There were many difficult nights when I seriously wondered if I was doing enough or if I was getting any of it right.

Looking back now, I can follow everything that happened in my life back to one choice made on a normal October night.

I came home after a grueling double shift at work, and I nearly stumbled over something unexpected sitting on my wooden porch.

There were three baby car seats, one small diaper bag, and a short note scribbled roughly on a faded gas receipt.

My mind completely refused to accept what was sitting inside those car seats as I recognized my brother Daniel’s sharp handwriting.

The short note simply read that he was sorry and could not handle the immense responsibility of raising them alone.

His young wife, Patricia, had been laid to rest just eleven days earlier, and my brother had made it less than two weeks.

I was only twenty-seven years old, single, and living in a tiny apartment located directly above the local hardware store.

Just then, my elderly neighbor Mrs. Hunter stepped outside wearing her bathrobe and immediately noticed the three quiet babies.

She loudly insisted that a single, young man could not possibly raise three newborn infants without professional help.

As she offered to call social services to find a ready family, the smallest baby named June suddenly reached out her tiny hand.

She wrapped her tiny fist tightly around my index finger, and in that exact flickering light, I froze completely. I opened my mouth to agree to the adoption center, but looking down at her innocent eyes, a completely different decision altered my life forever…