. Problem was, it wasn’t logical, it wasn‘t sensible. And, no matter what I said, he wasn’t convinced. I finally gave up on arguing and started praying.

We were both always, unshakably committed to our marriage, but for awhile that longing of mine was so strong that I didn’t know how I could be happy. Somehow I had to find a better balance. So I prayed that either his mind would change or my heart would. The longing did not go away. But prayer did help me feel more peaceful.

Christmas was coming. My hubby asked me what I wanted. And, though I wasn’t sure how it would make him feel, I told him honestly what I wanted the most: his fingerprints. Fingerprints, you see, are the first step in the adoption process. He smiled, sighed and asked me to expand my list. But that was all I wanted.

On Christmas Eve, I was honestly unsure of what to expect. It was such a big thing I was asking. And really, to do justice by another child, he would have to enter into it wholeheartedly. I wasn’t sure if that was possible.

In the midst of the chaos of four children tearing into heaps of packages, he handed me a little package. Tearing open the package with trembling fingers, I found a golden keychain, on which was carved the words, ‘God keeps his promises’. I looked over at him and thanked him.

“Look on the back,” he said, his eyes shining.

I turned the golden disk over. On the back, etched in the gold, was a single shining thumb print.