

### Wounded Lambs in the Shepherd's Embrace

A Tumultuous Foster to Adopt Story

by

Jennifer Z. Wright

Scripture quotations in this book are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version Copyright 1973, 1978, 1984 by the International Bible Society.

Names and places have been changed to protect the identities of individuals.

Cover art by Jennifer Z. Wright

Copyright 2014 by Jennifer Z. Wright

Smashwords Edition

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION

CHAPTER 1 - PARENTHOOD'S ELUSIVE GAME

CHAPTER 2 - THE TRULY WILD WEST

CHAPTER 3 - SIGNING UP FOR DUTY

CHAPTER 4 - SWEET BABY BOY

CHAPTER 5 - ROBBED OF INNOCENCE

CHAPTER 6 - IMPRISONED IN OUR OWN HOME

CHAPTER 7 - ADMITTING OUR LIMITATIONS

CHAPTER 8 - THE ENDLESS ROLLER COASTER

CHAPTER 9 - PLAYGROUP FROM HEAVEN

CHAPTER 10 - SHIRLEY TEMPLE'S DISTURBANCE SURFACES

CHAPTER 11 - LANGUISHING UNDER THE ANTICIPATION OF LOSS

CHAPTER 12 - A HAPPY MOTHER PROMISE

CHAPTER 13 - FRAIL ANGEL BOY

CHAPTER 14 - REVELATION FROM A BLUSTERY MOUNTAIN SUMMIT

CHAPTER 15 - CAN IT GET ANY CRAZIER?

CHAPTER 16 - PERVERSION OF JUSTICE

CHAPTER 17 - GIANT TODDLER AND THE WAIF

CHAPTER 18 - A BELOVED GEM VANISHES AND A LITTLE PRINCE APPEARS

CHAPTER 19 - THE CRY OF ABANDONMENT

CHAPTER 20 - THREATS TO SECURITY AND PRIVACY

CHAPTER 21 - FILLING THE MOTHER VOID

CHAPTER 22 - THE LIST OF CUSTODY OPTIONS

CHAPTER 23 - A POISONOUS WOMB

CHAPTER 24 - MEETING FAMILY AND OLD FRIENDS

CHAPTER 25 - SUPERNATURAL FORTRESS

CHAPTER 26 - BELOVED CHERUB IN PERIL

CHAPTER 27 - PRESENTING THE CASE FOR TERMINATION

CHAPTER 28 - SHOWERS OF BLESSING, HURLING AND A FAMILY HOLIDAY

CHAPTER 29 - BLINDED BY CHILDLIKE SWEETNESS

CHAPTER 30 - JOINT CUSTODY?

CHAPTER 31 - TENSION BUILDS

CHAPTER 32 - INTIMIDATION IN COURT

CHAPTER 33 - MEETING THE GRANDPARENTS

CHAPTER 34 - VISITATION SAFETY QUESTIONED

CHAPTER 35 - CONTINUING THROUGH THE COURTROOM LABYRINTHS

CHAPTER 36 - WILDFLOWERS AND THUNDER

CHAPTER 37 - CUSTODY BATTLE

CHAPTER 38 - CASEWORK BUNGLING

CHAPTER 39 - A PROMISE FULFILLED

CHAPTER 40 - TAKING ON A LEVIATHAN

CHAPTER 41 - THE SILENT TREATMENT

CHAPTER 42 - A CHALLENGE FROM THE INDIAN CHILD WELFARE ACT

CHAPTER 43 - CONNECTING WITH FOSTER AND ADOPTIVE FAMILIES

CHAPTER 44 - SWEET FREEDOM

MY LITTLE ONE

RESOURCES

ALSO BY JENNIFER Z. WRIGHT

**Introduction**

"I will contend with those who contend with you, and your children I will save." Isaiah 49:25

Experience a story of triumph in the midst of brokenness in America's foster system. Witness how persistent prayer and the efforts of selfless advocates from all strata of society brought about deliverance for victimized children. Hear about lives restored and hope renewed through heavenly whispers when it seems like all is lost.

The constant battle in our nation for the hearts of families ravaged by substance abuse and domestic violence creates an ongoing need for trained volunteers and compassionate professionals to provide protection for neglected and abused children and support for parents on the road to recovery. Those serving families in crisis include Court Appointed Special Advocates, social workers, therapists, foster parents, caseworkers, life skills coaches, pastors, rehabilitation counselors, lawyers and judges. Just one person can make a profound difference.

I hope our story will inspire you to believe God for the strength to face head on whatever obstacles may come your way. Our Creator specializes in the miraculous and loves to guide and encourage us.. I have witnessed the power of the name of Jesus and how great his reward is as he grants desires of the heart.

"Defend the cause of the weak and fatherless; maintain the rights of the poor and oppressed. Rescue the weak and needy; deliver them from the hand of the wicked." Psalm 82:3-4

**Chapter 1 - Parenthood's Elusive Game**

"'For I know the plans I have for you,' declares the Lord, 'plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.'" Jeremiah 29:11

The battle lines were drawn across the desk in the stuffy office. I was a desperate forty-something childless woman contending with an impeccably attired caseworker who was glaring down her perfectly straight nose at me. She had just asked if we would accept a drug exposed baby, so I inquired as to how the agency would keep our contact information confidential should we find ourselves engaging with an addicted birthmother. I had volunteered at a rehabilitation facility in Detroit during the eighties and knew some of the risks involved.

"We will not keep your information confidential because there is no reason to do so!" she retorted with the hateful disdain of a queen ruling over loathsome subjects who were threatening to revolt. She seemed to revel in the fact that she wielded power to open or close doors for couples desiring to adopt. Much like many agencies in Michigan around 2006, open adoption was the caseworker's only agenda. In her mind safety was not an issue. Was she about to destroy our file just because I tried to set some boundaries?

Maintaining a relationship between a birthmother and her baby after adoption is ideal... if everyone gets along well. Welcoming any stranger into the intimacy of family life is often a challenge unless they share similar beliefs. Even then there can be strong personality differences. Plus, I had no idea to what degree drug exposure affected a baby before it was born. I didn't think I was up to the task of mothering a child with serious developmental delays or other unknown issues. A little information would have helped.

I cowered like a small dog that had been kicked. I glanced over to my husband with eyes pleading for help. True to his laid back nature, Patrick remained quietly seated with a bland expression. He didn't want to cause any ripples so we could have smooth sailing. I would have to muster my faith and courage and lean ever harder on my heavenly Father. I believed he had good plans for us even though our road to parenthood looked uncertain.

I replied cautiously, "For now we will only consider a baby who is drug free." We could always change our minds if it turned out that no birthmother chose us. As an older couple we had to present ourselves as exceptionally agreeable, stellar candidates in order to capture their hearts. With a blank expression she made a note of our preference and proceeded with the interview.

Earlier that afternoon when we entered the agency, we had passed one large portrait after another adorning the walls. I became all the more determined to win the ultimate prize as I gazed at the beaming adopted toddlers glittering like stars sashaying down the red carpet on Oscar night. My eyes were the flashing cameras documenting every angelic face as I yearned to whisk one away.

The young lives were brimming over with promise and joy. I longed to nurture a soul toward his or her potential by snuggling with good books, tossing a ball and sharing lessons I had learned. Oh, all the fun we could have! I dreamed of carousel rides, rolling down warm grassy hills, rocking chair lullabies sung to a trusting heart, photographing a cherub face smeared with a rainbow of colors from my makeup drawer...

"Please, your highness. Please don't rob me of all that wonder and delight!" I pleaded within. I believed that this was my only chance of getting a newborn since we couldn't afford multiple fertility treatments. I had to win the caseworker's favor somehow.

In the moment I was only faintly aware that the actual battle lines had been drawn in the heavenlies. A throne far above the office held the King of all kings who possessed a superior agenda that he sought to manifest through willing vessels in our broken world. Only he had the foreknowledge to enact what was best for the young lives he had created. God's good plans of restoration were constantly confronting the forces of evil that were luring young women into self-destructive behavior and hurling roadblocks before couples hoping to grow their families. What obstacles might we face? My battle was ultimately in the Lord's hands. For the road ahead I needed to keep my eyes fixed on the unseen eternal realm in order to maintain hope and not allow the conflicts of the temporary visible realm to cause fear and defeat (2 Cor. 4:18).

At our next meeting with the caseworker we brought photos for her to approve for the pamphlets birthmothers would peruse when deciding who should adopt their babies. As I handed her a picture of me hugging Patrick from behind with my hair pulled up, contacts in and my face at a nice angle she exclaimed, "You look glamorous! That does not look like you! The birth mom won't know who to relate to." I was speechless. Then she held a very unflattering photo that I included to show us enjoying a sailboat ride while squinting in the sun. She firmly asserted, "Now that looks just like you."

I was quite offended and hoped Patrick would jump in to defend me, but again he just sat there placidly, no doubt dreaming of skiing down pristine powder in Colorado's mountains. The only difference between my appearance in the recent nice photo and how I looked in her office were my glasses and hairstyle. I figured that she was trying to get rid of me with her insults, but I refrained from asking for another caseworker, fearing I might not appear well adjusted, which could put us at the bottom of the stack.

After fifteen years of waiting to become a mother, I was an obsessed woman on a mission. During my twenties I had been so focused on my education in ministry and art that I had decided I would never have the time or energy for children. But severe academic burnout and subsequent recovery while working with many delightful children as an elementary teacher and nanny stirred within me an insatiable appetite for my own children whether they were biological or adopted.

Trying to discern God's direction for marriage through a filter of perfectionism and a fortress around my heart caused me to repeatedly come up empty as I meandered through one church singles group after another. As a result, I didn't go on my first date until the ripe old age of twenty-nine. Ten years of occasional brief relationships ensued. I finally found Patrick, a gentle, dependable engineer who had even less dating experience than myself. We were very grateful to have found each other after years of longing for families of our own. So we were ecstatic when I became pregnant during our first month of marriage. Life was working out splendidly at last.

I dreamed about the things we'd do over the years with our little boy or girl. But one day when I was looking for larger clothes, I heard God say, "Don't buy too many things because you don't know if you will carry this baby to term." I quickly pushed the disturbing thought to the corner of my mind and went on with my life blissfully anticipating motherhood.

So I was quite shocked when I miscarried as I approached the end of my first trimester. Severe grief enveloped me because I knew this might have been my only chance at giving birth. I wondered what I did wrong that may have caused the miscarriage. Should I have given up biking and tennis? I asked God for comfort and words of encouragement. He graciously replied, "If you had given birth to this baby, it would not have accomplished my purposes."

My sorrow was infused with relief. It helped to know the miscarriage wasn't my fault and that it was all in God's sovereign plan. It was not necessary for me to know the fullness of his purposes at the time. I had to keep trusting him. When I opened my Bible, I read Isaiah 25:8, "...he will swallow up death forever. The Sovereign Lord will wipe away the tears from all faces..." I felt comforted knowing that in heaven God's love will be so satisfying that it will wipe away all my sorrow. Yet Patrick and I needed to keep consoling each other and drew closer to each other as a result of our loss.

Each month I was devastated when I realized that I was still not pregnant. How could I get pregnant immediately after getting married then fail to conceive for years afterwards? It was especially hard to see so many other women from church getting pregnant who were married around the same time I was. After awhile, I started missing out on their gatherings because I didn't have a little one to participate in the playgroups. At least we knew a few childless couples to spend time with. After two years of failing to conceive we decided to pursue domestic adoption through a Christian agency.

So there I was spending many hours striving to create fifty stunning folders so birthmothers would be wowed by our dynamic life illustrated with photos of adventures including our YOUNGER friends, some of whom just started having kids. I was sickened by the fact that we had to sell ourselves to someone in order to get a child, but there was no other way to grab a mother's attention. I also spent weeks carefully arranging a scrapbook, which provided a broader look into our lifestyle and extended family. With so much positive evidence, how could there be any doubt that we'd be great parents?

One night we went to our agency to hear about a couple's experience with domestic adoption. In Michigan birthmothers had two months to change their minds after giving their baby to someone. This couple immediately fell in love with the baby they received as if she were their own. Then the birthmother changed her mind and wanted her daughter back. They were devastated. The man stood in front of the large group crying openly as he recalled the pain of losing the little girl. I was surprised to see his wife standing by him smiling and appearing unaffected. She either had good self-control or had already recovered. I knew I'd react like the man or maybe worse. For the first time I started to doubt whether I could handle adopting domestically due to the risk of loss.

After enduring months of the birthmother's vacillations, they had a happy ending since they were able to keep the baby after all. Of course, the birthmother had great difficulty giving her baby up for adoption because such an act of selfless love would break her heart as she sought what was best for her child. Then I wondered how I would receive another woman's baby while she stood there weeping with empty arms. I became overwhelmed as I pictured the scene.

My doubts became magnified when we were told we had to pay for the birthmother's hospital costs and living expenses during her pregnancy (which is not the case for many other domestic adoptions). If she changed her mind and decided to keep her baby, we would lose all our money. There was no way I wanted to end up childless or wait years until we saved another $20,000 before we could try again to adopt. So I started thinking about foreign adoption because it cost almost the same and we'd be guaranteed a child. Maybe God would work a miracle and allow me to get pregnant in the meantime so I could still have the newborn I desired.

Patrick wasn't too happy about switching to foreign adoption because we'd lose the two thousand dollars we had already invested in domestic adoption, but I was resolute. When we left the agency I told the supervisor about our caseworker's rude and intimidating manner in hopes that she would be advised to treat other couples better.

A few months later I found a Christian agency out of state and signed up to adopt a girl from China. They assigned us a caseworker nearby who treated us with respect. However, all of the paperwork needed to prepare our dossier was daunting. I wasn't clear about where to turn in papers for government approval. After getting burned by the first caseworker I was afraid to ask a lot of questions and sometimes didn't even know what to ask, so I stumbled along.

Over the next few months I started to dream about welcoming a sweet little girl into our home. My sister's husband was from China, so I knew our daughter would be warmly received into the extended family and share a heritage with her cousin. I was so excited to visit the China adoption support groups I discovered in our area.

We learned a lot as we listened to stories from international adoptive parents. I grew concerned as a few described how sick their girls were initially. However, they improved rapidly after they were seen at hospitals practicing western medicine. The first days were awkward as they tried to build relationships with their new daughters in cramped hotel rooms, but later on they were able to form meaningful bonds at home. That all sounded manageable until I pictured myself trying to survive the overseas flight with my fear of flying in turbulence. I had to tell myself that God would work it out somehow. I pressed on, determined to get a little girl.

As we neared the completion of our dossier, I strangely felt as though my feet were trudging through thick mud. I no longer sensed God giving me the grace to persevere. I was slowly dealing with the last of the paperwork in my own strength, which was minimal. I wondered if the Lord was trying to tell me that we were going the wrong way. I was afraid to tell Patrick about my doubts since I had upset him by quitting domestic adoption and I had no clear reason for ending our pursuit of a Chinese daughter. Now he would think I was really nutty.

Nevertheless, I was familiar with how God had led me through many situations in the past and knew I needed his encouragement in order to accomplish anything. If I didn't have his strength, I couldn't adopt from China. Yet, I still longed for a little Chinese girl. What was going on inside of me?

When I finally shared my doubts with Patrick, he didn't want to hear about it. I couldn't blame him. He was determined to complete the dossier so he started helping me. Within a few weeks we sent it off and waited with excited anticipation. We were told the whole process from start to finish could take two years before we got our daughter. The wait seemed unbearably long.

A couple weeks later as I was driving to a Beth Moore simulcast, I heard God say, "Do not set your heart on a child from China." Why would he say such a thing? We had just completed our paperwork and sent about $7,000 to our agency to get things started.

A few days later I was looking in the mirror while fixing my hair and God spoke a portion of Jeremiah 29:11 to me in a very loving tone, "I know the plans I have for you...not to harm you..." I found that reassuring. God had good things in store for us. What were they?

Later that day Patrick came home with the bad news that he had been laid off from his automotive job. His eyes were sad and filled with defeat. Now I knew why God had mentioned the encouraging scripture about our future and why it had been such a struggle for me to complete the dossier. God wanted us to stop the paperwork back then so we could save the $7000, but not abandon hope that he could grant us children by some other means. If only we had obeyed in faith earlier!

While we consoled each other with a long hug, a strange delight welled up in me as I thought about all the possibilities that lay ahead. My mind gravitated toward the southern states where we could revel in warm sunny days by the ocean, beautiful gardens and more of a Christian culture. I had felt somewhat alone since several of our friends moved out of Michigan for new jobs after the auto industry and the housing market were hit hard. It was February of 2008 when layoffs were becoming commonplace, so we weren't surprised. Patrick's company had been gradually letting people go since the previous fall.

At least Patrick had ten weeks of severance pay and we still had money saved for adoption that we could use to cover living expenses and renovations to make our house more attractive in a fiercely competitive market. It was a great disappointment when the adoption agency told us our file would be on hold until Patrick found another job. As we watched our money dwindle over the next few months, we saw our dream of adopting from China float away.

I was so grateful that God had given me a loving warning of what was to come so my heart wouldn't be overwhelmed with sorrow. I had the confidence that he was still in control. Once we settled down somewhere we'd pursue our last option: adopting through foster care.

We had considered foster parenting earlier and put it on hold because the likelihood of adopting a younger child was small. After being a poor enforcer of discipline while teaching a class with a few disruptive third graders on Detroit's border, I seriously doubted that I could handle older children who had been abused, neglected, and shuffled around to various homes. Another strike against me was my inability to let kids go back home without having my heart ripped out and worrying about them. Plus, being highly sensitive, I was not cut out for the callused manner of many working in the system who had witnessed years of family tragedies.

To make matters worse, I had a compulsion to know all the details of a situation so I could attempt to control the outcome. I also expected just about everyone working in the foster system to put forth a concerted effort to do what was in the best interests of the children. After all, lives were at stake and that was why they chose their career in the first place, wasn't it?

That was more than three strikes against me. Looking at the obvious, I was not qualified to play the foster "game." Many would have told me to just resign myself to never becoming a mother.

However, I served a God of the impossible who helps his people reach the dreams he plants within their hearts. And he longs to answer the cries of the innocent children who are unable to save themselves. Despite my obvious weaknesses I was determined to push ahead into the unknown, trusting that the Lord would carry me when my steps faltered. Patrick, the natural risk taker, was ready for any adventure. I was fortunate to have his steady hand by my side.

**Chapter 2 - The Truly Wild West**

"Then Jesus said to his disciples, 'If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross and follow me. For whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for me will find it.'" Matthew 16:24-25

All enthused about a better life somewhere new, I began a mad housing search in Tennessee, Kentucky and Texas, but I was primarily smitten with North Carolina due to its pleasant climate, mountains and sand dunes along the coast. Patrick had fallen in love with Colorado during business and ski trips, so he began his job search out west. I was upset that he put my states second and I assumed he was merely focused on what he wanted. It did not occur to me that God might be leading Patrick through his desires.

After several phone interviews leading nowhere, we decided to take two exploratory trips so Patrick could meet with job recruiters. The first trip included stops in Ohio, Tennessee and Kentucky, but nothing came from it. Our second trip took us to Colorado where we were hit with strong winds and snow flying horizontally in April. I was impressed by my first encounter with the massive mountains even though they were partially enshrouded with storm clouds. The icy hills terrified me as we drove around. I had absolutely no desire to return.

On the way home we enjoyed touring Mount Rushmore and ran into Nicholas Cage along the boardwalk while he was filming National Treasure II. I rushed at him with my camera, but before I could focus, two guys immediately jumped toward me and told me to keep moving, so I only got a poor shot of him from a distance. We hiked around the Badlands, which looked like the perfect setting for a science fiction film on another planet.

Patrick's interview in Colorado had gone well. They followed up with a phone interview a month later where he became unusually conversational partly because he was so enthused about working near mountains. Then there was a prolonged silence and we got nervous. But after five months of unemployment, the company in Colorado offered Patrick a job.

When he told me about the job offer I bawled like a baby because I hated Colorado based on my one visit there. It was a cold wasteland with high altitude that made it hard for me to breathe. Nor did I want to live that far from my father who had health issues.

Patrick said he would turn down their offer if I wanted him to. I was surprised that he was willing to give up his dream job in order to make me happy. I wanted to tell him to decline the position, but I wouldn't be able to live with myself if he didn't get another job offer for six months or longer.

I told him to accept the job and he happily packed the PT Cruiser with all he would need to live on indefinitely while I stayed in Michigan to sell our house. As I waved good-bye, I wondered how we would handle being separated for months on end. We had been married five years by that point and had a strong trust built. We agreed to talk and pray on the phone every night.

The next month I flew out to see Patrick and was blown away by the splendor of red cliffs with a backdrop of majestic snowcapped peaks. Patrick took me on a few hikes and I acclimated to the higher elevations fairly well. As I soaked in the endless beauty around me I wondered how I could have loathed such a glorious place. I suppose God had me travel there on one of the worst weather days to test me and see if I was willing to let Patrick have his dream and let go of mine. In doing so I ended up with the privilege of photographing endless miles of mountain trails and impressive wildlife.

One bright morning while Patrick was at work, I headed to a park for a hike. At 7:30 A.M. most trails were empty. Refreshed by the cool air, I trekked up a small hill and as I glanced beyond a boulder, I was stunned to see two cougars staring at me from about twenty-six feet away out in the open. I had interrupted their journey after a rabbit breakfast perhaps. My first thought was, "What are they doing here? God has given me a rare opportunity to encounter wildlife few people see. What a thrill!" I had my camera around my neck, so I quickly shot two photos, hoping they were focused.

Then I heard God say, "Now scare them off." Fortunately, I had recently read about safety during a cougar encounter: never turn your back on them or crouch, but try to look as large as possible. I didn't have a jacket to lift above my head, so all I could do was raise my arms and growl softly. They continued to stare at me like frozen statues. Their eyes were void of any warmth, completely unlike the serene gaze of big cats in zoos. They were cold-blooded killers that would have no remorse.

I realized I could die, but I didn't feel it was my time to go. I had to get serious so I roared as loud as I could with eyes bulging. Instantly, the male crouched down and hung his head with sad, scared eyes as if he was apologizing for having stared at me. He crept slowly toward the bushes and the female was right on his tail.

Wow! I felt empowered! Just a few weeks prior I had run away from a tiny yipping dog because I was afraid it would bite my ankles. Now I scared away not one, but two cougars! They looked like they had been enjoying a good diet, so they weren't desperate for food.

I was afraid to make my way back to the car because they had disappeared into a mass of bushes. What if they decided to turn around and follow me? But God was merciful and his timing was perfect. After not seeing a soul for a half-hour, a couple touring from New York happened to come up the path just then. I jumped toward them exclaiming, "I am so happy to see you! I just ran into two cougars! They took off that way." The man jumped with excitement as he rushed to the bushes to get a look. I thought he was crazy and urged him to stop if he wanted to live. As I tried to show them my photos, I was surprised by how hard my hands were shaking from the adrenaline rush. Then the couple escorted me to the main area of the park.

After that I noticed how much my fear of dogs had diminished. As I approached my car, two large dogs came bounding down the path and I was unaffected once I realized they weren't wild animals. God had just given me an unforgettable encounter where I had to trust him for protection. Would my newfound courage help me stand up to intimidation from caseworkers and potential danger from incensed birthparents with criminal backgrounds? Would my faith stay strong to believe for God's intervention in the lives of children caught in the midst of chaos? I had no idea what I was in for as a foster parent, but God knew.

While flying back to Michigan I zoomed on my second photo and noticed that the male was showing his teeth and the whites of his eyes. He was alarmed by the clicking of my camera. I was glad I had scared them away when I did. After that I had a healthy fear of cougars and carried a bear sized pepper spray on hikes.

It was good I was returning to family because my dad needed emergency brain surgery and one of the best surgeons in the nation worked near my house. My dad traveled down state to stay with me. I feared he wouldn't survive because of other health issues, so I had a lot of people praying. After a long and stressful day of surgery, it was such a relief to hear he survived with his eyesight and memory intact. It was a real miracle.

As the months marched on and we kept lowering our asking price, the housing values around Detroit continued to plummet. Many people fled to other states after losing their jobs, leaving behind unsold houses. People started joking, "Last one out turn off the lights!" I was so grateful that Patrick's company paid for movers to pack us and transport our things.

The man who headed up the crew had an impressive work ethic and was very cordial. He told me the heart-wrenching story of his time spent in foster care after I mentioned that Patrick and I were thinking of becoming foster to adopt parents. He had been separated from his siblings as a young teen and lived in several foster homes where all they did was tell him to do his homework and help clean the house. However, at his last home there was a kind older woman who took him fishing and did fun things with him. He saw that she actually cared about him so he became hopeful that she would adopt him. He then looked wistfully off into the distance and said with resignation and disappointment, "But she never did."

How devastating! I wondered if his foster mom ever knew how badly he wanted to become her son. She had missed out on having such a nice guy become a part of her family. I was impressed with his character. He told me about his plans for the future with his wife and three kids and regretted that his siblings hadn't turned out so well. He felt used since they often asked him for handouts. I expressed empathy and wondered how many other great men and women had overcome tragic pasts like his.

Once everything was shipped to Colorado, I realized our house needed a facelift, which took a couple of months. Then my job ended and spring had arrived, so there was no need for me to stay in Michigan. After eight months of separation and only being able to visit each other four times, we very much needed to be together again. Having heard our fill of disaster stories about renters in our area, we kept lowering our asking price.

At last we got our first offer, but it was pitifully low. We shocked our realtor by refusing it. A couple days later we got an offer for $4,000 more and, even though it was very hard, we accepted it because we both felt God telling us to do so. As I saw all $50,000 that we had invested in our home obliterated in one fell swoop, I wondered how we could provide a good future for the children we would adopt someday. But God's peace came on me as he said to my heart, "Let the money go. Trust that I will take care of you." One year after we sold our house, its value dropped to nearly half of what we paid for it, so it was very good that we got rid of it when we did.

With our landlord in Colorado wanting to sell his condo, we had to act fast and buy a new house. We settled for a well worn home by a splendid bike path with a peek of a mountain range that I enjoyed almost daily. We spent three weeks working feverishly to patch well over one hundred small holes in the drywall, paint every room and closet, install new carpet and scrape thick black grime off the shower walls and kitchen cabinets before we moved in. Apparently three kids and two large dogs can wreak a lot of havoc! The house had been disgusting, but we saw its potential with beamed cathedral ceilings and beautiful woodwork around the fireplace. We made the whole atmosphere attractive with a warm southwest adobe flair.

Our home was now suitable for foster children. I just had to make sure that kids didn't wander next door. Our neighbor's driveway was a constant junkyard no matter how often I called the city code enforcers. And I was not comfortable with the surly crowd that kept coming and going. I found out later that the couple living there had been part of a motorcycle gang. That explained the unnerving Hell's Angels appearance of several burly visitors.

I was glad there was a large park and playground down the street where kids often played and my favorite stores were nearby. God had provided for us quite nicely. I enjoyed gardening in our private backyard and watching unusual birds visit our feeder. I could hardly wait to see little feet kicking balls across the lawn.

**Chapter 3 - Signing up for Duty**

"You are good, and what you do is good..." Psalm 119:68

In Michigan foster parents were directly supervised by the state, which I imagined was cold and detached from the plight of the children it served. But in Colorado we could sign up with a Christian agency. "How perfect!" I thought. I expected that the opportunity to work with those of like faith would make the journey much more enjoyable.

So when Focus on the Family started promoting their event "Wait No More," I knew that was the ideal setting for us to check out many adoption agencies. The parachurch organization was reaching out to all the churches to inspire their members to provide every orphan in the state with a loving family. The event was held at a large church where the foyer was a buzz with well over one thousand people milling about and pouring over captivating professional photos from a traveling Heart Gallery of children waiting to be adopted. I felt a bit frantic as I saw so many people with the same look of urgency that I had. Would there be any children left for us? Patrick and I searched through the photos and read short descriptions about the children and picked out a few sibling groups that we felt drawn to.

When I saw a prim and proper couple zoom by with four young children in tow and a baby in a stroller, I wondered how they could possibly handle another child so soon. My desperation fed a twisted thought, "They are being greedy. We don't have any children yet and they have five and still want another!"

At the time I had no idea that there were over eight hundred children in Colorado hoping to be adopted. The sad fact was, there was a constant influx of new orphans coming out of the foster system whose parents' rights had been terminated and there were no relatives to take them in. I found out later that only about one quarter of the families at the event signed up with an agency. However, hundreds of families signed up over the following years as Focus on the Family continued to sponsor the event at different churches. They were making great progress toward significantly reducing the number of waiting children in our state.

In the sanctuary we heard powerful adoption stories about children who had been rescued from dreadful situations. I saw evidence of God's redemption in its fullness as a teen testified about the Lord restoring her soul in a loving family after having witnessed her baby sister's death due to neglect. After wiping a few tears we proceeded to the adoption agencies' tables.

I gravitated toward a certain Christian agency because I knew someone who had signed up with them and many children were being placed through them, perhaps increasing our chances of adopting. A woman at their table said the odds of being able to adopt a foster child were about 50 % (it was actually closer to 20%) so our hopes were very high.

We signed up for the first available interview and the next two-month training session. We agreed to take children from birth to age eleven. By that point I was so eager to get a child that even a delay of one month aggravated me. I was getting older and had been through so many disappointments that my patience was almost nonexistent. I had been combing the files of legally free children online and cried at the sight of their beleaguered faces. My heart ached for the opportunity to comfort them and provide the safe, stable home they longed for.

After I turned in our application to become foster parents, I got in my car and the Lord said in a very emphatic and loving tone, "Now something VERY GOOD is going to happen." My heart soared with joy as I imagined myself becoming a mother at last. God had not said such encouraging words in regard to our other attempts at adopting. In fact he had not said anything to lead us to domestic or a Chinese adoption. I simply felt compelled to go in those directions, figuring they were the best options for us and assumed God was leading. Little did I know how often I would have to cling to those words of inspiration and recall the powerful manner in which he spoke.

Excited about becoming a part of this new fostering community, we attended the agency's Christmas party. We met some nice foster parents as we chatted over a meal. However, I was disappointed that the agency didn't always convey a wholesome Christian atmosphere, but time was of the essence and I didn't want to waste an additional two months starting over with another one. Plus, I believed God had said something very good was going to happen because I turned in an application to that particular agency.

There were about ten couples in our training group. I tried to get to know as many of them as possible and hear their stories. The majority had older biological children and were there primarily to help out needy younger children and were open to adopting. I noticed that many were well off financially, so they definitely were not in it for the money. I admired their selfless commitment to serve in such a wholehearted manner. I had my radar on for the other childless couples because I knew we'd be able to relate very well to each other. Overall, our training was helpful, but we could have used more input on how to utilize services available and how to relate to traumatized children.

At our last training meeting I became concerned about our safety when I heard a birthmother tell her success story of getting her kids back. Her children told her the address of their foster parents so she could send someone to come get them. She had ties with the Mexican Mafia and was a drug addict. But she resisted the temptation to abduct them and ended up cooperating with her treatment plan and got her kids back legally.

We also heard the story of a retired pastor and his wife who had cared for about forty kids over the span of six years and at that time had five children in their home. I admired their tenacity and the great love they had for the children who seemed very happy in their foster home. I couldn't imagine enduring all of the transitions they had been through, but the couple didn't look the least bit frazzled. It was the ministry God had called them to.

Then I was amazed by the account of a single woman in her late twenties who adopted three young adolescent boys. The first group of kids who came to her home were intent upon making the authorities place them elsewhere so they put a hose in her house and flooded it. Their plot worked and they were taken from her immediately. Then three tenderhearted brothers were sent to her. The boys' parents didn't feed them much. I felt so sorry for them as they described their embarrassment while begging for food from their neighbors in order to survive. But now their lives were one hundred times better. They expressed great joy about being adopted and were very appreciative that their new mom made the time to attend their sports activities. I was extremely happy for them.

