...Wants to Tell a Story of Adoption

Five years ago today, I was doing the best job of holding down the sofa in my house. I was depressed. Earlier in August of 2004, we had met with a birth mother who had chosen us to adopt her unborn baby, but the match did not hold. Then later in the month a young mom was talking to us about adopting her 1 month old child. She had realized she couldn't mother a child and go to high school and college, and she wanted more for her baby than she could provide. It was on Friday, August 27th that we found out she had chosen another family to adopt her baby, and that was the final straw for me. I wept, and I sobbed broken-hearted, and I grieved again for the baby I wouldn't hold in my arms.

Being an infertile couple has its own set of problems and issues as you can imagine. I never knew one could grieve so deeply for someone I never even knew, someone I never even saw, but every failed adoption, every failed match I grieved for the loss of that baby, for the hope of being a mom again -- something I knew God had promised me.

It's funny. When God laid it on my heart that we were to adopt again in January of 2002, I told Him I didn't need another that I was thankful for the child He had blessed me with, and I was having a blast being her mommy. She only a year old at that time. But while I was sitting in the funeral of a 40 year-old friend of mine who died from complications of pneumonia they kept quoting her life verse. It was on the program. It was quoted by everyone who spoke, and every time the Holy Spirit would impress on me, "This is the verse for your next child." I thought it was an odd verse for a funeral, but a great verse for an adopted child, or any child for that matter. But still, I told God I was good the way I was.

In the months that followed, I would occasionally check out websites for different adoption agencies or talk to Patrick about adopting again because he adjusts VERY slowly to change. Every time I would make the effort to move forward with the adoption, someone would quote the verse to me in Sunday school, in a sermon, in a conversation or in a letter in the mail. I don't believe in consequences. I know God too well to believe in consequences.

In July of 2003, my Pappaw had an aneurysm on his aorta above his heart. No one in Louisiana would operate on him, so he was taken by ambulance to Houston. He survived the surgery but never awoke. In August, he was transported back to Shreveport to a hospital here where I would go before work and at lunch every day to exercise his arms and legs, talk to him about what was going on, clean him up, and just love on him. When I saw that the end was near, I would tell my Pappaw that I knew he was going to be going to see Jesus soon and when he saw Him to tell Jesus to send me a baby boy..."Maybe you should ask Jesus to send me a baby boy."
There are many things that happened between the death of my Pappaw and the summer of 2004, but in the summer of 2004 I prepared a baby book for a boy. I just knew God was going to send me a boy this go around. We had gone through the orientation at our adoption agency in May; we had completed our home study; and we were talking to birth parents to have another open adoption. And on August 27, 2004, I was tired of the pain. I was tired of the ache in my heart, the emptiness in my arms, and I was ready to stop. So that is when I took to holding down my couch for that whole weekend.

On Monday, August 30th, the agency called again wanting me to talk to another birth mother, and I did even though my heart wasn't in it. Then late on Wednesday, we got the call they had a baby boy for us. We loaded the Tahoe to the brim and headed to San Antonio, but not before my daddy. My mom had just had back surgery and couldn't make the trip, but my daddy (AKA Poppar) was not going to miss his only grandson.

For those reading this, you need to know that while I was weeping and sobbing on Friday, August 27th because my heart was breaking and my arms were empty, my son was being born to a woman who would be weeping and sobbing because her heart was breaking and the baby she then held in her arms would leave her with empty arms. My sadness was nothing compared to hers. My grief was cut short while hers had just begun. She will never forget Pearce because he was born on her birthday, and he was also born on my parents' anniversary. This is by no coincidence.

We had to stay in Texas for several more days until the paperwork between the two states had been completed, and someone was able to bring my Mammaw to my aunt's house in Waco at that time. One year from the date of my Pappaw's funeral, I put Pearce in my Mammaw's arms for the first time. He was all nose, skin and bones, but he was mine.

Every child has a story. You have a story. You may not know all of it, but one day He will reveal it to you. He has a plan for you. Pearce's life verse that I was given is Jeremiah 29:11, "For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "Plans to give you a hope and a future. Plans to prosper you and not to harm you."

If you are adopted, you have a story just as precious and special as Pearce's, but you may not get to know it all until we meet God face-to-face. For those of us who have repented and asked Jesus into our hearts, we have been adopted into the family of God. We are an heir. He finds us precious and wonderful and loves us immensely, and when we hurt, He isn't without sympathy.

If you haven't repented and asked Jesus into your heart, my prayer is that you will, and for those who have become children of God, my prayer is that you claim your role as an heir and cultivate your relationship with your Heavenly Father who knew you before you were created and who has ordained your steps. God bless.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, PEARCE! I LOVE YOU!

