Pregnant: The Adoption of Megan, Segment 7

Sewing basket in hand, I plopped in the recliner. I intended to play like a child at summer camp. My craft? A sampler. But not just any sampler. This one would bear the name of my longed for—Megan. After months of bureaucratic paperwork and gut wrenching prayer, our child assignment approached.

Randy strolled by with a water thermos, mosquito repellent, and two hopping boys. All headed for the front door.

 “Sure you don’t want to go to the fireworks show? Fourth of July only comes once a year.”

“I’m sure. You guys have fun.” 

Kirk and Jarred, cute in their royal blue shortalls, leaped out the front door, landing on the porch with loud stomps. Randy reached to pull the door closed after them.

I straightened and scooted to the edge of my seat. “Honey, wait! I know I’ve asked you every weekend for two months, but could we please set up the crib tomorrow? You’ve been off all day and you’re rested. Tomorrow's Saturday, and we have no other plans.”

Randy shook his head and smiled. “Maybe it is time." He dipped his chin once. "We’ll do it. First thing tomorrow. We’ll do it in faith that God will do what He’s promised.”

I bathed and tucked the boys in for the night, then took my needlework, framed it, and stood it on the nightstand in what would be Megan’s nursery.

The next morning, Randy stepped outdoors searching for hardware to use on the crib while I ironed infant girl clothes my grandmother had loving sewn for our stillborn daughter, Amy. Would Megan be young enough to wear them? Did I dare hope she'd be so small? The adoption agency had implied she'd be younger than our youngest son, and Jarred would soon be three.

The iron glided over a pink, flannel nightgown, and a memory of Amy’s delivery flashed through my mind. Water filled my eyes. My heart rate increased, and its hard knock pounded inside my chest like a hammer. Doubts of hurricane force struck. The room seemed to rock, and I gripped the ironing board to hold steady. 

"You're a fool. God isn't in this adoption.You made it up because you want a daughter so much. Remember the last time you washed and ironed these little, pink things? They'll never be worn by a child in your arms."

That's not my voice. My gaze scanned every corner of the room. All of God's spectacular acts on behalf of our adoption suddenly seemed contrived. Had they been coincidences? Sweat dampened my brow and my hands shook. Was I unbalanced? 

The room seemed to whirl and a mournful groan escaped my lips. “God, help me— I need to hear from you. Am I sane, Lord? Because if this adoption is not of You, I won’t go through with it. I'm sorry, God. I’ll go and tell every single person I've told that I made it up.”

I snatched a Living Bible from the bedside table. “I need a word of comfort, Lord. Please help me—” I flung it open. 

The cruel voice grew louder. “God won’t answer you. Only a spiritually immature person relies on a random act of opening the Bible like that.

My gaze locked on a page. My pulse slowed and the fog lifted. My mind cleared.

Isaiah 8:1-2
Again The Lord sent me a message: "Make a large signboard and write on it the birth announcement of the son I am going to give you. Use capital letters! His name will be Maher-shalal-hash-baz, which means 'Your enemies will soon be destroyed.'" I asked Uriah the priest and Zechariah the son of Jeberechiah both known as honest men, to watch me as I wrote so they could testify that I had written it (before the child was ever on its way).

“I know what to do, Lord.” I stood taller and swiped my wet cheeks. “Get thee behind me, Satan! God gave me vision for this daughter, and I will believe. Megan will come home, and she will be mine.” 

That evening, Randy and I took our needlework signboard, and showed it to faithful, believing friends. We confessed that Megan’s name had been written before she was ever on the way.

Three weeks later the phone rang. I dried my hands on a dishtowel. Kirk and Jarred flew through the kitchen dressed as superheroes. 

 “Hello?

“This is Sue with Holt International. Congratulations, Ann! You have a daughter!”

Knees, wobbly like Jell-O, forced me to the floor, back against the wall. “How old is she?” 

“Oh, Ann, she’s just a newborn. Isn’t God good?”

“Wh—what?  Wh--when? When was she born?”

“I am mailing her packet and pictures to you today. She was born just three weeks ago on the fifth day of July."

***

The day our daughter was born was the VERY day the enemy launched his most brutal attack on my mind. But when the packet arrived, and we plucked the photo from within its folds, we never once questioned if this particular baby was our Megan. 

 "I have called you by your name. You are mine." Psalm 43:1b (NKJ)

Listen for His Whispers

The Gift of Avery

Linda Requard Hatcher

A bright shaft of sunlight welcomed me to the window and warmed my face. Spring blossoms peeked out of their buds. What a lovely April day. A car door slammed, and I charged to the front door and stretched it wide to catch the first glimpse of my daughter, Becky, and her husband, Ferris. And, when my daughter turned the corner of the house, my arms flew open.