Becoming certified as foster parents was a much easier process than preparing our dossier for China or pursuing domestic adoption. The agency knew time was of the essence since they were constantly receiving calls about children needing safe homes. We took two months of training classes totaling about thirty hours that covered juvenile legal issues, child growth and development, discipline and how to work with birth families and the team representing a child. We received CPR and First Aid training, went for fingerprinting for criminal history and child abuse background checks and had physicals done. Our home was inspected for safety then we childproofed it.

In addition, we went through a couple interviews so they could compile a home study that noted the number and ages of children we would accept. It also provided a description of our backgrounds, family dynamics, support system, communication skills, parenting styles, beliefs, etc. We had been through the process twice already so it was old hat. They had us fill out a form detailing our finances to prove that we didn't need the monthly reimbursement checks from the government to support ourselves.

The description of our duties didn't appear too daunting. We were required to take the children to supervised visits with their parents twice per week for a total of three hours at a center downtown or at our agency. We provided all transportation to school, doctor visits and therapy appointments. Thankfully, all of their medical care was covered by Medicaid. We had to turn in brief monthly reports on the children's progress and a record of visits with parents, noting interactions.

It was a comfort to know that our agency provided 24-hour crisis intervention services and monthly support groups for ongoing training and a place to talk about our concerns. We could expect two to three visits total per month from those representing the children in court because they had to know how things were going in the foster home. Attending court hearings, team decision meetings and biannual state reviews regarding the children's cases was optional, but I soon discovered that was where I could learn almost everything I needed to know about a case. Usually, the more I knew, the better I could cope with any situation.

Before I knew it we were certified. I was raring to go.

**Chapter 4 - Sweet Baby Boy**

"I was a stranger and you invited me in..." Mt. 25:35

The morning after we were certified as foster parents we got a phone call asking if we'd take a one-month-old boy who was healthy. I was overjoyed as I exclaimed, "Yes!" We would be notified in the afternoon if we were chosen by his caseworker from among several couples. We had collected very few baby items, so I ran to the store to get formula, clothes, etc. We had a crib, but hadn't put it together since we were waiting to find out how old our kids would be. I had collected one outfit for each age group for boys and girls so I could be somewhat ready for an emergency placement. Now I might need lots of baby clothes. As I browsed through the car seat aisle, our agency called to say we were chosen and the baby would arrive in a couple hours. I was flying high. It felt so strange getting a baby without having a baby shower. I only had one hour at the store as my preparation.

Michael arrived in a car seat calm and looking well cared for. However, he was too thin for my taste. His sweet innocent demeanor stole my heart and I loved him instantly. The gaze from his blue eyes into mine conveyed a sense of trust. I knew he must be missing his parents, but he didn't show any signs of distress that I could recognize. Besides, he was too young to suffer from separation anxiety. He had been taken from his parents because his mom was in the ER for a drug overdose and his dad was cited for domestic violence. I was told the grandparents didn't look like a possibility for taking him so my hopes for adopting him rose.

Would I be able to take good care of him? My years as a nanny for a few newborns boosted my confidence, but I had never endured grueling night feedings. The first evening was brutal as Patrick put together the crib and baby swing. I organized bottles and clothes all the while trying to keep Michael happy. We were first time parents and fretted like all the rest. I tried sleeping in his room so I could hear him breathe, but being such a light sleeper, his little sighs kept waking me up, so I moved back to our room.

We used a bed as a changing table for awhile, but we soon developed back pain. Once Michael peed across the bedspread I decided it was high time to get the right equipment. Craigslist came in handy for many cheap children's items, though we bought most things new and quickly dished out $1000. For several weeks we didn't know how much money we were supposed to receive each month as foster parents. I worried about our finances until we received the first reimbursement check, which amply covered average expenses.

Michael was a joy to hold and play with, but his feedings twice per night soon took their toll on me since I often had insomnia for an hour or two after being up with him. Not having much time or the focus for my devotions with God or the energy to see friends caused me to feel more isolated and drained than I had ever been in my life. But the welcome company of my husband and Michael's sweet presence brought my soul relief. I wrote in my journal, "It feels like sheer torment to isolate myself in a fatigued stupor for a lovable baby that will only be taken from me and break my heart as he's placed back in a violent environment." It wasn't long before Patrick started to do one of the night feedings even though he had to wake up early for work. That helped my endurance tremendously, but I worried about his ability to focus at work. I kept telling myself, "This is why people usually have kids at a younger age. We are too old for this."

During one of the night feedings I thought I heard God say, "When I created him, I thought of you." I felt very special to the Lord and bonded more with Michael. Perhaps God was merely pointing out that when he created Michael he knew I would be his foster mom someday to show him love during a tragic time in his life. But I couldn't keep from wondering, "Would Michael become our son?" I started to dream about all the wonderful things Patrick and I could do with him as he grew up.

Another night the Lord told me I shouldn't look at Michael's (or any child's) involvement in foster care to mean that God didn't have a great call on his life. It was my responsibility to nurture each child's ability to know God. I used these insights as reasons to cling to Michael even more in my heart even though the circumstances weren't giving me much reason to do so. I felt schizophrenic as I kept playing the two scenarios in my head – adopting him or losing him.

Meeting another foster mom who had endured many losses helped me persevere. She had been through a lot by losing twelve foster children. She cried when each one was removed from her home. I didn't know how she had the stamina to keep taking in more toddlers. She kept holding out the hope of providing her daughter with a sibling. I assumed that enduring multiple losses caused her teenage daughter to become strangely quiet around adults, refusing to respond when spoken to. But she was still able to enjoy playing with young children. I prayed that Patrick and I would be spared so many disappointments.

After a few days we had to set up visits with Michael's parents. While talking with the visitation supervisor about when to bring him, I got my first taste of being a nobody as a foster mom. We were told his parents wanted visits from 5:30-6:30 p.m. on Tuesdays and Wednesdays. I had a Bible study on Wednesday evenings and I didn't want Patrick to have to rush home early from work to bring Michael, so I asked if we had any say about the scheduling. The supervisor adamantly replied, "No." I later found out that was not true, but being a novice, I did exactly as I was told.

I noticed after Michael's first visit with his parents, he heaved a sigh of relief once I had him buckled in his car seat. He settled into a contented sleep. He must have been happy to know his parents were still out there and loved him. I hurt for this little baby who must be confused and perhaps suffered from some sense of rejection. It took awhile before I was able to meet his parents probably because they were so ashamed about having their son taken away from them. From one end of a large house a social worker would take the baby from me and bring him to a distant room where his parents were waiting.

Not knowing the parents made it easy for my imagination to get the best of me when I took Michael for his one-month check up. It was a slow process for a foster mom to make doctor appointments, so I went to the appointment his mom had set up weeks ago even though I realized his parents could show up. If they were drug addicts and wanted their son back in the worst way, they might resort to desperate measures and attempt to abduct him. I kept glancing around nervously.

By the end of the appointment I was at ease when I realized Michael's parents hadn't bothered to show up. Consumed in my thoughts, I carried him to my car with a heavy heart as I once again wondered if I'd lose this beautiful baby I loved so much. Then I felt God telling me to look at sunlit mountain peaks in the distance and I was reminded of his great power. He told me once more that something good was going to happen. The hope he inspired cheered me up a little.

When I pulled my car out to head home, I became suspicious when I noticed an older model Mercedes had moved to block my way toward the exit. Was Michael's dad the young thin dark haired man behind the wheel? He slouched in the seat and looked away from me as he smoked a cigarette with his car parked between two rows of cars. I searched the lot frantically and figured I could wind my way around to the right, but as I pulled forward, he stepped on the gas and accelerated toward me aggressively, then stopped at close range. My heart started to pound. No one else was in sight to lend a hand or be a witness. Then I saw that I still had just enough room to squeeze to my right. So I quickly turned and wound around the lot and made it out safely, deciding to drive a different way home while watching to see if he was following me. I saw no one.

What had we gotten ourselves into? I didn't report the incident to the caseworker because it happened in a bad part of town and I assumed she would tell me the man was probably some local hoodlum just being obnoxious. However, it would have been better had I said something just to have it documented in case it was the dad harassing me.

A week later I was able to spot Michael's parents from across the parking lot of the visitation center. They had mistakenly parked on the foster parent side, but I didn't see their car. The couple didn't seem to fit together. I was struck by how vivacious his mom was. Her wavy thick hair bounced around her shoulders and she smiled confidently as she entered the large house. I never would have guessed she used drugs. Michael's dad, on the other hand, was small and hunched over and obviously disturbed. He fit the description of the guy driving the Mercedes in the doctor's parking lot. She was pursuing an accounting degree and he worked full time as a mechanic. They were more ambitious than the average couple who loses their child to The Department of Human Services (DHS). I figured they would soon get their act together.

When Patrick and I finally had the opportunity to sit down and talk with them I was taken aback by their humble and respectful attitude toward us. And I was surprised by how much I liked them. They both looked so broken and I felt badly as I saw that Michael's father was very pained about missing this time with his son. I gave them Michael's eating and sleeping schedule and described how well he was doing to give them some peace of mind. His dad told us how much Michael loved his swing where they put him to sleep at night. I cringed at the thought of the poor baby rocking back and forth for hours on end. I figured they were young and just didn't know any better and couldn't put up with his crying. I assured them that he now slept well in a crib.

After our meeting I felt more certain that Michael would be returned to them because they sounded like they were determined to do whatever DHS required of them. I had less fear about what might happen to Michael if he was returned to them. It seemed clear to me that his parents truly loved him.

I still expected Michael wouldn't be cared for as well by them as he would by me. Yet, that wasn't what it was about. A child should go back to their parents once the home is found to be safe. I had recently heard Beth Moore say in a DVD that it is better to focus on God, not the husband or baby you are waiting and hoping for. I needed to maintain a proper perspective and not cling so tightly to my foster children. I had to keep trusting God that he would have a child for us eventually.

Nevertheless, I wasn't prepared when I got a call from the caseworker telling me Michael would be going to his grandparents in a week. I had no idea the grandparents were being considered for custody. The judge decided that something the grandpa had done perhaps decades ago no longer posed a danger to children. Why did it take everyone so long to come to that conclusion? In the meantime a sweet baby was separated from his relatives for a month for no reason after all.

If I had been given some inkling of what was going on with the case it would have helped me cope better with the loss. The shock of the news sent me reeling. Even though I saw Michael's parents as being capable of parenting him soon, I had still been holding tightly to unrealistic hopes because my heart had completely fallen for him. After I hung up the phone I broke down crying. My dreams of blissful motherhood with this precious boy had been swept away. I was unable to look at Michael sleeping without starting to cry all over again. At this point our home was no place for a baby to be. I was grieving almost like a woman whose baby just died. I didn't know how we would make it through the next week until his grandparents could take him.

My grandfather had passed away two days before, so I asked the caseworker if his grandparents could take him sooner since I wouldn't be much good to him anyway. Then Patrick and I could drive to Michigan and attend the funeral. The caseworker was able to get approval for the grandparents to take Michael that evening because they didn't want him going out of state. Tears streamed down my face as I gathered Michael's things. I saw how it was all God's timing. I had a good excuse for returning Michael quickly, so he was spared having to witness all my grief. Then Patrick and I could have a much-needed change of scenery to recover from the loss. Even though we were going to a funeral, it would help to be with family.

When I brought Michael to his parents at the visitation center I couldn't keep myself from crying. His mother put her arm around my shoulders to offer some solace. I felt so foolish. I was supposed to be the strong one. She had just been through the trauma of losing her newborn for a month yet she wanted to help me feel better! At least she knew I really loved her son and took good care of him. I was glad for the opportunity to fatten him up. I wondered if Michael would think Patrick and I had abandoned him because he would never see us again. I had to put him in God's hands and continue to pray for him.

Both parents expressed sincere gratitude for our care of Michael. I gave them my email, which they gave to the grandma who sent me photos ten months later showing Michael smiling and walking. It was a joy to see how well he was doing. I emailed her the photos I had taken of Michael for her scrapbook. For awhile I held out hope that Michael would return to us. Then as new children came, my interest gradually dissipated. Yet he would always hold a tender spot in my heart as my first foster child.

It definitely was good to be in Michigan for a week with family and soak in the beauty of familiar places along the shores of Lake Superior. The Great Lakes always impressed me with their seemingly endless expanse, which dwarfed the onlooker. The perpetual waves crashing against dark rocks reminded me that the Creator of the universe is sovereign and his love endures regardless of painful circumstances.

**Chapter 5 - Robbed of Innocence**

"The King will reply, 'I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me." Mt. 25:40

Soon after we returned home we agreed to take in a sister and brother. Melissa was slender with long brown hair and gorgeous green eyes that possessed a depth beyond that of a typical five-year-old. Her ten-month-old brother, Tommy, was a good-natured towhead with a broad grin. They had been taken from their mom when she arrived at Melissa's school carrying Tommy. Their mom was infuriated by the ambush and put up a loud protest. An anonymous caller had reported suspected child neglect. The caller must have been someone who worked at Melissa's school because the young girl often made disturbing comments to her teacher and the office workers about her home life.

During their first night in our home Tommy didn't seem to miss his mother and fell asleep easily. On the other hand, Melissa started crying when we put her to bed. She kept asking why she was at our house, but all we were allowed to tell her was that we were taking care of her while people spoke with her parents to make sure her home was safe before she was returned. Melissa repeatedly insisted that she had a good home. We were at a loss as to how to ease her fears besides praying for her, talking and staying by her bedside. I rarely saw Patrick cry, but he shed a few tears in frustration over his inability to make things better for her. At last she fell asleep.

Tommy's dad was one of the approximately ten thousand registered sex offenders in Colorado. I suppose we were bound to have a connection with one of them eventually. Knowing Tommy's dad had sexually mistreated someone gave me the creeps so I wasn't eager to go on the web site to look him up. I didn't know anything about Melissa's dad.

Their mom had been using drugs and was living out of her car part of the time. That may have explained why Tommy, who seemed healthy and on target in other ways, wasn't trying to crawl yet. It was so easy to plop him on the floor and place all kinds of toys around him when I had to do something.

I enjoyed watching Melissa get excited about the pretty clothes I bought her. She bragged to the school staff about her new shoes. I found toys to inspire her creativity. She became engrossed with the colored pencils and loved decorating Easter eggs with Patrick. Then I got disturbed when I saw her repeatedly gather dolls and stuffed animals into hiding places where she would make them do strange things to each other. I wondered if she had been exposed to sexual behavior.

Melissa needed the light of Jesus in her life, so it was fulfilling to take her to church, pray with her and read Bible stories to her. She was intrigued by the account of Adam and Eve because, as she pointed out, "The snake acted like Eve's friend, but it really wasn't." How many "friends" did she have who had deceived and mistreated her?

By the third day Melissa began to angrily complain, "Stop trying to be my mom! You're not my mom!" Still, she had to follow instructions. So I tried to explain my authority by saying I was responsible for taking care of her for a short time and because she was staying in our home, she had to follow the rules. I wasn't accustomed to these types of challenges, but I understood why she resisted me. Everything familiar had been torn from her for no reason as far as she knew. And she missed her mom. However, she was relieved to be away from her mom's friend, whoever that was. A couple days later she became somewhat more accepting of my authority. She first had to have more evidence that I cared about her.

When Monday rolled around I had to drive to another town ten miles away to take Melissa to her school. I had the option of enrolling her in a school near us, but the caseworker gave me such a sad look when I mentioned it that I quickly dismissed the idea. Seeing familiar faces in her classroom would help her tremendously. Her teacher and women in the office confirmed my suspicions that the child had seen too much for her age based on the stories she told them.

A couple days later a school secretary called and told me to wait in my car for the assistant principal to escort Melissa into the building because her mother's car had been circling near the main entrance. No incident occurred, but it made me nervous. Someone told me her mom was a short, thin woman, so I figured I had a good chance at fending her off should there be an altercation.

After just one week Melissa was sent to her grandmother's house where her father lived. I was glad because her grandmother sounded like a good influence. Apparently, the kids' extended family had given the caseworker so much grief about DHS taking the children that he felt pressured to move quickly to have them returned.

At the beginning we had been hoping to adopt both children, but Melissa was wearing me out with her protests and desire to dominate. I would have kept her if given the opportunity because our relationship was already improving, but I felt some relief as I brought her back to her family. Just outside the DHS building I hugged her good-bye. With tears in her eyes she asked why she couldn't have Patrick and I stay in her life, too. I knew her family wanted nothing to do with us, but, of course, I couldn't say that. I was touched that she had formed some attachment to us. I told her how precious she was and watched her walk into the DHS building, hoping she could live the more normal life of a happy child.

We had Tommy one more week, giving me time to become more attached to him. I prayed to be able to keep him. His situation sounded a bit up in the air because they had to investigate several adults in the household, but then we got the call that he was going to his grandma's home on his mother's side. I cried as I carried Tommy to the caseworker's car. I said we'd love to have him back should anything go wrong at his grandma's.

We never heard anything further about Tommy and it didn't take long for me to get over him since this was my second time around. By that point I knew it was better to hold my hopes of adoption under control. I was glad to hear that Melissa was doing well with her grandma who accompanied her to school activities. However, I was concerned that the family would allow the mother to spend time alone with the kids without proving that she could stay clean or provide a wholesome environment. I just didn't see how their lives would be much different.

Around this time we received a call about a legally free five-year-old boy who had been adopted a year ago, but due to his attachment and anger issues and his parents' desire to focus on their teenage sons' problems, they wanted another family to adopt him. His sense of rejection must have been overwhelming. I told our agency to put us on the list for consideration and was eager to meet him, but then I had doubts about my ability to raise and bond with such a wounded child. So I figured it was for the best when I heard he was placed with another family.

**Chapter 6 - Imprisoned in Our Own Home**

"See that you do not look down on one of these little ones. For I tell you that their angels in heaven always see the face of my Father in heaven." Mt. 18:10

The day before Tommy was removed from our home, I got a call while at a playdate about another pair of half-siblings who were not doing well in their current foster home. I got excited when I heard the woman describe Jordan, the three-year-old boy and his nearly two-year-old sister, Rose. They only had minor episodes of acting out, such as picking on other little kids as a team. There was a chance they might become adoptable because this was their second time in foster care. The caseworker had been looking for three days for a home for them, but everyone would only take the girl. I didn't want them to be split up, so I said we'd take them both.

The children stood silently near the door ready to go when we arrived on a Saturday at the foster home. Jordan was very cute with his dark curly hair and large brown eyes that had a tinge of sorrow and fear, but he seemed agreeable. Rose was just as adorable with her blonde curls and pleading gaze.

The kind Christian couple already had three elementary aged children of their own and had taken in four young foster children from three different families. I was in disbelief as I watched all the children milling about in the modest home. I would have gone nuts in a household with so much activity. When the couple told their agency they wanted Jordan and Rose placed in another home, they were told their foster home would be shut down as a result and they would lose all their foster children. They decided to call the agency's bluff and their home was not shut down after all. It was appalling that a Christian agency would bully a nice foster couple.

I was impressed as I observed their kids helping to care for the younger foster children. After a year of seeing many kids come and go, the mother noticed some signs of depression in her children and decided they would not take in any more new kids. Months later, I heard they were able to adopt one of the little girls in their home whose mother had dropped her off at a friend's house, then took off for her boyfriend's home out of state never to return.

I'll never forget the pale, frail child as she turned my way with a haunted look of abandonment in her eyes while clinging to a basket of toys on the floor. She clutched the wicker tightly and repeated "Mine." She had nothing left in this world except that small basket of worn looking toys. Her adoptive family would have to provide a lot of nurturing and prayer before she would be able to form a meaningful bond with anyone.

Jordan and Rose were surprisingly docile as we escorted them to our car. I thought, "This will be easy." Jordan was pleasant and talkative at dinner, reinforcing my expectation that things would go quite well.

But that night Jordan woke up screaming and crying eleven times and Rose woke up crying twice probably due to his noise. Patrick and I took turns helping him calm down, but soon I developed one of the worst leg cramps in my life. As I writhed in pain on the floor I apologized to God for complaining about the kids being in our house. I was already regretting taking them. I was overwhelmed by having to change the dirty diapers of a large and powerful three-year-old who flailed all limbs during the process. And it didn't take long for me to see that he had a great deal of disturbance in his little soul. Fortunately, the kids were able to sleep much better the following nights.

Jordan's fear of us wore off by the next day so his fury started seeping out with yelling and defiant behavior aimed at all of us, including Rose. I guessed that she had been their parents' favorite based on his intense jealousy of her and the many ways he begged for attention. Also, our home was the third strange house they had stayed in during the past week because the last foster home used respite care in order to get some sleep. I was certain the pair didn't know which way was up anymore.

Monday was dreadful with Patrick away at work. I had to manage the kids while doing paperwork for our foster agency and inventory over one hundred thirty pieces of clothes their mother had sent over, wash everything I chose to use, then arrange them by size. Jordan kept making Rose cry, driving me crazy. I longed for their naptime and for Patrick's return from work when he could change the door handle to the bathroom and put a childproof cover over it. Jordan had made me quite ill when I discovered him "washing" his face with the toilet water. I never wanted to see that again.

After a few days our home started to feel like a prison. In all my eleven years of being a nanny I had never encountered a child who required as many time outs as Jordan. He picked on Rose at least thirty times per day. Plus he had no intention of sitting quietly on the chair. He was constantly reaching for toys and talking. Rose misbehaved, too, but not nearly as much. I was making zero headway in changing their behavior for the better.

Sometimes the twisted exchanges between the two were so bizarre I had to laugh. Jordan tried a few times to bother Rose while she was eating in the highchair. Her effective tactic for taunting him back was to smile at him instead of cry. He couldn't handle her gleeful responses, so he'd plaster his hands over his face in disbelief. His annoyance made her all the more elated. Her beaming face and laughter became so intolerable that he had to leave the room groaning in defeat. Then Rose would continue eating in peaceful solitude.

A week later I had the pleasure of seeing Jordan looking relaxed and content for a couple hours. Patrick decided to take only Jordan to a McDonald's Play Place to give him more concentrated attention and an outlet for all his energy. Jordan had a blast, especially since Patrick was willing to do some climbing in the structure. When they returned home, it was as if Jordan was a different boy for a little while. He was calm and had no desire to cause strife. We discovered that his medicine was regular time alone with a dad figure doing something fun. But Patrick couldn't take Jordan on an excursion every day, so trauma and anger quickly returned.

One day I was crying and pleading with God to take these kids from our house as soon as possible. I was spent. Then I read Matthew 18:10, "See that you do not look down on one of these little ones. For I tell you that their angels in heaven always see the face of my Father in heaven." And verse 14, "...your Father in heaven is not willing that any of these little ones should be lost." I so admired Jesus' abundant love for children again expressed in Mt. 19:14, "Let the little children come to me and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these." As I sat and reflected on the verses, my heart was pierced by the depth of God's love for precious young souls. How could I help Rose and Jordan find his love and healing besides praying over them and reading Bible stories? I asked God earnestly for patience and self-control so his love could shine through me in greater measure.

I needed to see these kids through God's eyes as small victims just trying to cope in a world of chaos. However, my compassion for them would waver because they had so little respect for me and I was emotionally and physically drained. My stress was growing by the day and I was just trying to hold it together. I knew that blending genuine love with instruction was the best way to reach and influence a child, but my heart found it hard to move beyond affection and sorrow for their pain to a resilient love that could be gracious during screaming and destruction.

The kids kept saying they wanted to see their mom, Tammy. It broke my heart to have to tell them she took a trip to be with her sick dad. I wondered if that story was true because she left right after the kids were taken from her. I figured she just wanted the comfort and support of her parents. I had little hope that Tammy would turn her life around because she sounded so impulsive and self-centered. She was addicted to prescription drugs and would feed the kids primarily junk food. She frequently left them in the care of numerous friends, which explained why the kids didn't attach well to anyone. It was odd how they would happily trot off with complete strangers if given the opportunity.

Within the first week I met the kids' dad, Rick, when I dropped them off at the visitation center. He was in the Army and seemed like a very personable young man in his twenties. He was small and wiry and wore large baggy clothes. He didn't use drugs, so all DHS required was that he take anger management classes and attend therapy. He was pleased that we took Jordan and Rose to church. He sounded responsible, so I figured he had a good chance of getting custody of Rose. But Jordan had a different dad who had not been involved in his life. Rick was the one who had been a father to Jordan since he was born and was very attached to him. I wondered if Jordan's biological dad would have a change of heart and fight for custody once he found out his son was in foster care.

I met Tammy a week later when I brought the kids for a visit. She had a warm sweet smile and a cute round face. I saw how Rose resembled her. She was chatty and full of energy. I never could tell if she was on drugs, but I didn't know what signs to look for anyway. She seemed quite normal to me. I didn't appreciate her sleazy clothes at the visits, but there was nothing I could do to shield the kids.

My goal was to be liked by both parents to make life more pleasant for all of us. I tried to be friendly and make conversation, especially filling them in on how their children were doing. Yet I kept some distance. Slight ripples of Rick's temper surfaced when Rose would refuse to hug him or not want to stay for a visit. I knew she was playing her game of making those closest to her feel rejected in the same way she had felt rejected by them. A couple times I had to encourage her to stay and she would comply. I could see that Tammy had a wild side and the ability to manipulate people, so I was very careful about what I said around her.

**Chapter 7 - Admitting our Limitations**

"...your Father in heaven is not willing that any of these little ones should be lost." Mt. 18:14

The kids' behavior kept deteriorating. I was getting near my wits end when they knocked my grandmother's painting behind a couch and Jordan broke the VCR player by jamming objects inside. Then he started damaging the drywall in his room and knocking small tables over. I became alarmed one day when I went to the bathroom for two minutes and heard a dreadful thud on the doorwall. I rushed out to discover in that short time Jordan managed to get a sharp and heavy bookend off a high shelf and then threw it at Rose, just missing her from the looks of it. She could have gotten a serious head injury. I became a nervous wreck even though we removed the bookends. This boy was too industrious.

I had to remind myself that God had something very good in store for us someday. How far away was that day when we could adopt? I wanted to adopt Rose, but couldn't see myself being able to handle Jordan. Their caseworker, Carrie, told me the kids had witnessed a lot of domestic violence and had been in daycare for several months because their mother had been negligent, failing to keep enough food in the house.

I asked the caseworker if we could have a counselor to help us relate better to Jordan. But by the time they could set up family and individual sessions for Jordan, Patrick and I were too strung out from lack of sleep, which led to sickness and Patrick missing work. He only had a few sick days per year and I didn't want to risk him losing his job. Oh, how I wished we had received thorough training on how to relate to troubled children!

I quickly lost hope that we were capable of managing Jordan's behavior, yet I lacked the courage to ask our agency to move him to another foster home. I didn't want to look like a failure in their eyes nor did I want to fail this little boy who had already been through too much upheaval in such a short time. Lastly, I didn't want to risk losing Rose who probably would be sent to the next home with her brother.

But after just two weeks of the kids living with us, their attorney (Guardian Ad Litum or GAL) came over and witnessed Jordan jumping from couch to couch while constantly interrupting our conversation, hurting Rose and throwing things. When I tried to put him in time out, he kicked my shin so hard I had to let him go due to the throbbing pain. I felt humiliated in front of the GAL and frustrated, not knowing what to do. I couldn't keep up the charade any longer and broke down crying. She asked if I could make it through a couple days until she could arrange for Jordan to move to another foster home. I felt certain that I could. It was such a relief to have someone see my plight first hand and come to my rescue. I later heard that the GAL said she would not have tolerated such behavior in her home longer than a day and would have quickly sent Jordan elsewhere. Her empathy was very reassuring and I felt less incompetent.

Amazingly, our agency called the next day saying they had already found another home for Jordan. I was thrilled that we could keep Rose for the time being since the caseworker was concerned that Jordan might seriously injure her. Then my heart sank when I was told Rose would probably join her brother in a month once he "stabilized" in the new home. So I had to trudge through the next month preparing myself to lose her while trying to be as happy as possible around her to help her get through this crazy time.

I was happy to hear that Jordan's new foster parents were youth pastors. They had four older children, so they were experienced at parenting. When I told Jordan that he was going to another home because he didn't seem happy at our house, he got upset and said, "I want to hit somebody because they're not my friend." I knew he wanted to hit me because I was sending him away. Even though they fought a lot, Jordan and Rose would miss each other. I had developed a tension headache earlier in the day and it continued to intensify. I felt awful as I watched a tormented little boy with a furrowed brow restlessly wait with his bags in our foyer for the next string of scary unknowns with his fourth family in three weeks.

Mark showed up at our door full of smiles and enthusiasm for his first foster child. I felt sorry for his family knowing what they were about to go through. I described some of Jordan's behavior to give him a heads up since the agency tended to provide only sketchy information about a new child. When I saw his gracious daughters in the van greet Jordan very warmly, I had hope that God was moving on behalf of this boy to provide him a refuge. Maybe his rage could be gradually chipped away if he was constantly surrounded by gentle, loving girls who could give each other breaks when needed. As he entered their van Jordan was composed, trying his best to cope with the transition.

After Jordan left and Rose went to bed, I retreated to my room with an aching head and cried on the bed, feeling like a failure. The Lord reassured me as he told me to recognize my limitations. I did not have the capacity to deal well with Jordan so I did the right thing in letting him go. I felt a little better knowing God wasn't disappointed with me. I had prayed not only for God to deliver me from this child, but also for God to deliver this child from me since my patience had been worn so thin. Jordan's anger was like a raging river with such a force that no dam could hold it back. When his dad tried to help us by talking to Jordan about not spitting around our house, for example, he'd stop spitting for about a week, but start throwing toys instead. The source of the constant build up of rage was never being addressed.

As soon as Rose woke up from her nap and realized Jordan was gone, she seemed a little disturbed, but didn't cry. Instead, she thrust her hand between my legs aggressively. I froze in shock. Not wanting to upset her, I calmly said, "We don't do that here" and gently removed her hand. Much to my relief she never did that again. When I brought the incident up to the caseworker she said the kids had been sexualized due to witnessing their parents grabbing each other inappropriately in anger. I wished she had told me that earlier. At least Rose didn't have the behavior too ingrained in her from what I could see.

A few days later I brought Rose to see her dad and we ran into Jordan at the visitation center looking glum. I was surprised to see him behaving himself so well. His new foster parents were doing something right. The first thing Jordan said to me was, "I like your house." I knew he didn't really like our house – he just wanted to live with his sister again. I felt sad for him as I watched Rose joyfully give him a big hug while he stood stiffly with his arms to his sides and rage bubbling within.

Rick couldn't even look me in the eye because he clearly saw me as the reason his kids ended up in separate foster homes. He was very upset which made me nervous. I hadn't wanted to burden him with a long list of Jordan's bad behavior or tell him how sick we'd been since Jordan came to live with us. I prayed for favor with him.

With Jordan gone I felt like I had most of my life back because I could easily run errands with Rose, cook dinner in peace and talk on the phone occasionally. I no longer had to be on constant emergency alert ready to put out fires. Joy came back to our lives. I was impressed by how Patrick took such delight in showing Rose the animals at the zoo, taking pains to extract her from the stroller for each interesting exhibit so she could get a better look. She had a great time exploring.

I started to refer to Rose as our Shirley Temple because of her cheerful demeanor and light curls framing a lovely cherub face. Her speech developed swiftly and I was delighted to hear her converse. She quickly became my ray of sunshine and I couldn't bear the thought of losing her. So when Jordan's foster mom, Tara, talked happily about eventually getting Rose in her home to join her brother, I was quite distraught. She already had four children of her own so she probably didn't realize how traumatizing it would be for me to lose Rose. At the time I couldn't step out of my own world enough to see how good it might be for the brother and sister to be reunited in a more structured environment.

Tara and Mark were consistently firm with Jordan and had a good spot in their yard for him to run around to expend his excess energy. Their daughters gave him lots of loving attention, though they needed breaks from him at times. I was impressed as I saw him develop more self-control and good manners. They even managed to potty train him! Tara didn't think Jordan's play therapy was accomplishing anything, but they took him faithfully.

