As the cluttered city landscape of Omaha transformed to wide open country, I couldn’t stop the pain in my heart. I miss looking at a sea of corn rows that meet the cloud-filled sky, where the only skyscrapers are silos and wind bines. We were on our almost weekly visit to our hometown of Osceola, Iowa. I miss Iowa. The city life is not for me.

“What do you think they’ll be like?” I asked my husband Scott.

“I don’t know. You’re the one that talked to her,” Scott didn’t look up from the road. He drove with his hands exactly at ten and two. He seemed more uptight than usual.

“No I mean the kids!” I exclaimed. The excitement in my voice made Harley, our rat terrier, stir from my lap. He kissed my face.

Scott just shrugged.

“We need to get there by 11:30,” Scott said. “I’ll need my insulin by then. Did you pack extra candy bars for the weekend just in case?”

“Yes, they’re in the glove compartment.” I replied. We chalked up our inability to have children to Scott’s diabetes medication.

“Besides,” I remember Scott saying, “I don’t want to have kids and pass down this horrible disease.”

Scott knew how badly I wanted children. It was his idea to adopt. We put the word out to our family and friends that we were looking to adopt and we started working with an adoption agency.

One day, a friend of a friend texted me: “What do you think about a 3rd grader, a 1st grader, and a 5 year old for adoption?”

My first thought was Wow three? No way!

I stared at the text, unsure what to think. Recently I gave my life to God for the first time. I felt close to Him, closer than I ever had. I decided to forward the text to Scott.

“Sure why not. We can meet up and see what we think.” Scott replied.

After weeks of playing phone tag we finally get to meet up with Abigail, the children’s grandmother. She is from Osceola like us, but lives on the border of Nebraska and Missouri with the kids.

We drove down Osceola’s Main Street to where we were going to meet Abigail at the local bar and grill. I felt like we were going to a job interview.

Scott and I left Harley in the car and we proceeded to the door. A woman in her late 50s accompanied by a gentleman also walked up to the bar. My instincts told me that it was her. We made eye contact as we reached the door.

“Why hello,” Abigail said first. “Are you Heather?”

“YES! You must be Abigail,” I replied. “This is Scott.”

“This here is Pete, my other half,” Abigail gestured toward the gentleman she was with. After a shaking hands and short discussion about the weather, we headed in. We found a table in a quiet corner and sat down.

The waitress came over to take our order.

“I’ll have a Bud Light,” Abigail said.

“Make that two,” Pete chimed in.

I was a little taken back. I thought this was more of a formal meeting and it was only noon. Oh well, I thought. It’s Saturday, let’s kick back.

“I’ll have one also please,” I ordered.

“Pepsi,” Scott said.