Tuesday evening, November 30th, provided us with much needed nourishment, relatively good sleep (my first under a necessary, and moderately romantic mosquito net), and the promise of a memorable introduction soon to come. We awoke Wednesday morning to the sounds of African children singing and playing, and eagerly awaited the opportunity to see the little Malawian we hoped to call our own. After a quick shower and trail mix breakfast, Danny, my parents and I walked the short distance between our guest house and the home of Annie, director of Kondanani Children’s Home. Our friend Kondi joined us as we sat on the veranda waiting for the arrival of Ernest and his nanny. Before we were even really ready for it, the little boy we thought would be our son came through the door in Stella’s arms. Though Annie had told us Ernest would likely scream and throw a fit, he was calm, quiet and content to just stare off into the garden. He quickly warmed up to us, and seemed completely unfazed by the constant flashes of the camera and accompanying video. In retrospect, it was actually odd how disinterested he was in seeing himself in our media. It was also odd how interested he was in… nothing. Though we could grab his attention momentarily, he was constantly distracted by non-existent activity over our shoulders. Even candy and toys didn’t keep him occupied for long. At the time, we just assumed he was overwhelmed. We were just thrilled that he didn’t hate us. I’m sure my parent’s concerns were already forming, but Danny and I were blissfully unaware. Strangely enough, however, neither of us made any promises to Ernest in those moments that we ended up breaking. We didn’t call ourselves “mommy” or “daddy,” nor did we promise to love him forever as we almost immediately did with Reagan. It was just the beginning of countless little ways God protected us in the midst of what would become an impossibly (without Him) difficult situation.