He prayed. It is a pretty big deal, too. Since the end of November, we’ve invited and asked and prodded and harassed a little bit. We pray before our meals, always holding hands, and foster son always politely declined in taking a turn. But last night, with a big smile on his face and hands outstretched, he announced that he was ready to pray.

We didn’t make a big deal about it, but inside, I think our hearts were doing leaps and flips.

He is such an 18-year-old, making 18-year-old choices without thinking ahead to what might be a better idea for his future, thinking 18-year-old plans – sometimes, we want to shake him back to common sense, but mostly, we sure do love this kid.

He will leave lights on, a pet peeve of mine, since I pay the utilities. He will open a can of soda and then leave it, wasting an almost completely full can for us to dispose of. He forgets to lock the door. We sometimes disagree on what is most important regarding money matters, his plans for college preparation, politics… Terrible offenses, huh.

He also does his own laundry. He emptied the dishwasher last week for me without having to be asked. He cleans his own space. He runs errands for Sam. He did an 18-year-old thing and decided his car needed all the bells and whistles in the form of speakers and sub woofers, but he invited us out to his car to let us experience what it feels like when the volume is turned up and the bass makes your spine vibrate. He feels bad when someone else says “thank you” first, because he thinks if he then says, “thank you” secondly, we will assume it was forced or insincere – but we have been assured many times that he is grateful.

As the three of us sat and had dinner a couple of weeks ago, we had a halfway serious conversation about the existence of God and some “what ifs.” As the conversation wound down and he took off to go do what an 18-year-old with freedom does, he stopped on the side of the road to take a few pictures to send to me. I believe God was still conversing with his spirit.

Today, I am grateful for foster son, no longer our foster son. We can take “foster” out of his title. He’s 18, and he belongs. Today, I am grateful for our son, Melvin. He makes us pretty proud, even when we want to shake some common sense into him.