Pregnant: The Adoption of Megan, Special Segment

Twenty-eight years ago my husband, Randy, addressed an envelope to Holt International Children’s Services, stuffed a check into the folded application for adoption, sealed it, and deposited it on the entertainment center to wait on God. Taking me tenderly by the shoulders, he whispered, “I believe you, Ann, when you say you’ve heard from God, but I need to hear from Him before I can go through with adopting a Korean baby.”

I agreed.

In August 2013, I told you the story of how Randy’s job out of Huntsville, Alabama assigned him to travel two hours away to a city where he’d deliver a sales pitch to a man whose wife had been adopted from Korea through Holt in the 1950’s. There is no way Randy or I believed this was a coincidence. This woman’s story of how she was later reunited and grew up with her biological brother, gave us incentive and courage to follow through with Megan’s adoption.

I did not tell you the name of the city. I did not tell you the man’s name.There was a reason.You see, for two weeks prior to posting the blog in August, I searched for him and his family. I wanted to tell you who he was. He and his wife had been an intricate part of our testimony for almost three decades, and I suddenly wanted to meet them. What happened to them? 

Randy no longer remembered their Texarkana, Arkansas address, and he only vaguely remembered the location of their neighborhood.The only tidbit of information he could recall was where David Baker attended church. I phoned the Texarkana, Texas church and spoke with the secretary, but she was relatively new to her job and had no record of David. She called the long-standing members of the congregation; still, no one remembered him or his Asian wife.

Next, I tried an internet link.There were several David Bakers in Arkansas and in Texarkana. But one listing named a wife, Glenda, and two daughters, Hollie and Tamara.The man Randy had met years before had two young daughters. The man’s age matched, too.So though it seemed a long shot, I let my fingers do the walking. I called the home phone, got a machine, and left a message. Two or three days passed and there was no word.

Back in 1985 David Baker had invested in a line of medical vending machines through Randy. Perhaps his business had not done well. Maybe he didn’t want to be found.

But a small nudge in my spirit kept me going.

I plugged David’s name into my Facebook search engine. Nothing.

I tried the wife’s name I’d gotten off the internet link. Nothing.

I decided to type in the oldest daughter’s name (using her maiden name in the middle), and a picture came up on Facebook of a young woman who didn’t look particularly biracial, but her children did.They had Asian eyes.

I brought up her friend’s list, and there was the name I’d labored to find. David Baker. 

I clicked on the link, and when his profile enlarged, it was a photo of him taken with his wife. He was white, and she was Asian. Delighted, excitement bubbled in the pit of my stomach.

But David’s Facebook page was private, his last status very old. How did I even know he was alive? I decided to message the daughter, Hollie, in California and request her friendship. She was active on her Facebook account. But I never heard from her. I suspect her privacy settings bumped my message to her spam folder.

The thought came to me to visit the other daughter’s Facebook page. Tamara lived in Little Rock. I glanced over her picture, but since I had left a phone message on what I thought was David’s machine and a friend request on Hollie’s Facebook page, I decided not to send a message to Tamara.

Defeated, I prayed. I asked God to help me find David and Glenda Baker, but I was running out of time. I needed to post the blog before the end of the month. I told the Lord I’d wait a day or two longer to post the story, but in the end, I was disappointed. I was forced to rewrite the story, taking the names of people and places out of it.

Skip forward to last week. I gave my first interview to Author Carole Brown, and in that interview, I told my “never quit “story. (http://www.sunnebnkwrtr.blogspot.com/2013/11/a-warm-welcome-to-ann-mccauley.html ) But on Friday night, I never wanted to quit writing more. Between the Morning Glory blog and my interview, I felt I’d exposed too much of my heart for the sake of writing.

The enemy viciously attacked my mind. Randy did his best to scrape me up and stick me back together, but I cried until the wee hours of morning.Writing and publishing is a lonely, solitary, and sometimes painful process.

By Monday morning, my feelings were not lining up, so I made a conscious choice. “Lord, I will only care what you think of me. I will write Your stories.”

The phone rang a few hours later and it was my daughter-in-law, Rachel. I hadn’t planned a trip to Bryant (almost an hour away), but I suddenly had a strong desire to see my two-year-old granddaughter, Addy. I found myself telling Rachel I would come and visit them the next day. My plan was to shop at Target, then run over to their house. But the next morning, Rachel asked me to come and get them first. She had some shopping to do, as well.

