When someone tells you they’re going to court, congratulations usually isn’t the first word that comes to mind.
I’ve spent enough years covering city council meetings and court proceedings to know courtrooms usually aren’t places where people smile much. But on a recent morning in a Dallas courtroom, I discovered there is one kind of hearing where everyone hopes for the very same outcome.
I shared before in this space that Paula and I welcomed our second grandchild into the world last December. Scottie Jean Spangler was the answer to so many prayers as our oldest daughter, Robyn, and her husband, Steve, opened their hearts and home to a little girl who expanded their family in the most beautiful way.
Since that day, Scottie has brought a whole new measure of hope and joy into my heart as our first granddaughter. I simply can’t imagine life without her.
The adoption process was essentially complete in January, but Texas law requires a final hearing six months later. That gave Grandma and me an invitation to Dallas, where the judge wasn’t just tapping a gavel and signing an order.
In a formal courtroom, wearing a traditional black robe, the judge made it personal. She held Scottie close. She spoke to her face-to-face, leaning in for a gentle little head bump when the guest of honor looked her eye to eye.
Then the court attorney welcomed grandparents, cousins and friends with an unofficial oath that made my heart smile.
“Do you promise to love her forever?”
A unanimous “Yes.”
“Do you promise to spoil her from time to time?”
Another enthusiastic “Yes,” though Grandma and I may take a few liberties with that promise.
Turning to the cousins, the attorney smiled.
“She’s going to be annoying for a little while. Do you promise to share your toys with her and carry her diapers to the diaper bin?”
Giggles.
“Yes.”
“And do you promise to babysit from time to time?” he said to the whole group.
“Yes,” of course.
“And that’s why we put you under oath.”
I’m fairly certain none of those questions appear anywhere in the Texas adoption statutes, but in those few moments the judge and attorney transformed government into grace. They understood that this wasn’t simply a legal proceeding. It was a celebration.
The judge even invited me behind the bench to capture the hearing on video from her perspective. I’ll always treasure the look on Robyn’s and Steve’s faces as they reflected on the long emotional journey that finally brought Scottie into their waiting arms.
The truth is, six months earlier this little girl was already theirs in every way that mattered. The hearing didn’t create a family. It affirmed the family that had already been living, loving and losing sleep together since the day Scottie was born.
There was one more sweet touch.
The judge’s bench was lined with donated stuffed animals, and every child in our group was invited to take one home. Scottie and her parents left the courthouse with more than legal paperwork. They left hugging a keepsake that reminded everyone this day wasn’t really about lawyers or legal language. It was all about love.
As we walked out of that Dallas courthouse, I couldn’t help thinking about all the reasons people usually find themselves standing before a judge. Most arrive carrying heartache, conflict or uncertainty.
Not that morning.
That courtroom was filled with laughter, promises and the unmistakable joy of a little girl who had no idea her life had just been celebrated — officially and on the record — by a family that had already fallen hopelessly in love with her.
Someday Scottie will understand that her story didn’t begin with a judge’s signature. It began with parents who prayed for her, a birth mother who made an extraordinary decision born of love, and a God who was writing her story long before any of us knew her name.
I’ve covered a lot of court proceedings over the years, but I’ve never left one feeling quite so hopeful. It turns out the happiest courtroom in America may just be the one where a judge gets to say, in one way or another, “Welcome home.”
KURT JOHNSON can be reached at kjohnson@hamilton.net