...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!