I've written about Jaime before - our children are now "cousins". She drove hundreds of miles with her four children and husband to attend Lola's First Communion party because she values the importance of family connections. Although different in many ways (she prefers sneakers and I prefer stilettos) the bond that ties us together is our fierce love for family. Nothing is more important than family and we drop everything to support each other. Here's the least I could do, the first of many things I will do. Hand her a microphone.  - Pauline Karwowski

Don't you love those people who are convinced you frivolously spend money at Starbucks every day? How many times have we all heard, "For less than a cup of coffee..." There is no doubt that if there was no such thing as Starbucks, whales would be free to swim in crystal seas, water would flow to rural Africa, orphans would find loving homes, and puppies would all have boys. Everything good or bad in our world is wrapped up in that selfish cup of joe.

Well, I don't buy in to that story. I don't even buy coffee. I make it at home and then put way too much french vanilla creamer in it. Actually, I would be embarrassed if you saw. There is an assumption in all this Starbucks bashing that real changes come when we all give $3 a day. Now, I’m not saying donating money is wrong, or sacrificing a regular splurge for a great cause is futile. But, I am saying that sometimes, you have to give more. Sometimes when we can’t do everything, we just have to do something. Something in this case is our all.

And you see, there’s this little boy. He’s not even a year old, and his whole life has been defined by a number. Three. Three copies of the 21st chromosome instead of two. In his country, when you have three, the nurses whisper and do things "for the best." When you have three, you go to an orphanage instead of home. When you have three, you spend hours looking at a ceiling instead of mobiles and grandparents' faces. When you have three, there is no school for you. When you have three, you "age out," and instead of going to kindergarten, you go to the adult mental institution, where you will wait for the rest of your life. And when we looked into his eyes for the first time on Reece's Rainbow, we knew. Giving everything we had could not make it right for every child, but it could make it right for him. Thadius lives in Eastern Europe. He is less than a year old. He has Down syndrome. He is an orphan. But in six months, God willing, only one of those statements will be true.

If there’s one thing I could tell you, it’s that we’re not special. We have four children and a house and a mortgage and a dog and a suburban that can only hold one more car seat. We go to church, but we sometimes drop an F-bomb if the kids aren’t around. We pray at bedtime, but rarely read the Bible. Our house is generally a mess, and we never get anywhere on time. We plant a garden and kill it every year. My blog is in perfect order, but my kids’ baby books are empty.

The kiddos so far.

We are so not special. But, we are a family who said yes. To him.

Me and the hubby.

And if we could show you his picture, you might see it too. Or maybe the magic is meant just for us. I don’t know. And we aren’t ready. We’re two years out of grad school, and Andy’s paycheck pays the bills, and covers that month’s emergency. We have a small amount in savings. And that’s huge. But it’s not enough, and certainly not “responsible” to many people. Reece’s Rainbow exists to lower the financial barriers to adopting children with special needs. If we were adopting for just us, we would never accept. (Of course, I argue no orphan is ever adopted just for us.) But if we’re doing it for him, for our Thadius, we will.

Precious Willow. And if it helps find a mom for Willow, we’ll tell all about our humility to ask.

Sweet Ollie. And if it helps find a family for Ollie, we’ll open ourselves up to the negative comments to share our reasons, which some mistake for justifications.

We have nothing to justify. We are practicing our religion in its purest form. In return, we are receiving far more than we could give, even if we had every penny of the cost sitting in a bank right now. Because here in the United States, in our home, three means so much more. Three means early intervention programs. Three means we'll watch you more closely for heart problems. Three means mommy will teach you how to nurse to make your belly healthy again. Three means four brothers and sisters who won't ever see you as broken. Three means going to the same school as your siblings. Three means helping your speech match the speed of your thoughts. Three means a job and an apartment and a life far bigger than any crib could offer. God, family, and Thadius. The only three that should matter.

And that’s why today, I am not after your coffee. I am not even after donations. I am begging you to see what we see in Thadius. In ourselves. To believe that your home is better than a crib, that your family is better with a child who others would pass over. And if that’s not possible, to tell people you meet about the stories of redemption for children too far gone to save, like Hailee. To believe there is healing for these children, that they do have potential. Because if you believed that, we could all find the money. If you believed that, the pages of Reece’s Rainbow would be filled with waiting families instead of waiting children. And there I go again, dreaming of saving them all. But I can’t. Right now, in this small place in time, we can save one. His name is Thadius. And someday soon, with your help, I will call him mine. Help can mean making your next purchase with Amazon though our affiliate link. Help can be buying Avon products. Help can be making a tax-deductible donation to win an iPad or $500 Amazon gift card. Help can be purchasing scrapbooking software. Help can even be buying a cup of coffee.

So you see, I am truly not after your coffee. I am after your heart.