A tiny, abused, and badly burned infant lay dying in a Korean orphanage—a forgotten child. He was the unwanted child of an Asian mother and an American serviceman: the product of two cultures, but accepted by neither because of the great prejudice in that country against mixed blood.

Several thousand miles away in America, I drove on a warm summer’s evening to join my husband at a board of directors’ meeting for Heal the Children. This nonprofit organization relied upon hospitals, medical specialists, and volunteer families to help poverty-stricken children throughout the world. I remembered ten-year-old Maria from South America, whose pretty face had been disfigured forever when she toppled into a huge pot of boiling beans. Several plastic surgeons had given freely of their skill over the past two years to reconstruct her burned face. A wonderful family with ten children had selflessly taken her into their home to care for her between operations. We all hoped that Maria would be able to return to her home in South America by the time she was sixteen.

My thoughts shifted to the present as I parked my car and proceeded up the office steps to attend a meeting that would change my life forever. My husband greeted me warmly, then handed me a packet of photos of needy children that we would review.

“This one is adoptable,” he stated with deep seriousness as he pointed to the picture of an Amerasian infant.

“How wonderful for some lucky family,” I replied sincerely as I gazed into the dark brown eyes staring blankly from the photo.

“But there isn’t time to look for a family to adopt him,” my husband explained. “He is dying.”

Before I could ask any questions, the board president explained that this baby boy had been born with serious health problems. Father Keene had found the baby wrapped in newspapers on his orphanage’s doorstep. The baby’s head had been scalded, and he suffered from severe malnutrition complicated by a birth defect which prevented his body from eliminating waste. To complicate the situation, a crude attempt to correct this birth defect had failed and had left him scarred and infected. Through my shock, I heard my husband ask, “Do you want to adopt him?”

My mind whirled with unanswered questions. I thought of the two infants we had adopted within the past two years after four of our six children had left home. Our friends had questioned our decision to go back into the “baby business” at middle age, but we love children and had been blessed with the means to care for them. I stared again into the eyes of the dark-eyed baby boy in the photo. The somber, intent expression on his tiny face seemed to murmur, “You’re my only chance.”

We rushed to the Korean authorities the necessary fees to cover adoption and medical costs. The immigration clearance came in less than forty-eight hours, instead of the usual six months. Within ten days every legal step to bring this baby to us had been properly taken. His life was now in God’s hands.

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