Some children come to us through the wombs and labors of other mothers.

And our lives are never the same.

A few years ago, while our children were in high school, I began to notice a young guy hanging out with them at our farm. I had never seen him before. He was a year ahead of them in school, and had red hair and a robust laugh. I remember hearing that laugh — mixed with the laughter of our children, and it was joyful. It was obvious they had a strong connection.

He started coming to our farm often, helping with farm and 4-H projects on which our children were working. I watched from a distance for a time, but once I met him and got to know him a little better, I found out why our children enjoyed being around him so much.

Learning his story, I discovered that he came from a home that was difficult for him for a while, and he needed more of an escape at first than anything else. We liked him enough that we were glad to provide a place and some able-bodied work for him while he sorted things out.

He always went home at night, but he spent much (or most) after-school time with our family, and ate supper with us increasingly often. And we didn’t mind a bit.

One evening when I got home from work late, my family was waiting for me and had the house decorated for my birthday. (Very unusual that they were all home and had the house decorated for my mid-October birthday on the farm.) This young man was part of that family moment, and to be honest, it wouldn’t have been the same without his presence by then.

Our sons were fidgeting around with my new hand mixer, and when they put some tissue paper in the beaters and started it up, it created quite a commotion. Soon the whole family was knee-deep in belly laughter — from watching how hard this kid was laughing.

Knowing what we knew of his family life, it fed our souls to see him seem so happy in that moment. Because we remembered a time when he called us late one evening to hear the voice of someone who wasn’t “up to here” in family chaos; and we heard firsthand over the phone while he talked to us that family discord is loud … on every level.

He was not able to hold it together that night; but we were honored to be his lifeline.

I recall a few times when he would call me to say I didn’t need to set a place for him at the supper table. He would say, “I’m just calling to say I won’t be home for supper tonight.”

“I won’t be HOME for supper tonight.”

At the time, I was humbled that his own mother raised such a kind young man who would be courteous enough to call with that information. I wasn’t sure I did as good of a job of raising children who would call just to tell me something like that.

Those simple words have stayed with me all this time. He thought of our family and our farm as “home,” and while it probably broke his own mother’s heart at the time to know he may have thought that, it brought us such joy to be able to help her son, simply by being a family.

This guy graduated from high school and went to college, married and has two wonderful children of his own now, whom they are raising in the faith. He’s held down a steady job ever since college graduation, is an honest, hard worker, and has become humbly successful.

He could have gone down a very different path, but he chose to go his own way — the path that led to deep happiness and stability. Just by living our lives, we were honored to think we may have played a small part in that life choice he made, and continues to live today.

While he doesn’t carry our last name, he’s as much a part of our family as are any of us. He may stand out as the only red-head in our family, though.

He taught us as much about life as we may have taught him. And we have been blessed. He chose us, and we chose him — a lasting family we all created together.

You can’t learn those things from a textbook. They can only be lived.