When God Closes a Door

Family summer camp, Buffalo Gap, Texas 1997 was a long anticipated trip. But who could guess my world was about to tilt? 

My youngest of five children, an adopted Filipino daughter, was ten.The speaker grabbed my interest right off since she was a missionary from the Philippines. 

I scooped a friend’s three month old son into my lap and took a seat in the middle of my row of church companions while the program started.

Only a moment passed, and God whispered, “I have another child for you, Ann. Baby. Boy. Biracial. Blind. And remember, when a door is closed, I will open a window.”

Stunned and questioning, I wept. Had I really heard God speak? I had to get out of the conference room. I scoured the length of the baby boy in my arms, born the past April, and I tried to imagine myself starting over as a parent. I stood and thrust the babe back into his mother's arms to skirt down the row and flee outdoors.

Two months later, I turned forty. I asked God if I had imagined the incident. We didn’t qualify with immigration for international adoption anymore, and in the online listings across the states, not one child fit the description of B.B.B.B. (Baby-Boy-Biracial-Blind). 

On that day, God led me to a passage of scripture about Caleb of old. He showed me the faith and courage of the Biblical Caleb, and told me to name my son after him.

Caleb Andrew McCauley

December rolled around. I decided I was missing something.Why couldn’t I find this child? I had to think outside the box. My husband passed me one evening while I was sitting at the computer, head in my hands, and he patted my shoulder. “Ann, you’ll know him when you see him.” Hadn't we been through this together three other times, having three internationally adopted children? And God had never done anything the same way twice.

No child in the USA matched Caleb’s description. I was forced to look abroad. I explored the expression, When God Closes a Door, He Opens a Window, and when I did, a story about a Russian adoption popped onto the computer screen. With new-found faith and courage, I navigated to a site which posted Russian children available for adoption. A newborn picture flashed across the screen. My husband was right. I knew him. Our son was a reality.

This baby boy had been born the past April. Same age as the child I had held at camp the night God spoke to me. A shiver ran my spine.   Their birthdays were one day apart.

The caption under the pic said the baby was born without a right eye and that he was biracial. He was a baby. He was a boy. Blind? I supposed being born without a right eye qualified for blindness. But, biracial? He had straight black hair and light skin. In my mind, I had pictured curly, black hair and a much darker complexion. 

Further reading explained it all. The baby was half Asian and half Caucasian. He lived in an orphanage in Siberia.

Then the waiting really started...

First, how could we qualify for international adoption when we were not within the income bracket to apply? Second hurdle? We had no savings, and this adoption required more money than we could imagine, plus travel.

Nine months later, I was heartsick from crying at the altar week after week for direction. My baby boy had turned one year old the past April, and now it was September. I was attached to the baby I prayed for daily, and I was either missing his infancy, or I had truly imagined it all…

But then—God.

Boss called my husband into his office. The man knew nothing of our situation, and my husband had worked for him many years without a pay raise. That single, September day would turn everything around. The boss announced that he was giving my husband a raise, and it was just enough to put us over the requirement for international adoption. 

Now, with an empty savings account, we only needed thousands of dollars...

The agency reduced the fees by several hundred dollars right off because this was a special needs adoption, the child having only one eye, but we still needed twenty-three thousand. 

All we could do was tell people about Caleb’s need and establish a fund through our local church, the Caleb Club.

People in our Louisiana church, a very small congregation of working class people, began giving as they could. Giving was a sacrifice and a blessing for them. A baby bed was donated. Small beginnings.This church family helped us do a barbecue plate sale fundraiser, and we earned fifteen-hundred dollars. Only a drop in what seemed like a bottomless bucket.

Then something extraordinary began to happen. 

Word traveled through email all over the country. A pastor and author in our denomination, whom we did not know, sent five hundred dollars to us from Oregon. 

A homeschooled boy walked up to us at a meeting and handed us a one dollar bill.

A family with adopted Russian children sent hundreds of dollars from California. 

A local physician offered free services. 

Old and dear friends stepped up to help financially.

Families in our homeschool group began giving with big hearts. 

When we went to get our shots to travel abroad, the nurse gave us a check for two hundred dollars. Why? Just because she wanted to be a part of it all. 

Another family gave us frequent flyer miles to purchase tickets.

And, the waterfall of God’s goodness plunged over us in overwhelming proportions. Every penny we needed came to us little by little. Each precious dollar representing one of God's faithful.

April 20, 1999, while holding that newborn picture of Caleb, we met him for the first time. He had turned two the day before. How often in our lifetimes do we stare at the closed doors of impossibility when God’s window curtain is flapping nearby in the wind?

"... Blessing and glory and wisdom and thanksgiving and honor and power and strength belong to our God forever and ever! Amen!" Revelation 7:12 (New Living Translation)

Caleb Andrew McCauley

December 2012

Listen for His Whispers