CHRISTIAN ADOPTION: Mercy

GOD HAS MERCY TOWARDS HIS CHILDREN

Written by Deborah.

November 20, 1999

The testimony you're about to read is real. The people, places, and events are real. This is only part of one woman's quest and deliverance to become a mother. It's my hope that every reader is encouraged to trust God for their every need.

March 1969; Cleveland, Ohio

I was 15 years old and there wasn't any doubt--I was pregnant. My boyfriend's parents discovered our secret by reading a note I'd passed to him after school. He, as well as they, had only one suggestion--abortion. His mother worked for the airlines, so she figured she could get a cheap flight to Jamaica for the procedure. They were willing to share the cost with my parents. But my parents didn't know about the pregnancy and I determined to keep it a secret as long as possible. I'd also devised a do-able plan. I wanted to place my healthy baby with an adoptive family; my only consideration was adoption.

I had terrible bouts with morning sickness, and often had to leave my freshman classes to get to a bathroom. I knew it was only a matter of time before my mother discovered my secret. My do-able plan was to go live with my father in Chicago for my sophomore year of high school. I could move there at the end of the current school year, carry to full term, deliver and place my baby into a loving home. Even though my parents had been divorced for 8 years and I'd grow distant from my father, it was still a logical plan.

In early May, I attended my older sister's wedding in Dallas. I felt miserable and ashamed. I started to show early and I was glad that my empire waistline bridesmaid dress was a good cover up. I'd learned how to hide my emotions at an early age, but it was much more challenging at her wedding with raging hormones. On the flight home, I spent more time in the bathroom than in my seat. I was sick over and over again. My mother began to suspect something; the dreaded moment of telling her was fast approaching. Within a week of our return from Texas, I revealed my 3-month old secret with embarrassment and humiliation. Her response was not what I expected.

Abortion: legal or illegal was her reply--there were no other options. Adoption was out of the question. She made appointments for me to see psychiatrists with the hope of proving that I was insane, so a legal abortion could be performed. There was just one huge problem with her plan--I wasn't insane, just pregnant. I was scared, lonely, sad, guilt-ridden, sick, embarrassed, humiliated, withdrawn, and emotional--but not insane. Every interview brought my mother more distress and her despair led her to plan the unthinkable. I was into my 4th month of pregnancy and few doctors were willing to perform an illegal abortion at this stage. But she'd decided that since legal wouldn't work then illegal would be just fine. She orchestrated a pseudo college school-hunting trip with my family, so we could travel to Oklahoma. She'd already been advised that I was too far into the pregnancy to consider abortion--but it didn't matter--there would be no baby. Despair, sadness, and depression filled my heart and soul, but like a caged animal I complied.

At dawn on an early, semi-warm June morning, my mother drove me to an outside corner room of a Tulsa motel. Two men dressed in black suits knocked on the door and entered. My mother handed them an envelope of cash and they took me away. My sense of worth, as viewed from my mother's perspective was in that envelope--at least that's what it symbolized to me. (I spent the next 25 years of my life wrestling with that one gesture.) A hat was placed on my head, blackened sunglasses were put on my face, and a blindfold was tied around my neck to prevent peripheral vision. I was told to lie down on the floor boards in the backseat of a 4-door car. We picked up another girl at another location and we weren't allowed to speak. We drove on highways, in circles and then onto a residential street, finally entering a garage with an automatic opener. (It's amazing what you can decipher when you can hear, but not see.)

All of us were drugged immediately and put into separate rooms inside the house. I could hear doors opening and closing, shuffling feet on carpeted floors, crying, and moaning. I concluded there were 4-6 other girls in different rooms. When they came to get me, I was so doped up I couldn't focus on the person's face. I knew it was a man leading me into a large room. After being strapped down on a white-sheeted table and just before they placed a mask over my face I clearly and distinctly begged, "Please don't kill me." I awoke with uncontrollable chills and pain. More drugs were injected and in a dream-like state I was taken back to my room to get dressed. When I was dropped off at the motel, my mother seemed relieved but she was visibly angry. "Give her some sugar and lots of fluids today. Don't let her lift anything to prevent hemorrhaging." And the two black suited men left without a trace. My mother's disdain for my behavior was apparent by day's end. When we returned to my grandmother's house in a small town of Oklahoma, my mother ordered me to carry loaded boxes from the house to the garage. She demanded that I carry wooden ladders, and more loaded boxes. She hunted for stuff for me to haul to the garage; her desire to punish me became commonplace. With intensity she commanded me to remain quiet and I stayed quiet. This family trauma and heart tragedy remained a hidden secret for another 25 years. It was obvious that I was going to pay for my sexual ignorance for the rest of her life.

