Five years at Boys Town

Five years ago Sarah and I moved to Boys Town.

Micah was three, Ezra was two. Lydia was twelve, living in Bellevue.


We’ve had a hard go of it this past year, that’s for sure. But as I sit back to reflect about it all today, I am so thankful for what this job, this role, this lifestyle has done in me, and for me. I have grown as a husband, a dad, a friend, and a man. Micah and Ezra have grown up with dozens of teenage sisters, and one of them became their actual sister this past year.

Our time here has given us a daughter. Adopting a daughter was something Sarah and I discussed six weeks into dating each other when we were in high school. I remember it well, and here we are. Lydia would have been hundreds of miles away, and just a little baby at the time we were talking about her without us even knowing it. The daughter we dreamed of adopting had already been born, and it would take years for us to meet her.


I went to school for eight years to go serve in ministry in Japan, and then our plans shifted after Micah’s diagnosis of Kabuki Syndrome. We just so happened to live a few miles down the street from Boys Town when we learned of this news that immediately altered our plans.

I’ve learned to dream the big dreams, but not try and force them to happen. It’s my role to simply be faithful in the moment. Focus on the day at hand. Serve others. Love your life. Love your family. Love your friends. Love strangers even. Take care of them. You never know if one of them might become your daughter.

The mountains of Japan were calling for me, or so I thought. But in faith those mountains were moved to the middle of this country, to a place situated on old ranch-land in Nebraska. A field with a hidden pearl of great value called Boys Town.


We have but a short time on this speck of dust we call Earth. We get one life to live on it. Do things which force you to live by faith. Look for that pearl of great price, and when you find it, sell everything you have and go buy it. Plant mustard seeds. Become like children. Make fresh bread from scratch, and watch how a little yeast grows the bread to twice its size. When you do this, you bring heaven to earth.

In a month I’ll be thirty-five. I’ve learned a lot, yet I have so much more to learn. This job has shaken me a few times this past year, to the point where I questioned if we are where we are supposed to be a couple of times. But I am confident this is where I need to be; it is where I want to be. And I am thankful for these last five years of my life.

Published by Andrew

a ragamuffin dad planting some sequoias

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