My husband and I are a fairly young couple with (God-willing) many years ahead of us so we do hope to have children of our own one day. My relatives, however, have a medical history of difficulty in carrying babies to term so my husband and I have always held the gift of children with an open hand. Our hearts are light in this regard, I think, because our days are filled with many godchildren and spiritual little siblings, in whom I take great delight and (behind his quiet reserve) I know my husband does too.

On our most recent wedding anniversary, we went on a short pilgrimage to Canterbury Cathedral. As we stopped to take a picture, a young boy with special needs ran up to join us. I looked over at his very sheepish parents and since they did not seem to mind, we took a picture together with him sticking his tongue out before he scampered off. They said his name is Koko.

That captured moment has pride of place in our home, right at the centre of a wall covered with photographs of family and friends. I love it because Koko looks nothing like us — he seems to be of African descent and we are decidedly Southeast Asian Chinese — but for a split-second, we look like a family. The picture reminds me of the good heart of my husband, who is usually quite shy but when the child came over, he smiled widely and put his arm around him in welcome. It makes me giggle with gratitude that this little one felt comfortable enough to be near us. And it seems to say to me that the good Lord will continue to bring us children of all shapes and sizes, ethnicities and ages in the years to come — a gracious promise that I look forward to being fulfilled in God’s time and His way.