How could a mother do this to her daughter? I asked myself that question thousands of times. My unacceptable mistake that cost my mother's emotions so dearly--cost me the ability to ever bear children. One person's decision for another, one parent's choice for their child resulted in mental, emotional, and physical devastation. Two weeks later I turned 16 and without my mother's love and approval, I didn't care about my life anymore.

"Dear God, I don't know who You are, but I know You exist. Will I ever have a baby to call my own?"

The sadness in the depth of my soul, fueled a fire to become disobedient. I'd climb out of windows at night and run the streets. I'd push the car out of the driveway and down the street to start it and drive around for hours. I had no fear of what happened to me because I had no sense of worth. The secret continued to devour me from the inside out and left me like an empty shell. Countless times God spared my life and protected me from terrible evils and death laced dangers. There was no hope, no future, no confidence, and no security. But I knew that one day I wanted a baby--a baby that I could love and cherish. My life had no rules, no church, no prayer, no standard for truth, no fundamental values or ethics or hope or future. Ozzie & Harriet was a fictitious TV show. What I wanted more than anything in life was a sense of family, a sense of belonging--and order. But, I became hardened, embittered, hopeless, and daring. I cut people up with a sarcastic tongue and cynical wit.

At 18, I moved out of my mother's house, began supporting myself and started a new life. I'd found a new life--in the promises of God's Word. I dove into God's Word with every fiber of my being. I read, I studied, I memorized, and I typed scriptures for hours. I gained hope and I saw a pain-free future; there was security in the loving arms of my heavenly Father. I skipped a lot in those days--from the joy of discovering the one true God.

My family labeled me a religious nut, a Bible fanatic, and they laughed at the scripture I held to with all my heart. Without family support or a good Christian support system, someone like me was bound to fail. And fail I did--over and over again.

The deep voids in my life manifested themselves in many ways. Declining health, anger, hostility, jealousy, bitterness, hardness of heart, and a deep despairing sadness. I aggressively pursued infertility treatments but without success. Many miscarriages along with thousands of dollars, buckets of tears, and the constant questions of "Why?" kept my heart in turmoil.

On June 4, 1993, I labored through another miscarriage of a 4-month old baby. A few weeks later I turned 40. Concurrent events--the loss of a child in the 4th month of pregnancy 25 years from the same month of the abortion, brought me to a breaking point.

There were only 2 options--remain in despair or seek God with my whole heart once again.

(Often a couple questions God's willingness and ability to deliver while going through such pain. A lot of begging, praying, bargaining, deal making, promising, and wondering rattles the integrity of a spiritual relationship. Without a knowledge of God's Word, anger towards God infiltrates the mind.)

I sought deliverance once again with a passion. I read books about forgiveness, bitterness, and anger. I underlined, highlighted, and dog-eared book page corners. I sought help with an earnest desire to learn. God heard my prayers and helped me. I felt like I was breaking free of mental prisons that had enslaved me for years. Two comments helped me to reach this point of seeking help with my whole heart.

1. After sharing with a minister, my tale of woe (my life) he replied with, "Well, that story and $1 will buy you a cup of coffee."

His comment was brutally honest-which is just what I needed to re-oil my mental machinery.

2. After sharing with a sister in Christ my despair and deep conflicts, she responded, "Well, how long do you plan to go through life as a victim?"

Her comment was candidly accurate and reproving. I became motivated and determined to finally break free. My biggest challenge was to forgive my mother and myself. How could I have allowed that abortion? Why wasn't I stronger? These questions plagued my heart until I found God's deliverance in His Word. Soon I was on the edge of a major spiritual breakthrough. There was renewed hope for the future and a song was returning to my heart.

