We've had Abreham home for almost six months now.

As you'd expect, we've gone through highs and lows, and have had a dark shadow looming over our house at times, too.

Mostly though, it's been a 14 year old boy learning to trust.

But how do you trust when you've been let down so many times? How do you put your life in a family's hands whom you barely know and have a completely different way of doing things, when you've been on your own since a small child?

Today was a big day of trust for us, as Abreham finally agreed to get his teeth worked on. More than a decade without a toothbrush will do a lot of damage and the black in his molars isn't chocolate, like he's tried to convince us.

A few weeks ago Abreham went to the doctor for some immunizations that his school nurse said must be done before he came back to school. Ben took him and because they went so late in the day, the doctor was running behind...really behind.

Ben said he could see Abreham, almost minute by minute, going more and more into his shell as they waited.

Ezekiel has told us before how many shots he'd get while he was in Ethiopia. "For everything", he'd shared. "Headaches, stomach aches, whatever." We know our sweet African boys are not strangers to being pierced by a needle and sit in the waiting room with dread and a nervous stomach every time.

Sadly on this day, by the time the nurse came back with a tray full of immunizations, he was done.

"No." He said to the nurse sternly. "No shots."

After much coaxing and convincing, they left...puncture free. And Abreham was in a very, VERY bad mood. He wouldn't eat dinner that evening, nor would he speak to us. He simply put himself to bed early, knowing he was not allowed to go to school the next day...or any day, until he went back for his immunizations.

That next day I woke him up at 6:30am, just as I do every morning. While sitting on the edge of his bed, I whispered that he needed to get up and take a shower.

"No wake up, mom. I no school today. No shots, remember?"

"Ah yes, my love. I remember. BUT no school does not mean a day to sleep and play. No drawing or Ethiopian YouTube videos, no playing outside or going for a run. Today, if you do not go to school and work, you will work at home. I have many jobs for you and have a workbook waiting downstairs for after breakfast."

Oh shoot. He realized we were serious about this shot thing. The look on his face was priceless.

Upon coming downstairs after his shower and making his bed, he began making himself some scrambled eggs. "You want some, mom? How many eggs?" I love when he makes me breakfast, and honestly these days he does it most mornings.

As we ate together in the kitchen, me fixing us both some coffee, he looked me in the eye and apologized for the day before.

"I'm sorry no shots, mom. I'm sorry to dad."

We talked about it as we munched on our steaming breakfast and as he shared with me his fears, I reminded him how Ben and I want the best for him.

"We don't do things to hurt you. We do everything we can to keep you safe and healthy. To make life good. Not easy. But good. Daddy and I want to protect you...but sometimes we will ask you to do things that are new. Things that make you nervous and maybe even scared. But we will never ask you to do something bad. We only want good for you."

He looked at me, searching my eyes, as if he was trying to learn how to trust us...but didn't know if he could. Or should.

I could almost see the wheels turning in his brain as he thought back on things Ben and I have done or required of him. Perhaps even thinking back on his life in Ethiopia, learning there that to trust was to be hurt.

I put my hand over his and again looked him straight into his eyes. "Dad and I will NEVER do anything to hurt you. We love you so much. We want the best for you. You can trust us. I promise, you can trust me."

A smile slowly spread across his face and he asked that I call Ben to tell him he was ready to go back. After taking the rest of the Crazies to school, we set off for the doctor once again. And he did it. Blood was drawn and a half-dozen needles were shoved {as carefully as possible} into his arm.

"I am strrrong, mom." He said, in his beautiful Ethiopian accent, rolling his r's. "I am brave. And I am ready for the dentist."

So that brings us to today. Our sweet dentist, who we adore, walked him through everything and told him step-by-step what he was doing {all the while, keeping the needles out of his line of sight}.

Many fillings and the extraction of one very infected tooth and we were on our way home.

"I am happy, mom. My teeth no hurt. You are good, mom."

Such a far-cry from this past fall when we'd tried this two other times. Even Valium couldn't calm down his freaking out those times. It was bad. I can't even explain how awful those trips were. Think worse-case scenario and you might get it.

Abreham's grandmother had told him that in America, our medicine is witchcraft. It's voodoo. "No wonder he's having a hard time trusting us!" Ben and I said to each other as a friend translated his fears, after one of the horrific times we tried the dentist this fall.

Trust. It's huge. Especially for a child who's been hurt time and time again.

But we're getting there. He even hugged me today, saying thank you.

Hugs from him are like gold. They're so very infrequent and incredibly cherished.

"I like that doctor. Good man, mom. Good doctor. No hurt."

Like our sweet Abreham who is learning to trust that his mom and dad love him and want the absolute best for him, how much more does our Heavenly Father love us and want the best for us?

Even if at times it's scary and things hurt a little. Coming out on the other side, with trust in one arm and becoming better for the sake of experiences in the other, we know we are loved.