Cedar N' Steel

“There’s a Category 4 Hurricane heading right for you.” Believe it or not, that’s the second time in my life I’ve heard those words uttered in reference to somewhere I lived. Michael and I attended Tulane University in New Orleans and went through the experience of Hurricane Katrina in 2005. We evacuated with our respective athletic programs, Michael with the golf team to Houston and me with the soccer and football teams to Jackson, MS. They told us we would be gone a week and we packed accordingly. Once the levees broke and flooded the city, we knew we wouldn’t go back and spent that semester at temporary schools (SMU for Michael, Texas A&M for me) playing our seasons and attending classes.

So in October of last year, when the weather channel told us there was a Category 4 Hurricane heading right for Saint Simons Island, we didn’t hesitate. We didn’t care if the locals said they hadn’t had a hurricane in decades. We didn’t care if early forecasts predicted it would stay out at sea. We knew if there was even a chance we could take a direct hit and be stranded on our island with flooding, downed trees and no electricity or access to food or clean water, we couldn’t stay. Our experience with category 4 hurricanes was Katrina. My thought process was, “if I can’t come back here for the next 3 months, what do I need to have with me?”

We packed up important legal and financial documents, our wireless printer/copier/fax machine, a couple weeks worth of clothing and toiletries, computers, our cat Bubbles and all her accoutrements, Michael’s golf stuff and travel equipment since the Fall season was about to start, and all adoption paperwork since we were active and waiting and knew we could get matched at any moment. We put important things upstairs, brought in all our outdoor furniture and grill, put boards on the bottom level windows and unplugged electrical things on the first floor in case of flooding. At the last minute, I decided to bring any baby gear I had planned to take when we did get the phone call we were matched. At that point, we were waiting to hear back about several birth mom situations and new ones were presented to us every day. Ready for a direct hit, we left the island three days before it’s projected impact, traveling to Dalton, GA to stay with friends until further notice.

Further notice came in the form of a phone call on the same day Hurricane Matthew hit Saint Simons from several miles off shore. It wasn’t a direct hit, but enough to bring down trees, knock out electricity, damage the one bridge that serves the island, and close businesses and roads for about a week. We would’ve been stranded on the island for that time had we not left. Instead, we sat comfortably on our friends’ couch watching HGTV when the phone call came. A birth mom in Kansas picked us. We were matched and our baby boy was coming within the next 2 weeks if not sooner since she was already having contractions and dilating.

Anxiety and stress quickly followed our elation as we surveyed our situation. We had no idea what was happening to our house, the home we’d used to complete our homestudy. The hurricane was hitting our island the same day we got that call, and we had no idea when or if we’d be able to take our baby home to it. Thankfully, my Type A personality meant we had all the necessary paperwork and baby items to travel to get our child and complete the adoption, but after that we’d just have to wait and see. Our adoption social worker said we should wait until the next Monday to travel since the birth mom’s labor wasn’t really progressing and she had another prenatal appointment then.

On Monday, October 10, our social worker called to say the birth mom still wasn’t progressing and we shouldn’t travel yet. Michael was scheduled to play in Napa at the Safeway Open, and we decided to continue with that plan unless something changed. We packed up everything from our friends’ home in Dalton, Michael drove to Atlanta to fly to California for the tournament and I drove myself and our cat Bubbles to Washington DC to stay with my family. From opposite sides of the country, Michael and I continued to wait for the go ahead from the social worker to travel to Kansas.

We knew our birth mom was scheduled for a C section on October 19, so our little man would at least come by then, however if she dilated any more they would do the C section immediately. Several doctors appointments and no progress took us all the way to Friday the 14th and I couldn’t wait any longer. I hated the idea that my son could be born and I wouldn’t be there yet, or would be on a plane. I made the decision to travel to Kansas just in case the baby came sooner. Again, Type A me wanted to be there and prepare. I found us a Residence Inn, set up the room for a baby, bought groceries and diapers and outfits, found a dress and heels to wear before the judge who would sign off on the adoption once we had our son, and kept busy with books and movies and Netflix.

