SUNDAY EVENING HYMN
I haven’t been entirely truthful.
In an earlier Facebook post and in a ‘Reflection’ on my website I said these words: “My favorite hymn, hands down, is ‘The Sun Has Gone Down.’ That’s not entirely true. It would be true if the question was: “What is your favorite evening hymn that reminds you of your mom?” Yes, then that would be my favorite hymn. Saying that was my favorite hymn of all hymns would be like saying I have a favorite son of all my sons. That’s. Just. Not. Possible.
I have four favorite sons.
They came into my life in a bit of an unusual way—all at once—like a cascade.
The question about the forging of our family is asked often: How did the adoption of four brothers from the country of Kazakhstan come about? The simple answer is: God directed it. It was so clearly orchestrated by Him that He could have just as well written us a sticky note that said: ‘This is what I want you to do.’
The longer answer starts with our fertility doctor. She had the courage to say, after the last failed medical ‘try,’ that we could 1) go ahead and try the next expensive ‘thing’ and not be sure it would produce a child or 2) we could put that money toward adopting and be sure it would produce a child. I loved how simple she made that sound. She gave us the emotional license we needed to re-direct our efforts. I went home that night, began work on an online adoption profile and within three weeks we were chosen by a young gal who, at the time, was six months pregnant. She liked our profile and wondered if we would consider being her baby girl’s parents. Oh, my! Would we! I’ll never forget that feeling. She CHOSE US out of who-knows-how-many people were in the running.
But, life is not ever as simple as we want it to be. As the old cliché goes, ‘Timing is everything.’ During those three weeks, my National Guard unit was put on alert. That term means that one’s unit may or may not be chosen, among a group of other units on alert, to serve what would have been an 18-month active-duty tour, most likely to Iraq or Afghanistan. This changed things. My husband, owner and operator of three funeral homes, wasn’t sure he was up to the task of possibly being a single dad to a newborn for 18 months while her mother was boots-on-the-ground in a far-away country. And I understood. Completely. So, he went on a solo hunting trip up north to tackle a deer and do some soul searching on the question of whether or not to move forward with an adoption. I stayed home, preparing myself for being at peace with whatever decision he made.
Two days into his trip, I received an email from a man named ‘John.’ He had just returned from Kazakhstan and announced that he had made it his personal mission to find a home for four brothers he had met while he and his wife were at their orphanage adopting another sibling group. They would have adopted these brothers, too, except they already had 19 children and Kazakhstan frowned upon giving them more. He included a picture of them along with a 6-page document, written by their orphanage director and ‘mamas,’ who did their best to describe (in Russian that was translated to broken English) the personalities of these four boys.
I’ll never forget seeing their photo for the first time. Igor, 12, the oldest, looked like my husband. Ilya, 10, Alexander, 8, and Vladimir, 5, could have passed for two of my brothers. It was uncanny how much they looked like us. My heart flipped as I imagined them becoming our sons but knew there would be no way my husband would be on board with it. If he was struggling with the possibility of being a single dad to one newborn baby while I was away for 18 months, he certainly wouldn’t consider being a single dad of four grown boys. That’s what I had determined in my mind, anyway. I printed off the information and set it aside.
When my husband returned, he told me, regretfully, that he couldn’t take on a newborn without my help and continue his work duties. It would be too much. We would have to wait to adopt. I was prepared for that answer and accepted it. I prayed that another family would adopt the four brothers. I contacted the birth mom, explained the situation with my possible military activation and encouraged her to find a new adoptive family. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t sad.
A few days later, more out of sharing information than anything else, I decided to put the 6-page document from John on my husband’s living room chair. Was there a tinge of hope that he would be interested? Yes. But, mostly, I set it there as if to say, ‘How ironic that while you were gone, this happened.’ I never saw him read it.
For the next week, I was busy switching mental gears. I was putting in a lot of time outside of weekend drill, to help our unit get squared away for a possible activation. At the end of that week, my husband and I were driving somewhere and, out of the blue, he stated with resolve, “We’re going to have to get a new vehicle.” I turned to look at him, not entirely sure what preceded this thought process. He continued, “That baby girl will have no problem finding a home. We need to go get those boys.” One thing about living with a man-of-few-words is that when he speaks, it’s usually important, or I learn something. And this was no exception. I could tell from the conversation that ensued that he had had the same gut reaction when seeing them—they already looked like ours.
