~ It's Not Just DNA

It's early in the day, and we are watching our smallest busy himself about the house, making his presence known wherever he goes. He loves noise. His brothers are off playing in another part of the house when I tell my husband,

"He is sooo you!!!"

I whisper it because I never want the older boys to think they are less of daddy than their brother.

And then I wink and ask my husband if he thinks the little one will be-bop when he walks as he gets older. (That's what caught my eye when I first saw his daddy - that happy bouncy way he walked around campus when we were young and carefree.)

He laughs and says he's been noticing the same crazy bounce step in our little one that I always tease him about.

It must be in the genes.

The day rolls along. We start school and tend to our subjects, and when it's time for science, I pull out the beads and the pipe cleaners, and I help my oldest make a replica of a strand of DNA.

I look down as my hands thread the beads and I remember the morning conversation and I marvel at this carrier of genetic information I am constructing.

The day is winding down when one of my middle boys comes to me out of the blue and says in his quietest, most serious voice,

"Mom, I wish I knew what my birth dad looks like."

We have never been afraid to talk with the boys about birth moms or birth dads. In our book, they are to be honored and remembered for their incredible sacrifices and gifts. However, this comment caught me a little off-guard. Wanting to be ready to tend to this need, I cleared my throat, shook away the cobwebs on my brain from a crazy day, and I uttered the most profound thing I could think of at that moment,

"Oh really, honey? Why?"

"I want to know if I reflect him."

Just as I feel the little flutter in my heart, the one that happens when I wonder if I'm going to be able to handle this the way it needs to be handled, I hear him chuckle and he says,

"I heard that on T.V."

"You heard what on T.V.?"

"That children reflect their parents."

And just like that, something caught his attention and off he went.

No time to formulate the perfect parental response.

No time to reassure him.

No time to scoop him up in my arms.

I'm left standing there with a spatula in my hands, speechless.

As usual, I think of the perfect thing to say later that evening in the quiet, and I will say it to him when I get the chance.

I will tell him that, if it's true that children reflect their parents, his birth father must have the most beautiful dimples, the greatest smile, and the kindest eyes in the world.

And then I'll tell him all the ways he reflects his forever father.

I'll tell him, "You reflect his curiosity, his love for nature, his desire to help people and his ability to make people laugh."

And then I'll tell him all the ways I see Him reflecting his heavenly Father.

I'll remind him to never stop putting other people's needs ahead of his own and to keep loving with no expectations for himself. He's got both of those things down!

I think back on the day and I marvel at the ways a day twists and turns and all comes together.

And when I crawl into bed to find rest for the night, I have this brief thought:

There are many ways to pass things on to your children - DNA is just one of them.