To You on your 10th Birthday,

Each time I think about writing you a letter, my eyes fill with tears.  It's hard to put into words how I feel about you...and I love to write so that's quite a statement.

Today, as you turn 10, double digits, I reflect on who you were, who you are and all that you will become.

Some days I wish I had known you as a baby and at one and two and three and four and five and six and seven...but I met you at eight when your teacher came to me and said, "You love to work with kids who are having a hard time and he's having a really hard time."

I walked up to a little boy in the Library.  He was wearing a very dirty jacket, he was hitting and scratching himself and he looked so very tired.  That was the beginning of, what would become, the little boy who changed my life.

From that day, we'd spend so much more time together and each day, you'd wear that same jacket-pulling your hood up to hide your face from the world.  When I tried to hug you, your body would go rigid and you'd pull away.  You'd spit on people. You'd fall asleep on my floor.  You'd come to my office because teachers didn't know what to do with you.  You'd lay on the floor screaming and crying.  You'd scream curse words all over campus.  You'd add inappropriate enhancements that cartoon pictures.  You'd bully kids. You took all my time.

Today you got dressed, brushed your teeth, combed your hair, and gave me a big hug as you headed off for a day with your friend. Your friend's mom sent me pictures and I asked how you were doing and she said, "Wonderful."  People stop us in the store to tell you what a polite young man you are.  Last week, the lady at the front desk of the doctor's office looked at me and said, "It took me an hour to figure out if that was him.  He looked similar, but he's so different.  I'm stunned that this is the same child." You have conversations with adults and are learning all the right ways to make friends. When I asked you who was going to bring your backpack upstairs and you smiled and said, "You're my mom so you have to." Tonight when I tucked you in you whispered, "You have to snuggle with me for an hour, ok?"

And it's not perfect, is it?  But nothing great is every perfect, is it?  Perfect is boring.

Yesterday, you cried and as we laid in bed, I asked, "Tell me what's making you so sad," and you said, "When you tell me I need to be gracious and grateful," it makes me think I make your life bad.  I didn't know what to say because I was stunned.

You, you, give me a reason to wake up every morning.
You remind me that God exists and he put us together for a reason.
You teach me patience and the importance of working less and living more.
You remind me that progress takes time, but it happens as surely as the sun rises.
You remind me that hard is worth it.

My mom once told me that I was worth every tear ever shed on my behalf.  You, my dear, are worth every tear ever shed on your behalf.

You, my foster son, my son make my life everything.