Married couples go through nearly every imaginable range of emotions and challenges as they face life together. I won't say the decision to have children is the most important one, but it certainly has to rank among the top two or three. For some, that decision is made for them. Sort of.
My wife and I were married in 1981. A few years later we faced the reality that we were not going to have children of our own. Shortly after that we turned to the possibility of adoption. It was not a difficult decision for us to make. We were equally committed to the idea. But there remained a few obstacles, mostly in the form of adoption agencies.
Contrary to what some believe adoption agencies are not "baby stores". In fact, we found most to be extremely uncooperative. We began exploring the world of adoption in 1984. It was the start of a remarkable journey that flirted with catastrophe at times. I never knew my wife and I were such terrible parental candidates until we began talking with the experts. I guess I was puffed up with pride and could not see what we were really like. I mean, I was a pastor who had some training in psychology and counseling and was, by nature, a compassionate and nurturing kind of guy. My wife was a nurse who was even more nurturing and caring than I. Neither one of us had any criminal record or even traffic violations in our closet. We were what one might label squeaky clean. Boring, perhaps, but clean. And, if I do say so myself, qualified to be parents. Boy did I have my eyes opened!
One agency told us that because of my career we were too unstable. Pastors tend to move around too much. They wanted to place children with couples who had deep roots in the community and would be expected to stay in one place, at least until the child was grown. Another agency told us that we were not rich enough. Actually, what they said was our income level was below the minimum that they could accept. In other words, they were not going to place their children into poverty! Yet another agency gently informed us that we were too old! At the time I was 30 and Lillian was 29. However, this agency had a waiting list that averaged seven years, which meant that I would be 37 and Lillian 36 when we would make it to the top of the list. The problem was that they had a policy that they would not adopt children to couples over the age of 35. Thus, we were over the hill!
On and on it went. We tried private agencies, church agencies, para-church agencies and the State system. They all ended in disappointment and frustration. If someone would have told me that a Christian pastor and his nurse-wife could not possibly be approved to be adoptive parents I would have said, "No way!" But there was no denying our situation.
By the fall of 1989 we found ourselves moving out of State when I accepted the Call to serve as Pastor of a rural congregation in Indiana. At first we agreed to take some time off from the adoption thing and just settle into the community. My wife was working as the head nurse in a doctor's office. Before long her employer told her of a special needs couple who learned that they were expecting a baby. Their families agreed that they were not able to raise the child but they did not want to consider an abortion. It was decided that they would put the child up for adoption privately. The doctor asked if we were interested. After giving it careful consideration we said "Yes." To make a long story short, the couple changed their minds during the second trimester and decided to raise the child themselves.
Several months later the doctor approached us again. This time she had a young, unwed teenage girl who was pregnant. The father wanted nothing to do with the girl or the child and the girl did not want to become a mother, at least not until after she graduated from high school. Once again we saw an opportunity. This time things really progressed over the next several months. Lawyers were talking, we had names chosen and we were getting a nursery prepared. You would think two rather intelligent people would learn their lesson by now, but we didn’t. One day the doctor informed us, in a most solemn tone, that the young girl's grandmother had stepped in and decided she would raise the baby. We felt as if we had our hearts ripped out of our chests. It is fair to say that we grieved almost at a comparable level as if our own baby had just died. I know I shouldn't say that, because there was no death, actually. We probably should have found solace in the fact that this baby was going to live and remain, more or less, in its true family. Nevertheless, we suffered a terrible blow to our emotional health. I, especially, went into a state of depression. Lillian did too, but she coped with it better than I did. We eventually landed on our feet, but the path we took was not a pretty one.
In my denomination each congregation is part of a district, and each district has an ordained minister who is the supervisor of the pastors within the district. The title of this supervisor varies from one district to another but the structure is basically the same. In this particular district we were served by a "District Pastor" named Terry Hatfield. When Terry learned of our story he offered tremendous support. Eventually he also told us of an acquaintance of his, a member of the Church he used to pastor, who was caseworker in an adoption agency. He offered to make a phone call on our behalf.
