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I wrote in my journal: If Deborah were not mine, if she were not my child, would I love her? If I just passed her on the street, like I do countless other people each day, what would draw me to her? What would make me love her out of all the other people I see? She could be just another human being in my path, but she’s not. God has made her ours somehow. And I have discovered a kind of love for Deborah that is unlike my love for any of our other five children. I have discovered a taste of God’s unfathomable, undeserved, unexplainable, extravagant love—a supernatural love defined by His grace. Because of Deborah, I know God in a way I could never have known Him otherwise. He has called me to lengths and depths of love I didn’t know I was capable of but which I learned He can supply, because He is love. I don’t love Deborah more than our other five children, but I do love her in a different way, and I know more love for my other kids than I would have ever known without her.