Even though he got in less trouble at her house, Jordan was still so miserable that he wanted to bring grief to others perhaps in an attempt to garner himself a measure of relief in some twisted way. His fury cut at Tara's heart like swords on a daily basis. I figured she was engaged in a ferocious battle while trying to maintain her sanity and order in her home. I was amazed as she persevered week after week.

**Chapter 8 - The Endless Roller Coaster**

"But everyone who hears these words of mine and does not put them into practice is like a foolish man who built his house on sand." Matthew 7:26

Three months after Rose and Jordan had been placed with us, there was a hearing to determine if Rick was ready to get them back. He had been doing some of his treatment program, but Tammy was not cooperating. The children's CASA (a trained volunteer who is a Court Appointed Special Advocate) was an easy going tall, soft spoken man. He gave me occasional generalized updates on the case, which I greatly appreciated. He said he did not think either parent was ready to regain custody so he was going to recommend to the judge that Rose and Jordan stay in foster care for the time being. I was very happy to hear that.

On the other hand, the caseworker confidently told me that Rose would probably be sent back to her dad since he was making progress. The caseworker had the biggest influence over a judge's decision, so it was really hard to hear her plan. There was a court order for Rick and Tammy to stay away from each other, but I didn't see how that could be enforced. If Rick got the kids back I figured Tammy would live with them again, then Rick would get deployed and the kids would be back in the same situation of neglect. I expected that Rose and Jordan would become even more disturbed as they got older.

Nevertheless, I held onto a small possibility that Rose could become ours. Clinging to any thread of hope of keeping my current child was the primary way I could persevere with any joy from day to day as a foster mom. I continued to ask God if she would become our daughter because I was so enamored with her, but my strong desire made it hard to hear God's voice. If there was no way we could ever adopt Rose, I prayed for God to remove her from our home as soon as possible before I got even more hopelessly attached to her.

I had prepared my heart for losing Rose, so I was very disappointed, but not utterly crushed, to hear that the judge approved Rick for custody of the kids. In order to transition them back to their dad's, the caseworker set up increasingly longer unsupervised visits over the next couple of weeks, then the kids would go home permanently. Patrick and I went on fun excursions during those visits to distract us, but I worried about what was really going on while Rose was with her dad.

I told our agency that we would need a three-week break after Rose left before we wanted calls about taking another child. Saying good-bye to five children in five months was enough grief for the time being. When we got a call about a child, I didn't even want to hear the details for fear I might say yes. We really needed a brief reprieve.

The kids went on a few long visits with Rick, but before they could do the sixteen hour visit, I got a call from the kids' GAL asking if Patrick and I would be willing to adopt Rose if it came to that. I was stunned. My hopes soared as I thought, "Our prayers are about to be answered!" I tried to contain my glee as I happily replied, "YES!"

Rick had shown up to work with alcohol on his breath and his blood alcohol level tested very high, so his opportunity to get custody was delayed. Why would he mess up such a good thing when it was within his grasp? I wondered if he really wanted the responsibility of parenting. Of course, I was overjoyed that there was still a chance for us to adopt Rose, but part of me just wanted the whole thing to be settled instead of being drawn out further. I had been looking forward to a long weekend of travel alone with Patrick where we could forget the chaos while hiking in the serenity of mountains dotted with wildflowers. I had to remember that our lives were not our own.

Then Rick had to deal with a huge accusation from his wife. A couple weeks earlier Tammy had mentioned to me that she was going to prevent Rick from getting custody. Her eyes were narrowed with an angry resolve. She was ready for battle. She ended up accusing Rick of rape, so he was required to take a polygraph test. He refused to cooperate, which made me wonder if he was guilty. But I didn't completely trust Tammy as a truthful witness, so I wasn't sure whom to believe. Either way, I became more nervous about the kids returning to their dad someday.

Eventually, Rose started calling me mommy. It was heavenly music to my ears. We were feeling like a real family. The first time she called me mommy was at a work project through our foster agency where she heard all the other children saying mommy. Jordan had already been calling Tara mommy probably to fit in with her children. When Tammy overheard her son call Tara mommy at a visit, she told me how upset she was about it. I wasn't going to tell her that Rose did the same thing with me.

Then Tammy confided in me about being in foster care herself as a child. She had been in a good foster home, but her brothers were abused in theirs. Suddenly, so many things made sense. For Tammy to see her kids in foster care may have felt like a sad, but somewhat normal part of life. She must have had a difficult upbringing and probably didn't feel like people in her life were reliable, so she didn't have the drive to be reliable for her kids. She had accepted a lifestyle of chaos and destruction and was passing it down.

Though she wasn't bothering to receive help to improve her life, she wasn't completely callused to the pain she caused her children. Jordan complained to Tara that he didn't enjoy some of the visits with his mom because she'd repeatedly cry and apologize for putting him in his situation. All he wanted to do was have fun with his mom on the playground. Rose was too young to grasp it all or talk about it.

Since I knew how unreliable Tammy was as a mother, it made me ill to see Rose's face light up when her mom would squeal with great delight at the sight of her kids. I didn't want Rose to believe that her mother was an example of how to be truly loved – coming and going with painful unpredictability. Sometimes Tammy didn't show up to the visits and didn't even bother to call and cancel. We'd bring the kids into the visitation center with the expectation of seeing her and wait awhile, then sadly return home. The first time that happened, Jordan burst out sobbing when he was told his mom was not coming. He was so heartbroken I couldn't stand it. Rose just stood there looking oblivious. I was upset with their mom for repeatedly letting them down. Didn't she know how much her children needed her? So Tara and I learned we should not announce to the kids that they were about to see their mom. I'd simply say, "We're going out."

**Chapter 9 - Playgroup from Heaven**

"We ought always to thank God for you, brothers, and rightly so, because your faith is growing more and more, and the love every one of you has for each other is increasing." 2 Thessalonians 1:3

I really wanted Jordan and Rose to maintain their bond over the months of separation, but Tara was so busy with her church and family that she could only meet a few times for play dates. It didn't help that she lived on the other side of town. The caseworker and judge decided to keep the kids in separate homes since the possibility of adoption was now in play and each child was settling in nicely where they were.

With Jordan only available on occasion and the odd fact that we couldn't get another child placed with us, I looked for ways that Rose could build attachments to other young children. I prayed for God's divine connections because all of my friends had much older children and several were grandparents. So I was ecstatic when I met Sheila and Mary through our agency's support group. They were almost exactly my age and neither one had a biological child either. I no longer felt so alone in my situation.

Sheila had a curly dark-haired infant who had been exposed to a couple harmful substances in utero. Sheila and her husband were delighted with him. Sadly, they had to endure several years of ups and downs waiting to adopt him. It sounded like paperwork hadn't been handled properly, allowing the birth father to continue appealing the judge's decisions. Also, they had to deal with the threat of a relative with many children of her own wanting to take the baby. But when she met the exemplary foster parents, she decided that the baby was better off staying with them. It was wonderful to witness God answering their long awaited prayers and seeing their son thriving and happy.

Mary had been a foster mom for years in another state with over twenty children going through her home. None of them had been adoptable. I couldn't imagine enduring so much loss. But as soon as Mary and her husband became foster parents in Colorado, the first child sent to their home was a toddler who was already legally free. The agency must have took pity on them. They quickly adopted him and, unfortunately, weren't able to learn much about his first years of life. It was uncanny how much he resembled Mary. Everyone assumed he was her biological son. He brought them a few behavioral challenges later on, but nothing serious. He was an imaginative and fun boy.

Two years after Mary and her husband got their first son, they were about to adopt their second child from another family and were praying earnestly to be able to adopt his three month old sister, too. I immediately fell in love with the pudgy baby as I stared into her huge brown eyes that were brimming with joy. I held her close and wished I could take her home. Two years later they were able to adopt her, also. God provided for them so abundantly after their years of faithful service.

Then I met a devout young Christian woman named Constance at the visitation center. She was gentle and sweet and saddened by years of struggling with infertility. She was fostering a big baby boy who came to her right after he was born. It was unlikely that he was drug exposed because his mom gave birth while incarcerated. She had already lost four children to adoption so we expected that Constance would be able to keep him.

Constance was amazed at how disconnected the birthmother was from her son. She didn't even want to hold him during visits. Perhaps it was her way of coping with repeated losses. About ten months later she relinquished her rights to her son so Constance and her husband could adopt him. He was their first and only foster child. I was very happy for them that his case had been relatively easy. Their whole process took only a year. I was encouraged to see that not all roads to adoption were fraught with years of trials.

God has a plan for each family and we need to trust that he is in control and can help us along our individual paths.

So the four of us formed a playgroup and enjoyed watching our young children having fun together. It helped us tremendously to share our stories that had many similarities. We were all Christians so we could encourage each other to keep believing in God's goodness and pray for each other. Mary offered priceless advice for navigating the foster system, which we desperately needed. It helped me so much just knowing that the other women completely identified with my feelings regarding birth families, my agency and the constant fear of losing a beloved child.

But as each woman, except Sheila, was adopting before we could, I struggled with feeling left out and so empty. I had to battle the fear of never becoming a mother as I approached fifty. Sometimes I felt my strength waning. How could I persevere if we couldn't adopt Rose? In order to cope I kept telling myself we just had to keep her. God would work it out somehow.

Over the summer and into early fall we received four calls to take in babies. We kept saying yes, but the caseworkers always ended up choosing other homes. I was getting distraught and wondered why we kept being passed over. Later I realized the caseworkers must have read Rose's file filled with notes about witnessing domestic violence and sexual behavior, causing her to be at risk of harming a younger child. However, I watched her closely and never saw her doing anything of the sort.

There was one baby I refused to consider because he had been born exposed to methamphetamines. I told the woman from our agency, "I don't have training for handling meth exposed babies and I'm afraid he might die under my care." I had no idea what I'd be dealing with and didn't want that level of stress. And so I continued to wait for a baby to be placed with us.

**Chapter 10 - Shirley Temple's Disturbance Surfaces**

"He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds." Psalm 147:3

Rose and I were coming along fine until she was about to turn two and I started attempting to curb her behavior. The caseworker noticed Rose had become a little plump, so I tried to feed her healthier foods. I had spoiled her by giving in to her preferences as she became increasingly picky. When she was sick once and needed Pedialyte it was quite a battle to get her to drink it even though I mixed it with a variety of things.

Then I got the bright idea of potty training Rose. She was a smart girl and showed all the signs of being ready. She quickly got the hang of pooping in the toilet and could keep her pants dry. But she soon learned that it upset me when she would hold her pee on the potty and immediately wet her pants when I put them back on. I tried all forms of reward, but they failed. I was perplexed by her lack of interest in making her life more enjoyable with the treats and stickers, etc. Nor did she have much interest in pleasing me. No child I had taken care of as a nanny had reacted this way. I started to wonder if she had a form of self-hatred. That wouldn't be surprising given her background.

It didn't help that the two women I asked about potty training their biological children casually said it only took them one week as if there was nothing to it. Rose and I were going on a few months. I felt very incompetent. I acknowledged that there was a difference between the emotional state of the average traumatized child and a child who had never been abused or taken from their parents, but I should have recognized how vast the difference really can be and relaxed my expectations more. Plus, there are many secure children who take much longer than a week to train!

Nevertheless, I continued to pursue my goal by coming up with all kinds of combinations of thick underwear and waterproof coverings to get her to feel how uncomfortable it was to be wet, but nothing motivated her to stay dry on a regular basis. Then she developed a phobia of toilets outside of our home because I made the mistake of putting her on an auto flush toilet that frightened her with the noise. To make matters worse, when we were at a trailhead one day I took her into a porta-potty that was overdue for a cleaning. When I lifted the toilet lid, she sneaked a peek inside and quickly backed into a corner in horror with her hands up in the air protesting, "No! No!" I couldn't argue with her, so we left. I admitted defeat and returned to Pull-Ups to reduce the stress.

At one point Rose surprised me by getting into the habit of yelling when we were in the grocery store. I was mortified. I couldn't handle the stares from perturbed shoppers who wondered why I couldn't control my child. I tried talking sternly in a hushed voice to get her to stop, but that only fueled the flames of her rancor. When Rose glared at me with hostility mixed with a sickening glee, I wanted to give up and resign myself to shopping in the evenings when Patrick could watch her. Then I decide to ignore her screaming and pray silently for God to quiet her while I pulled items off store shelves with a forced look of tranquility on my face. Amazingly, she only had about four terrible outbursts in public and she returned to her former pleasant self.

But any stares I got in public were nothing compared to some foster parents who were caring for multiple children of different races. One time a stranger stopped to ponder a woman I knew who had white and dark skinned children with her while shopping. After studying the group, she nodded as she got her revelation, "Ah, different dads." How daft did she have to be to not realize that making such personal comments in front of children would possibly cause some to feel out of place or different? The foster mom didn't bother to explain because she was so disgusted and it was none of the lady's business anyway.

What I found most offensive personally was being referred to as Rose's grandma at a church nursery we were visiting. It happened again when I arrived at a home to pick up a used toy from an internet ad. I had even started coloring my hair to cover the gray, but that didn't help. I supposed all the stress from foster parenting had aged me five years within the first year. Call me overly sensitive, but it was hard to be called a grandma before I had even become a mother even though I knew I was old enough to be Rose's grandma. I just had to live with the fact that I'd be an unusually older mom with young children once we adopted.

Everything was great between Rose and I ninety percent of the time, but it was the ten percent with strife that weighed on me. During the conflicts I sometimes thought God was telling me he would send her to a relative who would be able to work better with her. The thought of her leaving us and going to some unknown household terrified me. I hadn't heard anything positive about Rose's relatives. I loved Rose deeply and wanted the best for her, which in my mind meant us adopting her.

**Chapter 11 - Languishing under the Anticipation of Loss**

"The Lord is my portion; therefore I will wait for him." Lamentations 3:24

I was conflicted on a couple levels and deeply regretted that I couldn't always have a sunny attitude around Rose. We had many happy times, but I often felt a tinge of heaviness as I wondered what the future held. I was careful to cry in private when I got overwhelmed. I just couldn't make peace with my predicament of taking care of and bonding with a child I knew could leave us. I spent the vast majority of my time with her and she felt like my daughter. I assumed that women who had children of their own and jobs outside of the home didn't get as intensely attached to their foster children. So I felt sorry for myself when I was around most of the other foster moms at our agency who didn't seem to be in nearly as much emotional turmoil.

Thinking of losing Rose then attaching to the next foster child and the next felt like anticipating a series of miscarriages. I felt as though I had reached my limit for enduring loss. Saying a final good-bye to our foster children was not as traumatic as my miscarriage, but the experiences had similarities. In both situations I grieved the loss of children I had hopes and dreams for, but there was no one to fully grieve with except my husband. Some of the other foster moms could certainly relate, but in many ways we had our own private pain to endure. We didn't know each other's foster children very well (sometimes not at all) so we couldn't miss them to the same degree. It was a lonely place and the growing list of sorrows was getting weighty. I kept praying for God's strength. Nevertheless, I did not want to give up on becoming a mother.

One friend said my losses resembled hers as she faced having to let go of her grown children as she anticipated them moving out of her home. I pointed out that she was able to see her children again, but I would never see mine again, so I failed to see much of a similarity. Plus, she was talking about young adults going off on their own with freedom to explore the world. I was referring to little children being sent to homes where they might be victimized and I wouldn't have the benefit of hearing how they were doing. She just didn't understand the world I was living in and how bad things could get for these kids.

One day I prayed for God's perspective on Rose and he told me to view her as his child. Therefore, my focus shouldn't be on whether or not Patrick and I or her parents would be able to keep her, but on the fact that she belonged to God first and foremost no matter where she ended up. The Lord would continue to watch over her even if I couldn't.

God also revealed to me that when I felt like I fell short as a parent, I was not a true failure because I always asked him for help to do better and truly wanted to be more like Christ. It's when we give up on his call for our lives because of shortcomings that we truly fail. We simply can't do everything perfectly, but we can keep on growing as we aim for perfection and await our heavenly home.

In the meantime life went on and we entertained our parents and friends as they came to visit. I was so pleased to have them all meet Rose and they welcomed her warmly. With so many of our family and friends getting acquainted with her, I felt like God was slowly making her a part of our family for good. Yet I could see our parents guarding their hearts somewhat, Probably to avoid the intense pain we experienced when losing Michael. They knew Rose's case still had some hurdles to overcome before culminating in adoption.

Friends of ours from Michigan came to visit us that summer. They were in their forties, too, and wanted children, so they were curious about how our situation was coming along and spent time engaging with Rose. They didn't want to endure the heartache of having a series of foster children going in and out of their home, so their plan was to wait for adoptable children from the foster system in Florida whose parents' rights were already terminated. They were hoping for young siblings. It was not possible for them to get a baby that was legally free due to the termination process usually taking over a year. Most likely the kids they got would have been through a few foster homes, causing them to have some difficulty attaching.

I thought their plan would mean many years of waiting, but two years after they started the process they were able to adopt a boy and girl who were four and six. They had minor behavioral challenges, but their parenting experience has been very rewarding and the children are doing quite well. We have been so happy for all of them and saw God's hand in the whole process.

As we settled in with Rose, Patrick was inspired to build her a large sandbox in the backyard where she played contentedly. I enjoyed buying her toys, especially a dollhouse full of people, furniture, cars and camping accessories. It was so cute to see her try to sit inside the dollhouse or squeeze into her doll stroller, not realizing how much larger she was than the tiny spaces. It was fun teaching her new things and reading to her. She had a good attention span and was an intelligent girl. She even liked hiking mountain trails with us and exploring area parks. Our home life was pretty good.

But every week I was reminded that Rose still had other parents – legal parents – when I had to take her to see them two to three times per week. I was glad to have Tara along with me during the visits to deal with the awkward and sometimes insulting situations. Tammy didn't always greet us when we arrived, but occasionally turned her back on us while she focused on her kids. At times I thought, "What an ingrate! She doesn't know half of what we go through in caring for her children." Then I'd remind myself that was her way of dealing with the shame of having her kids taken from her.

One day Tara told me she was with Jordan in the ER for five hours in the middle of the night because he had trouble breathing. The doctor told her that Jordan had asthma. After some difficulties because she had to work through Medicaid, Tara got the equipment he needed. When Tammy heard about the incident she said she had a nebulizer and inhaler for him at home. Why didn't either parent tell anyone their son was asthmatic? They had recklessly put his life in danger. I thanked God that Tara was caring for Jordan when he had his first attack in foster care because she was experienced at recognizing the signs and knew when to take him to the hospital.

**Chapter 12 - A Happy Mother Promise**

"He settles the barren woman in her home as a happy mother of children." Psalm 113:9

One morning when I read Psalm 113:9 (above) God made the "He" stand out as if to say he will be faithful and bring me my own children. Becoming a mother was not dependent on the will of social workers, our agency or a judge. God would work out the circumstances so we could get the kids he wanted us to have. The Lord alone would ultimately bring it about so I could know he loves me very much by granting my heart's desire.

Then I focused on "He settles" and thought about how unsettled I felt, not knowing the future. I longed to know if Rose would become ours or not. I felt like I was acting like her round-the-clock nanny who had to let her go at any moment. I begged for God to settle me down soon.

Lastly, I looked forward to the "happy mother" part. I felt God promising me that I would indeed be a truly happy mom someday. What a wonderful thought even though it seemed like a distant dream.

It was odd how suddenly one day Rose called me mommy over fifty times. I loved it, so I finally referred to myself as mommy. Then I heard her call Tara and another friend mommy, which crushed me. She must have been feeling a mommy void since her mom had missed a couple of visits. At their last visit Rose had hit her mom and turned her head away when Tammy asked for a good-bye kiss. That would be hard for any mother to take. Perhaps that was why Tammy stayed away for awhile.

I noticed how the name of Jesus resonated with Rose when we'd say it in a prayer or sing about him in a song. So I bought her more books about Jesus to help him become more real to her. Whenever we sang "Jesus Loves Me" she listened closely with big eyes fixed on us. She was delightful to watch as she twirled around in her nightgown when Patrick played his guitar and sang worship songs. I was encouraged that she might welcome Jesus as her Savior someday.

I was glad that I was able to be a stay at home mom so I could help bring healing to Rose's heart by being an almost constant presence in her life. I believed the troubled children sent to us needed a parent to be with them as much as possible to provide stability and the optimum setting for bonding to combat their sense of abandonment. I also wanted to build a store of good memories and witness a child's developmental milestones.

A month later there was another hearing to see if Rick could get custody of the kids, but I had no expectation the judge would grant it because he had been moved back to supervised visits due to a period of excessive drinking and refusal to take the polygraph. Furthermore, Rick and Tammy disregarded the court ordered separation. Right after previous hearings they were seen getting into their car together. Everyone assigned to the case had to meet almost weekly because some new drama had come up with the parents. A couple of the team members had started talking to Tammy as if she were a small child because they were so irritated by her wearing them out with destructive behavior.

As I wondered how everything was going to play out in court I thought about God as the judge of all people and how he alone knew everything the parents had done to their kids. I prayed for him to carry out his justice and for the best decision for the kids to come about swiftly.

Rick entered the hearing with an arm cast and Tammy looked haggard. The kids' team again recommended that the children stay in foster care for now. The judge ordered that Jordan be able to have phone calls with his biological dad who lived several states away. We had passed over one more hurdle. My hope grew for keeping Rose.

One day when I went to pick Rose up from a visit I overheard her mom drilling her on my name and Rose's own full name. So Rose obediently stopped calling me mommy. I was dismayed, particularly since the time was soon approaching when her mom's rights might be terminated. Also, I felt badly when I read books to her that referenced mommies and daddies – most children's books do - and wondered if she felt left out. At Sunday school all the kids would yell "Mommy!" or "Daddy!" when their parents came to get them. I was sure that Rose felt like she was different from the other children. I put up with her calling me by my name for a month or so, then we went back to her calling me mommy.

**Chapter 13 - Frail Angel Boy**

"A bruised reed he will not break..." Isaiah 42:3

Shortly after Rose turned two, we agreed to watch a boy her age for a week while his soon-to-be adoptive parents traveled. They planned their trip to occur after his adoption, but the date was set a few weeks later at the last minute, which is not uncommon. Because Jeffrey was technically still a foster child, he wasn't allowed to stay with family friends along with the couple's biological kids because the friends weren't certified foster parents. It's in situations like that when the law causes more harm than good to a child.

I feared that Jeffrey would be traumatized having to stay with complete strangers for a week after bonding with his new family for over a year. However, his mom didn't bother to meet with us ahead of time to check us out or help him adjust. All she did was talk with me on the phone and send over a list of instructions for his care. Jeffrey's parents didn't even drop him off at our house. They had a friend bring him. I guess you get pretty laid back when it comes to your fifth child or our agency must have given us an incredibly glowing recommendation.

In contrast, I would have thoroughly checked out another home before sending my foster child there for a short stay. I would say most, but not all foster homes are safe environments. Foster agencies can only do so much investigating before approving a home. Because of my protectiveness and my concern about bonding with my foster children, we never sent our children to other foster homes for respite care to give us a break. The only exception was an overnight with Jordan's foster family because I knew them well and wanted Rose to spend time with her brother.

I got worried when Jeffrey's mom told me he held his breath and turned blue, then passed out when he got very upset. I had to be certain he didn't hit his head during such an episode. That was something I had never witnessed and never wanted to, so my mission for the week was to keep Jeffrey happy at all times!

Jeffrey arrived looking a little forlorn and frail. He was an angelic fair-haired boy with large blue eyes. I was surprised that he didn't cry when he was left alone with Rose and I. I'm sure it helped that Rose was thrilled to have a playmate. She gave him an enthusiastic welcome and showed him her toys.

I spoke gently to him and gave him time to get used to me before I held him. He was developmentally delayed due to his birth mom's substance abuse while pregnant. It was tragic watching Jeffrey wobble around our backyard on delicate, shaky legs as he tried to keep up with Rose whose thick, sturdy legs bounded everywhere with confidence. He was about to turn two and had just started walking. I was angry with his birth mom for giving him such a rough start in life.

Rose could talk a mile a minute while Jeffrey struggled to get a couple words out. He often seemed like he was behind a hazy glass, not able to fully see or absorb the world around him. At least he had "No!" down well, which was useful when the two of them would fight occasionally over a toy. Overall, I was quite pleased with how well they interacted. It was funny how he'd call Rose "Baby" even though she was bigger than him and she called him Joey. They accepted their new names as if they'd been called by them all their lives.

There was only one time when I feared Jeffrey might turn blue and pass out. I joined a new friend and her children at a playground one day and made the mistake of using her stroller and left mine in her garage since hers was superior for some reason. So I had to wait for her to walk back with me to her house before I could leave the park. After an hour of play Jeffrey started crying from fatigue, so I told my friend we had to leave quickly because I feared he might hold his breath and pass out. She was oblivious to my concern as she started talking with a stranger in the park and kept gabbing away. I pushed the stroller back and forth down the sidewalk to calm him with no success. Then she decided to let her boys play a little longer. Finally we headed to her house after I was quite frazzled and Jeffrey was miserable. Thankfully, Jeffrey didn't pass out. I promptly removed that mother from my playdate list.

I was quite happy for Jeffrey when he was picked up for a half-day visit with his new siblings to give him a sense of normalcy. The visit seemed to do him good. But by his last day with us he was crying or whimpering about a variety of little things. I knew he was really missing his family after a week away. So it was a relief when the family friend came to take him home.

As Jeffrey stepped out onto our porch, he turned around for one last look at Rose. His tear stained cheeks and woeful eyes melted Rose's heart and she burst into tears. I was surprised by my tough girl's display of tender emotion. I told the woman that we would like to maintain contact with Jeffery for playdates, but his family must have already had a well-established circle of friends because I didn't hear from them.

I later saw Jeffrey's family photo in our agency newsletter. He looked exactly like one of their biological children. I thanked God that he was now safe in a happy home where he could thrive. "What a perfect looking family," I thought. They were all attractive and nicely dressed as they brimmed over with joy. I felt envious that their foster parenting journey was over, allowing them to enjoy their big family in peace while we were still in limbo hoping and praying for our first child. I had to stop feeling so sorry for myself!

Soon we got a call for a methamphetamine exposed baby who was just four days old. The placement worker claimed he was healthy, but I had my doubts. He sounded very adoptable since his mom had lost her five previous children. With some trepidation we said we'd take him and prayed for God's will to be done. He was sent to another family. I consoled myself with the fact that I wouldn't have to be up twice per night with such a young baby.

**Chapter 14 - Revelation from a Blustery Mountain Summit**

"He who forms the mountains, creates the wind, and reveals his thoughts to man, he who turns dawn to darkness, and treads the high places of the earth - the Lord God Almighty is his name." Amos 4:13

In September Patrick and I sent Rose to stay with Jordan's foster family while I tackled my first mountain over 14,000 feet in elevation. Patrick had already climbed several. Mount Sherman was one of the easier fourteeners since the trail was under six miles round trip. But a good amount of snow had fallen, making our trek more treacherous. Being the forgetful couple that we sometimes were, we neglected to attach coils to the bottoms of our boots to prevent slipping.

I was so nervous about dealing with altitude sickness that I couldn't sleep well the night before. I was upset that my camera's auto-focus started to malfunction at the trailhead and my new hat didn't fit right. There were so many things to be concerned about to make sure we had a safe and enjoyable hike that I was a nervous wreck and had a small fit where I threw my sandwich up the trail in frustration to release some steam. I was a mess, but Patrick patiently plodded along beside me.

We approached old mining buildings and I became intrigued thinking about the harsh life miners endured over one hundred years ago. This certainly was a desolate place. As we climbed higher and higher, I saw vast valleys undulating below us while mountain peaks started to pop up in almost every direction. I relished this totally new adventure and my anguish drifted away.

When we reached the saddle cold, fierce fifty-mph winds almost knocked me over. Fear came upon me as I realized how vulnerable I was high up on the mountain. A steep snowy slope that seemed to go on forever lay below us. We had to lean into the mountainside and stick our hands in the snow above us and grip a hiking pole with the other hand to maintain our balance as we followed the tracks of hikers who had gone before us that morning. When I came to a wider section I braced myself as I added a windbreaker over my fleece jacket. I kept praying for God to strengthen and protect us.

The view on the other side of the saddle was spectacular with endless white capped mountain ranges piercing the horizon. I was busy taking pictures on all sides while moving quickly to prevent my fingers from freezing. The good thing about hiking in September was that we didn't have to worry about getting off the summit before the usual summer afternoon thunderstorms hit. The skies were a clear bright blue with the occasional white cloud flying by.

When we reached 13,000 feet the thin air made it hard for me to breathe. I had to force myself to remember to move slowly. I was amused as I watched a young man make his own path as he crawled up a steep section with deep snow. His dog ran playfully up and down the slope, wondering what was taking his master so long. There were over fifty people on the main trail from about age twelve to sixty. Everyone kept trudging along, stopping frequently to catch their breath.

The ridge to the summit looked daunting from a distance. The steep slopes plummeting continually on both sides would mean sudden death if someone tumbled off the narrow path. But as we got closer, I noticed the ridge was always at least four feet across. I just couldn't fix my gaze on the valleys below me as I passed by or I would start imagining dreadful things and get dizzy.

As we approached the summit, a feeling of tremendous fatigue hit me and I had the strongest desire to collapse on the jagged rocks next to me and go to sleep. I knew this was a sign of altitude sickness starting to manifest. I started worrying about getting an intolerable migraine and wondered if I should turn around. "But I can't turn back now. I'm so close to the top," I told myself. I didn't want to go through all that effort and not accomplish my goal, so I pressed on and kept praying for endurance. Fortunately, the path leveled out slightly just before climbing again to the summit, so I had a chance to regain my strength.

My legs were a bit shaky as we pushed toward the top and I was light headed, but I had made it! I was ecstatic. Patrick and I took many pictures and I posed for one with my hands raised above my head in victory and a huge smile.

Suddenly, the group of twenty young people eating snacks near us headed down and we had the summit to ourselves. I decided to take a moment to talk with God. As I surveyed the incredibly massive mountains all around us and felt the gale force winds blow, I was struck by how small and weak I was in comparison. My life could be snuffed out in an instant if I made a clumsy move. The vastness of God's creation magnified his power and glory, causing me to feel like a weak and highly dependent child before him.

Then I heard my heavenly Father say, "Stop trying to control the situations around you. Rest peacefully, trusting that I am in control of everything and can bring my will to pass." I knew God was telling me to trust him with the outcome of Rose's case. I was able to face the reality that it was impossible for me to determine where she ended up. My burden lifted. I left the summit feeling enlightened and much more at peace and so thankful I had made it up there where I could hear such a transformational word from God.

Elation flooded my soul as we descended, but then I grew concerned when I saw there was a chance we could be the last people off the mountain. That was not a safe position to be in if we had an accident because cell phone reception was poor. So I tried to push myself to go a little faster. I couldn't believe how one young woman casually, but quickly hopped right past me with tennis shoes and a light jacket on. She must have hiked many fourteeners before.

While we were still progressing down the ridge, I was slowly and carefully stepping down from large rocks. Yet at one point I slipped on the snow and lost my balance. As I fell forward and to my right, all I could think was, "Oh, God, please don't let me roll to my death down the mountain!" I landed about a foot from the edge of the path next to the drop off. I was shaken by how close I had come to potential disaster and thanked God for sparing my life.

Then I felt an unbearably sharp pain in my shin from having landed on a pointy rock. Every step I took made my shin throb, but at least I could limp along. I cried as I held onto Patrick all the way down the steep sections and areas full of loose rocks. Gone was my joy as I feared having to be airlifted down. The pain was so bad that I wondered if I had chipped the bone. The path was harder packed and more icy from all the traffic over the last two to three hours, but I kept going. Patrick marched on faithfully supporting me.

We were nearly the last people off the mountain as I expected, but there were no further incidents. Relief swept over me as I collapsed in the car. As soon as I sat down I was plagued with a migraine. The searing pain in my head grew worse than the throbbing in my shin. But as Patrick drove to lower elevations and I drank more water, my headache subsided.

