Whenever i look at the bright, sweet, shining face of my now-four-year-old daughter, London Renata, I can't help but get a feeling of raw emotion.

London is everything to me: my best buddy, my shadow, my advocate, my little soulmate.

Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought of her entering my world--that was, until that unforgettable phone call, a call that was to change my life forever.

Not long after the phone call, a package arrived in the mail. It was from the adoption agency that was handling my application to adopt a child nobody else wanted. Enclosed was information about the child-in-waiting. She was from Ecquador, a child whose sad face peered at me from a black-and-white photograph. The child lived in an orphanage; her name was Maya Renata,; she was three years old, almost; she was in desperate need of a family that she could call her very own.

I jumped at the chance. Almost immediately I sought to get the necessary paperwork together, plus I sought to get more information about Maya, tried to get my personal affairs in order, and told my immediate family (plus friends) about the little girl I was planning on adopting. I was estatic; it was like celebrating my birthday, the Fourth of July, Hallowe'en, Thanksgiving, and Christmas all at once.

I was like a giggling little child.

Yet every day that went by without hearing anything, it seemed to be an unending eternity. The joy I felt at the start waned as the weeks went by. I was becoming frustrated, Discouraged. I would see the room I was turning into a child's bungalow, a little-girl-dream room, with its organdy furnishings, small, four-poster bed, and brightly yellow-painted walls, and I would grow depressed. Very much so. It seemed as if the adoption plans hit a holding pattern; it seemed as though I would never become the mother to this beautiful little Hispanic girl.

It was frustrating beyond all get-out.

About four/five months later, the call came, the call that told me that I was to become Maya's mommy. The adoption had been approved. At the news, I cried. The endless weeks of wating, not knowing anything, finally were ending; in only a matter of days I was to get my new daughter, whom, by this time, would be called London Renata Maria Martin.

On July 1, 2006, my husband, York, our two foster children Emma-Rose (8) and Orrin Richard (6), and myself all piled into our dilapidated SUV, where we took off for the airport, where we would then pick up our new child. We were all feeling a tangle of emotions: joy, fear, uncertainty, confusion, even a hint of sadness. We were willing to welcome our new daughter with open arms; she now, at long last, was to have a "forever family" she would soon learn to call her very own.

Nothing compared to the first time we laid eyes upon her. She was beautiful. We trembled with excitement, anticipation, when we saw the plane land; our excitement only intensified when the ladies (from the adoption agency, we supposed) led a tiny, gaminelike child by the hand towards us. In a combination of English and Spanish, the one lady introduced the child to us as her "familia nuevo" ("new family" in Spanish). The chidl immediately began crying, as did us, her "familia nuevo".

As she was handed over to us, I held her small, quaking form to mine. I was overcome with pure, unadulterated joy.

The child we'd waited for for what seemed an eternity was officially here. The Big Day we'd anticipated had finally arrived.

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Now, over a year later, the former Maya Renata is known as London Renata Maria Martin. She turned four years old on July Fourth of this year, just a few weeks ago. She is learning English rapidly, and is now firmly entrenched in American culture. She longs for the day to where she will become an American citizen, so she "can get her flag". To have an American flag of her own is her dearest wish--oh, that, and to get herself a pony.

Typical little girl: yes, that's our London, all over! :)

London is smart, funny, sensitive, conscious of the needs of others; she loves that all her new life has to offer. She no longer cries at night (unless she has a bad dream; that is the only time); she has proven to be brave at attempting new things, like climbing the highest slide at the playground, climbing the highest hill in our backyard, using the highest diving board at the swimming pool, or riding the "grown-up" amusement park rides. None of these thingsd have fazed her one bit.

She's one of the most courageous little kids we've seen; she's one of the biggest blessings to enter our lives. London may look different than us, but she's our daughter, just the same, first and foremost. She will continue to always be our daughter--forever and ever. She is OURS, period; nobody can take her away.

London is our Miracle Child.

                                                  *THE END.*