This testimony is shared with permission as part of our ongoing collection of real stories from those walking through infertility, adoption, loss, and hope.
December 2, 2017: The Due Date.
It was a hot day in July 2017. I sat with Michael in a clinic in Fort Wayne, Indiana, with a woman whom we were meeting for the first time. This woman had chosen us to be the parents of the baby in her womb, and that day, we were all going to hear the heartbeat for the first time.
Sitting there, I had flashbacks of just a year before, in summer 2016, when we had traveled to the same city, many times, for what turned out to be failed fertility treatments. We had grieved that season, and now God seemed to be doing a new thing for us. This city was going to represent a fresh start. Not our own biological child, but an adoption. New hope. New life. Redemption.
As we sat with the birth mom in the waiting room, the combination of nerves and excitement was almost too much to handle. Yet I felt peace, so much peace. We tried to soak in every detail of the experience and of the woman who would be the birth mom of our baby. She was friendly and kind. She was beautiful. Would the baby have her bright eyes? Her beaming smile? Only time would tell.
As the birth mom was called back by the technician for her appointment, we followed in lockstep with our caseworker. The technician seemed caught off guard that three extra people all followed and crammed into that small room. Our case worker confidently explained that an adoption plan was being made for the baby and that Michael and I were the intended parents.
As the ultrasound started, the volume was turned on, and I instinctively slipped my hand into the birth mom’s hand. She eagerly grabbed hold of mine, and we heard the glorious sound of a healthy heartbeat for the first time. For me, the experience felt like it transcended time.
Birth mom wanted to know the gender, but we did not- they wrote it down on a piece of paper for her so we could be surprised at the birth. We were given an ultrasound picture of the baby to take with us, and the due date was announced- December 2nd. Birth mom sat stunned and quietly said, “That’s my birthday.” My heart broke for her, realizing how much more difficult it would be for her than it already was.
In the weeks and months that followed, we wrapped our hearts and home around the idea of being first-time parents. We communicated through the caseworker to the birth mom, reassuring her of our continued eagerness to adopt and our feelings toward her of bravery and courage for the choice she was making. We planned and prepared. We asked questions of seasoned parents.
A particular point I was thankful for was that the birth mom had agreed to allow me to be present for the delivery -an experience that I had heard was cathartic and healing for a woman who wasn’t able to birth her own child. I was eager and grateful I’d have that opportunity and couldn’t believe God would grant that to me.
In early October, my family hosted a baby shower for me. I enjoyed all the ooing and ahing over cute little baby clothes and silly baby games. I went home with loads of diapers and baby things, and I felt more loved and more ready to be a mom than ever before. Michael and I selected a boy’s name and a girl’s name, and our nursery was prepared with a crib and everything. December 2nd couldn’t come soon enough.
And then, in the 8th month, it all fell apart. Because of a technical error and information that hadn’t been previously disclosed, the adoption fell through. December 2nd came and went. The baby was born, and we learned that it was a boy, but we never heard anything more.
In time, the baby things were packed away, the crib was taken down, and we slowly packed up our dreams. Our hearts were shattered.
But God met us there. We were angry. But God met us there. We were so very sad. But God met us there. We desperately needed healing and hope. And again, God met us there.
I had to trust that, in those sacred days of wondering, “Why Lord, why?” he had a good plan. I had to believe He wasn’t finished. I needed to know it wasn’t the end of our road.
Why do I share this now? I share it for a couple of reasons. It’s a part of my story, and it’s healing for me to remember it and write about it. December 2nd is still a significant day and in some ways, even still, a hard day for me. But I don’t want to forget God’s faithfulness in my life. I don’t want to forget that in the times that it seems over, it’s not even close to over.
2017 closed out, and 2018 came.
Ultimately, God filled the sadness in my heart with Himself. He also filled the walls of our home with four beautiful kiddos. Two of them temporarily, and 2 got our last name.
Why do I share this now? I share it for a couple of reasons. It’s a part of my story, and it’s healing for me to remember it and write about it. December 2nd is still a significant day and in some ways, even still, a hard day for me. But I don’t want to forget God’s faithfulness in my life. I don’t want to forget that in the times that it seems over – it’s not even close to over.
And I share it because there is so much sadness and brokenness in the world. So many around me are genuinely suffering. I share it as a reminder to anyone who needs it that God isn’t done yet. His work isn’t done in this world, and it isn’t done in your story. You might be in a really bleak chapter, a chapter with a lot of questions and sorrow, but you can trust Him. He is faithful.
Psalm 27:13-14 says, “I would have lost heart, unless I had believed that I would see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Wait on the Lord, be of good courage, and He shall strengthen your heart; wait, I say, on the Lord!”
Now it’s December 2, 2021.
Happy 4th birthday, little guy. I don’t know where you are, but you’ll always have a very special place in my heart. And happy birthday, birth mom. You are a beautiful mama, and you deserve all the best with your sweet boy.
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