...Need to See Grace

When I was in junior high and high school, I was a cheerleader, a very skinny cheerleader. It didn't matter what I ate or how much I ate, I burned it off (Oh how I miss that aspect of puberty!). For a cheerleader that meant one thing, I was a flyer. For those who are unschooled in cheerleading, it means I was thrown on top of the mounds and stunts. When we would practice the mounds, I would practice with my shoes off (red-neck style) because I could use my toes to latch onto the collar bone of my base to maintain balance until I was comfortable with the stunt. I had no problem sticking to a mound. It's when I was required to walk on my own two feet that issues arose. I never played basketball for the simple fact that it required me to not only walk but run AND dribble at the same time. That was just a calamity waiting to happen. In a time of life where the extremities grow at an alarming rate to the point the body has trouble compensating for their awkwardness, grace IS NOT something exercised. Do you remember just trying to look normal? Being graceful was way down the list, and truth be known there are days I still have issues of grace.

But the grace I was referring to in my title is not that of physical aptitude; it's a spiritual one. I recently had an opportunity to witness it in my home between my son and husband. It afforded a wonderful opportunity to teach Pearce the definition of grace.


Pearce is four years old and attends the daycare at our church and school. He will be starting Pre-K 4 this fall, and his teacher has been elevated higher on my prayer list. To give you a little background on my little man, you need to know first of all he is precious and he is beautiful and good lookin'. He also happens to be adopted, so if you see the picture of my family and wonder how in the world this child got his beautiful coloring, it's not because I blessed him with it. One other bit of information, he is the answer to my mother's prayers. I thought by adopting I would circumvent her prayer because I was not swimming in my own gene pool to have children. God DOES HAVE A SENSE OF HUMOR! Pearce is the answer to my mother's prayers. He is strong-willed and determined (knows what he wants in this world and knows how he is going to get and whoa be to the person who stands in his way -- which is typically me!). He is full of movement and life and when he smiles his whole face lights up, and his laughter is contagious. But Tuesday and Wednesday of this week, he was not laughing at daycare.


Pearce had become frustrated about having to go to daycare knowing his sister was at home with a babysitter who is also keeping my niece. I had contemplated allowing her to keep Pearce as he is her favorite, but Pearce adds a different element to things when he is with Erin and my niece. So, we opted to keep him in daycare. As time progressed the frustration turned to anger and told me on more than one occasion he wanted to be with me.


On Tuesday, I received a call from Mrs. Sharon at daycare saying that Pearce had been disruptive and had hit his teacher when it was time to come inside from playing. She asked if I would like to talk to Pearce (translated: Talk to the boy!) I told him how disappointed I was, and we talked about what I expected to hear from his teacher when I picked him up that afternoon. I also told him if the daycare called me about him hitting someone, I would be bringing my wooden spoon up to the daycare to take the necessary steps to get his attention. I did not get any calls that afternoon.


Wednesday morning, however, before 9:30 AM, Mrs. Kathy from the daycare called saying Pearce had hit a child. I told her I was on my way. I think she was a bit surprised by that. So, I arrived at the daycare with my wooden spoon in hand and retrieved Pearce from Mrs. Kathy's office. We went to a restroom that was completely unoccupied to take care of the matter. (My sister and I subscribe to the Rapture and Transformation form of discipline -- you rapture the little dahlin' to another room to transform their behavior.) I sat down on the chair, and I looked him in the face and told him I loved him. He said he knew. And I asked him the reason why I had been called. He was completely honest. I reminded him of what the consequences were and about our conversations. Then I reminded him about another part of our conversation. He was suppose to leave on Friday to go see his "G" in Mississippi and stay for a week. I told him she was going to have 6 kids there in all, and I was not going to send him if he continued to show me this ugly behavior. When I reminded him of that caveat of our conversation, huge tears flowed down his face, "But I want to go." He then bent over my lap, and I spanked him. He cried more over not going to Mississippi than over the spanking. I let him stand in his correction for a moment, and then I loved on him telling him I loved him and I knew he could do better. Reluctantly, he went back to his class, and I went back to work.


The other person involved in this story is my husband. He has been struggling with a particular area in his life, and it has affected every area of his life including his family. Thankfully, my husband is a teachable man -- Praise the Lord. He listens to wise counsel -- Thank you, Jesus. When I told him about the events of the day, he asked if I would be willing to reconsider if he talked to Pearce. He said he felt some of Pearce's behavior was a reflection of what he was struggling with personally, and when Patrick steps up to take a leadership role that I've been praying for him to do, I choose to submit.


When we were all at home, the three of us sat down in the den to talk. Patrick confessed his struggle to Pearce in terms he could understand, and they talked about the consequences of his own actions and behaviors and the consequences of Pearce's. Then he asked Pearce if he knew what "grace" was. I explained that grace is getting something better than we deserve. For example, his bad behavior deserved him not to go to Mississippi, but we were going to exercise grace and allow him to go. We were giving him something he hadn't earned or deserved. Oh, the joy on Pearce's face! How could you not love that face? I asked him what grace meant, and he understood in his own terms.





There are times when we have to stick to our grounds, but there are times when we need to exercise grace. When we practice grace, it is a huge opportunity to explain to our children the eternal benefits of practicing grace and extending it to others. This just sets up perfectly the conversation to come about how Jesus showed the most excellent form of grace towards us while we were still sinners in dying for us. There is no greater love than that.


I was so touched by watching grace unfold in my home at the heart and knee of my husband to the heart and face of my son.


May you receive grace today in a special way and may you extend grace to those around you.