"Kids, what would you think about having two brothers?" My husband asked our three children one evening. "Mommy and I think maybe EJ would like a brother who was more like him – another little boy from Haiti."

Again our kids were excited about the idea. But for reasons we didn't understand at the time, we were given wrong information about Joshua. The website description was incorrect, one of the workers told us.

"Joshua is a difficult boy. Frankly he would not blend well with other children."

With unsure hearts, we decided on a different boy, a six-year-old named Sean Angelo. Six months later, we got the call every adoptive parent waits for.

"Okay," the orphanage director told me. "Your children are ready to come home."

Haiti is widely known as one of the poorest countries in the world. It is a place rife with dangers, and there were months when I considered having our new little boys escorted home. But in the end God made it clear I was to go there. Take pictures, absorb myself in their culture if only for a short while, and bring home a piece of their heritage. Something I could share with them later.

My first impressions were exactly what I expected for a country with 80 percent unemployment and no sanitation system. Trash piled high along city sidewalks, inviting the random cow or pig that mingled amid wandering pedestrians. Wide-eyed children begged on the corners and a vacant stare masked the faces of most. Buildings and roadways were in disarray, reminding me of scenes from earthquake and hurricane disaster sites.

I was taken to the orphanage and introduced to my two new sons – EJ and Sean. The boys were dressed in their best, donated clothing, and both offered me shy smiles as they sat on my lap. They didn't speak a word of English.

This – all of it – was what I'd expected.

But I didn't expect what happened next. As I sat there searching for a common bond with EJ and Sean, a little boy walked up and brushed a lock of hair off my forehead. "Hello, Mommy." His voice was clear, his English perfect. "I love you." Then – while the noise from forty-two orphans faded away – he sang to me, 'Lord, I give you my heart. I give you my soul. I live for you alone.'"

My heart was hooked and snagged in a matter of seconds. "What's your name?" I asked the child. "Joshua," he told me. "My name's Joshua."

This was the six-year-old Joshua we had considered adopting before finding out about Sean Angelo. The child we were told might not fit into our family. An hour later I knew the whole story. Joshua was still up for adoption. The orphanage worker who had given us misinformation about him no longer worked there. Joshua was a wonderful child, outgoing and confident, brilliant in his studies and good with the little ones at the orphanage. He and EJ and Sean were buddies – inseparable.

I called my husband that night and wept. "Joshua belongs with us. I can't imagine leaving him here."

My husband's answer was something I'll never forget. "Two ... three ... what's the difference, Karen? If you feel that strongly about him, bring him home."

Of course in the world of international adoption the process is never that simple.

Six months after EJ and Sean came home, Joshua followed. Only then did we truly feel our family was complete.

Those early days together hold dozens of moments we'll never forget. The time when EJ and Sean first entered the bathroom to wash their hands. Slowly the water grew warm and as it did, they began speaking loudly in Creole, pointing to the water and jumping up and down. It wasn't difficult to figure out why they were excited. They'd never felt warm running water.