Within a few weeks we received a phone call from this woman. Would we be interested in not one, but two children? Two full brothers, nine days short of a year apart, had recently come under her caseload. These two boys were already offered to three other families but all three had turned them down. The boys were only 14 months and 2 months in age, respectively, but there was some evidence that the older one might have some developmental challenges. No official diagnosis was made. Every family to date agreed to take the younger one but not his older brother. The Agency, however, refused to split them up.
A meeting was quickly arranged. It happened that not only was the caseworker a member of our denomination, but so were the newly appointed foster parents. This foster family was going to be in our area for Thanksgiving to visit the father's parents. It was agreed that we would meet them and get to see the two young boys.
With an indescribable feeling of joy, apprehension, uncertainly, self-doubt, unworthiness and perhaps most of all, reverence, we knocked on the door and were greeted by a most delightful family. I have absolutely no recollection of the house, nor the owners of the house. But I will never, ever forget the image of those two precious young boys. I believe to this day that the caseworker knew what she was doing in arranging this meeting. She knew that once we actually saw the boys there was no way we would say no. She was right.
We spent the rest of the weekend in deep prayer and much soul-searching. The Monday after Thanksgiving I placed the call to the caseworker. Yes, we were interested. We wanted to make both boys a part of our family. We were convinced beyond any doubt that this is what God had been preparing us for.
One week went by and we received a large envelope in the mail with an abundance of papers to be read and signed. Another week went by and we spoke with the foster parents on the phone. They told us that once we decided what names we wanted for the boys - should we choose to change their names - - we should let them know so they could begin to use them. This way it was hoped the boys would begin to recognize the names we wanted by the time we gained custody of them.
Week three came and went. The Agency informed us that they were hoping we could have custody before Christmas, but that was becoming unlikely. Then, early in week four, we received the call we thought we would never have. Everything was set. We had a court appearance scheduled for December 23. We were the last case on the docket before Christmas break.
The courthouse was a ten hour drive from our house. The foster family offered to serve us supper and put us up for the night, if we wished. In the wee hours of the morning on December 23 we set off for our destination. That afternoon was nothing short of magical. It was a typically cold and windy winter's afternoon in mid-western America. But none of that mattered. We met with our lawyer, who was yet another member of our church denomination. And then we appeared before the judge, who was very thorough and asked us all kinds of questions. He seemed particularly interested in our faith and the Church of the Brethren, which was unfamiliar to him. I can't recall a thing we said, but I suppose it was sufficient, because in a whirlwind of activity papers were signed and custody was granted on a temporary basis while the adoption proceedings continued. We returned to the Foster Parent's home for supper, with a family that had just doubled in size.
We rested for a while after eating and then decided we needed to make the long trip back to our home. We left the home of that wonderful foster family late on the evening of December 23. After driving non-stop through the night we pulled into our driveway early in the morning on December 24.
Although we had legal custody of the boys, in the eyes of the law the adoption was not finalized and we were not officially parents. In truth, however, God brought our family together on that Christmas Eve. From that day until the present Lillian and I have always held a special reverence for December 24. I fully understand that our experience in no way compares to that of Joseph and Mary's. The Incarnation and the Virgin Birth are unique and most holy events. The miracles surrounding the birth of Jesus are indeed the greatest demonstration of God's love for humankind. Yet there is no denying that God looked favorably upon Lillian and me, too, on that incredible day when our prayers were answered and our lives were blessed. December 24th has become a most precious day for us. We carefully and respectfully treat it with honor, for it was on this day that we experienced our "homecoming". In just a few days we will observe our twentieth anniversary of that dreamlike occasion. By the grace of God we have overcome unbelievable obstacles. We continue to be challenged, too. The initial suspicions concerning our oldest son proved to be correct. In time he was diagnosed with Autism, Mental Retardation, and, more recently, Schizo-Affective, along with several minor challenges. These will never change. He will need constant supervision and care for the rest of his life. For reasons I do not understand God has called my wife and I to assume that responsibility, no matter how inadequate we have proven to be, and that is something we have accepted. God has never abandoned us. He has produced one miracle after another to sustain us and provide for our family, and we praise him for every blessing.