I told Patrick that I was glad I did the hike and SO glad that it was over. He laughed. He wasn't going to give up on me that easily. He already had another fourteener in mind for me to hike the following year. Why he would want to hike another fourteener with me after all my complaining was beyond me. I concluded that he possessed a very unusual amount of patience.

The large lump and bruise on my shin took a few months to disappear and it hurt to walk for a couple weeks, but an x-ray showed no broken bone. In the end I was very grateful for my profound journey with God where he set my perspective straight regarding my role as a foster mom. He was in control, not me. Therefore, I could cast all my cares on him and trust the Almighty God with the outcome.

However, the truth God had revealed to me would continue to be tested.

**Chapter 15 - Can it get any Crazier?**

"For you, O Lord, have delivered my soul from death..." Psalm 116:8

On a desolate Colorado highway late one autumn night Tammy was speeding along after partying with her passenger, a young man from the army base. She lost control and rolled the vehicle, causing both of them to be thrown from the car. The man's torso was lacerated by a fence and his back was broken. She broke a leg, fractured a vertebrae and punctured a lung. The doctors had to wait for the swelling to go down before they knew how bad off she really was. They wondered if she would walk again, but after a week she was moving around on crutches. God had worked a miracle and granted her a second chance.

Tammy was possibly facing jail time for a DUI and vehicular assault. Authorities wondered if she had been trying to kill both herself and the man. I hoped that incident would cause the judge to terminate her rights to Rose and Jordan. I never found out what became of the charges against her.

In order to learn all I could about Rose's case, I decided to attend the state review which had to occur every six months for every child in long-term foster care. I joined Rick, Carrie (the caseworker), the CASA and state reviewer as we gathered around a small table in a claustrophobic room. I was disappointed that Tara didn't show up. How could the reviewer expect me to talk openly about my thoughts on the children's behavior in front of Rick who had a problem with anger? My desire to know what was going on overruled my fears and I stayed seated.

Discussion about Jordan's biological dad came up and Rick became agitated. He insisted on getting a paternity test done to prove that he was Jordan's biological father even though he and Tammy were fair skinned and Jordan was very dark. Carrie's jaw dropped and she shook her head as she blurted, "Do you really want a paternity test for a child who is clearly bi-racial?" Rick insisted that he did until Carrie mentioned that he would have to pay for it, then he dropped the notion. I sat there amazed at how he tried to manipulate reality even when it was obvious his efforts were completely futile. Nevertheless, I admired his devotion to Jordan.

Rick looked like he was trying hard not to explode when Carrie rattled off a list of concerns for the reviewer, the primary one being that Jordan was a perpetrator of violent behavior toward Rose. Rick wanted unsupervised visits again and claimed full compliance with his treatment program and innocence regarding all charges against him even though he still refused to take the polygraph and wasn't attending some individual counseling sessions. With a wry smile he claimed that counseling was against his religion.

Then Rick bristled as I recounted Jordan's violent behavior toward Rose. My heart pounded as I watched him shifting in his seat with a frown on his face. So when I was dismissed shortly after Rick, I asked for a security guard to escort me a couple blocks to my car. Thankfully, without protest Carrie found a guard available.

The following weekend it was a relief to take a peaceful bike ride with Patrick as he pulled Rose in a bike trailer through a park with a river. I marveled at the beauty of the sun filtering through the colorful fall leaves atop towering trees. We stopped for a break by a tumbling waterfall and I smiled as I watched Rose happily throw rocks into the raging river. I wished our life could be filled with such simple pleasures without having to deal with the ugliness of the world around us. But we had a journey to complete.

**Chapter 16 - Perversion of Justice**

"You hate the one who reproves in court and despise him who tells the truth." Amos 5:10

In early November Tammy was dropped off at her home by a friend after a wild night of partying. She was placed in a chair and left there to sleep off her stupor. Not hearing from Tammy for a couple days, the friend got worried and drove over to find her still in the chair and swollen beyond recognition in a coma.

The doctors gave Tammy a less than twenty percent chance of surviving. She was hooked up to machines so her organs could function. Rick was a wreck, faithfully remaining by her side. I felt sick as I heard the story and expected that Tammy was about to die. I cried as I thought, "What a gruesome way to go." Then I realized Rose might not ever see her mom again and my heart ached over her impending loss.

Miraculously, Tammy regained consciousness several days later and asked for a cigarette and a drink with caffeine. Rick was so elated to see her recovery. I spoke with him about it at a visit Rose had with her grandmother who had flown in from Georgia. Rick had been playing taped messages of the kids while Tammy was in her coma to inspire her to get better. Their little voices had made a difference. Much to my amazement, Tammy still refused to admit herself to a residential inpatient rehabilitation center that had managed to make space for her.

While at the visitation center I did a quick study of Rick's mom out of curiosity since she could end up caring for the kids. I gazed into her tired eyes and gaunt face lined with deep wrinkles and surmised she had lived for decades with a pervasive sadness due to a hard life. However, I was comforted to see that she had a gentle way about her.

After a few weeks of not seeing her mom, Rose asked for her with a forlorn gaze fixed on me, anxious for a word of hope. I hated having to tell her that her mom was in the hospital. What a rough life this child already had at two years of age! I yearned for the ability to make everything better for this brokenhearted little girl. All I could do was speak kindly, hold her, pray and look for the possibility of good things down the road.

For the first time in the case, Carrie spoke of the likelihood of us adopting Rose. For this caseworker to speak of adoption meant it was a real probability. My head was swirling with euphoria as I realized God was at last going to fulfill his promise to make me a mom in the full sense of the word. She was certain that Tammy's parental rights would be terminated soon. Rick was still not complying with all of his treatment plan so he most likely would never get custody of the kids. After seven months of caring for Rose, adoption felt completely natural.

So it was with strong optimism that I headed into the hearing a week later and took a seat in the back. Carrie spotted me and rushed over before the proceedings started. She said with total certainty that the judge was going to give Rick custody of the kids after a transition of a month with longer unsupervised visits. Her words hit me like a tidal wave from behind. I felt like I was suffocating as panic enveloped me.

Why would the case take such a decisive change in direction within a week? Something wasn't right. This couldn't be God's plan. How could the kids be safe with a dad who only just recently had not been cooperating with authorities? And how did the caseworker know without a doubt that the judge would rule in favor of Rick obtaining full custody?

I replied weakly, "I am in shock. It will be hard letting her go." I was implying that it was hard to believe that Rose would be safe given her parents' recent histories. Carrie coldly retorted, "That was the plan all along, to return them home." My concerned expression stirred an angry defensiveness in her. Her complete lack of empathy made the bad news much harder to take. It was as if she was saying, "I'm putting the child you have loved for the past seven months in possible harm's way. Her welfare and your feelings and opinions don't matter because you are both of little significance."

For the few minutes that I sat alone waiting for the proceedings to start I cried out to God silently from my heart begging for his help to cope with the horrendous situation. Immediately, his thoughts entered my mind, "You can look forward to the next two children who will come to you." Some tension drained from my body as God's comfort washed over me.

His consoling words gave me a sense that he had some control of the chaos because he had a plan for our family that he was still able to carry out. I became joyful thinking about God sending us two more children. Maybe they would be the ones we could finally adopt.

Because I had a strong feeling of God's goodness and sovereignty, I was able to consider that he was watching out for Rose and Jordan in ways I could not see. Maybe Rick's parents would really be able to see to it that he was a good father. Rick's dad was sitting in court looking extremely upset about the whole ordeal. When I had passed by him I felt intimidated as he cast a resolute glare toward the front of the courtroom with arms tightly crossed. He looked determined about talking some sense into his son.

Yet I couldn't shake from my mind Carrie's comment a few months prior regarding Rick and Tammy's family members. DHS could not approve any of them for custody because of their questionable backgrounds. What was in Rick's dad's past that made him unacceptable to DHS? Of course, he wasn't being granted custody, but who would watch the kids when Rick was deployed in a few months? The choice was entirely up to Rick.

I became both fascinated and sickened by the twisted legal process as it unfolded before me. Carrie stood up and explained to the judge how Rick had suddenly turned his life around by doing everything he was supposed to. He was opening up in therapy and his parents had shown up to offer their strong support to make sure he stayed on the straight and narrow. I couldn't believe my ears. How could one week of good behavior possibly be enough proof that a father would no longer be a danger to his kids? The judge nodded and smiled, obviously not needing convincing since she neglected to ask any challenging questions.

I suspected that Carrie had bonded with Rick while they were visiting Tammy in the hospital after her overdose during the past week. She was still on a respirator and couldn't walk. I was sure that Tammy's frail state and brush with death caused Carrie to have an abundance of compassion on Rick. After all, how could she watch him lose his whole family all at once? Also, Carrie had been clear with me and others about how sick she was of dealing with the case, but the judge wouldn't release her from it because she had a military background and knew how to relate well to the family. Returning the kids home swiftly might be the only way she could free herself of this family's insanity.

Then the kids' GAL stood up and vehemently protested Carrie's recommendation, "I was not informed of this decision. It looks like a deal was made in the hallway just before the hearing." She explained the reasons why she believed the children should remain in foster care, then sat down in defeat knowing the caseworker's wish was the judge's command that day. The CASA also stood up and calmly protested Carrie's plan to return the kids to their dad and gave his reasons, then sat down. The judge acted like she had just heard a pleasant story of little merit and turned back to Carrie to formulate the return home plan.

I was amazed at how powerless the GAL and CASA were in representing the rights of the children. Why were they even assigned to the case? They looked like dispensable peons placed there for show so the community could imagine that foster children have more than one person representing their welfare. The whole thing appeared to be a sick joke.

(I later heard from our agency director that the judge probably had to fill a quota for reunification of families so she could look good. If that was true, children were tossed about like worthless things to enhance the reputation of judges and give relief to drained caseworkers. I was even more incensed.)

I left the hearing and maintained my composure as I walked to the court's daycare to pick up Rose. But as soon as I saw the woman at the desk, I broke down sobbing and described the fiasco in court. She offered the empathy I was looking for. I felt better just having someone listen in a loving manner. Then, a little embarrassed by my outburst, I went to get Rose and put on my happy face as best I could.

That night I had a dream about battling an alligator and a four foot long slug that had invaded our home. Maybe the massive slug represented the large, painfully slow moving foster system. I was trying desperately to protect a bunch of kids who were living with us, but was terrified by the great force of evil inspiring the creatures that were determined to destroy them. I woke up feeling very distraught and more determined to pray for God's intervention on behalf of the children in foster care.

The next couple of weeks were very difficult as I tried to deal with my grief and maintain hope for the future. I prayed for us to be able to keep Rose after all, but we didn't hear about Rick messing up again. Regarding Tammy's accusation of rape, the authorities decided she was not a credible witness, so the issue was dropped. That gave me an unsettled feeling. All I could do was hope and pray that Rick was a genuinely changed man even though those who practice domestic violence normally need at least a year in a treatment program to get healthier ways of behaving ingrained in them. To help myself cope I kept thinking about the next kids and hoped they would come to us before Rose left so I wouldn't feel so empty. Though I couldn't see it at the time, God was in control working things out for the best.

**Chapter 17 - Giant Toddler and the Waif**

"Serve wholeheartedly as if you were serving the Lord, not men, because you know that the Lord will reward everyone for whatever good he does..." Ephesians 6:7-8

Two weeks before Rose was scheduled to leave us, we were chosen to take a four-year-old boy, Brandon, and his two-year-old sister, Mary. I was so excited because I figured these were the two children God told me to look forward to. "They might become our kids," I told myself with eager anticipation. Their dad was in jail and their mom was just arrested for drug possession. No behavior issues were mentioned.

Patrick and I went to the DHS building with Rose to pick up the kids. Like most children caught up in the terror of being taken from their parents and moving in with complete strangers, they were docile. I was struck by Brandon's immense size for a four-year-old. He was tall and hefty. We found out he weighed seventy-four pounds, which was the normal weight of the average ten year old. But he later displayed the maturity typical of a two-year-old. Even though the caseworker warned me that Brandon smelled, I was not prepared when he took his shoes off from the backseat. When an incredible stench filled the car, I gasped and quickly rolled down the windows. I was buying him new shoes immediately and putting him in the shower once we got home.

Mary was strong and wiry. Her straight hair must have been butchered by her mom while she was under the influence of something because she sported an unusually jagged pixie. She peered from behind scraggly bangs and uttered caveman type grunts. Like Jeffrey who had stayed with us a couple months ago, she could say, "No," clear enough. She definitely showed signs of developmental delays.

As expected, the kids cried once we put them to bed. When I told Brandon that I'd call the caseworker in the morning to see how his mom was doing, he calmed down and slept. Mary and Rose had to share a room. I feared they would keep each other up late into the night. They talked for awhile, then drifted off to sleep. After a couple days I was amused to hear Rose say in her imperfect English, "I like Mary. She talk ah me." I loved watching Rose excitedly ramble on and on from her crib as Mary nodded from the Pack-n-Play and uttered grunts every so often. They were instant friends.

Brandon, on the other hand, quickly grew into a challenge. The first morning after their arrival I was in for a rude awakening. Brandon was a bed wetter. I wished someone had told me to buy him overnight diapers. Again he went in the shower. I didn't know what he had been eating, but he had to spend a lot of time on the toilet and each time it was quite a process to get him cleaned up. I let the kids play in the backyard, but Brandon found the hose right away and decided to water the plants and got himself soaked in the process. One night when we were getting Brandon ready for bed he started screaming so loudly that my ears hurt and I fled the room. I don't know how Patrick could bear it as he stayed and somehow got pajamas on him.

Time out was foreign to Brandon, so I asked him how his mom disciplined him. He said that she would hit and kick him, so I reported that to caseworker, though I knew by then such a comment wasn't terribly concerning to DHS as long as there weren't visible bruises and cuts. Brandon also said there was an uncle Tony who hung around and wasn't nice to his mom, making her cry.

I didn't dare take all three kids in the car by myself anywhere for fear they'd run in opposite directions in a parking lot. So I was happy to have Patrick's help on Saturday for an excursion to a park with a large playground and path which encircled several soccer fields. The playground equipment was swarming with kids, so we struggled to keep track of all three children who constantly darted in different directions. With some of their energy spent, we were able to have a quick picnic lunch on the grass as we watched soccer teams battle it out.

After lunch Patrick pushed the girls in the double stroller around the loop while Brandon walked alongside us. It wasn't long before he started complaining about being dizzy. We hadn't even covered a quarter mile. If Brandon was to stay with us any length of time or become our son we were determined to feed him a healthy diet and provide him opportunities for regular exercise so he could enjoy life like other children. We sat under a tree for a few minutes, then started up again.

When we encountered three large dogs, Brandon rushed over to pet them even though the owners warned him that they bite. In vain we urged him to stay with us, so Patrick had to hold him back for his own safety. That's when I saw Brandon's impulsive behavior very clearly and became alarmed, realizing I probably couldn't protect him sufficiently if he were to throw himself into harm's way again.

As we got back in the car I felt a little bad for taking Brandon on a walk that was so grueling for him. So I was astonished when he cheerfully said from the backseat, "That was fun!" He sounded like a kid who had just spent an afternoon at Chuck E Cheese or a water park. Suddenly, I really felt sorry for him. I pictured him spending day after day in a small, dark apartment watching TV for hours with a bag of chips as his companion. I doubted that his mom ever took him outside to hit a ball, ride a bike or run around a playground.

We were afraid to take Brandon to our church's Sunday school the next day, but we thought it was worth a try. He towered over all the other four-year-olds. I pictured him crushing anyone who got in his way and wreaking havoc by tossing all the papers and crayons around the room. Much to our surprise we never were called to pick him up early. I was pleased to hear that he enjoyed singing the songs.

One time I named every letter of the alphabet for Brandon as I pointed to magnetic letters on a board. When I finished, he exclaimed, "You're a genius!" I laughed out loud. Then I was appalled as I realized probably no one had ever tried to teach him the alphabet.

Another time Brandon stopped in his tracks when he noticed our wedding photo. I explained that Patrick and I were the happy couple. His eyes got wide as he looked at me then back at the photo and said with unabashed amazement, "You were a princess?" I laughed again. Perhaps my veil and dress did make me look a bit like royalty.

Then Brandon did something that struck real fear in me. I was trying to get him dressed and he was not being cooperative. I was dealing with him in a firm calm manner, but my persistence caused him to jump at my wrist with his teeth chomping. I pulled back in horror realizing I might not be able to stop him if he had been more determined. That was it. We were not taking in any more boys over the age of two. Patrick and I were in full agreement.

Like when Jordan lived with us, I got a sinking feeling as I realized we might not be able to keep these kids very long. I really dreaded the thought of our agency seeing us send another child away for fear we would look incompetent and be rejected as foster parents. I knew their mom had to post a low bond and was having difficulty coming up with the cash. Once she got it, she could get her kids back. So they were going home soon, but how many days away was "soon" and could we last until then? Patrick and I developed insomnia once more. Though Brandon didn't misbehave as frequently as Jordan did, his challenges to our authority were more intense and threatening. Our nerves were quickly fraying.

What made matters worse was Rose started to treat Brandon somewhat like she treated her brother by trying to incite him to rage. She'd grab something from him, then run away laughing with excitement as the chase ensued. Couldn't she hear how loudly her pursuer's feet pounded the floor as she fled? Didn't she realize Brandon could easily flatten her? I had to be on the alert once again and repeatedly rescue her from potentially serious injury.

We had survived five long days when we got the call that Brandon and Mary were going back to their mom that afternoon. We were rescued! But what would become of the kids? I knew almost nothing about their mom's situation but I knew drug use or possession wasn't successfully dealt with in less than a week.

When I pulled into the DHS parking lot to meet the caseworker and their mom, Brandon started hitting Mary in the backseat where I could do nothing to rescue the poor girl as she wailed. Brandon paid no attention to my reprimands. Their mom was very friendly and thanked me profusely for caring for her children. She said she had prayed for an angel to take care of her children and I was that angel. And she promised a couple of times that this would never happen again.

Two weeks later we got a call asking if we'd take Brandon and Mary back. I was not surprised. I had to say no, knowing I was too weak to handle Brandon. I gave the placement worker an earful about his behavior so she could choose a more appropriate foster family – hopefully one with combat experience. I wanted to talk to the chosen family to help them prepare, but the kids were sent to a different agency.

**Chapter 18 - A Beloved Gem Vanishes and A Little Prince Appears**

"The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away; may the name of the Lord be praised." Job 1:21

One night I lay awake tormented by thoughts of Rose returning to her dad and what horrible things could happen to her. I got up to pray and read the Bible. My eyes fell on Job 24:1, "Why does the Almighty not set times for judgment? Why must those who know him look in vain for such days?" The chapter went on to describe a variety of injustices done to the weak and poor. Even though I couldn't see it at the moment, I knew a Day of Judgment would eventually come when God would set all things right. He wasn't turning a blind eye every time a child was abused. He hurt when they hurt. He cared...deeply...even more than I did. But sometimes the stubborn evil will of people prevailed over God's desire to intervene and deliver. We were not in heaven yet so I had to keep praying Matthew 6:10, "your will be done on earth as it is in heaven."

I had to believe that for some reason Rose and Jordan would be better off with their dad than if they were adopted. The obvious advantage was that they could grow up together. Hopefully, Jordan would be able to maintain the self-control he had developed with the pastor's family and not attack Rose so much. But I had my doubts.

On another sleepless night I read Isaiah 10:1-2, "Woe to those who make unjust laws, to those who issue oppressive decrees, to deprive the poor of their rights and withhold justice from the oppressed of my people, making widows their prey and robbing the fatherless." I wondered how the judge and caseworker could live with themselves after making a convenient deal together in secret regarding the lives of two helpless children. Woe to them if they didn't stop their selfish ways of perverting justice.

I feared that Rose would think Patrick and I didn't love her anymore when we let her go permanently back to her dad. That day was rapidly approaching and I wasn't sure how to prepare her for it. She was too young to understand that we would have adopted her if given the opportunity. I wanted her to know that she was very much wanted, but expected she'd feel rejected no matter what I said.

One day Rose said, "Dolly is sad because people hit." She had been spending long hours with her dad and Jordan on the weekends, so I figured one or both had been hitting. I told the caseworker and she got quiet, took in the words, then changed the subject. I sensed that she cared to some extent, but the kids didn't have any bruises, so there was no evidence to prove physical abuse.

I would miss Rose's delightful chatter and adorable smile. Rick was going to be deployed in three months, then send the kids to live with his mom or dad. I hoped they would go to Rick's mom because she struck me as someone who would be kind and patient with them. But then again I could picture Jordan running roughshod over her, so maybe the tough looking grandfather would be better. Because the grandparents lived out of state, I was told that no one would check on Rose and Jordan once they moved. That was distressing news especially since DHS refused to approve any of the kids' relatives for custody because of substance abuse histories and one criminal past.

When I considered the information I had on Rose's family, I had little hope for her future since I had no evidence that anything would be different except that her mother might be in jail for awhile. It was painful to think of Rose returning to drunkenness, swearing, hitting and possible exposure to the same adult behavior that caused her to become "sexualized" in the first place. But when I turned to God in prayer I saw Jesus walking alongside her as she went to live with her dad. The Lord was not abandoning her. He would be with her every moment of every day. Patrick and I could keep praying for her. I hoped that she would remember how to sing "Jesus Loves Me" if she became sad. Jordan probably had a good arsenal of songs about God's love that he learned from the pastor's family.

The day before Rose was supposed to return to her dad's, we got a call to take in an eight-month-old boy named Wyatt. He had suffered from withdrawal symptoms for weeks after his birth due to exposure to methamphetamines in the womb. He had been exposed to meth again recently since his mom smoked it in their tiny government subsidized apartment. Patrick and I were planning on taking a month off from foster parenting to allow ourselves time to grieve the loss of Rose, but the placement worker said he needed care for just a few days until his grandparents could reach the city. The snowy mountain roads they had to take were too dangerous due to the snowstorm that had hit the area.

I agreed to take him, figuring we wouldn't get picked by the caseworker anyway since we still had Rose in our home for another day and we had been passed over for the last six babies we were notified about. Also, if we did get chosen, Wyatt would be gone soon, then Patrick and I could take time off to recuperate before our next children arrived.

I was surprised to hear we got chosen to take Wyatt after all. Apparently, his caseworker and Rose's caseworker sat next to each other in the DHS office and they decided we should get him. I was a little disappointed because I wanted a break so badly. At least we already had most of what he needed as far as diapers, formula and baby food for a few days. And we had outfits in his size.

Poor Wyatt arrived quite bewildered. I could see that he had attached well with his mom which was a wonderful thing, but he was at such a tender age that the separation caused him great distress. Every time I left the room, then returned, he'd lift his head up hoping to see his mom. When he realized I wasn't her, he'd hang his head and cry. He was so pitiful. My heart ached for him as I looked into his tired blue eyes, reddened from all the tears. He was an adorable blonde husky boy with surprisingly little fat for a baby. I couldn't get over how large his leg muscles were. I later deduced that he must have been left for hours at a time to rock back and forth in an exersaucer when his mom was high.

I was glad that Rose wanted to hold Wyatt and sing. I filmed her rocking him while singing "Jesus Loves the Little Children." He finally looked somewhat content. They made such a sweet pair. Suddenly, I was struck with the fantastic idea of God making a way for both of them to stay with us somehow.

Wyatt couldn't eat or drink much that first day because his little world was still spinning and he couldn't get his bearings. I worried about him especially when his first poop was small, black and hardened almost like a rock. What kind of diet had this child been on? The doctor told me to have him drink a lot, but it took awhile for his system to become normal.

Then the long awaited dreaded day came for us to hand Rose over to Carrie in the DHS parking lot. The plan was that she would then drive her to Rick's. I had been advised not to tell Rose about her leaving us until that morning. In hopes of softening the blow and cementing in Rose's heart that I loved her dearly, I composed a very simple song where I repeated, "Mommy loves you, Mommy loves you...yes, she does." I rocked her in my arms and sang it over and over. She enjoyed it. I told her she'd see Jordan every day and they'd go to daycare together. I packed toys for her to bring to her dad's. When I told her that Patrick and I would miss her, I saw that it was starting to sink in that she was leaving us. Rose's brow furrowed as she held a toy behind her head and contemplated throwing it at me, but she refrained.

When we arrived at DHS, I was surprised to see Rick in the parking lot along with Carrie. At least I could thank him for serving our country as I had been wanting to do for some time. I also said I was happy for him that he could get his kids back before Christmas. As we hugged Rose good-bye, she looked confused. She had no idea she'd never see us again. When I looked at her for the last time I couldn't hold back the tears. Carrie nervously ordered me to quickly get in our car. I knew she was trying to protect Rose, but her commanding voice felt like another slap in the face.

As Rose drove off with her dad, Carrie walked away joyfully and offered to answer our questions about Wyatt if we had any - as if having him was supposed to cheer us up! I was still reeling after his caseworker had told me earlier that day that it was impossible for us to adopt him because his mom was highly motivated to get clean and two sets of grandparents had already been approved to take him if necessary. Wyatt's case with DHS had been open since his birth so there had been plenty of time to investigate his relatives.

It was a crushing blow to be told Wyatt was not adoptable on the same day we had to relinquish Rose. The grandparents had not come to rescue him as expected and the caseworker admitted she wasn't sure when they were coming. We could possibly have him for three months while his mom tried to prove that she was a responsible parent. Since she was living in town, she preferred that her son stay in a foster home near her so she could see him twice a week at supervised visits. Her parents lived too far away and she refused to move in with them.

Grief stricken over losing Rose, I was on the verge of telling the caseworker that I wanted to send Wyatt to another foster home before he got settled in with us. I believed that I was in no condition to care for a lovable child I knew would be ripped from my arms in a few months. What if for some odd reason his case got dragged out like Rose's had and I invested almost a year in his life only to start over with another child? How long was this cycle going to continue and how old was I going to be before we could adopt? Plus, God had told me to look forward to the next two children and Wyatt was just one child. It couldn't be God's will for us to adopt him. So I prayed for him to leave us soon because the longer he stayed, the longer I'd have to wait for the opportunity to become a mom. Patrick grieved the loss of Rose more than I did, but was willing to keep Wyatt as long as needed. Again, he had so much more patience than I did.

**Chapter 19 - The Cry of Abandonment**

""Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends." John 15:13

Over the next few days I wrestled with God, trying to discern what we should do with Wyatt since the caseworker said he would never be eligible for adoption. I wondered if God was testing me. Then I felt him indeed challenging me to selflessly love and care for this child even if it meant my heart would be torn once more by great loss when he left. I told God I was too much of an emotional wreck with eight kids going in and out of our home in the last ten months to be able to deal with further loss so soon. Nevertheless, the challenge stood. A couple weeks later I acquiesced and agreed to face God's test because that's what his love is all about: giving of ourselves freely to those who cannot give us anything in return. Maybe God would allow us to adopt the next children if we were faithful to serve Wyatt.

So I braced myself for another roller coaster ride, trusting that God would give me the strength to carry me through. Wyatt was not an easy baby. At least he quickly started sleeping through the night, but it was probably because he barely slept during the day. He was so cranky that I felt like I was caring for a colicky baby. He was missing his mom and perhaps his system was still coping with the meth exposure. He had hours where he was happy, but his frequent crying spells were draining.

It was odd how Wyatt had the habit of rocking from side to side whether he was being held or not. He even rocked while sitting in the highchair when I tried to feed him. I'd try to insert the spoon in his swinging mouth at just the right time and kept thinking, "This is nuts!" Then I realized if I held my hand by one side of his head he stopped rocking. I assumed the repetitive movement was a soothing mechanism, but I also feared he might be displaying a sign of autism, though I was no expert.

When I took Wyatt to his first visit with his mom, I noticed how naïve and perplexed she looked as her head darted from person to person as they took turns informing her of the procedures. It appeared as though she might start crying at any moment. Sarah was stocky with chestnut curls framing a pretty face.

In her early twenties, she was already seeking a divorce from her husband after being involved with Wyatt's dad, Troy, for several years. Troy was not allowed to have visits because, as I was told, he was a very dangerous man. No one would explain what he had done that was so objectionable. I got worried and wondered if he might try to abduct Wyatt at the visitation center or locate our house and harass us. So every time I left the center I made sure no one was following me. What kind of a mess had we stepped into? I wished the placement worker had given me more information, but they always said they didn't know much.

I was glad Wyatt was able to see his mom again, but he didn't seem any more settled afterwards. I got him toys and more clothes as I prepared to keep him for two to three months. All the while we kept hoping that Rose would be returned to us. I never did find out who she was sent to live with. All I knew was that she was with her brother. I happened to be at the visitation center when Jordan was visiting with his biological dad who looked close to my age. Rick was a nervous wreck as he stood on the porch, watching the two of them play in the center's playground. Jordan's dad decided to return home without his son probably realizing Rick had become the real father over the years as he helped raise him.

I was surprised by how quickly my great sorrow over losing Rose eased into a mildly sad acceptance. The distraction of taking care of Wyatt helped and I was thankful that I didn't have to deal with her combative moments anymore. I was fine as long as I didn't watch our home videos that reminded me of how adorable she was.

Still desiring the break we never got since we lost Rose, we were thrilled to hear Wyatt's grandfather wanted to take him and Sarah for three days over the Christmas holiday. Patrick and I took an invigorating hike in the wilderness on a bitterly cold day. We got a late start, so on the return trip we hurriedly tromped down snowy slopes as the darkness enfolded us.

The trail was eerily quiet with not another soul for miles around. I kept searching the landscape for cougars and bears. Soon we had only the moonlight to reveal the path as it meandered through trees and under large boulders where creatures of the forest could hide. I had never seen the snow glow with such a pale blue-gray light. I was awestruck by the millions of stars twinkling across the clear winter sky and stopped to soak in the rare beauty of it all. When we finally reached the car I thanked God for the welcomed change of pace and for keeping us safe.

Opening presents on Christmas day was lonely with just the two of us. There were no squeals of delight over new toys. No tiny sticky mouths begged us for more candy. Bright red stockings and pretty wrapping paper were the only colorful reminders that we were celebrating a joyous holiday. I became all the more determined to continue foster parenting until we adopted so we could have that wonderful family experience someday.

When the time came to pick up Wyatt, I felt badly for Sarah as she clung to him, relishing every last second. I told her I hoped she would get him back soon since I knew how much Wyatt missed her. His grandpa called him "Smiley" because he had been so happy during the visit and always wanted to sit on Sarah's lap. He must have been able to nap well at their house, relaxing with the sound of familiar voices.

As soon as I put Wyatt in his car seat, he realized he was leaving his mom and started crying. My heart sank. Sarah couldn't bear to hear it and quickly jumped in her dad's pickup. As I drove through the dark night Wyatt's cries intensified with a guttural grief flowing from a belief that once again he had been utterly rejected and abandoned by his mother. Never in my life had I heard a baby cry so deeply. The incredible anguish of the helpless baby left me sobbing as I clung to the steering wheel and tried to keep track of where I was going.

I cried out, "Oh, God! I can't handle witnessing such immense pain! Why did you allow this precious child to suffer so much while still a baby?" I wanted to make everything better for Wyatt, but I couldn't. My arms were not the familiar arms of his mother, so they brought him little consolation. The tragedy of our situation was hard to deal with. I yearned to be his mother and love him and bring healing to him, but I was a stranger he couldn't trust yet.

Later, I told Wyatt's second caseworker, Leslie, about his strong reaction to leaving his mother after the extended visit, so she decided there would only be short supervised visits from then on. What a relief!

I was grateful that it didn't take too long for Wyatt to start bonding with Patrick and myself and feel comforted as we held him. Because he had been closely attached to his mother, it was easier for him to build trust with us. I was blessed to see his fun-loving nature shine as he often laughed when he played. He was fascinated by all the toys and books. He quickly regained a good appetite and seemed strong and healthy.

My days were getting better except for the ongoing bouts of wailing. During those times I seriously wondered if I had what it took to be a foster mom. Occasionally, I knew it was good for the both of us if I put him in his crib for a little while to get a break. Yet I could still hear him crying through the walls of our small house. I felt like a negligent person and worried that his heart was getting wounded further. I was in torment because this child needed more than I had to give.

