A Spirit-Led Adoption Story

A wooden table. For six. My parents joked in our wedding card that six chairs would at least "get us started." 

Indeed, we loved family and children.

And yet, here I sit, looking at so many empty chairs, thinking about all the plans I had for filling it up. I wonder at the meaning of it all.  

Never-the-less, God has made it easy to surrender. His hand is all over our adoption story. 

In 2017, after hitting wall after wall with conventional fertility treatment, we began treatment that was viewed us as whole people with dignity and deserving of respect. Indeed, we were told, "this care isn't for everyone, but it is something that needs to be available for those who seek it." Luke, our son, was conceived right at the time we began working with this holy provider who had the courage to pray with us and for us. He admitted he wasn't replacing God, and he certainly couldn't promise a pregnancy, but would do his best to bring health and healing. No, it was not I that conceived Luke, through his infinite mercy and plan, God destined him for us from the beginning. 

That summer, I also began praying that God would send us a baby that truly needed us. Scared of taking advantage of a birth mother, I prayed for a child who needed us as parents. Later, devastated after watching a documentary about how nearly all babies with Down Syndrome are aborted in Iceland, I prayed in earnest about converting our home study to a special needs adoption. On September 11, I moved forward with surgery to treat underlying medical conditions and improve fertility. Two days later, while home recovering, we received the call about Lucas Asher. 

"Would you consider a baby who potentially has some special needs?"

How God wove all of those stories and prayers and inklings together is still just a marvel. The initial visit turned into an adoption "match," which led to another visit. Coffee, prayers, doctor's appointments, and family meetings with his beautiful and Spirit-Led birth family marked the days, and before we knew it December was here. Due on January 21, his expected arrival was January 13, and we anticipated a flurry of plans and shopping as soon as we passed the Christmas holiday. On December 17, we had agreed to babysit for our dear friends' children. Pregnant with their sixth child, we hoped to offer them time to rest and prepare for their upcoming arrival. It also gave our son, Anthony, time to enjoy with friends. With a house soon to be full of children, the phone rang.  

"Your baby is here" 

Lucas spent the first 30 hours wrapped in the love of his mother and her family. Snuggled, fed, prayed over, and dedicated to God, they then placed him into our loving arms to carry on the love that they started. Indeed, he was loved from the start, through and through.  

Welcome home, Lucas Asher

Consider the Wildflowers

About a month ago, Russ, Anthony, and I attended mass with my parents. We were challenged to read, pray, and absorb Matthew Chapters 5 through 7. The challenge was so motivating that I will never forget the location of the Sermon on the Mount in the Bible.  “57” is a memorable number. On that very same day, we were matched with expectant parents to adopt their baby girl, Gabriella. It was surreal that after years of infertility, we were matched to adopt a baby a short month after our home study was approved. We were overjoyed, and over the next month I read those chapters over and over in adoration. 

 “Can any of you by worrying add a single moment to your life-span?” 

"Do not worry about your life"

"Your heavenly father knows that you need"

I spent considerable time meditating, praying for contrition for my anxious heart and giving thanks that God was blessing us after our long cross with infertility. The signs and blessings kept coming. Gabriella's due date was March 25, the feast of the Annunciation. Gabriella. On the Annunciation. Certainly, this was a nod from God, our own "announcement" of sorts.

Unfortunately, the sign did not hold the meaning that I thought. Russ and I learned this week that Gabriella was never meant to be ours, and grief came back in floods. Dreams of a beautiful frilly Easter basket and a Divine Mercy Sunday Baptism evaporated. But then, I woke up to the Gospel message that I had already read so many times. Don’t worry. Trust God. God cares for you. Matthew "57."  Again, a homily was proclaimed that I desperately needed to hear, and it sunk in deep. Images of placing my sufferings in the chalice and sitting with my anxieties at the foot of the cross filled my mind, and I pondered what it was that God was asking us to do. Images of drawing close to our Lord made the Eucharist that morning something it hadn't been for me before. Surely, being called into deeper relationship is the start of God's purpose in this situation. And, I can only imagine that our fleeting interaction with sweet Gabriella and her family was not coincidental, and if nothing else, we are called to spiritually adopt her.

No, the annunciation coincidence was not what I thought, expected, or wanted, but it certainly what I needed. The message was brought sharply into focus through the remarkable witness of two priests, whose sermons were miraculously woven and perfectly bookended our life’s activity this past month. This is the beauty of the Universal Church—that when holy priests stand in the person of Christ, united with the communion of saints, they deliver the message He wants for us, as individuals and the whole world.  In cooperating with His will, these holy men brought me a piece of Heaven on Earth.  For this, I am so grateful to them and their vocation. While I thought that chapters 5-7 were only a reminder to be thankful to God for his blessings, there was a broader meaning, and he was was preparing our hearts for the events over the past week and for the hard work of lent.

Deo Gratias!