In some ways I find myself identifying with Joseph, the husband of Mary. One might say that Joseph was an adoptive father. He raised a son who was not biologically his own, yet he treated him as if he were. Joseph had his doubts, according to the first chapter of Matthew. Yet ultimately he was humbled before God and obeyed the Lord's will to the best of his ability. Somewhere along the line Joseph fades off into oblivion. Twelve years after the birth of Jesus we come across the final account of this remarkable man when he and Mary take Jesus to Jerusalem to celebrate the Passover (Luke 2:41 - 52). The very next passage, however, introduces Jesus as a grown man approximately 30 years of age and beginning his public ministry. The scripture remains silent with regard to Joseph's fate thereafter.
At one time I remember thinking that Joseph deserved more recognition. For all practical purposes he was, after all, the earthly father figure for our Savior. And judging how Jesus turned out he must have done something right! So why is the New Testament so vague about this man? Oddly enough, we do not have even one word that is quoted from his mouth, nor is there any record of his death. It doesn't seem fair.
As I thought about this, however, I came to the realization that it's not about Joseph, it's about God. God is the one who brought this family together. God is the one who provided for them in the crowded city of Bethlehem when they were far from home and with no place to sleep. God is the one who saved them from Herod's wrath and gave them safety in the foreign land of Egypt. And God is the one who lovingly brought them back to Nazareth where Jesus could grow and develop into the young man his Heavenly Father intended him to be. Joseph had a very important role to play in this drama, but it was no more than a supportive role, at best.
In many ways, then, I am inclined to think that Joseph is a wonderful model for me and perhaps for all of us. He quietly did exactly what God wanted him to do, without recognition or fanfare, yet with a holy dedication that appears to have been almost radical. Matthew 1:19 describes Joseph as a "righteous man". Does anything else need to be said?
Adoption is a marvelous gift; a privilege that defies description. It is a humbling experience to raise somebody else's child. Along the way I have been constantly reminded that it is not about me, however. It is about the child, or in our case, the children. It is always about the children, and so it should be. Above all, it is also about God, who loves, calls, empowers, and saves.
We are the children of God (John 1:12; 1 John 3:1) by way of adoption (Ephesians 1:5). I am lovingly reminded of this every time I look at my two sons and think about our incredible story. I suppose one of the things that impresses me the most about all this is the way in which this all came about. Lillian and I tried everything as we took matters into our own hands. Interestingly we tried to force the issue of parenthood for exactly seven years - - a good biblical number that has not escaped my notice in hindsight. It also happened to be equivalent to the length of time on the waiting list for the agency that claimed we would be too old! Regardless, all we got in return for our efforts was frustration, guilt, and failure. We actually came to the point where we agreed that this parenting thing was not going to happen. We were, in many ways, broken and defeated. It was a rather liberating experience when we agreed to tell God that it was OK; we accept the fact that we were complete as a couple even if we did not have children. Having finally come to that conclusion and turning everything over to God, the Lord took the reigns and performed the miracle that we could never accomplish ourselves. Perhaps we needed to go through all the frustration and the heartache that we did in order to appreciate the wonder and the power of our Lord. "For when I am weak, then I am strong", the apostle Paul says in 2 Corinthians 12:10. I understood.
Yes, Christmas Eve is the time when the Christian community pauses to reflect upon God's love expressed to us in the infant of Bethlehem. Immanuel: God with us. It is the beginning of the process whereby we are adopted into the Family of God, a process finalized at Calvary. This has been accomplished not by anything we had done, but based entirely upon the grace of God himself. The power and the wonder of this theme has been played out in the life of my family, and I am humbled at the thought.
"For unto us a child is born;
Unto us a son is given..."
Isaiah 9:6
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