I longed for a break, but we didn't have a trustworthy sitter and our money was tight. Nor did I have a friend I felt comfortable bothering to come relieve me for a couple hours because they lived across town. The women who worked at our gym's daycare said they didn't hold babies, though they accepted them, which made no sense. I felt badly when I picked Wyatt up one day and found him crying in a swing, so I never brought him back. I was suffering with insomnia every other night and was just exhausted. To make things worse, my women's Bible study had taken a two month break so I was feeling very isolated.

At least I had Patrick to relieve me one or two nights per week. Just shopping alone at a busy grocery store became a treat. It was strange how I often felt God's loving presence come upon me while walking through the parking lot. As I approached the sliding automatic doors, the cares of the world would slip away. God meets us wherever he can.

**Chapter 20 - Threats to Security and Privacy**

"Jonah obeyed the word of the Lord and went to Nineveh." Jonah 3:3

I kept hoping and praying to get pregnant even though I was forty-six so I could quit foster parenting. That was the easiest way out of all this misery. So I researched how to boost fertility, downplaying the fact that I only had a 1% chance of getting pregnant at my age. "God could work a miracle," I told myself. I just wanted to be a mom! I tried to live a healthier lifestyle, but nothing was working. And so I had no choice but to keep persevering in the foster world.

Sarah's first hearing came up about a month after we got Wyatt. Her dad wanted Wyatt in court because he was expecting to take him home that day. He didn't know that it would take at least a few days after a hearing for a child to make such a transition. I prayed for Wyatt to be sent to his grandparents since they seemed to want him very badly and I was so worn out. Otherwise, we were looking at keeping him until early March which was a minimum of ninety days for Sarah to stay drug free. Sarah had a pattern of staying clean three to four months, then using again, so she would probably make the court's minimum requirement. That didn't sound like the best future for a baby, but what could I do about it?

The judge ended up ordering that we keep Wyatt until early March. I was so upset that I almost called our agency to have them send him to another home. But when I prayed about it, I felt God telling me that he would somehow send me relief from Wyatt's crying to help me endure. Since Sarah couldn't have her son back yet, she still wanted him to continue in foster care where she could visit him more easily. So I was stuck for a longer period of bonding with a baby I'd have to send away eventually.

I read the book of Jonah and pondered how God could motivate someone running in the opposite direction from his plan to turn around and do his will. If the Lord was able to get Jonah to preach salvation to a people he didn't care about by sending a big fish to swallow him for three days and humble him, he could move me to continue caring for difficult children and supply me with the strength I needed for each day. I didn't want God to have to send some type of big fish to humble me and motivate me to follow through with his plan.

Finally, I told some friends about Wyatt's inability to nap well and they prayed for him. God had mercy and answered swiftly. Within a couple days Wyatt started taking two hour naps and behaved like any normal contented baby. It was a genuine miracle! I believed God had healed a lot of the damage from meth exposure so he could relax more. My days were pleasant again. I was able to take Wyatt to playgrounds and the store more often and loved watching him have fun exploring the world around him where everything was new.

I confessed to Patrick that occasionally I had thoughts pass through my head that Wyatt would become our son. He said he never thought about it because we were told he was not adoptable. He still missed Rose and wanted her back. I figured that she was long gone and I had to move on. However, I didn't want to keep deceiving myself as I had with other foster children, so I kept pushing the thoughts of being able to adopt Wyatt to the back of my mind. I had to wait and see what would happen.

For awhile we visited other churches trying to find an adoption group where we could fit in. I got excited about checking out a group called "God's Children" because I was told they had adoption as one of their themes. It really should have been called "Fertile Couples" since almost every couple had at least four biological children. No one had adopted kids yet, but one family with five children was about to adopt two older children from Haiti. I was impressed.

It was fun to see the home bustling with about forty-five people of all ages grabbing dinner, chatting, laughing and then worshipping together. When it came time for the lesson all the kids went to play in other rooms with the older ones watching the younger ones, but we were told that Wyatt was too young to join them. He started getting fussy as the lesson started, so we had to leave. Patrick wanted to become a part of the group, but I couldn't bear being the only couple with no children when everyone else had so many. Being around them accentuated my feeling of deprivation and abnormality.

It wasn't long before the drama with Wyatt's parents started. Sarah reported that she had an encounter with Wyatt's dad, Troy, on the street where he roughed her up because he had found out their son was in foster care. He was probably angry not only because he wanted to see Wyatt on occasion, but he was their ticket to an apartment completely paid for by the government.

With all the mess that ensued with Wyatt's case, I was extremely grateful for his CASA, Beatrice, who was assigned to him when he was two months old. She was retired from the mission field in South America and, as a volunteer representing him, she eagerly put her heart and many hours into his case, often functioning like a hired detective. Even though she was a thin, small woman, she had the courage to make surprise visits alone to Sarah's apartment in an effort to discover what was really going on.

Sarah didn't take kindly to the unannounced visits and would stand leaning in her doorway swearing at Beatrice while smoking a cigarette. I was surprised to hear that Sarah had such an abrasive side to her. Fortunately, Wyatt always looked well cared for and there was adequate food for him in the kitchen. But since Sarah claimed that no one else lived in the apartment, Beatrice kept a sharp eye out for evidence that Troy had been around. She found male toiletry items and art work not done by Sarah (Troy was the artistic one). Another time there was a large collection of TVs that Sarah could not possibly have gathered without a car. But she never actually saw Troy at Sarah's apartment, so she couldn't prove that the items belonged to him.

Just one hour before I had to take Wyatt to a visit one day, Beatrice warned me to watch out for Troy in the visitation center parking lot because, as she had told me before, "He is a very dangerous man." What was the reason for her warning that day? Troy wasn't allowed to see Wyatt, but I had no idea why and I knew he could easily show up with Sarah to the visits and stay outside the building if he felt so inclined. I was a nervous wreck as I headed downtown. I called Leslie and two women at our agency to let them know I was now very uncomfortable bringing Wyatt to visits, but I couldn't speak with anyone directly.

I fumed as I thought about how the visitation center was the most inane setup as it provided ample opportunity for violent parents to harm or abduct their children. There were no security guards, just a few helpless women who managed the scheduling and sat in the visitation rooms to observe. One door was locked where the birth parents were supposed to enter, but the door on the opposite side for foster parents and caseworkers was never locked during visits as far as I knew. Anyone could peacefully enter and quickly make their way around the main floor and push their way through if any of the women tried to stop them.

When I arrived at the center, I called to tell them I didn't feel comfortable getting out of the car with Wyatt and asked them to please take him into the building for me. They complied that day, but the woman said she wouldn't be there to get him the following week. My imagination was getting the best of me wondering what in the world Troy had done, so I said I might try to arrange for someone else to bring him to visits because I was not going to do it if no one could come to the car. She was clearly aggravated and claimed she knew nothing about the case, but suggested perhaps Troy had merely committed some minor sexual offense. Ah, finally a clue. She added that Wyatt was placed in foster care due to his mom's drug use, not because of anything Troy had done. That was not reassuring at all since I knew there was a no contact order between Troy and Wyatt.

As soon as I returned home I checked out Colorado's registered sex offenders on the internet and found Troy. His dark, defiant expression made me shudder. He had committed some kind of sexual offense against a minor. Well, that was not something to minimize. Then I became quite fearful when I read he had been imprisoned in the past for second degree assault with a deadly weapon. What exactly had he done? Did he shoot someone? It was a good thing he wasn't a huge man or I might have become a basket case. His height and weight were close to mine, so I took a little comfort in that. I made certain I had mace in my car after that. At least I now knew who to look out for and what kind of a man I was dealing with.

Leslie had claimed to know nothing about Troy's criminal past, so I quickly called her to describe his crimes. However, she cut me off as though it was old news and tried to downplay it all. Even though I was supposedly a veteran foster mom by this point, I was still very hurt by her lack of empathy. How was I supposed to make sure this precious boy was safe? She offered no help. Everyone acted like Troy's potential knowledge of the time and place of Wyatt's visits was no big deal. But I felt strongly otherwise.

It wasn't long before I heard a report that a man with Troy's description had been standing outside one of the windows of the visitation center. Sarah had held Wyatt up to the window for the man to see. Then the visit supervisor saw what was going on and told Sarah to get away from the window. That incident must have happened the day I picked up Wyatt and noticed all the workers looked away from me when I walked through the door. They had a strangely hostile manner about them. They probably felt uncomfortable about the fact that an ignorant foster mom was right about potential danger to a child.

So twice a week I fretted about being physically assaulted and pictured Wyatt being ripped from my arms and carried away to some unknown location. Since Sarah had recently lost her apartment, the people on Wyatt's case weren't sure where she was staying. I was suffering from insomnia again and was fighting the start of a cold. Once more I wanted to send Wyatt to another family to be free from the fear, but by then he was really bonding with us and a move would have been hard on him. So I kept praying for God's protection and soon I was able to sleep better because there was a break in the visits for a week and I had not experienced any encounters with Troy.

One evening at our agency's foster parent support group I spoke with the caseworkers' supervisor. She was one of the few people at the agency who I felt cared about what foster parents went through. I confessed that the past year had been one of the worst years of my life and that I needed a break after Wyatt left. She said we could take only a two to three week reprieve. I didn't realize breaks were limited. That really bothered me because I needed more time to get refreshed. Then she said because we have stuck with the children placed in our home she would keep us in mind when she got notices of the younger legally free children. Also, she would make sure we got babies as our future foster children because they are more likely to become adoptable. That gave me some peace. Then I wondered how much favoritism played a part in the placement of children in certain homes.

I was glad when our home supervisor later told me that foster parents can take off as much time as they like. So I planned on us taking two to three months off once Wyatt left in March or June. I started dreaming about touring Utah's parks and then visiting family in Michigan. At least we were able to hike new trails almost every weekend in the meantime. The day trips into the wilderness were lifesavers for our mental state. Wyatt was a happy traveler in the covered carrier on Patrick's back even when it was a little cold outside.

**Chapter 21 - Filling the Mother Void**

"Because of the increase of wickedness, the love of most will grow cold..." Matthew 24:13

In February I got shocking news. Sarah, who appeared so motivated to cooperate with all that the judge told her to do as she nodded emphatically in court, had missed a urine analysis (UA) even though she was so close to getting Wyatt back. When a parent missed a drug test, everyone concluded that they had used drugs. So Sarah was back to square one having to prove once again for the next three months that she could stay clean. Plus, Sarah had been missing therapy sessions. Why on earth would she give up completing such easy requirements when her parental rights were in question? Perhaps she threw her hands in the air in defeat because Leslie was requiring that she get a job to become more independent. Sarah hadn't had a job in years and few people would hire someone in her situation.

Initially, I felt bad for Sarah who had sabotaged her dream to get her son back. Then I felt bad for Patrick and myself having to keep Wyatt through early June until his grandparents could get custody. We were looking at four more months of getting deeply attached to him only to have our hearts ripped apart. Then I walked softly into Wyatt's moon lit room and stood beside his crib as he slept peacefully. I pitied this helpless child who was completely unaware of the storm that raged around him, determining his destiny.

Suddenly, my heart was pierced with deep pain for Wyatt knowing that once more his mom had rejected him by returning to drugs. She had chosen her own pleasure over making the necessary sacrifices to get him back. I heard that meth was a very hard drug to get off of, but from my perspective, letting go of Wyatt would be much harder. I had never been addicted to anything (except sugar), so it was difficult for me to enter Sarah's world. I knew she needed a residential rehabilitation program, but I was told that the limited spaces in town were reserved for those who looked like they had more of a chance of recovery.

This beautiful boy didn't deserve to be treated with such little regard over and over again. My heart melted toward him like it never had before as I felt a strong desire rise within me to fill the mother void Sarah had created in his life. Abandoning all efforts to guard my heart, I invested myself even more into loving him and being attentive, knowing God would help me somehow to move on after he left us for his grandparents' home.

Another court date came up in March when Sarah's attorney surprised me by claiming complete innocence on his client's part for missing a UA and having a diluted one from drinking too much water beforehand. He claimed that a mix up on times was the reason for her missing four counseling sessions. However, DHS had all the proof they needed in writing from the drug testing and therapy clinics to cause Sarah's visits with Wyatt to be temporarily suspended.

Beatrice suggested to the judge that Sarah take an IQ test to determine if she qualified for SSI benefits since she had such a poor work history and couldn't seem to get a job at the present time. I noticed that Sarah's face filled with fear as she asked her friend what an IQ test was – a sure sign that she needed one. I heard later that she was assessed as functioning at the fourth grade level even though she completed the eleventh grade. How she was moved up to high school was beyond me.

Sarah had been living with an older woman since she lost her apartment. She brought the woman to court hoping to get permission for Wyatt to move in with them. Beatrice checked out the house later that day and said it was a "rat's nest" and no place for a baby. Besides, it was right across the street from where Troy was living with his mother. How could they possibly maintain their no contact order? Leslie did some investigating and said the friend's house couldn't be an option for Wyatt given her history, whatever that was. Great! That was a closed door.

At the next court date in April Sarah gave the judge strong assurances that she would do what she was supposed to. She left the courtroom smiling and brimming over with confidence as if she knew she would get Wyatt back soon. A sick fear struck my heart as I watched her pass by. Would she really do what was necessary to get him back? How long would her "recovery" last? Caseworkers only checked on children for two months after they were returned home, so she wouldn't have to stay clean for long.

By that point I no longer had any desire for Sarah to get Wyatt back because I didn't trust her to stay clean and keep her son safe. Even with Sarah's strong show in court of turning over a new leaf, she missed another UA right after the hearing. I couldn't believe it! I concluded that she was a great actress. Her excuse for missing the UA was that she was busy that afternoon doing all the other things the judge had told her to do, so everyone should understand. Leslie scoffed. At Sarah's last therapy session she kept making everything everyone else's fault, refusing to take responsibility for her actions, so a dramatic lifestyle change was unlikely.

With all the unpredictability of the case I continued to have my moments of falling apart and begged God for his will to be accomplished soon. God's promise that something "very good" was going to happen could take many more years. I was exhausted from trying so hard throughout our marriage to become a mother. What if I was seventy before our kids graduated from high school? That is, if we could ever adopt. A profound loneliness and unbearable thoughts of remaining childless forever haunted me.

One night I had a horrifying nightmare where I was rushing to my car to escape from a dangerous man. I managed to get the car door closed, but it didn't matter because a very dark and overpowering evil presence entered my car anyway. Immediately, I was surrounded by swirling chaos, doom and fear as a menacing voice said, "I want to destroy you!" The chilling words pierced deep into the core of my soul, creating a moment of sheer terror. I struggled to speak Jesus' name while the fear had me in a stranglehold. Finally I was able to whisper, "Be gone in the name of Jesus!" The evil darkness disappeared in an instant. I awoke with my heart pounding and short of breath.

After that I was afraid to fall asleep, so Patrick and I prayed for God's peace to fill me. Much to my relief I didn't have any more dreadful dreams of that nature. God had a specific plan for me that the enemy of my soul wanted to thwart with intense discouragement. I had to fight against it and resolve to maintain my hope in God's goodness and power.

The truth of John 10:10 became very apparent, "The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full." I was determined to keep believing for the full life that Jesus had purchased for me by his death on the cross. When God the Father raised Jesus from the dead, he "seated him at his right hand in the heavenly realms, far above all rule and authority, power and dominion" (Ephesians 1:20-21). There was no reason for me to be afraid knowing my Father, the omnipotent God, was with me every step of the way.

Each week I looked forward to the dynamic worship at our charismatic church where the presence of God was so tangible. I would enter the sanctuary expectantly and plead with God to encourage me. Inevitably, he would meet with me and speak a life-giving word to my heart that would put my trials in proper perspective, relieving me of burdensome worry as I saw hazy, but penetrating images in my mind of God's glory. I don't know how I would have persevered without those weekly powerful encounters with the Lord's love.

Back in February, the Lord told me to go ahead and bond with Wyatt and added, "You won't regret it." So I invested more of my heart in him. Soon Wyatt got so attached to me that after he had spent a rare evening at my friend's home so Patrick and I could go out to eat, he cried every time I left the room. He wanted to be with me constantly. Maybe he was afraid of losing me like he had lost his mother.

As the months went by Wyatt grew increasingly adorable. He was on target developmentally and did well pushing a toy shopping cart around our home. He had stopped rocking back and forth awhile ago. We eagerly waited for his first steps, which came shortly before his first birthday. How sad that his mom had to miss that grand occasion. I was intent on capturing such special moments on video and took many photos from the beginning of his time with us just in case God worked a miracle and made him ours. No matter what negative things anyone said about a case, in the back of my mind I always held onto the chance that God might do the impossible.

I was very glad I had been preserving memories when I heard Sarah's dad and step mom might be dragging their feet about getting custody of Wyatt since their money was tight. They didn't seem very interested in custody after all because they hadn't visited him since they saw him last Christmas even though they lived just an hour from town. I couldn't get the whole story, so I didn't know what to expect. However, my hopes of adopting Wyatt started to blossom very gradually as I prayed for God to speak to my heart.

With Wyatt happy as a clam at home, the hardest part of my job became taking him to visits with his mom. I was getting fed up with Sarah ignoring me when I'd greet her. She wouldn't even look at me, but fixed her eyes solidly on her son as I handed him over. Her disdain reminded me of Rose's mom. However, if I mentioned specifics about what Wyatt had done over the past week, she gave me her attention, but only to a point.

One time I spoke rapidly for the sake of time about a list of things that were important regarding Wyatt and was perplexed when Sarah turned away after a couple minutes to watch another family nearby. I continued talking to the air. At first I thought she could care less about Wyatt, then I realized she may have had Attention Deficit Disorder so I tried not to overwhelm her with too much information at once. Even so, after awhile I felt like a useless old rag in her presence because Sarah didn't bother to express any gratitude for all I had been doing for her son.

My consolation came when I noticed Wyatt had clearly become more attached to me than to his mom. When I arrived to pick him up, he no longer showed any concern about leaving her and leaned over to come into my arms. Sarah's frowns made it obvious that she was bothered by his change of heart. Still, she wasn't motivated to try harder to get him back.

**Chapter 22 - The List of Custody Options**

"...new things I declare; before they spring into being I announce them to you." Isaiah 42:9

As spring approached with warmer days, I took Wyatt to parks more often to enjoy the fresh air and help him climb around. One morning I thought of how precious he was as he experimented with sifting grains of sand through his chubby fingers. In my heart I said to the Lord, "You created such a beautiful boy. It's too bad his mom used meth." Then I heard God reply clearly in a loving tone, "He is yours."

I was filled with wonder and delight. How was God going to work this out when no one had mentioned that we had any chance of adopting Wyatt? I paused to soak in what I just heard. It was rare for God to speak so plainly to my heart. He didn't say, "He will be yours." He used the present tense, "He IS yours." As the Alpha and Omega, God sees the end from the beginning, so he knew Wyatt would legally become our son someday. Therefore, I could have peace and regard Wyatt as mine from that moment on.

We had a son! Or...did we? Right away doubts crept in. I'd have to wait in faith to see how everything would play out during the rest of his case. I told Patrick about my "revelation," but he said the whole matter was too speculative at that point since it would be months before we found out who would keep him. He didn't want to get his hopes up too high and risk the possibility of them crashing down.

If Wyatt truly was our son, that could explain why I had lost my drive to continue foster parenting. I had a settled feeling. I sensed God saying that we had been through enough losses with children coming and going. At another time I thought I heard God say, "See how I will part the waters, removing every obstacle, one after another, so that you can adopt Wyatt."

About a week later I was buckling Wyatt in his car seat when I felt God telling me that he wanted us to take in another child. I figured he was speaking about an older child because I wanted Wyatt to have a sibling. So I waited with a mild sense of expectation about getting a call from our agency regarding another placement within the next couple of months.

In the meantime, prayers kept going up from my women's group for God to prevent Wyatt from moving to his grandparents' home. Leslie had started a kinship study on them to get them approved for custody. The step-grandma worked full-time and already had her son's family living with them, so she lamented that she didn't have the time for another grandchild. If Wyatt was sent to live with them, her son's very young girlfriend would be caring for him along with her infant and toddler. Why would she want to care for someone else's child full-time for free? The grandparents didn't have much money to pay her. I imagined Wyatt crying and sitting in a corner being ignored while the new mother focused on her own children. I couldn't bear it.

I figured that only Wyatt's grandfather would welcome him warmly, but he had to go to work and couldn't be the primary person caring for him. I heard that the grandfather protested when he was told that he had to meet some stipulations before DHS would approve him for custody. So Wyatt's first caseworker had been wrong about the grandparents being approved last year by DHS. Either that or at this stage there was more to go through for approval. I wasn't sure. Anyway, a weight was lifted from my shoulders when I heard about the grandparents' new resistance to taking custody of Wyatt. God was moving to fulfill his word spoken to me at the playground.

With that encouraging news I changed my mind and decided to attend the next hearing. With the removal of the immediate threat of losing Wyatt, Beatrice advised me to attend all hearings to prove to the judge that I was very interested in adopting him. I decided to put together photo albums for Wyatt's mom and grandparents to show them how happy he was living with us and how good his life was with all the activities we provided. My goal was to sway them into giving up their fight for custody. Beatrice wanted Patrick and I to meet with Wyatt's family so they could see for themselves how good we were for their little boy, but Leslie said it was too early for that.

Added to the potential custody mix were Sarah's two great-grandma's and two younger sisters who were single moms with toddlers. Not knowing much about these relatives, I got nervous and kept telling myself that Wyatt "IS" ours to boost my faith. Apparently, Sarah's sisters wanted to give Wyatt the impression when he got older that his birth family really wanted him by engaging in some kind of custody battle. However, they weren't attractive custody options given their partying ways (I did some probing on Sarah's family once I located her on Facebook). But I never knew what a caseworker would ultimately decide, so I imagined my innocent boy being trucked off to some strange far away place where he would likely have a rough life.

Nothing much happened at the next hearing except someone mentioned that the grandfather told DHS he would not take Wyatt. I was extremely relieved to hear it was definite. However, he didn't have the courage to show up in court or tell Sarah himself, so she found out from Leslie, right before court. I saw her standing in the hallway crying. Not knowing what had just transpired, I gave her a pat on the shoulder as I handed her the latest photo album of Wyatt. She flipped through the pages, trying to see the pictures through her tears.

So the next plan was to do a home study on Sarah's mom and step-dad who were moving from one state to another. Leslie had to wait until they were settled in their new place before she could start the investigation. Because they lived outside of Colorado, it could take months for the home study to be completed. I was wilting under the load of endless waiting.

Sarah's mom didn't sound like a good option either because both she and her husband worked full-time and Sarah's pregnant sister was going to live with them along with her toddler. Their plan was to have Sarah live with them and care for Wyatt and get a job. They claimed that somehow they would be able to keep Sarah off drugs. That was unrealistic because they had no way to supervise her while they worked. Besides, I expected that Sarah would take off with Wyatt and return to Colorado and the current man in her life the first opportunity she had.

In May Sarah's mom passed through town enroute to her new home several states away and tried to set up a visit to see Wyatt. She only had a two hour window on a Saturday, but the visit had to be supervised and Leslie was out of town and Beatrice had a wedding to attend that afternoon. I was appalled that Wyatt's grandma didn't make more of an effort to see him by spending at least one night in a hotel before leaving Colorado. Her indifference explained to me some of Sarah's unwillingness to make major sacrifices for her son in order to get him back.

When Beatrice asked the grandma for Sarah's phone number (no one had it at the time), she refused to give it. This angered Beatrice who figured the grandma would repeatedly cover for Sarah instead of putting Wyatt's safety first. Apparently, the grandma didn't know she was supposed to cooperate with those working on Wyatt's case in order to improve her chances for custody. A small breeze of relief swept over me as my hope grew once more.

Leslie waited month after month for the grandma to fill out the necessary paperwork to get the home study started and there was one excuse after another. Most likely the step-father was dragging his feet. Also, I couldn't figure out why Sarah wasn't doing her part in providing the needed paperwork on Wyatt to help get the ball rolling. With all the delays, the grandma quietly disappeared for the time being.

During her May visit Leslie suggested for the first time that we might be able to adopt Wyatt. It was wonderful news to be sure, but after hearing the same thing from Rose's caseworker, I was cautiously optimistic and kept trying to believe God would make it happen. She told me to fill out a form in court to make us an interested party in his case, then we would receive her detailed reports and be better informed. We learned a lot during the hearings, but now we could know even more.

I found out later that she should have told us three months into Wyatt's case that we could become an interested party. Rose's caseworker had never mentioned our right to more detailed case information as foster parents. Apparently, caseworkers know how much foster parents can get wrapped up in the welfare of the children in their homes so they often try to hold them at bay and keep them in the dark as long as possible. We knew a couple who had hired a lawyer to keep them informed of every detail of their foster daughter's case, but the added expense didn't help anything get done in a more timely or organized manner.

For Wyatt's one-year birthday Sarah brought him a cake decorated with cars and brightly colored frosting. She said she had been planning how to celebrate his first birthday from the time he was born. I was struck by how sentimental she was. Wyatt got excited about digging into the treat, but managed to contain himself and pose first for pictures with Sarah. I was glad she agreed to have me take the photos so I could give her copies and also have pictures of her to show Wyatt when he got older if we ended up adopting him.

When I was out walking at a park, the social worker supervising the visit called and asked me to return early so I could take more pictures. I was delighted to find Wyatt laughing and having so much fun with his mom as he smeared frosting on her face. He was stripped down to his diaper because he had gotten cake all over himself. His beaming face was as colorful as a clown's. That was how I wanted to remember the two of them. Sarah had a gift for bringing out his playful side.

After Wyatt's next visit with Sarah, she casually said her son would be moving to her dad's after all as if she knew the matter had already been decided. I panicked, but nodded and tried to look unruffled. My stomach got queasy as I plummeted down a severe drop on the foster parent roller coaster. With fear raging I quickly contacted Beatrice and Leslie who said the grandfather had remained withdrawn from consideration for custody. Ahhhh, my nerves slowly unwound. In order to stay in his daughter's good graces and give her temporary peace of mind, he must have been telling Sarah that he wanted to take Wyatt and that everything would work out.

At forty-seven I believed God had said that year would be one of blessings as we waited for him to grow our family. I saw how he had already blessed us by moving us to one of the most beautiful states in the country and providing a truly inspiring church. I believed adopting Wyatt would be our next big blessing. Psalm 127:3 spoke volumes to me about the incredible gift adopted children can be, "Sons are a heritage from the Lord, children a reward from him." Wyatt didn't have to be our biological son to be our heritage and reward from God. I waited expectantly for him to build our house.

**Chapter 23 - A Poisonous Womb**

"I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well." Psalm 139:14

One day when I was picking Wyatt up from a visit I noticed that Sarah grabbed her lower abdomen while she grimaced a bit. Then her discomfort passed and she was fine. Right away I wondered if she was pregnant. She had started wearing loose fitting shirts perhaps to hide a growing waistline. My head was spinning as I brought Wyatt to the car. Sarah had just started seeing another man a couple months ago after breaking up with Troy. How far along was she and who was the father?

I immediately felt as though that was my baby inside Sarah since I knew we could become the foster parents once she gave birth given that DHS preferred to keep siblings together. She was not even pretending to follow any treatment plan by that point, so I didn't expect her to be granted custody. At first I was giddy with excitement, then my joy became mixed with fear over the health of the baby. How much meth was Sarah using? I had no way of knowing. I never could tell if someone was high or not, though one time I noticed her eyes had an unusual gleam when she smiled as though she was feeling immense ecstasy.

And so began my excruciatingly painful journey that summer of praying in earnest for God to miraculously protect the baby from all harmful substances. I told everyone on Wyatt's case about my suspicion, but no one wanted to ask her directly if she was pregnant. I wasn't about to upset her with such a question since I had to maintain a good repoire to keep her from requesting that Wyatt be transferred to a different foster home. I figured she wanted to keep her pregnancy a "secret" as long a possible to avoid further harassment and perhaps attempt to hide the baby once it was born.

It wasn't until July when it was quite obvious that a baby was growing inside of her that gutsy Beatrice bluntly asked Sarah if she was pregnant and when she was due. She admitted she was expecting a girl in September. Patrick and I were overjoyed to hear we could have both a boy and a girl. But sadly, there was nothing anyone could do to protect the little girl from drug exposure as she developed. I knew meth could be causing problems with the formation of her brain and also damage her heart. I was outraged and despondent. No law had been written to protect the unborn child of a known drug addict. In my opinion Sarah was committing child abuse and should have been placed in a locked down facility to ensure she had no access to drugs while pregnant.

When I mentioned the possible dilemma to friends, some said with deep disgust that drug addicts should undergo forced sterilization. Though taken aback by their harsh remedy, I was glad to get sympathy for the baby however it came. I also comforted myself by looking at how well Wyatt was doing with his baby to toddler milestones even though he had been born addicted to meth. The only issues I observed in him were extra sensitivity to bright lights and loud noises. Also, he could instantly fall into a loud crying session over something minor, but that only happened a few times per month. We felt compelled to repeatedly pray for God to heal him from any adverse effects of the meth and believed our prayers were being answered.

So Sunday after Sunday I pleaded with God through tears during worship for him to watch over our unborn baby. I continued asking for words of encouragement to help me persevere. I sensed the Lord's reassurance that he was working on her behalf. I was comforted to some extent, yet I often felt nauseated as I pictured the baby experiencing intense highs and lows in Sarah's womb.

Thankfully, it was discovered through a family member that Troy was the father of Sarah's baby, which would simplify the case once it started after her birth. If Sarah's short-term boyfriend had been the father, then he and his family would have been considered for custody. I was relieved they would not be an added threat.

**Chapter 24 - Meeting Family and Old Friends**

"I do wish, brothers that I may have some benefit from you in the Lord; refresh my heart in Christ." Philemon 1:20

We really needed a break from the foster system. Even though a trip to Michigan to see family would be stressful with a one-year-old, a change of scenery could be restorative and I longed to have everyone meet Wyatt. I was concerned that we might not get permission from the judge and Sarah for the long two week trip. I certainly didn't want to put Wyatt with another foster family while we were gone because it could hurt our bonding process. Since he was such a sensitive child, I knew he would be traumatized by a lengthy separation.

At the hearing in early June when the judge asked Sarah if she would agree to us taking Wyatt out of state for two weeks, she vehemently said, "No!" I was distraught. Then the judge asked me about the trip, so I explained why we needed so much time to cover the whole state to see all of our family. He nodded with satisfaction and simply told me to make up Wyatt's missed visits with Sarah after we got back. He ignored Sarah's objection and granted us permission most likely because she wasn't complying with her rehabilitation program. I thanked God for his favor.

We got a portable DVD player for the car which helped Wyatt pass the miles on the way to Michigan. The trip through the state was very tiring as we made many stops in different cities to see friends and family while trying to keep Wyatt happy. It didn't take long for him to develop a strong aversion to his car seat. We had to watch him like a hawk since none of the homes we stayed in had babies so they were not childproofed. We took him to a restaurant to meet with friends and family almost daily where it was a challenge trying to keep him from screaming or making a huge mess while we attempted to engage in meaningful conversations.

The best times I had were watching Patrick's dad hold Wyatt while he fed him dinner and hearing our boy laugh hysterically as his little "cousin" chased him while wielding an inflatable bat. Patrick relished the chance to introduce Wyatt to White Castle where he used to eat stacks of greasy hamburgers during college. We also showed him favorite spots around our college campus and toured miles of gorgeous shoreline encircling the Great Lakes.

All of our family and friends gave Wyatt a warm reception. My dad's sister in particular gave him the sweetest welcome by getting him a gift even though he wasn't an official part of the family. He was a little wanderer caught up in hardship much like she had been when she was a young girl and lost her parents. My grandparents adopted her and she has always been grateful and full of generosity and thoughtful gestures toward all the relatives. I cherished the pull toy she gave him because it came from a place of empathy in her heart.