“Hurry!” My feet danced in place. “I can't wait another minute.”

The flannel bundle Becky bore wriggled in her arms, and my heart did a flip flop. A sigh escaped my lips as my chest rose and fell with grandmother pride. A fifth grandchild… Avery Lynn. Hadn't I relocated near my daughter for this moment? Between a newborn and an active toddler, she needed me. After being widowed, I longed to be useful.

Avery's tiny features mirrored those of her mother's as a babe. So sweet… But when I lifted her higher and the blanket slid to her shoulders, my breath caught. Her skull was like a coconut—too small and underdeveloped. The top of her head appeared darker than her face and across her forehead ran a deep ridge.

The news hurled me onto my bed in prayer. I grabbed my Bible and thrust it open.

Oh dear Lord, what is wrong with my precious grandchild?

Craniosynostosis, a condition gripping our baby girl and challenging her future, served daunting prospects. What was craniosynostosis? Avery had no soft spot (fontanel) on her head, and the skull sutures over both her ears were fused shut.  Without surgical correction, her growing brain would have too little room to expand, risking brain damage and disfigurement.

Becky and Ferris traveled to a consultation with doctors at Arkansas Children’s Hospital. The news was heart-wrenching as the specialist described a long, extensive surgery which the baby would not be strong enough to undergo until she was ten months old. A blood transfusion from the mother would be necessary, and there would be steep risks involved in opening the cranium.

The news hurled me onto my bed in prayer. I grabbed my Bible and thrust it open.

God hear my cries for help…

My gaze fell to a verse in Proverbs 10:6 (NIV). “Blessings crown the head of the righteous.” The voice of my Father brought comfort. With this specific promise in mind, I referenced Scriptures on the word head. I combed verses, and they seemed to leap off the pages and into my believing heart.

Without surgical correction, her growing brain would have too little room to expand, risking brain damage and disfigurement.

Jesus was crucified on a hill, Golgotha, shaped and named for a skull. He was pierced in his head as His captors forced a crown of thorns to his brow. Oh, how Jesus suffered in his head! But wasn’t that the point? He suffered for my peace and for Avery’s healing. As I prayed, the Lord’s presence seemed to cloak me, and I envisioned baby girl in some sort of white turban God would provide. A turban like the Levitical priests had worn. And when I stood, the burden I carried for Avery rolled from my shoulders. God took my fear and heartache and made them His own while promising me future joy over her healing.

The first miracle came when we heard about a support group for parents of children with these birth defects. The group, National Craniofacial Association, offered testimonials from other families faced with my granddaughter’s same heartbreaking condition. Again and again, the name of a medical group in San Antonio at the university hospital drew my attention. This team was seeing great success with an endoscopic alternative to the full open dome cranial surgery. I read with keen interest about this team headed by Dr. David Jimenez, a distinguished neurosurgeon who was operating on young infants using endoscopy before the fused bones had time to harden. This endoscopy was far less intrusive to my baby’s brain.

My children and I investigated the possibility of Avery seeing this San Antonio group of specialists. With approval from my son-in-law’s insurance company, a few photos of Avery, and medical records, she had her first appointment and was approved and scheduled for this corrective procedure. How faithfully our Father God cared for Avery and our family.

We received a generous care package from Cranio Care Bears, a loving network of families with like challenges. We learned that the Cranio Facial Association would help underwrite our traveling expenses to and from the hospital, for the initial surgery and follow-up care. Friends from St Andrew's Church in Little Rock organized a garage sale to defray our expenses in going so far from home.

One of my former pastors who now leads Grace Fellowship Church in San Antonio learned of our upcoming surgery. His wonderful church folks readied meals for us and prepared to babysit Avery’s three- year- old big brother during her surgery and hospital stay. Ronald McDonald House, located near University hospital, welcomed us with little expense.

 “Blessings crown the head of the righteous.”  

On and on, provisions presented themselves as we walked out this adventure. Our own Fellowship Church in Arkadelphia encouraged us with prayers and traveling money. God blessed every detail of our Avery’s medical journey. The first time I laid eyes on my little granddaughter waves of emotion had swept me because I didn’t know how my daughter and her husband would provide for the baby’s medical needs. God astounded us.

The musical mobile above the hospital crib played a soothing tune while little Avery recuperated in the hospital. She smiled and cooed at the mobile, and I wept. Thanks to our wonderful Father's grace, Avery had a bright future and hope.

