The bright and shining light of Ruby

Our granddaughter Ruby graduated from her criminal justice program at Spokane Falls Community College last week. She was surrounded by friends and relatives — several from out of state, including Alaska, Minnesota, and Kentucky. Ruby plans on joining her dad's path in law enforcement. 

None of this may seem too extraordinary. There are lots of graduates, lots of families gathering in support of them. Ruby's story is different. It begins in the northernmost United States community of Barrow, Alaska — renamed Utqiagvik, which means, “place where we hunt snowy owls.”

Ruby is an Inupiak. She has zero objection to being called Eskimo, although there's been disagreement around the term. Before Rubywas born, her mother knew she was giving her up for adoption. Ruby was not the first child she had let go. Her birth mother had selected a native Alaskan couple from Anchorage, but when they arrived she did not like them. 

Our daughter and husband, who was a police officer in town, had put out the word that if there was ever an adoption need, they were interested. They showed up at the hospital, the mom said yes, and they took the newborn home almost on the spot. They kept her given name, Ruby Dawn. Ruby joined three siblings, and one on the way, plus four more later. It was an open adoption — Ruby eventually met her birth mother, but the family had serious issues and she had no desire to pursue any ties.

Our daughter and husband moved from Alaska to Spokane, where Ruby graduated high school. She was scared to death — she leans toward reserved if she doesn't know you but she tried school in Colorado where she knew no one — just to stretch herself. It was a good year, but one was enough.

She doesn't particularly like school. Yet she had this idea that she needed to go. That studying for a career she was interested in was worth the effort. She set herself goals, and one by one she has met them. 

Ruby knows her life could have been run on a more obstructed track. At the family party after her graduation, the cake said, “We're so proud of you, Ruby.” I look at her and see self-confidence shimmering from her dark brown eyes — a smile that says, “I know who I am. I like this girl.” 

She's got the assertiveness, savvy and caring to make the best sort of police officer. Our family cannot imagine ourselves without Ruby. That chubby-cheeked, black-haired baby from the Arctic who somehow, in God's grace, connected with us — and has brought us so much joy.

Ruby's graduation gift was a little unusual — a handgun that her dad, who wasn't able to attend the ceremony, was willing to part with. It caused her mom to have to check a bag under lock and key. A minor inconvenience in order to affirm Ruby's dream.

'Tis the season for dreams. Every graduate has one. The tossing of the caps is work done — and work ahead. But above all, it is a wave of dreams that is beautiful to see.