My Daughter Has Her Birth Mother’s Eyes.

Yesterday we took our daughter to meet her birth mother for the first time in her (almost) 15 years of life. We were all nervous, anxious, and excited. But I had no idea I would be moved to tears.

Coffee cup on the table in coffee shop

The wind was whipping down the corridors of buildings along 16th street in downtown Indianapolis. Although the sun was shining bright, it was cold. A typical late December day in Indiana. I eased the car into a spot across the street from the vintage coffee shop we were meeting in, turned the ignition off, and turned to look at my daughter sitting quietly in the back seat. She smiled at me. Kristin suggested we pray before going in, and so we did.