We had a wonderful morning and visited several stores. Right before lunch, I made it to Target with Addy. We shopped the Christmas aisle for a very long time, talking about Christmas and enjoying each other’s company. Rachel joined us when it was time to leave.The checkout lanes were crowded. I left one and moved to another where there was only one person ahead of me. Rachel decided to take Addy to the restroom for a diaper change.

Once I was alone, my gaze fell on the person sliding her card through the credit card machine. At first I skimmed the pretty, younger woman, but then every one of my nerves stood at attention.This woman looked like Tamara—David Baker’s daughter. I studied her eyes and held my breath as she entered her pin number. Hadn’t Tamara’s profile said she lived in Little Rock? This was Bryant, twenty to thirty minutes outside Little Rock. I’d only seen Tamara’s picture once. It couldn’t be. Could it?

That’s when I realized a shorter woman stood next to her, a woman with graying hair, holding a squirming baby boy. I leaned to the left to examine this other woman. She was Asian. A sudden thrill teased its way up my spine.

The two women moved aside to add their purchases to their buggy and leave. I had to act or forever wonder.

“Excuse me.” My hands trembled, and my voice shook. “Are you from Texarkana?”

The younger woman smiled a bit. “My mother is.” She nodded toward the older lady as my heart fluttered and blossomed in wonder. What have you done, Lord? How did you orchestrate this? Texarkana is two hours away.

“Is your name Baker?” The words rushed out of me of their own accord.

Tamara’s smile faded, and her face took on a puzzled expression.“Yes, my mother’s name is Baker.”

“Oh please, can you wait on me to check out. I’ve been searching for you. I really need a moment to speak with you. Please?”

Tamara’s shoulders relaxed though her eyebrows raised. “Of course.”

I don’t know how I got through the transaction. My mind sped one hundred miles an hour.When I finished and closed the gap between me and Mrs. Baker, she smiled and the baby relaxed on her shoulder and drifted sound asleep.

“Oh how, I have searched for you. I can’t believe this! Twenty-eight years ago, our husbands met in your home over business. We had been praying about adopting a daughter through Holt. We don’t believe it was ever a coincidence that Randy met your husband that day. We now have four adopted children, three through Holt International.”

Glenda’s smile grew wider and Tamara said, “So… This is a God thing.”

“Yes! Yes, this is a big God thing. Your mother and father have been a part of our testimony for years. I am a writer. On my blog, I’ve been sharing about our first daughter’s adoption. I blogged about you and your personal adoption story back in August, but not before I searched for you. I actually saw your photo on Facebook, Tamara. That’s how I recognized you.”

“You should have friended me!”

“Yes, I should have. Don’t you live in Little Rock?”

“No, I live here in Bryant. Where do you live?”

“Arkadelphia.”

“Really? My sister and I both went to Ouachita Baptist University in Arkadelphia! Ya know, Mom comes to help me once a month with my three little ones.That’s why she’s here today. Do you know about my Uncle John?”

“Yes! I wrote about him and how he and your mom were reunited and grew up together in Hooks, Texas. It’s an incredible story. I hope I got most of the details right.”

“Well, Uncle John is writing a book.You must talk to him.”'

Friends, I should probably end this story, but not until you know this. I never planned on going to Bryant, Arkansas this week. On Tuesday morning I awoke at 3AM, couldn’t go back to sleep, and I felt physically ill. I thought about staying home, but I wanted to see Addy since I won’t see her during the Thanksgiving holiday. I didn’t have a particular time to shop at Target. I am not sure why we checked out when we did. Or, why I changed lines...

But there is a God, and He is personal.This I know. And, when He chooses, He will peel back the curtain for you to see Him in action.There are no coincidences, only divine appointments.God is the same, yesterday, today, and forever. He is a supernatural God.

As I drove home from Bryant, I thought about how much I love the holidays and surprising my children—showering them with good gifts. I am sure my Heavenly Father was smiling. He loves me. He couldn’t wait for the opportunity to thrill me and give me two gifts named Tamara and Glenda.

Know this, dear ones. God feels just as passionately about each of you.

Listen for His Whispers