My daughter Summer was with us as her dad was dying of cancer in the hospital bed in our living room. Her cell phone chirped. It was the international adoption agency. “We have a referral for three brothers who would do well in a family with children. Are you interested?”

The world is much smaller than I thought. I recently met new members of my family I hadn’t known previously—brothers and sisters in Latvia, this tiny country that was once part of the Soviet Union and has only been independent since 1991.

On a beautiful 740-acre piece of rolling hills with patches of forest, stands a children’s camp and a working sheep ranch. Eagle’s Wings. 

I had several stand-out high school teachers, but a seventh-grade teacher comes to mind when I think about undercover influence. Mrs. Wells. She invited me to join her after school one day a week with a handful of other seventh graders.

Not all people are eager for change. It takes us away from the comfortable, the familiar. It sometimes costs, and sometimes hurt, and has the potential to unsettle us a bit. Or a great deal.

Making intercessory prayers for our children is a privilege. It’s a tool from God to assist us in the high calling of rearing our offspring, which takes tremendous amounts of grit and grace.

Every time I returned from a hike, Roxie was sitting at her guard post, halfway up the stairs where she can see out the large windows that flank the stone fireplace. No one was getting away with anything on her watch.

I met this amazing young woman, Sarah Thebarge, at a writers’ conference in Portland a couple years ago. She taught a coaching class entitled “The Healing Power of Your Story”—eight hours spread over three days with in-depth instruction, writing exercises, and critique.

The antagonism has risen to a new level. After we housed and fed and entertained my daughter, son-in-law, three of the grands, and a grand-dog for five days—five days—we started finding tiny plastic ducks. Everywhere.