When my husband returned from his six-week stay in Beijing, he had a brand-new suitcase with him, purchased to hold all of the gifts he brought home for his girls. And there were a few thrown in there for me, too. One of them was a book by Deirdre Daniel, a woman living in Beijing with her husband and two daughters. Together, she and her spouse are the founders of The Morning Sun Center of Hope, which is a non-profit that “provides nutritional and medical programs for orphans and at-risk children in China.”

Now, it’s no secret that I love books, and now, let it also be known that I adore children’s charities. Anything that’s going to help a child receive a nutritionally proper meal, a pair of eyeglasses, school text books, clean drinking water or necessary and life-saving vaccinations should always, always be a priority. And that sentiment, in my opinion? Must apply to all of the world’s children, not just those in our own neighborhoods.

But “The Knitter,” a book about adoption written by Deirdre Daniel, is really special to me. I’m adopted. My brother is adopted. And while I’m All-American, my brother hails from Bogota, Colombia. He was close to the one-year mark when my parents found their way to his orphanage and brought him home to us, his family. The photographs that I’ve seen of the two weeks they spent in Bogota, getting their papers in order, made the orphanage out to be quite lovely. That, in fact, was not entirely the case, I’ve recently come to learn. I don’t know too many details, but suffice it to say it must’ve been near impossible for my parents to leave that orphanage with only one child in their arms. Seriously, how do you do it? Leave behind all the others? Such a joyous day, and yet I can’t stop wondering if there is heartache, too, at the uncertain futures of those children left behind.

Growing up, there was a little poem, anonymously penned, that my brother and I were all too familiar with:

“Not flesh of my flesh,

Not bone of my bone,

Yet miraculously still my very own.

Never forget, for a single minute,

You didn’t grow under my heart, but in it…”

I still, to this day, get shivers when I recite it. And “The Knitter?” It has an equally powerful poem of it’s own, contained within the pages, that also gives me shivers. It’s a lovely book, and it rings so true with me and can be read on a level that makes it just as pertinent to my love for my biological children as it does for my own mother’s love for my brother and myself, borne not from her but of her.

It’s a lovely and emotional read, and all of the proceeds from the sale of the book go to The Morning Sun Center of Hope. And while I can’t find a link anywhere to purchase the book, you can make a $50 donation on the non-profit’s website, and you will receive a fist edition of the book, signed by the author, herself. And again, all proceeds go to the foundation.

Well-spent money, in my book. But you can still enjoy the e-book version of the story, by clicking on this link. Just make sure you have a tissue handy. And then, go hug your children…