The issue of my possible deployment was solved when I happened to be sitting next to my cousin at a basketball game who happened to ask me how my Nat’l Guard stint was going. I happened to tell him that we were on alert and my husband and I were facing a conundrum regarding possibly adopting four brothers from Kazakhstan. He happened to say, “You should call Neil. He’s one of my members at church and I think he’s some high rank in the military.” I happened to find out that he was the Inspector General of MY brigade, and in a bold move outside the chain-of-command rules, I called him the next evening. I explained the tough decision we were facing and wondered if there was ANY way he could tell me whether or not our brigade would be activated. He said, “Unfortunately, I can’t. I think you know that. What I CAN tell you is that. . .you should go get those boys.” And with the wisdom of Solomon, and not divulging any classified military information, Major Neil Johnson, IG for the 32nd Brigade Combat Team, set the ball in motion for us to meet our four sons—whom we had already begun to love in our hearts.
Nine months later, the length of a natural gestation period, we came home to America, an instant family of six. One month after arriving home, we discovered another family had been actively pursuing them and was even further along in the process. But, when they discovered we had no children (they already had three of their own), they stopped their process, allowing us to continue. How grateful I was to this couple for their selfless decision and sharing with us that our boys had been chosen and loved by not just one family, but TWO.
Six months after arriving home, we discovered that the adoption agency we had worked with throughout this whole process was charged with multiple counts of malpractice. Eleven months after arriving home, Russia shut down all adoptions from the U. S. When I mentioned before that the whole chapter seemed orchestrated by God, these are some of the reasons why it felt that way.
But, back to my four favorite sons. . .and another of my favorite hymns. . . .
We would discover that the women who wrote the biographies of our boys were spot-on.
Igor (Russ), now 28, became my favorite for his inborn sense of knowing the right thing to do. That’s not to say he always did the right thing, but he sure has the propensity for knowing what’s right. If Superman were a real person, I think it could have been Igor.
Ilya (Norm), now 26, became my favorite for his wattage. Normal people are born with the capacity for 100 watts. Norm was born with 300 watts and lights up any room he enters. When people find out I’m Norm’s mom, a standard response is, “Oh, I love Norm!”
Alexander (Paul) is my favorite because he is a human computer. He’s 24 and living on his own and I just texted him today to ask him if he knew where something was that I couldn’t find in our house. He replied, “Check under the TV.” Of course, there it was. He doesn’t miss anything and can figure out everything.
Vladimir (Dan), now 20, is my favorite for his thought-filled ways. At age 6 he was playing Scrabble and finding places to make two words, not just one. And of anyone in our home, he was often heard saying, ‘Thank you for a good meal.’
It was a memorable moment with Dan during our first year as a family that reminds me of another of my favorite hymns. I was putting him to bed on the top bunk. By this time, he was speaking fairly good English. I don’t remember the exact context, but I mentioned something about Kazakhstan. He replied with a mournful, “When we go back Kazakhstan?” I wasn’t sure what he was asking so I said while shaking my head, “We’re not going back to Kazakhstan.” He continued, “We not go back?” I said, “No, this is your home. Forever.” His eyes looked washed in relief. I realized in that moment that he had spent the last year figuring this ‘new home’ was only temporary. It just about broke my heart. How could I have not properly conveyed this?
I had been singing the following hymn to our sons that week at bedtime, like my mom did for me. But, on this evening, as can so often happen with a hymn—the familiar words that normally tumble out without much thought, all of a sudden seem intimately written for just such an occasion. I changed the pronouns as I sang to Dan that evening:
“I pray Thee, dear Lord Jesus,
His heart to keep and train;
He is your holy temple,
From youth to age remain.
Turn thou his thoughts forever
From worldly wisdom’s lore;
If he but learns to know You
He shall not want for more.”
If someone asked me, “What is your favorite hymn that reminds you of the love you have for your four favorite sons?” I would say, “This one.”

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