(Thank you to Anne-Marie for today’s guest post!)
Eighteen years ago this May (2010), I placed my baby girl into the arms of her adoptive mother, literally. Wrapped in the grace and peace of my Heavenly Father, I was able to do so without regret or remorse. Even before that day, I was filled with indescribable peace regarding my adoption decision…the peace that passeth all understanding, to be exact.
It was September 1991. I was 18, unmarried, and relocating to Seattle from Phoenix with my boyfriend.
Upon confirming that I was indeed pregnant at a nearby Planned Parenthood facility, I was strongly advised to have an abortion. By advised, I mean locked in a room for 45 minutes and lectured on the virtues of abortion even after I had said I wanted to have my baby and parent my child.
Things in my life changed dramatically in those first few months. After a visit to my sister in Alabama and huge fallout with my boyfriend, I found myself back in my parent’s home in Phoenix. It was a strange time. I didn’t have a plan for the future and they never brought it up either. To that point, about 3 months along, I hadn’t had any prenatal care.
One morning I woke up to hear the inaudible voice of God telling me to get the phonebook and find an adoption agency. Adoption had never crossed my mind. In fact, it had been mentioned once during the abortion lecture and I had responded, “Oh, I could never do that.”
While I had always admired those who placed their babies for adoption, the thought of doing it myself made me think my heart would be ripped in two.
Knowing that adoption was not my idea, I immediately obeyed. I flipped through the phonebook while still sitting in my bed. There were a few pages of adoption agencies, some ads were bigger than others, and I was drawn to two ads in particular. I have no idea how long I sat reading, pondering, deciding which agency to call. God was gentle with me. He was patient. I never felt like he was tapping His foot waiting on me to make up my mind. Of course, He already knew.
I don’t recall much about that phone call except that the adoption counselor scheduled an appointment to visit me the very next day. She was so kind and thoughtful. At the same time, she was very upfront about what I was getting myself into. Adoptions were closed. I would sign away my rights to my child and never know anything about them or their family. Adoptive parents were required to send one year of photographs at least quarterly to the agency. The photographs were then placed into our adoption file and I would be notified of them if I wanted to see them.
She talked about legalities and medical assistance and what would happen if I changed my mind. Even then I said, “Oh, I’m not going to change my mind. This is God’s decision for my baby.”
It seemed like an eternity from that first call until the day I was actually sitting across a table from the woman who would become my daughter’s mother. And yet, these past 18 years have flown by too quickly.
God has been faithful throughout this journey. At the moment I chose to obey Him, He became more real to me than He had been in all my church-going life. He blessed me with an open adoption that I didn’t even know was possible. And He blessed my life with “extended” family. I remember having lunch with her mother when the baby was 4 weeks old. A woman at the restaurant saw her and asked, “Who’s the mother?” Her mother got this big grin on her face which made me smile too and she replied, “We are.”