In reality we had a brought a cute foster child on the trip, but to me he was our parents' grandson and our siblings' nephew since adoption was likely and God had told me he was our son. Our immediate family didn't quite share my view. They knew there were more hurdles for us to jump over.

I saw Wyatt as part of our family because I had bonded with him and I believed God had said he was ours. In fact, in some sense I saw every foster child that came to us as part of our family while they were with us because I empathized with their fears resulting from trauma and upheaval and wanted them to feel like they belonged somewhere.

It was a pleasure to show Wyatt off to our friends who took great interest in seeing how God was moving us along our journey toward parenthood. We even had the joy of being in a small town at the same time as friends who had moved to China and returned to visit family. Even though they couldn't talk much, Wyatt and the two little boys hit it off right away as they ran around the playground.

Wyatt had so much fun with all the kids he met on the trip that he became convinced every child was his friend. He started happily following small strangers along the beach by my mother's home fully expecting them to turn around and play with him. I was glad that our boy could have so many new and fun experiences on our trip and it was great to see everyone.

**Chapter 25 - Supernatural Fortress**

"He sends from heaven and saves me; rebuking those who hotly pursue me; God sends his love and his faithfulness." Psalm 57:3

In August we took an excursion to soak in the vistas of Colorado's ski towns toward the southwest corner of the state. From Ouray we unwittingly entered the most rugged section of The Alpine Loop where our Jeep Grand Cherokee struggled to straddle large rocks. We needed a vehicle with higher clearance, but our intense desire to hike American Basin and Handies Peak propelled us forward.

At times our car tilted toward drop offs free of guardrails along the single lane "road." It took us an hour to go one mile, but we pressed on like people void of common sense. A half-mile later we came to a rock shelf that Patrick knew our Jeep couldn't ascend, so he drove backwards until we could turn around and head back to town. By that point I was eager to quit since my nerves were shot from one too many episodes of imagining my husband and baby careening off a cliff while I walked in front of the car to help guide Patrick through the really difficult sections.

The following day we found the much smoother entrance to the loop through Silverton and reached our destination at last after the joy of seeing a few moose. I was extremely delighted as we traversed through a green valley nourished by cold, clear streams and continued up Handies Peak to an alpine lake surrounded by pops of color from millions of sturdy wildflowers. The carpets of Indian Paintbrush were the most impressive of all with their creams, scarlets and pinks. We couldn't continue on to the summit due to our late start and the encroaching dark clouds, but at least we reached 13,000 feet where the views were spectacular. Wyatt did exceptionally well enjoying the scenery and snacks while riding in Patrick's backpack. It was an afternoon I thoroughly enjoyed as it refreshed and prepared me to jump back into the fray of the courtroom scene.

Even though the grandma's home study had not been completed as fall approached, the judge set a date in November to terminate Sarah's parental rights. I kept focusing on Wyatt becoming our son, so it was very reassuring to see his case progressing even though it felt like a snail's pace. Sarah told the judge that all of the comments from the caseworker and CASA about her lack of compliance with her treatment program were lies. How she expected the judge to believe her was beyond me when he had evidence to the contrary from the drug testing facility right in front of him. When he asked her if she had a phone number or address where people working on the case could reach her, she just sat there silently.

After court Sarah did as she was told and took her drug test, but then called Leslie to yell at her about what happened in court. Her behavior was entirely confusing and not productive. Even though her unborn child was not mentioned in court, Sarah told her family that she expected DHS would take her baby once it was born. With a termination hearing on the near horizon she must have figured all was lost.

One day I opened a report sent by the county attorney's office to everyone involved in Wyatt's case, including the birth family. I saw my full name and address near the bottom and froze. They had always put just my initials. Why the oversight? When I called the county attorney, she insisted that the copies sent to Wyatt's parents and grandparents did not have my personal information. I wondered if she was trying to cover up their mistake.

Ever the detective, Beatrice contacted the step-grandma who confirmed that she had my full name and address on her copy, which meant everyone, including Sarah and Troy, had it. I was livid and terror stricken at the same time. No one was supposed to mention a foster parent's last name in court let alone print it on a form with a home address on a mailing for the birth parents. I wanted to report the county attorney's office to someone, but I didn't know who was next on the chain of command. Then again, I needed the county attorney to like us if she was going to recommend that we get custody of the children. I was in a bind.

I could only hope that after their summer of living in a car, then in a relative's camper trailer, that Troy and Sarah would be so disorganized that they would lose the paper or perhaps it never reached them. But could I trust the step-grandma to keep our information quiet?

I got visions of a crazed man on meth entering our driveway with a gun, threatening to shoot me if I didn't hand Wyatt over to him. Patrick and I discussed purchasing a gun for protection and taking a gun safety class, but the whole thing made me nervous. At least we had bear pepper spray which was quite powerful. Also, I had a copy of the No Contact Order from the judge stating that Troy could not have any contact with Wyatt starting from when he was a newborn. When I called the police for advice, they said they needed that order so they could make an arrest if Troy were to ever show up on our property.

We decided to have an alarm system installed in our home. That was the primary key to my peace of mind. I still lived with the aggravation of feeling the need to scan the driveway and yard for Troy every time I exited the garage. At least I could sleep peacefully at night knowing there was a button in my bedroom I could press that contacted the police immediately should we sense danger.

I felt like God had let us down by allowing us to be placed in such a vulnerable position. The very thing I had dreaded about foster parenting had happened – the loss of security and privacy while caring for the child of a violent birth parent under the influence of drugs. I fumed. Why should we live with the worry of our children being kidnapped simply because someone made a clerical error? God could have easily prevented this situation, so why didn't he?

When I questioned God about it, he brought to mind all of his people who daily live by faith in countries where Christianity is forbidden. They endure constant stress from the threat of torture, imprisonment and death, yet God has not failed them and loves them dearly. Then I thought about the selfless courage of those who hid Jews in Germany during World War II, risking their lives to save the lives of others. After those reflections God told me, "I am calling you to grow up and toughen up. You are not the only Christian who has had to live with a constant threat of death. The danger you live with is much smaller than the danger my persecuted people endure in other countries, so what I am asking of you is not unreasonable."

God's correction put everything in proper perspective and helped curb my complaining. I dismissed the thoughts I had been having about sending Wyatt to another foster home for his safety and ours and never thought about sending him away again. The prospect of letting him go was unbearable anyway.

I clung to the assurance I found in Zechariah 2:5, "'And I myself will be a wall of fire around it,' declares the Lord, 'and I will be its glory within.'" I pictured God's power like an impenetrable wall surrounding our house with his magnificent glory residing inside. No person could break through the Lord's blockade. I felt better when I looked at my circumstances from a supernatural perspective.

To comfort me further, God reminded me of our hike in Wyoming's Tetons a few weeks earlier. While in Death Canyon my thoughts turned heavenward as I gazed up at the massive rock walls towering over my head. He showed me that the canyon walls surrounding the valley are mighty like his power which surrounds a believer, protecting them from all harm. Like the immovable cliffs he was always on the watch and standing guard. Nothing can happen to us without God's approval and his help to deal with all situations.

About this time I learned that Troy had several other children with another woman and was not very involved in their lives. They lived over an hour away and he did not have the means to support them. Once I realized Wyatt was not Troy's only child, I eased up, knowing he would be less possessive and unlikely to attempt an abduction.

When Sarah's mom and family got settled in their new home in Tennessee, they had a surprise visit from a social worker who found a serious safety issue and a toddler wandering around the house who could have been harmed. Initially, the social worker was going to recommend that the grandma not get custody of Wyatt, but her supervisor said such things could be worked on. At just over a year of age, I knew Wyatt would most likely have gotten injured if placed in the same situation and I figured that it can be hard to change a family's ways of doing things in the privacy of their home, so my fears for his safety rose.

Then Leslie told the social worker in Tennessee that everyone on his case was going to work hard to convince the judge that we should adopt Wyatt even if the grandma was approved for custody. The primary reason being that his safety was at issue since Sarah wasn't taking drug tests and would probably be left alone with him while her mother worked. Leslie had discovered through the grapevine that Sarah's plan was to move in with her mom and raise her son and daughter who was due very soon. And it was assumed she'd eventually move the kids back to Colorado and live with Troy.

About a month before Sarah was due with her baby, anonymous calls were coming in to DHS with reports that she was using meth while pregnant. My suspicions were confirmed, which made me quite distraught as I released my last hope that she was staying clean. I prayed even harder for God to protect the baby and I also prayed for all unborn babies being exposed to drugs and alcohol. In my mind I pictured a map of America filled with babies in danger and felt the heavy grief of God's heart.

I read that there were likely over one million babies born annually who had been exposed to alcohol or harmful drugs in utero, affecting their brain development and other areas. It was a tragic national health issue that was in the beginning stages of study but no solutions were to be had as far as I could see. If the government's excuse about not doing anything to protect the babies was the expense of housing pregnant addicts, how did that justify the greater expense of special education, therapies and medical treatments after they were born?

At least I took some comfort when I believed God said the effects of the drug exposure to the baby would be minimal. I started buying baby girl supplies with my usual mixture of excitement and sorrow. I was thrilled to find a twenty dollar Laura Ashley crib bedding set on Craigslist. The soft pink and yellow flowers created a sweet, cozy nest within the white crib we bought. Once again I was also concerned about my ability to care for a newborn and remain healthy with all the sleep deprivation. I had to keep telling myself that the night feedings should only last three to four months based on my past experience.

I went all out and invested in the baby equipment we should have bought in the first place. I found an almost new highly rated baby swing on Craigslist. I bought an actual dresser to replace the tiny plastic contraption I'd been suffering with. I researched quality strollers and found a handsome new double stroller with an attachable car seat. I even bought a new glider and ottoman for the night feedings and the enjoyment of rocking the baby. When I got an educational bouncer, a pack-n-play, an attractive changing table and adorable infant girl's clothes, I was all set. During the shopping process I found myself wishing I could have a shower to help with the expenses and for emotional support. Yet with all the good deals I was finding, I felt like God was giving me a baby shower and helping me experience this round of motherhood as comfortably as possible. Plus, the monthly payments for fostering children were usually more than we needed to cover their living costs, so we were doing fine financially.

One day Troy told Leslie he was going to the foster agency to talk to her on the same day Wyatt had a visit with his mom. With Wyatt's parents' rights about to be terminated, I was certain he intended to stir up some trouble. Fear hit me. He had never shown up in court or participated in any testing, so why would he show his face now? I expected the worst, so I called three people at the agency and left messages asking what could be done to prevent an altercation in the parking lot. No one got back to me before the visit, so I made certain I had mace in my pocket and kept my eyes peeled for Troy.

I brought Wyatt in the building without incident, then waited in my car in the parking lot with phone in hand in case I saw anything suspicious. I prayed and prayed. I saw no one lurking around. When the visit was over I spoke with one of the three men who worked at the agency and asked him if anyone could stop Troy if he came in the building with a weapon. He admitted there was nothing they could do to prevent an abduction. I was very upset. He then said Troy had called that morning to say he would be out of town instead of coming in. Why didn't they call me to spare me all the worry? Their indifference was unbelievable.

I told Leslie that it was extremely hard for me to drop Wyatt off each time now because I feared it could be the last time I saw him. She showed a measure of compassion, but not much. I wanted to pull my hair out at the insanity of the situation.

Then I read in Nehemiah about the Israelites persevering in the rebuilding of the wall around Jerusalem in spite of threats of death from their enemies. I was encouraged to be brave and continue taking Wyatt to his visits while carrying mace, since the Israelites continued their work while carrying weapons. "Those who carried materials did their work with one hand and held a weapon in the other, and each of the builders wore his sword at his side as he worked" (Neh. 4:17-18). The Israelites continued on with their lives with the proper precautions and completed God's work in spite of threats from their enemies, so I could do the same.

One day while Wyatt was at a visit I drove a short distance down the road where I had a spectacular view of the mountains. I sat in my car grieving over Wyatt's lack of protection during his visits and I was burdened by what could happen to his little sister once she was born. The mountains I had once loved to explore and photograph for their exceptional beauty suddenly looked dull and ugly. Their splendor had vanished even though the sun shone brightly in a cloudless sky like most other Colorado days. In fact, the whole city lacked any appeal because this was the place where our possible future children's safety was the most threatened because their birthparents lived nearby. I desperately longed to move far away where they couldn't possibly find us.

The only person at our agency who truly shared the pain of our predicament was a woman who used to be a foster parent herself. Her open compassion brought me great comfort. She knew how things should be done in the foster system and was straightforward about admitting we had been wronged when our address was revealed to the birth family. Finally, I could talk with someone who worked in the system who wasn't trying to cover their own tracks with vague responses and excuses!

It wasn't long before God pointed out that I should forgive whoever at the county attorney's office was responsible for printing my full name and address on the mailing. He then told me to pray earnestly for the salvation of Wyatt's family. As a result, I felt more peace for awhile, but got worked up again and discussed with Patrick the chances of him transferring to another location within his company. Moving out of state would cause us serious financial strain, but at least we could be far safer if we moved once the kids' cases were closed. His fear level wasn't nearly as high as mine, so he preferred staying put. I had to keep trusting God to protect us all.

**Chapter 26 - Beloved Cherub in Peril**

"There is no wisdom, no insight, no plan that can succeed against the Lord." Proverbs 21:30

September rolled around and I waited expectantly for Wyatt's baby sister to be born. I never heard what Sarah's exact due date was so I was on pins and needles for awhile. I got concerned when she canceled a visit, claiming she had missed the bus, which was unlike her. I wondered if she was at the hospital giving birth. How was DHS going to take custody of the baby if Sarah decided to give birth in another county or out of state at her mom's? I was told there was nothing the authorities could do to save the baby in that instance.

Leslie assured me that she had notified local hospitals to keep an eye out for Sarah, but I got the impression that she had only called perhaps two. Her compassion for Wyatt had been impressive throughout most of his case, but when it came to his little sister's welfare she appeared unaffected. I assumed it was because the baby wasn't on her caseload and, therefore, not directly her responsibility. I became sick with worry.

No one knew where Sarah and Troy lived at the time, so it would be easy for them to keep their baby in hiding. I felt tormented knowing "my" precious baby girl could be in real danger if she ever lived with her father. Troy had joined a Satanic cult while in prison and I imagined they promoted gruesome things involving child abuse. Knowing he had molested and physically abused at least one of his other children, I couldn't stand the thought of him touching her in any way. I wanted to scream. A foster parent cannot interfere with a case. I was powerless.

At the next visit I looked closely at Sarah's belly to see if she looked smaller. I became alarmed when I noticed she looked at least fifteen pounds lighter and her belly shook loosely when she lifted Wyatt up. Trying to breathe normally, I ran to my car to make phone calls. Wyatt's attorney seemed only slightly concerned that Sarah may have had the baby and said he'd check around a little. Beatrice shared my fear, but just had major dental work done that day and was in no shape to make phone calls. I could barely understand a word she said. Leslie was in the Caribbean at the worst possible time. I left her a message even though I didn't expect her to do anything. Who would bring casework files and contact information on a cruise? I was ready to explode over how ridiculously horrible the situation was.

Only God could save my baby.

Then my thinking took a dark turn. Was the baby even alive? Who knows what two meth addicts might do with a newborn they are trying to hide. I pictured Sarah giving birth in some filthy house instead of a hospital. But she looked unusually happy that day as if all was well and she had concocted a plan to keep the baby.

I reflected for a few minutes after my flurry of calls, took a deep breath and started to feel foolish since no one I spoke with shared my degree of alarm. Everyone must have thought I was overreacting. It was possible that Sarah had not delivered yet. A friend suggested that perhaps Sarah had simply "dropped" like some women do shortly before giving birth, which could explain why she looked smaller. And her loose belly fat could just be from her gaining excess weight during the pregnancy. I hoped that was the case.

Two days later as I was pushing Wyatt in a stroller through a beautiful park on a hill overlooking the city, I heard God say to my heart, "Pray hard that whoever can speak up for this baby will do so." No one was in my vicinity, so I started praying in earnest that anyone who knew about the baby's whereabouts would be struck with deep concern for her welfare and contact DHS. I firmly believed the words of James 5:16, "The prayer of a righteous man is powerful and effective."

The next day Beatrice called me with nervous excitement in her voice. One of Sarah's relatives heard that she had given birth to a girl in a local hospital so they called Beatrice secretly, not wanting any other family members to find out. Since Leslie was still out of the country, Beatrice contacted DHS who quickly went to the hospital to obtain custody of the baby. They determined that Sarah was unfit to parent the baby because she was scheduled for a hearing in a number of weeks where her rights to Wyatt were to be terminated due to lack of compliance with her treatment program.

As everyone expected, Sarah and Troy were livid. They figured they had outsmarted the authorities and were joyfully anticipating slipping their baby off to a secret location where DHS would never find her. With their plans in shambles, Troy made a scene as he started swearing, yelling and threatening to kill everyone. He was promptly escorted out of the hospital. Sarah was yelling, too. What a dreadful welcome into the world for the tiny baby!

Why didn't the hospital staff look up Sarah's name to check if she was a drug addict on the DHS list? Had Leslie neglected to notify them to keep an eye out for her or had the hospital failed to properly document her warning? Someone had messed up because the hospital staff neglected to contact DHS themselves. Hoping to avoid authorities, Sarah had chosen a hospital in the outskirts of town, not the downtown hospital where she had given birth to Wyatt. Sarah would have been successful in sneaking off with her baby had it not been for her relative who called Beatrice.

The fact that God had told me just the day before the baby's birth to pray for someone to aid in her deliverance spoke volumes to me about his ability to communicate with his people and his power to save helpless innocents. The relative was not a Christian, yet God was able to move upon his heart with compassion for a baby in peril even though it meant risking relationships with family members.

Now that the baby was in DHS custody, my first concern was that the hospital test her for drug exposure to strengthen the case for Sarah's rights to be terminated for her second child, too. I knew it was too late for them to get the first urine sample, so I waited for the meconium test results, which were done on a baby's first stool to determine drug exposure in the womb. But I had to wait awhile.

The next day I cooked five meals in preparation for our first week of sleep deprivation. Getting a newborn to foster does not engender the same outpouring of support and meals as giving birth does so I knew I had to take care of myself. Even though my body did not have to recuperate after delivery, I was in for a tough few months especially being in my late forties with perimenopausal insomnia, hot flashes and an active eighteen-month-old to take care of.

The following day the caseworker asked if I'd like to pick up the baby from the hospital. I thought she was out of her mind. Troy could very well know what I look like and might be sitting in the parking lot ready to grab his baby if he saw me carrying her. The hospital had labeled both Troy and Sarah as flight risks since the couple had been yelling about what a grave injustice it was to have their baby taken by DHS. Thankfully, the caseworker respected my fears, especially given that Troy was so prone to violent threats. For security our agency sent two women to bring the baby to our home.

Ava arrived groggy and quiet, moving slowly as if in a fog, trying to absorb her new surroundings. She had dark hair and was thinner than I expected. At last I could hold my precious little girl I had prayed so earnestly for! I cradled her close to my face as joy overflowed from my heart. She looked so content and lovely as I laid her in her soft flowery crib. She was safe for now. I marveled at how every tiny finger and toe was perfectly formed even though it all happened in a toxic womb. I touched her head gently and prayed for God to heal her completely.

I was excited to introduce her to Wyatt when he woke from his nap. He was very curious about his little sister. I made certain to document her arrival with video and photos. She looked so small in Patrick's large arms as he held her like a piece of delicate china. I loved watching his smile of calm delight as he rocked her.

Soon Ava became more energetic. I was relieved that she had a good appetite. I thanked God from the depths of my heart for the opportunity to raise a newborn and start bonding from such a young age. I just wished I had heard her first cry in the delivery room. I tried sleeping in her room to make sure she was still breathing, but every little noise she made woke me up leaving me incredibly exhausted during the day. So I went back to my room and used a baby monitor and fretted about her breathing from afar.

I kept looking for signs of drug exposure, not sure what to observe. The only thing that seemed unusual to me were her pitiful cries as she writhed in pain when she had to pass a stool during her first month of life. The writhing was always followed by traces of blood. I cringed and was on the verge of tears every time she was subjected to this ordeal and tried not to hate Sarah – if her difficulties were indeed caused by meth exposure. The doctor didn't look the least bit concerned when I told him about it, so I relaxed somewhat even though I questioned his assessment.

It was hard bringing Ava to her first visit with her mom. Since the hospital determined that Sarah and Troy were a flight risk, Patrick agreed to accompany me for the first few visits to make sure the kids were not abducted. I was thrilled by his offer of support. Thankfully, he could work later to make up the lost time.

Tears burst from Sarah's eyes when she saw me bringing Ava through the door of the visitation center. She looked so broken and grief stricken that I couldn't help but put my arm around her sagging shoulders. I said softly, "I'm sorry. I know it hurts. We're taking very good care of her." It was the best I could offer at the spur of the moment. I was perplexed by the terribly painful dilemma before me. If Sarah loved her daughter so much, why wouldn't she do what was necessary to get her back? I still couldn't comprehend the pull of meth and the solace of old destructive relationships.

While Ava was visiting with her mom, Patrick and I took Wyatt to a park by a river where he was in his element. Our boy's face beamed as he ran free under a warm autumn sun. I watched with amusement as his short little legs bounced along with a touch of a waddle mixed in. The play equipment elicited many smiles and squeals of delight. He had been cooped up too much lately due to my fatigue from the night feedings.

I kept telling myself it would get easier while my uncoordinated fingers struggled in the middle of the night to change tiny diapers around flailing legs. Ava melted my heart as she gazed at me with peaceful, searching eyes that couldn't quite focus yet. I admired her dainty pointed nose and enjoyed seeing her cheeks grow fuller. I couldn't bear to ever let her go. I dreamed of the joyous day when both adoptions would be finalized and we could be free from all fears of losing the kids. I repeatedly thanked God for them.

The next time I surveyed the mountains I noticed that they had regained their splendor. Once more they had the ability to inspire me. Hope filled my heart because the mighty God had placed my beautiful baby in my arms.

After a week or so I was told that Ava's urine and meconium tests came back negative, so Sarah's lawyer had the ammunition he needed to argue for custody on the basis that there was no proof she was drug exposed. What about the anonymous calls to DHS claiming they witnessed Sarah using meth just one month before she delivered? And if Sarah hadn't been using drugs, why wasn't she going in for her drug tests? I didn't believe the hospital test results for one minute. I wanted to see the results myself, but I wasn't allowed to.

It looked like there was a cover up because the hospital only gave me Ava's feeding and diaper schedule for her second day with them. They completely omitted the first day's notes probably because there must have been a record of Sarah nursing Ava, which a drug addict should not have been allowed to do.

Later on, when Sarah and I had a discussion about the appropriate formula for Ava, she told me she had been nursing Ava in the hospital. It burned me up inside that there was no independent accountability system to make sure the hospital tests and records were legitimate. A child's life and welfare were at stake, yet DHS would allow the report from a hospital to be the major factor in determining a baby's fate. The lackadaisical approach to the whole matter was appalling.

After one of the visits Sarah was talking emphatically about Ava coming home with her soon. What caused her strong assurance? Was the DHS caseworker telling her not to worry because everything was going to work out for her? I told myself there was no way Sarah could stay clean long enough to get Ava back.

When I met Ava's DHS caseworker her dull gaze and blasé manner concerned me. As it turned out I had every reason to fret. The woman had a reputation for being lazy. True to the word on the street, she didn't bother to research Wyatt's case to get an idea of what kind of family she was dealing with. Her plan was to return Ava to her mom since the hospital claimed there were no drugs found in the baby's system and Sarah had stayed clean since the birth – a whole three weeks. Wow! Could they set their standards any lower?

Wyatt's GAL, who had also been assigned to Ava's case, agreed with the caseworker's assessment. Even though he knew all the gory details about the parents, he said, "Well, it's a different case, so there can be a different outcome." But they were the same parents with no changes in their behavior! I wanted to wring his complacent little ostrich neck! If it was his baby up for consideration I knew he wouldn't be hiding his head in the sand.

I desperately wanted to talk sense into everyone, but foster mom's had no voice unless they had money to hire a lawyer - and then it better be a great lawyer. The juvenile department of the justice system seemed like an inane game set up for a few dotards to dabble in while the common folk just watched in disbelief. Why would Ava's GAL send a baby home to a woman living with a registered sex offender who had perpetrated on his own child from another woman? Perhaps the GAL just wanted to go with the flow and be done with the case.

Once again, I had to approach the throne of God and plead for him to work his deliverance amid the chaos.

I was thrilled to hear that the judge graciously assigned a CASA to Ava's case and allowed Beatrice to be the CASA even though Sarah's lawyer strongly protested, claiming she was far too biased. So Beatrice was able to attend the Team Decision Meeting where she was the only person in the room to speak up for Ava's welfare. She was forthright and detailed in presenting the facts, but was unable to convince the caseworker to change her mind. Exasperated, she wondered where common sense had gone.

Then, seeing the situation was still desperate, Beatrice's supervisor from CASA jumped in, using his clout to fill in the caseworker's supervisor on the family history and lack of compliance with treatment. As a result, DHS promptly changed their assessment and recommended that Ava stay with us in foster care for the time being. Ava's life had been hanging by a thread and once again she was plucked from the dragon's mouth. Where would she have gone if it were not for the CASA agency? I hated to think about the roughly fifty percent of children in foster care who didn't have a CASA to speak up for them. What needless suffering were they subjected to?

**Chapter 27 - Presenting the Case for Termination**

"Godly sorrow brings repentance that leads to salvation and leaves no regret, but worldly sorrow brings death." 2 Corinthians 7:10

I was counting down the days when Wyatt's visits with Sarah would come to an end. The termination hearing was approaching quickly and Leslie told me they had a strong case to end Sarah's parental rights. What a wonderful day that would be when I wouldn't have to share him with her anymore or fear for his safety at the visits!

A few weeks before the hearing Sarah started going for drug testing again. Everyone said it was too late for her to turn the case around in her favor. Still, her renewed interest in her treatment program set me on edge since I knew the court system could be unpredictable. I figured her primary reason for turning over a new leaf was to get Ava back.

Then I was told that the possibility of Ava being returned to Sarah could cause the judge to grant Sarah more time to stay clean to get Wyatt back, too. That was NOT what I wanted to hear! I didn't trust her to stay away from drugs. No child was safe with her as far as I was concerned.

I needed to garner more prayer support, so I contacted my women's group at church to have them pray for the kids. I knew that combining fasting with prayer yielded more powerful results, so I spent a few meal times reading my Bible for inspiration and prayed more earnestly.

I saw no reason for Sarah to have more than a year to try to stay clean for Wyatt. For children under five years of age it was the court's intention to get their custody settled within a year's time and I wanted them to stick with the standard time frame. Why make an exception for a mother who had been so unreliable for over a year?

I could hardly wait for the day of the termination hearing to come, so when it was just a couple days away it was very hard to hear that Sarah's lawyer asked to have it delayed over a week because he had a scheduling problem. He must have been buying time for Sarah to continue staying clean. It seemed like there was one problem after another to endure.

When the big day finally arrived, Patrick and I got a sitter for only the morning because we were told the remainder of the hearing would be later in the week if more time was needed beyond the morning session. I confirmed the schedule with everyone on Wyatt's team, but when we arrived in court we discovered that the hearing would go into the afternoon. Why didn't anyone tell me beforehand? When I asked Leslie why she hadn't told me about the new schedule, she ignored my question and changed the subject. I concluded that no one wanted us to hear the afternoon testimonies perhaps because some of the details would be too disturbing.

We were extremely fortunate to get a new judge who was over a higher court for the termination hearing at Leslie's request. From his pleasant demeanor and unusually conscientious approach to the law, I wondered if he was a devout Christian. I found out later through a courtside prayer ministry that I was right because he had visited with them in the past. As I listened to the proceedings, I realized that he took criminal behavior more seriously than the previous judge from the lower court.

Leslie and Beatrice gave their testimonies in a matter-of-fact manner. Then Sarah took the stand for a long period of questioning from various people. The only family she had in the courtroom was a cousin who didn't like her. She requested that her cousin be removed, but her request was denied because the woman was there to testify against her later. No friends showed up to support her.

I was struck by how small Sara looked when she sat in the witness stand with the judge's bench towering over her. I was bothered by the fact that she was so utterly alone at such a painful time. Sarah's family must have been so disgusted with her behavior that they didn't care to show up.

The judge asked Sarah questions about her life and her stature continued to diminish as she slumped in her seat and cried. She was so pitiful as she repeatedly said, "I just want my son back." Did she imagine that simply begging would help her? She wasn't dealing fully with reality.

A couple months before the hearing someone had flashed before me a picture of the house Sarah was living in and I happened to see the address in small print below the photo. I managed to memorize it and went to look up the address Troy had listed on the registered sex offender site. They matched! Why had no one noticed that before? I shared my finding with Wyatt's team and they thanked me. So the county attorney used that evidence at the hearing to convince the judge that there was immediate danger to Wyatt if he moved in with Sarah. For once I was glad that I had been vigilant and preoccupied with details of the case. I realized that foster parents may not always be powerless in helping to protect children from harm as long as they have their eyes and ears open at all times.

To bolster proof that the pair was indeed a committed couple, testimony was given about the police finding Troy and Sarah living together when the authorities had to confirm Troy's residence as a registered sex offender. Troy had referred to Sarah as his common law wife. Also, one of the lawyers presented documentation of phone calls and visits Troy had received while in jail a few months prior. Sarah was listed as a caller and visitor. What perfect evidence of their ongoing relationship!

Nevertheless, when asked about her involvement with Troy, Sarah continued her denial about having any contact with him since she knew it would make her look like an unfit mother. How did she expect anyone to believe her? In a moment of candor she confessed to still having feelings for him and admitted she should stay away from him because he had beat her up once.

I gathered from Sarah's convoluted testimony that she hadn't been highly motivated to do what was necessary to get her son back because she initially expected her dad to get custody of him. When her dad backed out, she thought her mom would get custody, but her mom never turned in all the paperwork so she could be considered for approval. Her sisters and great-aunts were never up for serious consideration for various reasons. By the time Sarah realized family members wouldn't be getting custody of Wyatt, it was getting too late for her to reform her ways.

Next, the testimony of Sarah's therapist was interesting because she described a very belligerent young woman I had not personally encountered. Apparently, whenever Sarah was directly confronted about her drug use being the reason that her son went into foster care, she would launch into an angry tirade full of epithets complete with loud hand slamming on furniture followed by stomping out the door before the session was over. She blamed everyone except herself for her current circumstances. There was no hope for her recovery as long as she saw herself as blameless.

I desperately wanted to hear the remaining testimonies to learn more about Wyatt and Ava's parents, but we had to return to our sitter. At home I anxiously waited for Beatrice to call me when the hearing was over to find out if the parents' rights had been terminated or if the judge had granted Sarah another three months to prove herself. I dreaded the thought of the process being drawn out any further, especially knowing it could take another eight months or more to actually adopt Wyatt.

Several hours later the phone rang. I picked it up with trembling fingers. Beatrice was bubbling over with excitement as she gave me her report. I wept with joy as I listened to the drama unfold. She reported that after an hour of rummaging through records in the courthouse basement to thoroughly understand Troy's criminal history, the judge delivered an emphatic decision for terminating the parents' rights to Wyatt. He gave Sarah a firm reprimand, warning her that Troy was a menace to society and a great danger to her and her children. He advised her to have nothing further to do with him. I was certain Sarah did not hear a word he said.

What a spectacular conclusion to a case! Finally, the foster system worked to protect a child! I wanted to have a parade through town in the judge's honor with me cheering and jumping in front of his float.

I hung up the phone and sat stunned for a moment as it started to sink in that my twenty year dream of becoming a mom would come true sometime the following year. Once the parental rights were terminated, there was no further consideration of family members for custody. All we had to do was wait for Sarah to appeal the decision possibly twice – on the county, then the state level. But everyone told us that such decisions were never overturned because judges took the utmost care to cover every aspect of a case before terminating parental rights. It doesn't look good on their record to do sloppy work.

I looked at Wyatt with a sense of deep satisfaction as he played and thought, "I heard God correctly. He IS mine." I was floating on air as I thanked God over and over again.

