Welcome Home: A Reason to Give Thanks

The spare room is ready. Clean linens. Porta-crib set up. Fresh towels on the dresser.

The turkey is in the fridge. A huge bag of potatoes is on the counter. Ingredients for four different pies are in the kitchen.

The preparations are nearly complete to welcome home our kids and grandkids.

I remember my mother doing the same thing. Bedrooms would be prepped in the basement and in the upstairs. Mom liked to keep clean sheets under the pillow and put them on right before guests arrived. Menus were taped onto the kitchen cabinets and the pantry groaned with food. My siblings and I would travel from California, Minnesota, Colorado and Arizona. We would come from all directions, pull up the long driveway and unload piles of suitcases as we headed for the shining porch light.

As we were welcomed home.

As a child I remember my maternal Grandmother always rolled out all the lefse and kringla--Norwegian goodness-- for the family gatherings, not a small fete as they had had twelve children. (I have over forty-five first cousins on that side of the family.)  We would arrive to their home in South Dakota after driving all day.  We would rush in from the cold into the warmth of so many hugs and "Oh how you have grown."

We kids would be tucked into bed wherever extra room could be found. Grandpa would wind the cuckoo clock before turning off all the lights. Except one. The kitchen light. I remember Mom and Grandma would sit at the table and talk long into that first night.  I didn't understand then what I do now.

Mom had come home.

We have friends with a unique story in regard to life around their table. It doesn't involve traveling cross-country in order to arrive home, but rather, traveling days and years in the legal system as foster parents. They have huge hearts for unwanted children and have welcomed many children into their home, but their hearts were yearning for one more little girl who they desired to make legally theirs.

On Monday, we drove to the state courthouse, waited in line for security and took the elevator to the third floor where we joined three dozen people in the long hallway. Posted signs asked for silence because of legal events happening behind other closed doors, but it was hard to contain the buzz of excitement in this group of celebrants.

The anticipation was tangible. Unrestrainable.

The waiting had weight to it. Long nights and longer days. 621 days to be exact. 621 days for this specific child in foster care.

We filed into the courtroom. Our friends sat in the front with their seven other children and their foster child. Once settled, the judge began with these words, "This is the time set for adoption."

This is the time. 

A chill ran through me.

I remembered two weeks earlier, my friend, the soon-to-be-mom had written, "A lot of lasts for this baby recently - last licensing home visit, last guardian ad litem visit, last physical therapist appointment, last court hearing, last time in this hallway as a foster child, last days of us referring to her future with the word IF.”

No more if.

What a powerful, beautiful statement. No more if.

Grab the clean sheets. Take out the turkey. Keep the light on. Add another chair around the table.

This is the time.

The time to be family. The time to be welcomed home.