Kingston means from the king's town in English. Something that means to me that he is a gift from the King of Kings. His mother named him this knowing he was a gift, even though she had to bear the pain of having him taken away. When I see his beautiful brown eyes, wispy blond hair and sometimes pouting face, I also see his mother and the trials she went through to bring him to us.
Kingston was 6 weeks old when we got him well over a year ago, a little pinkish bundle of a human being who had already been in 2 placements. Sasha, his case worker, brought him to us bearing a bag of clothes and a car seat. Who would have thought that a little baby of 9 pounds with tummy problems and colic would grow up into a vivacious, energetic toddler? But he has and I praise the Lord for the time we can still change his diapers and take with us. Not to mention playing with him, giving him a bath and even putting him to bed.
Even as a little baby, Kingston would smile with his toothless grin at the sight of daddy or mommy with an innocence that only a child can display. Now he still smiles with a mischievous grin as he's running off with the remote or phone, but precious he is still. Our adoption has been final for a month and we've got our insurance cards in his name too. Kingston is ours, legally, not just a foster child. Nonetheless, it took the courts nearly a year and a half to put in writing what the Lord already knew. For this, and many other aspects, I have more than enough reason to praise Him today and everyday. Amen!