Months have passed. One-year-old Avery toddles forward, her plastic helmet sporting a red gingham bow that matches her seersucker sundress.

“Come on, baby, walk to me. You can do it.”

Thank you God, she has this sturdy headgear during this season when she daily takes falls like other children her age.

Becky strides through the door to retrieve her child.“Only three more weeks with the helmet, Mom. Can you believe it?”

“Well, yes… I can sweetheart. I saw that white turban when I first prayed for God's help, and while it was sometimes difficult hanging on to His promise, the Lord has crowned Avery's head with blessings just like He said He would.”

While I didn’t realize this would mean three different helmets during her months of cranial expansion, my grandbaby’s head is now shaped and lovely.

Sovereign Lord, my strong deliverer, you shield my head in the 
day of battle. Psalm140:7 (NIV)

 Listen for His whispers...

Joyful Christmas Season!

Diadem of Beauty

“In that day the LORD of Hosts will be for a crown of glory and a diadem of beauty to the remnant of His people…” (Isaiah 28:5 NKJV) 

Isaiah is a personal favorite of mine. God has used this book of the Bible to speak to me on many occasions. 

The book is full of promises. This particular verse speaks of the Lord of hosts which refers to the coming Messiah, Jesus Christ.

Jesus is our jeweled crown. He's the treasure of our hearts, precious beyond anything the world has to offer. 

He's our shepherd-leader, the one who knows our way, nurtures and protects us, guides us through all things.

He is our gleaming beauty, that part in us which is altogether lovely. 

He is our glorious king both now and in future eternity. 

Another translation calls Him a Garland of Joy (DRB). Imagine all earthly and heavenly joys woven into a wreath and nestled securely atop our Savior's head. 

That was the promise of Isaiah. And when our Lord and Savior came into the world and walked His path, bled and died, rose and seated himself next to the Father, He promised and provided that for each of us. The promise of unspeakable joys...

Each year when the holidays roll around I receive my greatest pleasure from revisiting the names of Jesus. This year I share them with you along with a relevant word as a gift. Peace, love, and joy to each of you.

Mornings in our lives are those fresh, new 

beginnings we cherish each time we 

experience God.  

Remedy for Burnout: Enduring for the Eternal

God is joking, right? Move away from our state and to an uncertain destiny just because of homeschooling?

We had to question what God had told us about homeschooling our children back when our oldest was five. The decision hadn’t been easy then, but God placed a knowing inside us that it was the right thing to do.

There will always be conflicting points of view and interpretations on how to best handle situations, but your commitment to that one thing you know God spoke to your heart will see you through. When burnout hits, if our motivations are built 

and based on God’s unchanging nature, we cannot fail.

Backed into a corner, we had to reconsider. Two things transpired to make us question whether we should stay in our home of twelve years. We had adopted a son who was hearing impaired. The size of a three year old, he labored through a church preschool program and private speech therapy services, but these situations held at bay decisions about public school until his adoption was finalized. The other consideration was our oldest biological son. The state we lived in required second graders to pass an exam, and this child lagged behind in reading—not that unusual for boys his age. But, there was one shot at passing the test, and he didn’t.

The law was the law. If your child had a special need in any area, then the parent was required to be certified in that field to home educate. I had to be certified in both reading specialty and hearing impairment to homeschool two of my children, and I wasn’t.

The local school district complicated matters by telling us they would not hire someone certified in hearing impairment. We went to battle. We knew our rights. Going to the highest levels to insist the schools provide for our adopted son, we worked to change minds and hearts, but it did no good. We spent so much time in war there was no time to spend with the children, especially our hearing impaired son, who had desperate needs.

Father, tell us what to do. We put the house on the market, and it didn’t sell. Is this your answer, Lord?  We could leave our home and move fifteen miles across the state line and homeschool each of our children in freedom. What a temptation! We prayed harder.

“For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.”

2 Corinthians 4: 17-18 (NKJ)

One day, my husband came home with an answer. A good steward of God’s wealth and blessing maintains his material belongings in a responsible manner. The conflict? The Bible also says, that the planet is our temporary residence, and that we should make decisions based on what is eternal rather than on what is temporary. What did we know for certain? Our two biological children and two adopted children were God given. To live an authentic example of relationship with God was our highest responsibility to them. And the biggest lesson life had taught us? God is most concerned with what will last.