Michael missed the cut in Napa and immediately flew to Kansas to join me on Saturday. This proved to be a blessing as our birth mom, who previously told the social worker she didn’t want to meet us, decided she wanted to have dinner. And so, on Sunday October 16 we met the woman who carried our baby boy in her belly. She brought her friend and the four of us and our social worker had a lovely dinner and conversation at Applebees. It turned out her friend was adopted as well and had a great experience with his adoptive parents. At the end of the meal, he told our birth mom “you picked a good one, honey.”

Before we parted, she hugged me and I felt her full belly pressing into my empty one. Between us was a baby boy who knew nothing of what happened outside his cozy haven. Two women embracing in mutual love for a child. That was the first time I felt any sort of claim over him, the first time I started to think of him as ours. I could see and feel her tummy and know he was in there, just a few inches away. I’d prayed over the months for a nameless, faceless healthy birth mom and baby, but now I prayed for this birth mom and that baby boy who we’d meet any day.

She invited us to her prenatal appointment the next day and we got to hear Jace’s heartbeat for the first time and see him on a sonogram. The doctor took some pictures for us and our birth mom gave us sonogram pictures from earlier in the pregnancy. I couldn’t believe how loving and gracious she was to us when she was already giving us an enormous gift at her own expense. Our birth mom genuinely seemed eager to involve us all of a sudden after not wanting to meet us in the first place. We relished any time she allowed us to be with her, wanting to love her well and show her Christ through our words and actions. If that’s all we were able to do, we knew it’d be enough.

The delicate thing about adoption is that until the birth parents sign the relinquishment papers, they are still the baby’s parents and can change their minds at any moment. We knew in the back of our minds that no matter what impression we made on our birth mom or how much we loved on her, she could still decide to keep the baby, and so we tried to maintain some emotional distance. Our focus was on getting to know her better and loving her the way Christ loves us. If she did turn out to be our birth mom, we knew we’d be bonded with her forever.

You see, we came into adoption focused on Christ and not on our quest to have a baby. We decided that any phone call, any face to face meeting, any interaction with a birth mom at all was a perfect opportunity to share God’s love. These women were considering adoption for a reason, and no matter the reason they deserved to hear about how much God loves them. What a precious creation they were in His eyes. No matter the life circumstance, God’s love is constant and steadfast. What if we were the only people ever to speak this truth into their lives? God gave us a purpose beyond growing our family and because of this, we didn’t fear failure.

Adoption involves so may factors that are out of our control. A social worker has to decide our fitness for parenting. A birth mom has to pick us from hundreds of other families based on a 15 page book of pictures and exposition. A baby has to be born. A birth family has to decide to sign the papers. In our case, a birth father had to be found and his parental rights terminated. A state has to sign off on us going home. A judge has to declare us parents to our child. A social worker has to follow up to determine the child’s well-being. It’s a long, arduous process that can wear on even the heartiest souls. Time and time again I thought we’d fail. As each new barrier approached, I figured this would be what sent the whole train off the tracks.

But when God steers the train, no barrier can stop Him. Such was the case with our adoption. Three weeks after becoming active, I found myself in an operating room experiencing the birth of my son via C section. Our birth mom decided at the last minute that she wanted me in the operating room instead of the social worker. She didn’t want me to watch the operation, but she told me she wanted me to experience the birth of our son because it’s something I’d never be able to do myself. We both cried the whole time and held hands. She let me cut the cord. While they were taking care of her, I watched them clean him and weigh him, bundle him up and put a tiny hat on his head and then the nurse handed him to me and I held my son for the first time. After an ectopic pregnancy and five miscarriages, here at last was the child God intended for us.

