Lately work has been a daily challenge of developing exciting future plans but at the same time trying to look for new funding and resources to make sure that we will be around in the future to see those plans through. It has not been easy to keep the staff (and on some days, myself) motivated and encouraged, but I am learning SO MUCH throughout this whole process (ordeal?). In the middle of all this, Anna and Taylor have been pillars of strength for me. Every day, no matter how good or how bad a day I’ve had at work, seeing them at the end of the day puts everything in proper perspective.
Today is Taylor’s 5th birthday, so last night we were busy helping her prepare for her own big party at school with all her classmates. Apart from getting ice cream, cupcakes and everything else, my favorite moment came when Anna helped Taylor sort out a small photo album she would take to school today for a bit of “show and tell”. Anna printed out pictures from different points along Taylor’s young journey and arranged them chronologically for Taylor to tell her own “story” to her class. As Taylor practiced last night by providing commentary to each picture (“This was taken in China when I first met mommy and daddy, I was 10 months old”, “This was when we took our first trip together to San Francisco”…), watching her, it occured to me that I am a witness of a miracle unfolding. It is a narrative, a story of how God took a child abandoned on a pile of dirt the day of her birth, uniting her with us, and allowing us to watch her blossom into the beautiful young girl she is today. As I watch her practice telling her story last night, I said to myself, “I can spend the rest of my life travelling the world and never see anything more spectacular than this.”
This morning, after dropping mommy off at the GO Train station, we had some nice Daddy-Daughter time (that’s what she calls it) by having breakfast at McDonalds before school. She couldn’t stop telling me ALL the things she would do today. She concluded by saying to me, being all serious: “Daddy, I am five now. I need you to tell Ms. Kantor that I can stop napping in the afternoon. Only the young kids at school do that. I am a big girl now.” What do you say to that? 
I dropped her off at school, and as I turned to leave after our usual “hug and kiss”, she came running back to give me an extra hug. I guess it was a special hug on a special day. After the hug, she said, “I love you, Daddy!” and ran off to play in the gym.
Who says miracles don’t happen anymore?