**Chapter 28 - Showers of Blessing, Hurling and a Family Holiday**

"You will be made rich in every way so that you can be generous on every occasion, and through us your generosity will result in thanksgiving to God." 2 Corinthians 9:11

What joy! Patrick and I were about to become the proud parents of an adorable boy we loved so much. I breathed easier until I thought about Troy and Sarah's likely reaction to losing their son. Since Sarah wanted Wyatt so badly, my fear of abduction heightened. I still had to take Ava for visits. What would I do with Wyatt? It would be awkward to take him in and out of the visitation building without him staying as usual to play with Sarah.

Fortunately, the visitation staff agreed to come out to my car to get Ava to spare Wyatt the confusion and keep him safe. This was their usual practice with siblings from different cases. It was such a relief to no longer see Sarah on a regular basis and endure her disdain. I was happy to communicate with her primarily through notes.

Besides the privilege of bearing my own child, a baby shower was the one thing I had felt deprived of as a soon-to-be adoptive mom. But God had mercy on me and inspired the women in my Bible study to throw a shower for Wyatt and Ava. I was overwhelmed by their generosity and thoughtfulness and rejoiced that my precious little ones had finally received a very warm and official welcome into the world.

The women took turns occupying the children as I opened one lovely gift after another. In addition to toys and adorable outfits, they provided oodles of diapers beautifully arranged in a large basket. Each diaper had an encouraging or humorous verse of scripture (when applied to the context of diapering) written on it. I especially loved reading the verses with bleary eyes in the middle of the night when I had to change Ava. I was repeatedly reminded that someone cared about our family. I was feeling more like a real mom after that lavish initiation into motherhood.

One Sunday our pastor was exhorting the congregation to find a need and meet it in any small or big way that they could. A wife of a man in Patrick's Bible study was inspired and heard that we had a newborn, so she spent a day preparing a week's worth of meals to bring to us. I was overwhelmed with her huge sacrificial service and received the food gladly. Her gift was heaven sent because God knew I had so little energy for cooking. I felt very supported and managed to stretch the dinners for us to enjoy for the next two weeks.

Just before Thanksgiving Patrick had to take a business trip for a few days. I was quite upset about it because I had to do both night feedings and had no one to relieve me during the day. I made it through okay, but was exhausted. Patrick was unable to offer me a break when he returned home after his flight because he was suffering with dizziness and couldn't stand up the next morning. His vertigo was so bad that he had to crawl with a wastebasket all the way to the bathroom, vomiting all the way.

My monthly headache appeared that same morning as I prepared to take Ava to an early visit with Sarah. Patrick agreed that I should call an ambulance for him. I frantically dressed everyone before the medics arrived. My poor husband had to be carried out on a stretcher after they shot him up with Valium. Then I was off to the visit, which ended up being delayed an hour because Sarah didn't get the message about the time change. So I had to take the kids to a park downtown to pass the time while trying not to exert myself with my throbbing head.

By the time I got home a migraine had settled in, making it extremely difficult to care for the children. Ava probably got sick from the bottle Sarah gave her because she threw up twice. I thought my head was going to split open as her shrill screams permeated my skull while I changed her clothes after each expulsion of formula.

While I was changing Ava's diaper my mom called to tell me something about a perfume. I promptly told her I couldn't talk long due to the migraine and a messy baby. She asked if I had anyone I could call to relieve me. I replied, "No!" with great irritation. She was just trying to be helpful, but I could hardly think straight to function let alone pour through a list of names and guess who might have a free afternoon. It caused me even more disturbance realizing I didn't have a relief system in place for times when Patrick was indisposed. I was in no condition to pick him up from the hospital once he stabilized, but a friend came to the rescue. I vomited that evening due to nausea from the migraine. When I put the kids to bed that night I realized Wyatt was the only one who managed to keep his food down that day.

Two days later Thanksgiving was blissful since we all felt good and I had ordered a prepared feast from a restaurant. There was no way I was cooking a large meal with a toddler and infant in the house. I had to wait thirty minutes by the busy kitchen, but the delectable turkey with all the aromatic fixings was worth every second. We took it easy and counted our blessings from God. For once Patrick and I could enjoy a holiday feeling like we had our own family even though it wasn't official yet. We had spent many a Thanksgiving with just the two of us so the addition of the children made it very special.

That weekend we carried the kids along a trail in the mountains where there were patches of snow. Ava was only eleven pounds and wasn't too heavy in the front carrier, but I proceeded with great caution. It was so refreshing to get outside in the wilderness where few people hiked that time of year. Even with two young children, we made certain that we had our outdoor retreats at least once per month.

**Chapter 29 - Blinded by Childlike Sweetness**

"Who are you that you fear mortal men, the sons of men, who are but grass, that you forget the Lord your Maker...?" Isaiah 51:12-13

A month after her birth, Ava was assigned a caseworker from our agency. Darla came highly recommended by a friend and had been a casework supervisor for six years, so I was pleased with the news. She was open and friendly and did a good job keeping me informed. Darla had little hope that Sarah would do an about face in order to get Ava back. Her perspective gave me the assurance that she was dealing with the realities of the case.

Then a new concern developed. Ava kept vomiting after her visits with Sarah, so I suspected there was something wrong with the formula Sarah was giving her. Sarah said she used the same kind of formula I did. She thought we should switch Ava off the nonfat milk formula to the type for gas which had corn syrup solids as its primary ingredient. I definitely didn't want Ava consuming corn syrup when she did fine on the milk formula whenever I gave it to her.

There was a good chance her bottles were dirty since what little money Sarah had probably didn't go toward dish scrubbers. WIC was providing us as foster parents the expensive formula and Sarah was no longer eligible for the government's supplemental nutrition program for women, infants and children. Darla told the visitation staff to let me bring the bottles, but they ignored her and let Sarah use her bottle to feed Ava again. For five hours after the visit Ava writhed and cried in pain. It was agonizing watching my sweet baby suffer repeatedly.

I turned to God's word to help me believe that he would defend Ava. Psalm 109:31 bolstered my faith in his power and compassion, "he stands at the right hand of the needy one, to save his life..." I pictured him standing next to Ava fully aware of her need and ready to help her.

Darla didn't show much concern and suggested I give her Mylicon, a brand of infant gas drops. I was mortified at the idea of Ava consuming harmful bacteria twice per week for perhaps the next year while all I could do was fight it with gas drops so I got Beatrice involved. She was determined to get to the bottom of the issue.

Finally, Sarah was told to use my bottles for the next two visits. Ava was fine afterwards, so I knew something was wrong with Sarah's bottles. I gave Sarah some cans of formula the doctor donated and Sarah bought new bottles to see if the different shape made a difference. For awhile Ava's tummy was fine.

One day a few people on Ava's case thought Sarah was lying when she reported that she missed a visit because her bus broke down. Darla investigated the matter and found that indeed the bus had broken down. That incident caused Darla to believe Sarah's claims of negative bias and unjust treatment from Leslie and Beatrice during Wyatt's case.

Since Ava had been born, Sarah was doing all that she was supposed to except for missing one UA, so that made her look even better in Darla's eyes. Sarah's turn around made me nervous because I expected her to revert to her old ways as soon as she got Ava back. To show further support, Darla got Sarah a Savio worker who was trained to do everything possible to keep families together.

Sarah was masterful in getting both Darla and the Savio worker to feel sorry for her to the point that they were convinced after a mere month of cooperation that Sarah should get Ava back even though three months was the normal time frame. The Pollyannaish Savio worker kept feeding Darla glowing reports of Sarah's motherly behavior and compliant attitude. Darla was too busy to interact much with Sarah herself so she relied heavily on those reports.

The Savio worker was enthusiastic about her first client and drove Sarah to all her appointments to make sure she did everything in compliance with her treatment plan. The coddling made me ill. One time when the Savio worker asked Sarah how much Ava slept during the day, she pulled on the worker's heartstrings by lamenting, "I don't know anything about my baby." Her claim that I had completely shut her out of Ava's life infuriated me because the previous week I had given Sarah a long, detailed letter about her baby's routine - and it wasn't the first such letter.

Sarah's comment made me look bad in everyone's eyes, so I made it known that I even gave her copies of Ava's progress reports I had to fill out for the agency. Still, I wondered how I was going to compete with Sarah's lies. The Savio worker was fresh from seminary and full of compassion for drug addicts, so I understood her naivete. If only she had the same compassion for children and a realistic understanding about what was necessary for successful rehabilitation! On the other hand, I couldn't believe Darla, with her years of experience working in the foster system, was so easily duped.

One evening when I was laying Ava in her crib, I gazed at her sweet face in the dim light and felt an intense bond with her. I wanted so badly for all the turmoil to be behind us. Then I sensed what I assumed was God's loving voice speaking to my heart, "You will have to let her go someday." The words brought horror to me instantly and I tried to shove them away. Was the thought really from the Lord or was it from Satan? I couldn't bear to think of Ava going back to her family even if it was for a short time. So much damage could be done in a few days let alone weeks or months. A door to fear had been opened as I started to seriously doubt God's good plan for Ava. Would she be sent into an even more questionable situation than Rose had been?

In mid December Beatrice gave me devastating news that Darla was planning on sending Ava home to live with Sarah right after the next hearing in early January. How could anyone in their right mind return a baby to a woman who had been a drug addict for five years and clean for only the last two months except for a couple slip ups? What made it far worse was that it had just been proven in Wyatt's termination hearing that Sarah lived with a registered sex offender!

Leslie and Darla worked in the same office where Leslie was able to provide Darla with all the necessary details about the kids' parents. Even with all that information, Darla decided it was in Ava's best interest to be raised by Sarah. I was beyond incredulous. I was in shock. How was it that caseworkers with Darla's gross indifference were permitted to continue working on behalf of abused and neglected children? Beatrice couldn't believe Darla's plan either, but as a volunteer worker, there was little she could do except hope the judge gave significant weight to her testimony at the next hearing in three weeks. I was so grateful to have Beatrice on Ava's case!

When Darla came to our home to give me the bad news, she put all the blame on the judge, saying with full certainty, "He will be sending Ava home." Her eyes were wide with fear as she sat rigidly at our kitchen table, waiting for my reaction. I knew the responsibility for the decision rested primarily on her shoulders since she was giving the recommendation and knew more details of the case than the judge did.

I replied with deep disgust, "We will just get her back someday molested and drug exposed." I knew Sarah couldn't keep up her act for long. And with Ava moving into the same house as Troy, molestation was a given. I was mortified as I imagined what my innocent baby was about to be subjected to.

Darla sat there stoically and said nothing. She worked for a Christian agency yet I never heard her mention anything about her faith and she showed no interest whenever I spoke of God or prayer. She had moved herself and her young daughter into her boyfriend's house and spoke laughingly once about how she didn't miss her daughter when she was gone for days at a time to stay with her dad. I know kids can get on one's nerves and it's good to get breaks, but I still wondered what kind of person I was dealing with.

Perhaps Darla believed Sarah's assertions that she was no longer associating with Troy. Yet Sarah had started wearing a sparkly engagement ring. No one could get a clear answer about who the ring was from, but I was convinced that it was from Troy. Sarah told Beatrice she was going to take the ring off because she was done with men. Then why was she wearing it at all? Her lies were so unbelievable.

As I pondered the insanity swirling around me, I became a nervous wreck and sometimes couldn't think straight. The pressures of Christmas were upon me and I was trying to do everything I normally did in preparing an elaborate Christmas letter and buying presents for a long list of people. One day I rushed to the post office before it closed and heaved a sigh of relief when I saw I still had ten minutes to spare as I pulled into the parking lot. Then I turned to the seat next to me and realized I had left all the large boxes of Christmas gifts at home. I groaned over wasting precious time, but still had enough of a sense of humor left to help me laugh at my absentmindedness.

Shortly after that I was wandering aimlessly down miles of aisles in Walmart wondering where in the world they had hidden the tape. Shouldn't it be at the end of every aisle just before Christmas? The endless maze zapped me of what scant energy I had left. As I trudged along I kept tormenting myself with the fact that I knew I had several rolls of tape lodged in a bag somewhere at home that I couldn't find for the life of me until I returned home with a pack of new rolls – of course!

In the midst of the chaos I was pouring over a name book and we finally chose a new name for Wyatt (I'll keep referring to him as Wyatt to prevent confusion). We didn't want to wait too long to change his name because the younger he was, the easier the transition would be for him. To work him into it gradually, we combined the two names for awhile. He looked confused at first, but quickly got used to it.

It was stressful trying to remember not to say his new name in front of anyone on his team or his birth family for fear they might slip and tell Sarah and Troy. His new name had to be a secret because there was no way we wanted his birthparents to initiate a connection with him through social media like Facebook. We wanted it to be up to him if he ever chose to contact them once he got much older. With his birth father's criminal record, protecting Wyatt would remain our concern as long as he was young and vulnerable.

One Sunday the worship at church was particularly powerful. The worship leader felt God saying that he wanted us to abide in his rest and be free from worry and anxiety. We sang about admitting we are weak and letting God fight our battles and be in control. For the first time since I had received the dreadful news that Darla planned to send Ava back to Sarah, I felt God's peace and entered his rest. As I worshipped, I saw how big God is, overflowing with grace and love and the power to deliver Ava from evil. As our Father, God would take care of our "family." He never intended for me to become anxious. The more the storms raged, the greater his glory would be when deliverance came.

That night I slept straight through until morning for the first time in weeks. I was so happy. It helped that it was Patrick's turn to do the one night feeding Ava was down to now. I was quite relieved to get life back to almost normal.

God also told me that we could have a joyful Christmas, not a sorrow filled one like I had been anticipating. That made me hopeful, so I proceeded by faith. On Christmas morning it was so fun watching Wyatt tear open presents with excitement. A friend had bought him a Santa suit and Ava got an elf dress complete with striped tights. The outfits made for a good photo shoot until Ava broke down crying.

We Skyped with our parents in Michigan and had Wyatt open presents for them. My parents got a kick out of watching the kids. Then I had to prepare for two friends from Michigan flying out to ski with Patrick for the next three days. Needless to say, I was wiped out after the holidays, but very happy that I finally had the family Christmas I had dreamed about.

Leslie was waiting for Wyatt's GAL to call and tell her if Sarah appealed the termination of her parental rights to him. I couldn't stand waiting for over a month, so I called the GAL myself. I was dismayed when he told me she had appealed. That meant another six month delay for Wyatt's adoption. Sarah also was making last ditch attempts to get her mom or a sister to seek custody of Wyatt, but it was too late. However, their interest made me nervous about where Ava could end up down the road.

So many times my faith to believe God would keep Ava with us was challenged and so many times he provided scriptures to keep my weak faith afloat. Revelation 3:7 was a powerful verse I thought about frequently because of the decisive imagery, "What he opens no one can shut, and what he shuts no one can open." I prayed for God to keep shutting every door so Ava wouldn't be able to leave us. If God shut the door, no caseworker or judge would be able to open it. I was powerless, but God had all power. I had to trust that he would work a miracle to save Ava.

I had pleaded for God to reveal Sarah's true colors regarding her drug addiction so it would become evident to everyone. After staying clean for almost three months, sometime around the New Year Sarah must have taken meth again because she missed a drug test only a few days before the next hearing. My peace returned knowing that now there was no way the judge could send Ava back to Sarah and Troy this time around. My cherub had just missed being thrown to the lions. God had come through once again by bringing what was hidden in darkness to the light.

After the hearing Sarah and I started talking so Darla joined us to help mediate. Ava was having stomach pains after visits again, so we were still trying to come up with a solution. Sarah oddly claimed that I was dropping Ava off for visits in a starved state which she deduced from Ava's sucking on her arm when held. She added that I was giving Ava gas problems, too. My brain was repeatedly jolted by Sarah's bizarre comments. Darla appeared to know that Sarah was merely trying to make herself look better by accusing me of something she herself was doing.

Figuring cleanliness was the issue, I asked Sarah to boil the bottles from then on and she agreed and told me I had to boil bottles, too, even though Ava never had a problem with stomach pain after I fed her. Thankfully, sterilization was the answer to Ava's gas pains. She never had a problem after that. So the bottles had been filthy! I was so relieved to find the answer after two months of anxiety and confusion.

It was very disturbing that I had to put up such a fuss with numerous phone calls and emails to various people and confront Sarah myself in order to get a solution and protect Ava's health. It was a challenge for me to advocate for the kids because I hated the annoyed looks I sometimes received. I preferred just going along and being at peace with everyone, but when it came to the welfare of "my" kids, I learned to speak up and push people far beyond my comfort zone.

I was quite chagrined to have the judge order that I inform Sarah of Ava's doctor's visits so she could attend them. She never wanted to go to Wyatt's doctor appointments. Why the change? She probably thought it would be a good opportunity to see the son she had just lost and it would make her look like an attentive parent for Ava's case. Worst of all, nothing was stopping Sarah from bringing Troy. The doctor's building did not have a security guard, so I informed the doctor of the situation. He calmly said they knew who to call if someone dangerous had to be removed from the building. That brought me no comfort. How long would it take for help to come? Troy could be out the door with Ava in just a few seconds.

When I told Sarah about Ava's doctor's visit the next month, I made sure she knew that Wyatt wasn't going to be there, but that the caseworker would be. I brought Patrick for safety and Darla graciously showed up at my request. I was on high alert the entire time, but Sarah and Troy never showed up. Sarah's excuse was that the doctor's office was too far from the bus route. Still, I was worried every time I had to take Ava in for a check up.

As far as I was concerned, Sarah and Troy needed at least a year of drug rehabilitation treatment with intensive therapy and careful observation before they could parent well. It was virtually impossible, given the extent of her issues and lack of positive relationships, that Sarah could be transformed to the point of living drug free for good and become a responsible parent within three months of weekly therapy. The whole set up DHS had for returning children to drug addicts was often painfully unrealistic.

The only way Sarah could be totally transformed in such a short time was if she gave her life to Christ and joined a supportive church. I made it clear to Sarah from the beginning that we were Christians and that we took her kids to church, but she never expressed interest in hearing more about Jesus. I avoided being too bold of a witness for fear of inciting her to request that her kids be moved to a different foster home. I really disliked walking such a tight rope. All I felt comfortable doing was to continue treating her in a loving and respectful manner and occasionally mention that I was praying for her.

Darla remained focused on reuniting Ava with Sarah. Admittedly, that was the primary purpose of her job, but she started taking it ridiculously far. Darla was determined to set up her next supervised visits in the home where Sarah and Troy lived if Sarah could stay clean for another thirty days. Darla was inexplicably blind to still think Troy was not living with Sarah. God just had to put a stop to it! I refused to drive to their house because I didn't feel safe, so the Savio worker was supposed to meet me half way to get Ava.

So I had yet another issue to bring before God's throne. I was spent from all the unexpected problems. In prayer I felt God tell me not to focus on the storm raging around me because people will do strange things and I can't control them. I needed to keep my focus on Jesus the miracle worker who loves us all very much and is all-powerful.

A ray of hope shone in my heart when Darla mentioned she wasn't pleased with any of the family members Sarah had submitted for consideration for custody of Ava. It was starting to sink in for Darla that any relative would most likely return Ava back to Sarah if they got approved for custody because they were so busy with full-time jobs or raising toddlers and infants of their own. Besides, Sarah desperately wanted to raise Ava herself.

Darla added that should a relative ever return a child back to a parent whose parental rights had been terminated, there was nothing the authorities could do about it unless the parents were caught messing up again. Then the relative who gave the child to the parent would suffer legal repercussions. That brought me some assurance. So I could see why Sarah's dad and step mom had some reservations about getting custody of Wyatt. I pictured Sarah constantly begging them to give him back to her and them consenting with trepidation just to get her off their backs.

Then Darla requested that a policeman check on where Troy lived, specifying it involved the safety of a baby. The matter had already been confirmed by police months ago, but she needed an update for the judge. Apparently, the police are required to check on a registered sex offender's residence only once per year, so they initially refused, but then changed their minds and went to the house and got a confirmation that he still was living there.

Then the police went to Troy and Sarah's house again just before the hearing at the end of January to gather more evidence. Troy mentioned that Sarah's plan was to raise her kids at her mom's. Shortly after that Darla and the Savio worker made separate visits to the house only to be ignored after seeing a fluttering of blinds. That made Darla livid. Sarah had already been avoiding the Savio worker. It was difficult for Sarah to keep up her victimized good girl act for long.

With all her new evidence in hand, Darla completely changed her direction at the next hearing as she was prepared to argue that Troy and Sarah were living together in his aunt's house with his mother! At the hearing Sarah continued to maintain that she had absolutely nothing to do with Troy. When Darla told the judge that the police confirmed Troy lived at the same address as Sarah, her lawyer protested that Sarah couldn't control where Troy went, even though it was his own relative's home. The absurdity of his arguments were laughable!

Since Sarah had been clean for almost a month, we desperately needed the testimony of the police to prevent Ava from having visits at Troy and Sarah's home that were scheduled to start in February. At the last minute God came through once more! The judge finally ruled that Ava should never live in that house. Whew! The worst of the immediate threats to Ava's well being had been obliterated. The dark cloud that had been hovering over me had finally departed. God was so good!

**Chapter 30 - Joint Custody?**

"I, wisdom dwell together with prudence...by me kings reign and rulers make laws that are just." Proverbs 8:12, 15

Ava was getting spirited, making diaper changes an exhausting ordeal at times. I laughed to myself once when Patrick laid her on the changing table and said to her, "Are you ready for combat?" After he had cleaned her up he proclaimed, "That nasty poop has been vanquished!" When she cried a bit he added, "Are you having a flashback?" I was so glad he agreed to help with diapering because having two children in diapers was a chore.

With Ava being more expressive and looking adorable bouncing and spinning around in her exersaucer and learning new skills, I was getting so wrapped up in her that I couldn't imagine losing her. Nor could I ever imagine Wyatt losing Ava. They were becoming quite bonded by this point and the thought of them being separated kept tearing at my heart. They were incredibly good together. Wyatt often danced in silly ways to make his sister laugh. He loved to hug and kiss her and was surprisingly generous about sharing toys. They were only eighteen months apart which deepened their connection because they enjoyed playing with the same things and thrived on frequent interaction.

The possibility of the kids being separated became more real because Sarah's mom had participated in the last hearing by phone for the first time and was emphatic about wanting to raise a four-month-old. Expecting that her mom would now take care of things, Sarah started slacking off with her treatment program. In February Darla started the home study process again for Sarah's mom and one of her sisters. I settled myself in for another four to six months of waiting for the results and kept saying Revelation 3:7 to myself, "What he shuts no one can open."

It really bothered me that Darla couldn't fill me in on details regarding the progression of the case, leaving me in suspense until hearings where I could learn about everything anyway. Caseworkers sometimes gave hints of the course they were heading in. But I wanted far more than hints. I was convinced that foster parents should be included in the emails shared among the child's team since we usually cared the most about the welfare of the children because we knew them far better than the lawyers, caseworkers or anyone at DHS. Also, being more informed along the way would help us cope with all the uncertainties and advocate for the children more effectively. I was bothered by the typical mindset of those who worked in the foster system, "Foster parents should keep their noses out of the casework and let the professionals do their job."

Darla was sometimes forgetful about important matters, so I had to remind her about making me an interested party in Ava's case and Beatrice had to make certain Darla asked that the case be moved to a higher court due to the complexities and seriousness of Troy's offenses. Thankfully, Ava's case was finally assigned to the same conscientious judge who did Wyatt's termination hearing. I was extremely happy to hear the news. The change in judge could make all the difference.

Then a routine review hearing for Wyatt came up. I went in with a calm heart seeing smooth sailing for him up to his adoption because there was no legal reason the GAL could think of for Sarah's appeal to be heard. So when someone announced that Sarah's dad and step mom were participating by phone, I was taken aback. I thought all relatives were shut out from his case once parental rights had been terminated.

The grandparents made the absurd request to be granted joint custody of Wyatt. Having no idea how such matters were handled, my world started spinning again. Such a setup would take away a lot of our parental authority. The grandparents elaborated at the judge's request, "We don't know what is going on because we don't get any contacts from anyone. We want Wyatt to know he is loved and we want a say in his life."

"A say in his life?" To me that only meant control. There was no way I wanted strangers who did not share our beliefs to dictate where our son went to school or tell us he had to be dropped off at their home for visits where Sarah and Troy could see him. Maybe he'd never return from his grandparents. They were not Christians and the grandfather was prone to swearing, smoking and used to have a drinking problem, so I was very concerned about what kind of influence they would be. Wyatt didn't know his grandparents at all by this point so I pictured him crying and being traumatized after I dropped him off with them. My head swam with all the dreadful ramifications and my joy about parenting Wyatt started to drain from me.

I couldn't read the judge's face for how he might rule on the matter. He said he would give his decision in a written report within the week. Everyone on Wyatt's team stated that they wanted Patrick and myself to have sole custody. That was good to hear, but I had no idea what to expect from the judge. I certainly did not want to function like some divorced couples who hold to very different perspectives and argue for years about major decisions in their children's lives.

When the hearing ended I rushed over to the GAL and asked him if the grandparents could get joint custody. He promptly said, "No. Relatives only have twenty days after a termination hearing to file such a request." Also, the fact that they had no contact with Wyatt during the past fourteen months didn't make them look good. That brought me some peace, but not enough.

Waiting for the judge's decision was grueling. Several days later I stood in our kitchen staring wide-eyed at the unopened letter in hand, wondering what it said. I felt God's pleasure and joy. "It must be good news," I thought. As I quickly read through the list of many reasons as to why the grandparents should not receive any rights to Wyatt, I was impressed by the judge's godly wisdom, eloquence and gracious wording as he cut straight to the heart of each matter.

The judge noted how the grandparents had received regular mailings with updates on Wyatt's case, yet they failed to make a "timely request for consideration as a placement option...nor have they at any time...filed a request for visitation." He added that the grandparents, "have had no visitation with the child for 14 months. In light of this child's tender years, that is a lifetime." I loved how he described their request for permanent joint custody as "rather extraordinary" and stated, "The child is in need of one family with all the authority, duties and responsibilities incident to the one-family relationship...a joint custody relationship is neither practical nor in the child's best interests." He then dismissed them as interested parties. I couldn't have put it better myself. I jumped up and down, rejoicing as I looked toward heaven.

The grandparents were greatly disappointed with the judge's decision even though they never bothered to have a kinship study done to try to get approved for custody. They must have been following another one of Sarah's last ditch pleas to maintain some kind of contact with Wyatt. They put up a fuss when they received the report, yelling at Beatrice and blaming her for "dropping the ball" and not doing what was necessary to help them get grandparents' rights. Beatrice was the advocate for Wyatt, not a lawyer for the grandparents! Their thinking was so distorted it was little wonder that Sarah was inclined to blame others for her predicaments, too.

After all the bluster, it set me more on edge about what kind of fight might ensue regarding Ava now that the birth family was more experienced at dealing with the foster system and the courts. I had to pray, pray, pray.

**Chapter 31 - Tension Builds**

"Now may the Lord of peace himself give you peace at all times and in every way." 2 Thessalonians 2:16

I was sad to hear that Leslie was moving out of state, leaving Darla in charge of preparing Wyatt's case for adoption. I would no longer have the pleasure of enjoying a good repoire with a caseworker. At least he was well on the way to becoming ours so she couldn't cause too many problems for his case – or could she?

In addition, I was worried that Darla wasn't convinced that she should recommend to the judge that Patrick and I get custody of Ava. From Wyatt's case I knew the common description for permanency goals (a list of who might get custody) once the birthparents were removed from consideration, was for a relative or a non-relative to be listed as custody options. But Darla only referred to relatives getting custody of Ava in her reports. The GAL noticed the oversight and mentioned in court that the permanency goal should include adoption by a non-relative. His request was approved, yet Darla still neglected to include adoption by a non-relative in her reports for months.

When I asked Darla about it, she acted surprised and said the county attorney's office must have neglected to put it in. The GAL later told me Darla was supposed to check for errors and sign off on all reports before they were mailed, so she was fully responsible. She was playing games and trying to make me nervous. It was working.

Later on, Ava's entire team asked Darla directly if adoption by a non-relative was officially part of the permanency plan and she told them it was. However, she never would admit it to me. Her ongoing deceit was very aggravating. I guessed it was her way of getting back at me for annoying her with all of my questions and protests.

Many foster parents tended to keep quiet or they only asked once about something because they didn't want to upset the caseworkers and get on their bad side. However, too much was at stake for me to be a passive observer. No longer would I allow a fear of caseworkers to put a muzzle on me. I suppose my cougar encounter along with witnessing God's power to answer many of my prayers had filled me with greater faith and courage than I had possessed when cowering before the condescending domestic adoption caseworker from Michigan.

At one point Sarah actually went for a drug test that showed meth in her system. I heard that the drug was supposed to leave one's system within several days, so why did she go in for a test even though she had used recently? At least that test bolstered the case for terminating her rights.

Patrick and I agreed to do two visits per year with Sarah's dad and step mom and Wyatt. I was waiting until the Christmas season to set up the first visit and we'd see how comfortable we were with them. At least the visits were entirely up to us. We made the nonbinding agreement more as a concession to make some peace for the time being in hopes that it would help Ava's case go more smoothly.

I was actually afraid of the grandfather because I had heard about him yelling at a couple of people involved in the case. I preferred to have nothing to do with him, but I was willing to give him a chance. I grew even more uncomfortable when I heard he and his wife were angry about only being allowed two visits per year. They wanted to see Wyatt every other month. Why after fourteen months of not seeing him were they getting so demanding? Sarah had to be behind it.

In Sarah's last note to me she wrote, "I'm still upset about not being able to see my son at all." I wrote back that I was simply following protocol for such situations. Parents who were still addicted to drugs and who lost parental rights didn't normally see their kids if they were adopted by non-relatives. That was a pretty unrealistic expectation on her part, especially considering how poorly she had been treating me. I was certain that my resistance about letting her see Wyatt was causing her to push her family to fight harder to get custody of Ava. Still, I kept hoping that she wouldn't want to separate her kids so I included comments about how well they were getting along with each other and gave her many photos of the pair happily playing together. I felt badly for Sarah struggling in her grief, but protecting Wyatt was my first priority.

Everything was weighing on me, so I relished a two hour break one day to go clothes shopping at my favorite discount store while everyone took a nap at home. After I laid my selections on the checkout counter, I looked in horror at my empty purse. I figured another customer must have taken my wallet because I never left home without it and I had stepped away from my cart and purse for a moment while looking at shoes. I reprimanded myself for not being more careful. As fear soared within, God quickly countered it with his peace and said, "Nothing bad has happened. Your wallet is within your reach." I was confused. Was it sitting on a store shelf after a thief removed the cash? I was overwhelmed with the thought of scouring every shelf in the huge store and realized that was futile. I searched the car, but found nothing.

I drove home in a panic knowing I had a check in my wallet with our account number. I frantically searched the house and came up empty. So I rushed to cancel all my credit cards and flew to the bank to set up a new account. Patrick lamented having to set up nine new auto payments.

As I drove home from the bank I breathed a sigh of relief knowing now there was no way someone could make withdrawals from our checking account or put charges on our credit cards. I told Patrick what I thought God told me while at the store. Just as I finished my story, my eyes widened as I realized I had never looked in the glove box since I hardly ever put my wallet there. But I had taken the kids to a ranch the day before and could have hid it there. I opened the glove box and there it was safe as it could be.

I felt a mixture of joy and grief. If only I had not rushed to cancel our credit cards and open a new bank account! I realized I needed to listen to God more carefully the next time and take him at his word because my wallet was truly within my reach, not lost amid endless store shelves.

**Chapter 32 - Intimidation in Court**

"The Lord will rescue me from every evil attack and will bring me safely to his heavenly kingdom." 2 Timothy 4:18

I was in a hurry to get to Ava's March hearing on time so I was distracted as I ran up three flights of stairs after missing the elevator. I didn't greet Sarah and Darla because they looked engrossed in conversation. As I approached the door to the courtroom I glanced to my left and saw a wiry man sporting a long mohawk. He was positioned in a rigid stance like a hostile guard whose glare followed me as I passed by. I forgot to breathe as I realized Troy was staring at me. I had never seen him in person before, but he looked a lot like his mug shots. I feared Sarah may have pointed me out to him somewhere, so I felt extremely vulnerable.