Our birth mom was adamant that he should go directly to me and Michael the second he came out so we could all start the bonding process right away. Again, her selflessness astounded me. Having heard her story I knew there was no way she could care for the baby, but the fact that she put her son’s needs first at every turn showed just how much she loved him and I loved her even more for loving him and taking such good care of him while she could.

We all stayed in the hospital for three days while our birth mom recovered and doctors and nurses tended to Jace’s newborn needs. He passed his hearing test, got circumcised, and went through a battery of blood tests. We cared for him from day one, feeding every two hours, catching pockets of sleep, foregoing showers and meals at times to just sit and stare at him. We visited with our birth mom often and let her spend time with Jace, but she remained firm in her desire for him to bond with us and only kept him for small amounts of time.

Finally, it was time for her to sign over her parental rights to us. We weren’t concerned she would change her mind based on her actions and words thus far, but you never know what someone will do when they’re finally at the moment where they have to make a decision. She did make things more difficult than we hoped. She wanted to have more contact with us than we’d originally agreed upon, wanted to know our last name and what state we lived in (details usually not shared in a semi-open adoption), and wanted very specific wording in the documents she would sign. We agreed to certain things and not others, talked to our adoption consultant who assuaged our fears and finally left the social workers, counselors, and our birth mom alone to work everything out. We holed up in our hospital room with Jace, not knowing how things were going or when we’d hear some news.

No one came in to update us. We waited anxiously to hear whether Jace would be ours or she’d changed her mind. At any moment, life would forever change or we would go home empty handed as we had so many times before with IVF. Those same fears creeped into my mind as time dragged on, except this time I’d had a real taste of motherhood holding him in my arms. I calmed myself by saying that even if these first few days of Jace’s life were all I had with him, I’d done what God needed me to do and cared for His creation. Infertility taught me that all children are gifts from God, placed in our care to raise for His glory.

It took four painstaking hours until we heard a soft knock on the door. I held Jace in my arms at the time and Michael opened the door. Our birth mom strode right up to me and hugged me, saying “Congratulations Mom and Dad.” I broke down in her arms and couldn’t stop the heavy tears from falling. Michael joined the embrace, the four of us suddenly family forever. Ironically, the only one not crying was the baby.

And that was the end and the beginning. Suddenly our infertility saga was over. A new journey began the second our birth mom hugged us and told us we were parents. There were still other logistics to work out, a birth father to find, papers to be signed, a court date to keep with the judge, and lots more paperwork for our adoption lawyers to complete before the adoption was finalized. All we cared about was that we had a healthy son and we’d do whatever it took to keep him alive and complete the legal process of making him ours forever.

On October 21, we became parents. On December 20, the adoption was finalized and Jace became ours forever. God works everything together for His glory and our good. On March 2, exactly one year after our final miscarriage, we received Jace’s new birth certificate with our names as his parents. A piece of paper to sum up five years of strife and sorrow washed away and made new. A piece of paper to remind us of God’s faithfulness, to show us that He walked alongside us the entire way as we tried and failed and got back up.

Jace is now five months old and I’m finally finding time to reflect on everything now that the holidays, tax season, and the adjustment of caring for a newborn are over. And I sit in awe of the story God weaved. Looking back, I can see how He worked everything together, bad and good, to bring Jace to us. From the beginning when we decided to start trying for a baby in March of 2012 to the end of holding that birth certificate in March of 2017, God orchestrated the entire story to shatter expectations, change hearts, grow faith, and reveal Himself more and more.

I stand in awe too of our birth mother, who I’ve sent several updates and pictures to and hope to have contact with someday if she’s willing, though I know she has her own journey to follow. She did the thing that I could not, carried a child to term, and now it’s my turn to do what she cannot and raise him to manhood. We were two broken people with jagged edges looking for our compliment and God saw fit to unite us. Together we make a whole that results in life for a child. That is our adoption story. And it’s only the beginning…

Matthew 18:5, 1 Samuel 1:27, Philippians 1:6