I knew the date was coming, but I didn’t expect it to feel quite like this.
Without telling me, my wife reached out to people from different seasons of my life and asked them to write. I expected a few kind birthday notes. What I didn’t expect were these to be the kind of messages that make you slow down, read twice, and quietly thank God.
One of them was from Iby.
I met her about thirty years ago, around the time Romania was starting to become more than just an idea in my mind. Her story (and ours) has never been simple. There were hard parts, complicated parts. But there was also something steady underneath it all.
Back then, she was part of a family that became part of ours. Over time, Gerri and I found ourselves showing up not just as visitors, but as something closer to parents. We were sharing life in the ordinary ways that love tends to grow.
Iby always had potential. Even when life felt unsteady, you could see it. Through RtC, we were able to come alongside her, helping her with school, supporting her into adulthood, giving her more than just a way to get by… a real chance at a future. And now, years later, you can see it.
She has a strong career in transportation logistics, speaks five languages, stays rooted in her faith, and is raising a beautiful family. Her daughter just graduated junior high. Somehow, that detail stayed with me.
Because at some point, this stopped being just “ministry.” It became relationship. It became history. It became family. Reading her letter, I realized—this is what it looks like when love lasts long enough to grow into something you can’t measure right away.
RtC started as a way to help children find family and a future. But sometimes, if you’re paying attention, you get to see something more. You get to see the dividends—the kind that only come from years of showing up, believing in someone, and loving them through all of the hard things.
Turning 60 gave me a chance to look back a bit. And what struck me most is this: some stories don’t end when the work is done. They keep unfolding. Iby’s letter felt like a quiet reminder from God of the life He’s allowed me to live. To be part of what He is doing is one of my greatest gifts.