A month before I turned 21, I boarded a flight bound for Cape Town. My plan was to stay for six months.

Two years later, I was still there, speaking vows that wed me to a South African man.

Within three years of our wedding day, we had two kids.

Just after our second child’s birth, my mom was re-diagnosed with cancer. The breast cancer she endured four years prior had returned with a vengeance, and metastasized throughout her bones, lungs and liver.

Eighteen months later, we adopted my husband’s cousin, who was orphaned at the age of six.

He spoke no English and had an undiagnosed hearing disability.

Those were turbulent days.

 

Lord, protect my heart.

 

When we got married, my husband and I made an agreement.

If it was the Lord’s will, we would spend the first five years after having children in Cape Town, then move to the States for the second five years of our kids’ lives, before returning to South Africa.

Shortly after adopting, I was ready to make the move. My mom’s health was declining, and nobody knew how long she had left.

I was desperate to be with her.

We started the paperwork to obtain a green card for my husband.

I went to the U.S. Embassy to register our adopted son and get the necessary documents to make him a U.S. citizen.

That’s when I heard the news.

 

Read the rest of this story over at Katie Reid’s site by clicking here.

 

 

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