Fall 1996/Norman, Oklahoma

After 5 years of infertility and 20 miscarriages, I was done physically and emotionally. Pursuing adoption was a new ride, but harder. Adoption was more challenging than I could've ever imagined. I'd lost 5 placement "matches" within10 days before Christmas of 1996 and I knew I was at another breaking point. Christian Adoption was started because of my desperation and an outlet for survival. If I didn't help someone with the knowledge and life experience I'd gained, I'd go "nuts."

Christian Adoption began with a 2-fold purpose.

1. To adopt.

2. To help at least one other couple through their adoption processes.

For my heart to have peace, I needed some good to result from so many painful years.

My focus changed from "me" to helping others.

Just 26 days after Christian Adoption went live, by God's grace and mercy, I received a call about an Asian toddler. I told the person, "I'm not interested in an Asian toddler; I'm trying to adopt a Hispanic or a multi-racial Hispanic newborn." I hung up. Then the birthmother called me and asked, "How soon can you get here?"

I was in Los Angeles within 24 hours. As I de-boarded the plane, a tiny disheveled Asian doll was placed into my arms at the end of the ramp. Within 15 seconds, I became a mother. I sat down in an airport chair and tears streamed down my cheeks. I rocked and hugged and kissed and caressed this frail little life as the tears dripped off my chin. Inside my heart, waterfalls of tears flooded my soul. A mother at last--after 27 years of waiting, hoping, and praying. This precious child was not a newborn baby, but God had answered my prayers. Within 24 hours I was fully bonded to Danielle and became like a mother bear protecting her cub. I determined that my daughter would grow up knowing every day of her life that she was loved, accepted, and appreciated. This precious child would grow up knowing that her mother was proud of her, no matter what she did or didn't do. Danielle would always be a success in her Mama's heart.

God honored my heart's desire to help others in their adoption process. He blessed Christian Adoption and with each successful placement I rejoiced. But I also ached for a baby to call my own. I was happy for each and every couple, but sad that I'd never know the joys of a new baby. I don't know why it was so important; I can't explain it. I just know that as fulfilled as I was with Danielle, there was still a deep yearning for a newborn. I wasn't ready to get rid of the baby stuff I'd accumulated--I wasn't ready to let it go. With each successful adoption in Christian Adoption, I sent baby gifts and clothes from my personal "stash". I was letting go and altering my perspective. I became resolved and settled about never having a baby. I shifted my paradigm to adopting another Asian toddler. My confession lined up with my conviction--God would have to drop a child into my lap, as I refused to compete in any way with our waiting Christian Adoption couples.

Fall 1999; Coffeyville, Kansas

In October 1999, "Susie" called Christian Adoption to discuss her daughter's adoption options. About a week later, they both called with more details. I described several couples that would fulfill their criteria and we talked about the legal process. But just before we hung up, she asked,

"What about you? Would you adopt this baby? We really like you." I stammered back,

"WHAT? I'm praying to adopt another Asian toddler. I tried to adopt a Hispanic baby from Mexico, I've investigated Guatemala without success, I advertised in the Hispanic community in Oklahoma City, but nothing ever happened. I really don't know what to say right now." She replied,

"Well, we like you."

"Oh, wow, well, okay; I'm stunned. But, to be fair to our Christian Adoption couples I must present them to you for your consideration. If you still choose me, I would be blessed beyond measure to adopt your baby."

I spent a lot of time in prayer. I prayed to hear God's still clear voice. I prayed that they would make the right decision for the baby. I prayed for patience. I prayed for God's mercy. I prayed for our Christian Adoption couples. I prayed for guidance.

They called with their final decision; it was me! As they relayed all the details to me, tears began streaming down my face. I knew God was answering my prayer after 31 years of praying and waiting. I don't remember what I said in response; I was in shock and awe.

I walked into the living room, picked up Danielle and cradled her in my arms. All I could mumble was,

"You're going to be a big sister."

To honor Danielle's Vietnamese family, her middle name is Nguyen.

To honor Samuel's Hispanic heritage, his middle name is Eduardo.

What was taken away in the spring of my life was restored to me in the fall.

Over 30 years had passed before I became a mother to a precious baby.

In late November 1999, the nurse placed my precious Samuel into my arms.

My heart was filled to overflowing.

God has mercy towards His children.