Money? It comes and it goes. Places to live and things to wear? He promises to provide. Our decision was made based on enduring for what was eternal. We moved across state lines and continued to homeschool our children. I am not saying this is the right decision for everyone in our situation. I have never seen God do anything the same way twice. But, I am saying, it was the right decision for us at that moment.

There was a price. Our house never sold, and we endured hardships. Was the hardship fair? Adversity made us want to doubt our decisions. Even now, I sometimes wonder if we could have done something differently. But each time we were challenged, we counted it joy and pursued knowing Him and the fellowship of His sufferings. God never once failed us financially. He supplied materially and entrusted us with two more internationally adopted children.

“For we know that if our earthly house, this tent, (I realize this can mean our bodies) is destroyed, we have a building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens.” 2 Corinthians 5:1(NKJ)

Throughout the years we have been faced with this one question. Would we choose what is important now or what would be important later?

Heartfelt commitments require endurance through hardship, trial, testing, and attack. Outward circumstances are never easy to decipher. There will always be conflicting points of view and interpretations on how to best handle situations, but your commitment to that one thing you know God spoke to your heart will see you through. When burnout hits, if our motivations are built and based on God’s unchanging nature, we cannot fail.

*The preceding story was created as I journeyed through burnout and explored a remedy for it. Rest is the letter R in Remedy. Exercise your faith is letter E. Meditate More is letter M. Today's post is letter E, Endure for the Eternal. Stay tuned for future blogs concerning letters D-Y.*

 Listen for His Whispers...

Remedy for Burnout: Meditate/ Pour/ Meditate Some More

A sparkling glass pitcher. Perfect. I filled it with ice and water. The heavy cut glass would reflect the candlelight on my table, and make a lovely accent to dinner. After all, how often did special occasions pull us away from plastic divided plates and sippy cups? 

Leaving the kitchen to dress for dinner, I returned to find a puddle. On the counter near the pitcher was a pool of water. Must have missed it when cleaning. I grabbed a towel and soaked up the spill.

Mary meditated on Jesus, and as long as she did, she was filled. Martha stewed, her energies pouring from her faster than she could stop their leak. Both women beautiful, but one filled. One at peace.

The smell of pot roast reminded me it was time to take it out of the oven. I carefully arranged it on a platter and added onions, bite-sized potatoes, and carrots. I spun around to grab the pitcher. There it was, another drippy mess on the counter. Certainly, my prized pitcher wasn’t leaking? I lifted it high for examination. Nothing.

I toweled up the water, and this time stood guard. Ever so slowly, water drained from the pitcher. I dumped the contents and brought it to the light. The smallest of hair-line fractures zigzagged the glass. How could something so heavy crack and leak?

Whether we pour or leak, we need to be filled and refilled with His power. Be carried by the sweeping current of His Holy Spirit. Be refreshed. 
Meditate, pour, then meditate some more.

I couldn't bring myself to throw it away. On the outside it was still lovely. But what purpose would it serve? A receptacle for silk flowers? I scratched the idea and threw it in the can. I hate throwing things away. It called me back. I hovered over the trash can, and a lesson bloomed in my heart. A pitcher is meant to be poured and refilled. If it cannot hold substance, it has no purpose.

The story of Mary and Martha came to mind. Mary meditated on Jesus, and as long as she did, she was filled. Martha stewed, her energies pouring from her faster than she could stop their leak. Both women beautiful, but one filled. One at peace.

Meditation. The Hebrew word meaning to breathe. To breathe is to have life. Without life, we run dry. An answer to burnout? Meditate on your Redeemer. Fill yourself with His rich and satisfying Word; He is the Word who has come to dwell with us. 

And, flow where The River goes. Whether we pour or leak, we need to be filled and refilled with His power. Be carried by the sweeping current of His Holy Spirit. Be refreshed. 

Meditate. Pour out to others. Then meditate some more.

“O God, You are my God, and earnestly will I seek You; my inner self thirsts for You, my flesh longs and is faint for You, in a dry and weary land where no water is… My whole being shall be satisfied as with marrow and fatness; and my mouth shall praise You with joyful lips when I remember You upon my bed and meditate on You in the night watches. For You have been my help, and in the shadow of Your wings will I rejoice. My whole being follows hard after You and clings closely to You; Your right hand upholds me.” (Psalm 63:1, 5-7 Amplified)

*The preceding story, Remedy for Burnout, was written as I journeyed through burnout as a homeschooling mom. The letter R-Remember to Rest, E-Exercise What?, M-Meditate/Pour/Meditate Some More. Stay tuned for E-D-Y.* 

Mornings in our lives are those fresh, new beginnings we cherish each time we experience God.