The previous hearing was still in session, so in my panic I didn't know where to go except further down the hall. My heart pounded as I searched for a seat. I slid onto a bench to collect my thoughts and tried not to frighten myself with visions of Troy yelling or attacking me in a fit of rage. Was he on meth now? I knew that meth use can lead to aggressive behavior, delusional thinking and a lack of awareness of how one is behaving. Given all that, I would not have been surprised if he was planning my demise since I was the woman keeping his kids. I expected that he could be crazier than any wild animal I might meet in the woods. My courage vanished.

After a minute I realized I was a sitting duck cowering alone on the bench, so I decided I'd be safer sitting in the back of the courtroom between a couple other people. I rushed past Troy with my eyes fixed on the large wooden doors. When I opened them I was dismayed to see the courtroom almost empty. I sat down and begged God to keep Troy away from me.

Then Beatrice entered the room with her hands trembling from fear. With intense anger Troy had barked at her twice, "Excuse me!" He wanted her to leave the hallway so he could talk with Darla alone. Beatrice took off, then Troy asked Darla a number of questions, but she gave out little information and repeated, "We'll see how things go." He couldn't tolerate her evasiveness so he started hollering at her. She just walked away into the courtroom. To her credit she didn't look a bit shaken, just somber.

The judge didn't want to start the process of terminating parental rights until they got the paternity test results, which could take five weeks. Sarah's old boyfriend had cooperated, but Troy had yet to give his DNA sample after everyone had already waited a month. Why was he delaying? I was quite frustrated that nothing could be done that day to move things along. This was the first time Troy had participated in a hearing for his children. I was astounded that he had the nerve to ask the judge for visits with Ava. He was told that his parole orders included no contact with children under the age of eighteen. Whew! That matter was finally taken care of once and for all.

The county attorney stood up and stated the foster mom wanted to become an interested party to Ava's case. I saw Troy emphatically shaking his head, "No!" Sarah's attorney protested because he feared it could speed the adoption process along, but the judge said that since I had Ava in my home for more than ninety days I had the right to become an interested party.

I was then given a paper to fill out with all my personal information such as Social Security number, birthday, address, etc. I gave it to the county attorney who approached the bench to hand it in. But first she stopped to speak with Troy's attorney and as she did so, she waived my paper absentmindedly before Troy's face as he stared at it, fixated like a cat watching a moving toy. At times she held it perfectly still exactly in front of his eyes as if to say, "Would you like to take revenge on the foster mom? Here's everything you need to do so." I couldn't believe it as I sat sweating helplessly three rows back. I wanted to catapult myself over the benches and grab it out of her hand and shake some sense into her.

Finally, she realized what she was doing and promptly turned the paper so the blank side was facing Troy - only after he had gotten a good long look at it. What were the odds of there being such an inadvertent and negligent handling of private information when all it took was a few more footsteps to deliver it to the judge's bench? The scene was unreal. Why had God allowed such a bizarre thing to happen? Absolutely nothing was in my control in the courtroom. I prayed for Troy to forget everything he had seen. I just had to trust God that he would keep protecting the kids, myself and Patrick from all harm.

I was so glad to hear Darla tell the judge that if Sarah's mom got custody of Ava that she would probably give her right back to Sarah. Darla reached this conclusion because of informants and her impression of the grandma from her emails which only inquired about when the next hearing was scheduled. She neglected to ask how Ava was doing – not typical protective grandma behavior.

After the hearing Darla stood at the end of my row to make sure Troy couldn't get near me and she told me to stay by her. Then she went so far as to escort me and the kids to my car. I was grateful and assumed Troy had made a threat about hurting me or running off with the kids. Someone else escorted Beatrice to her car. I was physically and emotionally drained afterwards and asked Patrick to accompany me to all future hearings knowing that Troy could be there. He agreed to do so.

Fortunately, there was a women's conference at our church the following weekend. We heard a well-known speaker, but I didn't get anything out of her messages. It wasn't until they took twenty minutes for us to pray silently that I got any encouragement as I heard God softly say, "I see how battle weary you are. Push all the painful ugliness of the behavior of the kids' families far away so it won't bring you down and cloud enjoyment of your own family." I thought about how joyful Wyatt was and I didn't want to dampen his happiness. What a delight he was for Patrick and I to have around. I was impressed with his resilience considering all he had been through.

I avoided the April hearing because they didn't have Troy's paternity test back yet so they couldn't get much done. Besides, I didn't want to see Troy again any time soon. All they were able to determine was that Sarah's former boyfriend was not Ava's father, which did not surprise anyone. I calculated that they should be able to terminate the parental rights to Ava by June. Little did I know how long it would really take.

**Chapter 33 - Meeting the Grandparents**

"Be wise in the way you act toward outsiders; make the most of every opportunity." Colossians 4:5

I was pleasantly surprised to see Sarah starting to express gratitude in her letters to me. She kept asking for more photos because she was having great difficulty letting go of Wyatt, so I gave her a few. The kids were so photogenic that it was fun to share their pictures with her even though I knew she must have been wistful looking at them, thinking about all that she was missing of their early years.

I had to invite Sarah to another one of Ava's doctor's appointments and was hoping to have a no contact order for Troy regarding Ava, but Darla hadn't gotten a copy of it yet. Once again I was frustrated. We had a no contact order for Wyatt, but I couldn't use it for Ava should the police show up looking for a solid reason to arrest Troy if he showed up at the doctor's office. I still wasn't bringing Wyatt to Ava's doctor's appointments in order to shield him as much as possible.

I waited for Darla to show up at the doctor's office for protection like she said she would, but she never came or called to explain what happened. Fortunately, neither parent showed up even though Sarah had repeated her interest in coming. When I finally got a hold of Darla she said she didn't think she needed to be there. Well, why didn't she tell me that beforehand? I was sick of being treated with such little regard and having Ava's well-being not given a second thought. Darla didn't know for certain that Troy wasn't going to show up. Again, I had to trust God when people failed me.

About a week later Sarah's dad and step mom requested their first visit at our agency with Ava when she was five-months-old. I didn't like the fact that they were showing interest in her at that point. What grandparent waits five months before seeing their granddaughter when she lives so close by? I decided to use the visit as an opportunity to show them what a good mom I would be for both children.

I was nervous when I arrived with the kids in the visitation room. I had already gotten over my shock of how rough the grandpa looked, but had never met the step-grandma. She was striking with auburn hair reaching her waist. I guessed that she was only a few years older than I was. She had participated in many horse competitions and had a distinct western look. Had I seen the pair on the street I never would have guessed they were married. She had a clear look of disdain as I entered the room, but warmed up to me quickly and acted like my friend. She leaned over and whispered that she loves being a grandparent so she can have fun with the kids and then return them to the parents. That must have been her way of telling me she did not want custody of Sarah's children. That certainly was good to hear. But by then I knew not to trust them to keep their noses out of the process and I remained wary.

The grandfather grabbed Wyatt in a friendly embrace while the poor boy looked around the room in bewilderment, but he didn't cry like I feared. Right away the gnarly man said with a veiled demand in his request, "I'd love to take Wyatt fishing and camping. I already got him a fishing pole."

On one hand I felt badly that I couldn't go along with his plan and give him more time with his grandson. However, I knew full well how the fearless and active toddler behaved on hiking trails and I could just picture him tumbling down a riverbank or flipping over the side of a boat the minute he saw the inviting water. I wanted to reply, "Never! I can't see you being quick enough to keep Wyatt safe in the wilderness. I bet you'll invite Sarah to come along, too. Then she'll invite Troy!" But I just sat there dumbfounded with a small smile on my face. Did he honestly expect we'd just hand our boy over to him unsupervised for a weekend and risk his life?

The step-grandma held Ava in a detached, careful manner. I was appalled at how the grandfather was so wrapped up in playing with Wyatt (who quickly relaxed) that he didn't even bother to hold Ava during the fifteen minutes I was there. It was the first time he had seen his granddaughter yet he acted like she was related to someone else. Then I left so they could visit with the kids on their own for a couple hours - supervised, of course.

They had given me a plastic bag full of a variety of small toys for the kids and bibs for Ava. I thanked them. When I examined the items at home I was repulsed when I found hair matted in the Velcro closures on the bibs. A couple of the toys looked new, but others had chipped paint and had obviously been well played with by their other grandchildren and dogs. Several things were so disgusting I had to throw them away such as a book with the corners chewed off. It would have been better had they just given the children one small toy each that was new instead of a bag full of things that looked like they had been quickly grabbed from their living room floor. I didn't like the idea of my kids maintaining contact with grandparents who seemed to regard them as an afterthought. So once the visit was over I had even more doubts about maintaining contact with them over the years.

With the ongoing trials I was so appreciative of my women's group of three years from church where I enjoyed interacting. They gave me regular prayer support and listened to my woes. I told them it was very hard to have the fate of my children placed in the hands of my adversary (Darla). Then I felt admonished as I read God's reproof to king Ahaz who was shaking with fear because of the advance of his enemies, "If you do not stand in your faith, you will not stand at all" (Isaiah 7:9). I had to keep standing in faith no matter what was going on.

Fear had been distracting me from being a more involved parent. I was determined to be filled with God's joy and peace to a greater degree for the benefit of the kids while we waited for the day when their cases both closed. I had been too stressed to read the child development book I bought, so I decided it was high time that I dug into it and was happy to see that the kids were still on track. Ava had been doing well sitting on her own and the kids were continuing to play very nicely together. I also researched the baby name book again and we chose a new name for Ava before she got too old to be firmly attached to a name or be affected much by a transition. It was a big step toward making her feel like ours.

I was getting so sick of Darla's very poor communication that I took a risk and complained to her supervisor. I knew I wasn't alone in my dilemma because many other foster parents had told me they were frustrated with caseworkers who didn't return phone calls or answer emails. I mentioned to the supervisor how long I had to wait for the no contact order, so Darla heard about my complaint and told me she'd get it to me ASAP. Still, I had to wait. It appeared that my complaint about her slowness caused her to drag her feet even more.

Then I heard from the GAL that Sarah's appeal had been denied. Even though I knew it would be denied, it was good to hear the decision was finalized. I was happy that the appeal process had taken only four months instead of six. But whenever I spoke with Darla about the appeal, she repeatedly said that no decision had been sent yet. Why the conflicting reports? The GAL said he assigned the guy who did the paperwork for it, so he knew what he was talking about. I took him at his word because he had always been straight with me. (I later discovered that Darla was waiting to get the decision in writing before she would discuss it with me.) So we had to wait and see if Sarah would take her last option and appeal to the state supreme court. I was told that most birthparents didn't bother to go that far.

I didn't expect everyone to do their work in a timely manner, but if they did, we would have been able to adopt Wyatt by July. The thought was heavenly. I tried to prepare myself to wait until September, though, because I had the feeling Darla was going to drag the whole thing out as long as possible. At one point she had admitted to being burned out and I was definitely seeing the signs of it.

Often there was no specific timeframe in which caseworkers had to complete certain phases of a case, so they could make up a list of excuses as to why something wasn't done month after month. They usually had too many cases to handle, which was a legitimate reason for delays, but Darla never made that excuse. She was just spent. She had entered her sixth year of service in the foster system and was looking for a way out. The average length of stay for caseworkers at DHS or foster agencies was five years. High turnover was expected because of being overworked and the constant stress of dealing with so much grief and trials from families in crisis. I just had to have patience.

**Chapter 34 - Visitation Safety Questioned**

"Oh, the agony of my heart! My heart pounds within me, I cannot keep silent." Jeremiah 4:19

Once again another disturbing issue arose. At church the nursery workers reported to me that Ava started screaming during diaper changes, which was very unlike her. Once they finished changing her and picked her up, she became calm. I brushed their comments off as Ava being fussy, but by the third report I became worried and wondered if Sarah had been abusing her during the visits. How well were they being supervised?

Then I remembered from the previous year that I had seen Sarah leaving the diaper changing area alone with Wyatt one time when I arrived early. They were frequently hiring new staff in the visitation department at our agency and they sometimes used students to watch visits at the downtown center. These people were often not highly experienced with birthparents or aware of potential dangers. I expected they were so naïve that they would allow parents to be out of sight with their children for a few minutes in the bathrooms where the most harm could occur to a child.

I spoke with Sarah's visit supervisor from the downtown center about where she was during diaper changes. She was a sweet, young student from a nearby college. She said she would stand just outside the bathroom at the door and hear Ava screaming, but not intervene because she believed Sarah when she explained that Ava just didn't like to have her diaper changed. I knew that was a lie. At least her visits downtown were ending soon.

The more I thought about how vulnerable Ava could be, the more alarmed I got. Sarah could have been seriously depressed and resigned herself to losing her daughter. So if this baby would no longer be hers and her thinking was distorted from drug use and anger about her situation, might she take out her frustrations on a helpless child even if it was biologically hers? I fully expected that it was possible especially if Sarah herself had been abused in the past. Ava had developed the strange practice of watching my every move with big alert eyes during her diaper changes. She was no longer at ease though she didn't cry while Patrick or I changed her.

Suddenly the nightmares Ava had been having for the past month made sense. At least once per week we'd be awakened by her piercing screams in the middle of the night. I'd enter her room to find her staring at the ceiling with wide eyes filled with sheer terror. Her expression was so disturbing that I wondered if demons were bothering her. Since Troy was in a Satanic cult, Sarah could have adopted some of the same beliefs and may have been bringing who knows what kind of evil influences to the visits. After each nightmare I would hold Ava tight and pray for God's loving presence to surround her and she would fall back to sleep quickly.

I contacted Ava's team and described her strange behavior at our church nursery and noted that she never fussed about diaper changes at home unless she had a rash, which was rare. We hired sitters a few times and she was fine with them.

Darla showed no concern about the matter when I told her, but another woman from the agency who was listening was clearly disturbed at the news. Darla minimized the issue by writing in her report for the judge that Ava cried whenever someone other than the foster parents changed her diaper. That wasn't accurate. Two months earlier she was fine in our church nursery with various workers who all had criminal background checks and always worked in pairs. But that was what she wrote, so the judge didn't do anything about it.

When Ava's case was up for a state review I participated by phone and mentioned her screaming during diaper changes at church recently. Sarah said that both Wyatt and Ava usually cried when she changed them. Everyone listened attentively to my concern and Sarah made it sound like nothing much. At least I said what I could to everyone involved and urged each visitation worker to watch Sarah like a hawk every time I dropped her off.

Surprisingly, Sarah missed the next month of visits (except one), which she had never done before. I grew very suspicious and figured my comments at the state review had scared her straight. During that time Ava's behavior returned to normal at the church nursery. After that, I was convinced that Sarah had been abusing Ava and my heart broke for my little girl who had been so trusting. Now her world of safety had been shattered by pain coming from someone she thought had loved her. Again, I asked God why he had allowed such a dreadful thing to happen to an innocent child. I was very upset that I could not fully protect her at all times. I had to face the fact that we lived in a world where people could choose to do evil. From then on, whenever I brought Ava to a visit, I warned those watching them to keep an eye on Sarah at all times and prayed for God to intervene.

I needed a reminder that God was sovereign over Ava's life, so I read Isaiah 40 and found portions from verses 18-29 that popped out at me, speaking to my situation: "To whom, then, will you compare God?...He sits enthroned above the circle of the earth, and its people are like grasshoppers. He reduces the rulers of this world to nothing...who is my equal?...Why do you say...my way is hidden from the Lord; my cause is disregarded by my God?...He gives strength to the weary..."

In reality God was far above Darla and Sarah in power so much so that they were like mere grasshoppers that he could blow away. I had been seeing Darla as somewhat equal to him in power regarding Ava's destiny. That was so wrong and caused me a lot of fear. God hadn't forgotten our cause. I felt like he had forgotten about Ava when Sarah started going to the visits again. The Lord told me not to assume he was indifferent about Ava's welfare, but to know he was very concerned and was calling me to continue in fervent prayer on her behalf. The enemy was on a mission to destroy my little girl, but God wanted her deliverance, so I continued interceding.

**Chapter 35 - Continuing Through the Courtroom Labyrinths**

"Those who trust in the Lord are like Mount Zion, which cannot be shaken but endures forever." Psalm 125:1

In May the kids had separate hearings on the same morning, but we couldn't use the childcare in the courthouse because Wyatt was sick. I was desperate because I didn't want to miss anything that happened in court and needed Patrick by my side for security around Troy. My friend who occasionally babysat the kids was busy that morning. The one sitter I trusted already had a job lined up. I was in a bind. Then the night before the hearing the sitter's other family canceled so she could work for us after all. God came through just in time.

Several key people were absent from the hearing due to illness or vacations so there were substitutes who knew little to nothing about the case, including the judge, who had to be briefed quickly. Our fill-in caseworker was primarily a passive observer. I was very disappointed and feared something important would get overlooked. I found out later that I had been right.

On top of it all, Beatrice caved under pressure during a surprise phone call from Sarah's dad and told him when Wyatt's hearing was even though he had been dismissed as an interested party months ago. She was part of the same small community as the grandfather so they ran into each other at stores and horse competitions. Beatrice had been a great defender for the children, but I was outraged that she had made her social life a priority over our family's privacy. Knowing when Wyatt's hearings were gave the grandfather access to the details of the case, including the adoption date. (Later, I protested to the head of the local CASA about a conflict of interest with Beatrice being on the kids' cases due to her casually socializing with the grandparents, but I was ignored.)

Then the county attorney asked that Wyatt's adoption be put off for a whole year because she anticipated that Sarah would appeal to the state supreme court. Such an appeal usually took only two months, so her request for such a delay was outrageous. I started to wonder if she had something against me. Yet the judge granted her request agreeing that the date could be changed if needed. But would they really change it? I felt sick. What was wrong with everyone?

Troy showed up with Sarah to Ava's hearing later that morning. A couple times he looked like he was going to explode, such as when Beatrice stood up to request a no contact order between him and Ava. The judge started out with a convoluted response, which made us all fear he wouldn't grant it. But he ended with saying it wouldn't change Troy's probation restrictions, so he granted it. Finally, I would have something in print to give the police a reason to arrest him should he show up at her doctor's office!

It was wonderful to have Patrick seated on one side of me and a CASA supervisor on the other, yet their protection didn't feel like quite enough with the potentially ballistic Troy sitting a few rows away. So I greatly appreciated the fact that I could feel God's presence around me as I thought about Isaiah 43:11, "I, even I, am the Lord, and apart from me there is no savior." The truth of that verse was quite apparent at that moment.

Near the end of the hearing the judge let the grandfather stand up and comment. He said he didn't want to separate the kids and would only take Ava if there was some reason Patrick and I couldn't adopt her. Sarah and Troy's heads whirled toward each other with looks of fury and shock. It was clear they had never heard Sarah's dad express such a sentiment before. I wondered what the familial fallout was going to be as a result of his comment. But I was extremely elated because one of my major threats was gone! That was the best news I had heard in a long time.

For his closing remarks the judge gave Sarah and Troy a stern warning about what would likely happen to Ava. Since the kids had been growing up together for seven months by that point, many people would not want to separate them. With one about to be adopted, he said that both might end up being adopted. I left the court building filled with joy.

However, since Troy's treatment plan still needed to be addressed now that he had involved himself in Ava's case, I was looking at several more months of taking Ava to visits.

Sadly, I started to feel alienated by Beatrice after asking her several times if she would promise not to tell the kids' grandparents when Wyatt's adoption day was once we got a date. She would never give me any kind of assurance even though I said it would ruin the day for us if the birth family, especially Troy (who could hear about it through Sarah), showed up anywhere in the court building. I knew she wanted to keep things cordial with the grandparents. Even though she had accomplished a lot in helping to defend the kids, I was deeply hurt that she appeared to be putting her comfort first when it came to the happiness of a little boy's adoption day. I so much wanted that day to be special after waiting twenty one years to become a mother, but my family lived too far to attend and distract me from the faces of those on Wyatt's team who had been indifferent or cruel. At least I could count on a couple of friends coming. I preferred to not have Darla show up since she had given me so much grief for months, but court was public where I had almost no control. At least our home was private where we could determine who would share in our joy. I had to focus more on the party we would have for Wyatt after the adoption hearing.

A week later I got an assurance from Beatrice's supervisor that no one from CASA would share Wyatt's adoption date with anyone in his birth family. That was excellent news.

Throughout the ups and downs of fostering I shared everything openly with Patrick who patiently listened, but he rarely knew how to encourage me. Though concerned, the situations didn't affect him to the same degree, making it hard for him to fully relate. I think I often perplexed him more than anything. He didn't ruminate over things like I did. I was so glad I had the Lord as a constant friend who knows me intimately, because he had the right words to uplift my spirits one time when I was lamenting over our circumstances, "You will have a good life together afterwards." That was sweet. My hope was renewed. I merely had to endure until the cases closed.

One day Sarah gave me letters that she wanted me to read to the kids when they were ten or eleven years old. Was she giving up on Ava? I was grateful for the letters and the blessing they might be for the kids someday. At home sadness washed over me as I read Sarah's raw pain spilling forth from neatly penned words. In Wyatt's letter I admired how forthright she was as she apologized for having exposed him to drugs and asked for his forgiveness. But I was disturbed to read in Ava's letter her claim that DHS had no reason for taking her away. Oh, the denial! I expected the kids would love her closing comment, "there's not a day that goes by that I don't think about you." She included contact information for relatives should they ever want to reach her.

Then Sarah asked in a letter addressed to me if I would keep sending her pictures if we adopt the kids. I wasn't comfortable with that idea because of the chance that we could run into her or Troy in public. Recent pictures would help them recognize the kids. I regretted having to write her that I would only send photos for another year or so. I knew that would really upset her. However, I assured her that I'd send her updates on how the kids were doing. It made me happy when she wrote that she was glad her kids were with good people. Then she wrote of herself, "I'm a good person. I wish everyone could see that." She was urgent about getting a quick response regarding the photos for some strange reason.

In the meantime I languished over the fact that Wyatt's file was stuck in limbo for months, waiting to be sent to the adoption unit. Back in March Darla said she'd send it in April. In April she said she would send it in May. In May she said she'd send it by early June, then she extended it to late June and finally followed through. She never gave an explanation for the delays and I saw no reason to ask because she would just give an excuse. Plus, I was afraid of alienating her further by applying any kind of pressure while Ava's case was in such a tenuous situation. I knew her burnout was keeping her from treating me with common decency.

Another aggravation was that she would not tell me if Sarah had appealed to the state supreme court when I repeatedly asked even though the deadline to do so had long passed. The GAL wouldn't tell me either. Why the secrecy? I was so anxious to adopt Wyatt by that point that any senseless delay was driving me nuts. Why was there no one in the foster system with the clout to put a fire under Darla and get her to pay any attention to Wyatt's case?

Since our children were still very young, it was hard for me to trust them with sitters. I used a couple women for emergencies only. So I desperately needed my regular retreat at our new gym. I was thankful for its daycare and great equipment. The daycare workers actually held the babies and loved on them. What an improvement over our last gym! I was so happy to see my kids playing with other children and having a good time. Those respites away from responsibility and cares was a vital part of my therapy.

Yet time spent with the children was an inspiration and joy as we saw them develop, giving me hope that they had bright futures ahead. Wyatt had recently turned two and impressed us by hiking three and a half miles on a trail with five-hundred feet of elevation gain to a plateau with expansive mountain views. He would have gone farther had we not run into his naptime. He rode the last half mile asleep on Patrick's shoulders. At eight months Ava started pulling herself up on furniture so she could scoot along. She was an engaging baby who loved to laugh and explore. It was great to see them continuing to thrive. The kids came to mind when I read Psalm 112:2, "His children will be mighty in the land; the generation of the upright will be blessed." They surely were blessed and so was I.

In July there was a mediation where Ava's team hoped to convince the birth family that they should relinquish Ava to Patrick and myself so they could avoid having to prepare for the placement hearing in August. I was hopeful. Sarah's recent letters gave me the impression that she was moving on. She had canceled the previous week of visits and had stopped bringing formula, using mine instead.

But after the mediation Darla had bad news in abundance to deliver. Sarah had dug in her heels and was not the least bit inclined to relinquish Ava. The birth family had gone to the mediation ready for battle. Sarah's dad drastically changed his tune, saying he was going to fight for custody of Ava. I was baffled. What had happened to his gracious statement in court last May saying he didn't want to separate the kids? I already knew the step-grandma never wanted to take care of more grandkids, so Ava would most likely feel rejected in their home. The grandfather was angry about us not allowing him to take Wyatt camping and fishing. Why was he still hanging on to that unreasonable expectation?

The GAL and county attorney expected the judge would accept Sarah's dad's kinship study, making him a worthy custody option. To top it off, Sarah's mom's household had been approved by the social worker from Tennessee. Perhaps my refusal to continue sending Sarah photos beyond one more year had angered her and thrown all ideas of relinquishing out the window.

It sounded like it was no longer possible to keep our precious baby. Perhaps that was why I thought I heard God say months ago, "You will have to let her go someday." I started spiraling into a pit of fear and despair. "God, please give me your grace to persevere," I prayed.

God answered my concerns with Proverbs 23:10-11, "Do not...encroach on the fields of the fatherless, for their Defender is strong; he will take up their case against you." I applied it to our lives as a warning for the birth family to not encroach on the home God had determined for Ava to grow up in. He would fight for her in court and enable her to stay with us.

Then I remembered reading Isaiah 43:2, "When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned..." I was drowning in rivers of fear and walking through a fire filled with the unbearable pain of possibly losing a baby who felt like mine in every sense. All of us had bonded so deeply like a family. To take her from us would be like ripping a limb from a body. She needed us and we needed her. I feared for her well being as I thought about all the scarring on her young heart if she had to leave us, making it difficult for her to trust and bond again.

God was walking through the rivers and fire with us. He would make sure we were all kept safe. I took his large hand and was determined to keep plowing through every obstacle even though the path ahead looked treacherous.

I had to focus on the two brighter spots. Darla was now leaning toward keeping the kids together. And the fact that the grandfather had only visited Ava once was a big mark against him. He planned to put Ava in daycare while he and his wife worked. It made my heart sick to imagine her moving in with strangers then being cared for during the day by more strangers. After awhile I knew she'd end up back with Sarah.

The grandfather was given four more opportunities to visit Ava to prove his interest in her and start building a relationship before the placement hearing that would determine if she stayed with us or would be sent to live with him or Sarah's mom. I prayed hard for him to stay away. He had neglected to set up a visit in June, so that spoke volumes to me about his lack of interest. When he failed to show up for the next two visits scheduled at the end of July, I was elated. The CASA supervisor said that didn't look good. But then he showed up for the last two visits alone. The step-grandma just didn't want to be bothered. I didn't know what the judge would think of their half-hearted attempt.

**Chapter 36 - Wildflowers and Thunder**

"For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all." 2 Corinthians 4:17

With tension building in Ava's case, the sight of the mountains around Crested Butte in full bloom was a glorious escape providing a taste of heaven on earth. I kept jumping out of our Jeep to photograph brilliant carpets of wildflowers bordering the roads. One late morning we headed out to Dark Canyon Trail because it was under two miles to the first overlook. With Ava on my back I couldn't hike much farther due to the strain of her weight on my shoulders.

When we approached a ridge, my eyes scanned the spectacular expanse with delight. A deep valley studded with dark pines opened up beneath us, spreading out for miles toward three clumps of jagged mountain ranges. As I soaked in the details of the beauty, I saw everything as descriptive of the rich potential of Ava and Wyatt's lives on the road ahead. Through the scene before me the Lord told me not to be overcome by the challenges of parenting, but to focus on how much these children will truly enrich our lives. God revealed to me how rewarding parenting could be, full of many great experiences and dreams to be pursued.

We sat down to relax on the rocks with our lunch. With my stomach and spirit satiated, we loaded the kids on our backs. Then we heard the sound no hiker in the mountains wants to hear – thunder. The tall tress had kept us from noticing the approach of dark clouds. What made it worse was that we had to hike toward them and pass through a few meadows dotted through the forest where we'd be more vulnerable to lightning strikes. We took off at almost a trot knowing we had nearly an hour's journey ahead as the storm quickly blew in.

Soon we also heard thunder to our right, then our left. I hadn't had the dilemma of being surrounded by storm clouds on a trail before. My heart pounded harder as I thought about how common lightning was in Colorado's mountains. I had heard too many stories from fellow hikers about their hair standing on end as the electricity from lightning bolts emanated around them. Judging by the heaviness of the clouds, I was certain that we were about to be soaked in a downpour with no shelter nearby. As we rushed through the meadows and jumped up and down small riverbanks, I prayed hard for God to somehow make the storm clouds go around us and keep us dry.

God was so merciful and answered my prayers. We heard thunder all the way back to our car, but only a few drops of rain hit us. That's what happens when you take your time in the morning getting ready to head out to a trailhead in Colorado – a pleasant hike turns into a mad dash beneath an afternoon thunderstorm.

Another risky moment occurred when we were driving along Slate River Road. The scenery was stunning. I thought we'd have to turn around when we hit a long stretch of road covered with deep snow. But the guy who made it through before us offered to pull us out if need be. The large branches he had laid down kept us from sinking and we made it through easily. We continued to wind our way up the rugged one lane road with drop-offs and even better views. Then our eyes became fixated on a crumbling edge that cut into the road creating an open "V" several inches across. Where were the wheels on the passenger side of the car going to go? Before I could protest, Patrick gunned the engine and we flew over the missing section of road. I vowed to never go back there again.

Soon after we returned home, Darla informed me that Troy was back in prison for two years. What joy to have a reprieve from checking our yard for him and no longer having a concern about Ava being abducted from a visit, a doctor's appointment or from the courthouse parking lot. I didn't know what he was in prison for, but I prayed we would be able to move before he got released. Also, Sarah was still missing half her visits with Ava and might not have many more as the case was coming to a head. Some things were looking better.

One day I read Psalm 113:9, "He settles the barren woman in her home as a happy mother of children." The word "children" popped out at me. God said, "I am giving you children, not just one child, so you can expect to keep Ava, too." I let that wonderful thought sink deep into my soul and clung to it whenever doubts plagued me.

As I anticipated the placement hearing I kept thinking about Psalm 112:7-8, "He will have no fear of bad news; his heart is steadfast, trusting in the Lord. His heart is secure, he will have no fear..." Occasionally I tormented myself with thoughts of Ava being taken from us right after the hearing. The scene was more than I could bear. I had to keep telling myself, "Have no fear. Trust God." Patrick simply didn't allow himself to think about it. I had no idea how he managed that incredible feat of self-control.

The Sunday before the hearing we went to the altar at church for prayer with one of the pastors. Afterwards, I had greater faith and peace. During worship I saw a vision of the courtroom ablaze with the holy fire of God inspiring people to fear him and moving them to do his will. I prayed that all truth would be brought forward, exposing any secret plans of the parents. God reminded me of all the times he had already had delivered Ava, so why wouldn't he complete his work and make her ours? After all, he is a God who finishes what he starts.

2 Corinthians 4:17 helped me to put things in perspective, "For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all." It was foreign for me to think of our battle to acquire custody of Ava as a light and momentary trouble. But I was encouraged as I considered that troubles contribute toward an eternal glory for us to enjoy forever. I saw that God brings extreme good out of our painful situations so none of our suffering is in vain.

At last Wyatt's files were sent to an adoption caseworker who was very nice. I especially appreciated the fact that she was willing to answer my questions. I was surprised when she asked me if we were still waiting for the mandate (the denial of Sarah's appeal in writing). I told her it had been sent to Darla two months ago. The adoption caseworker said she often received files before mandates came in. So Darla had misled me by saying they had to wait for the mandate to come in before sending his file to the adoption unit. Anger and great disappointment rose up in me as I realized we could have already adopted Wyatt, which would have made our case even stronger for keeping Ava when the placement hearing arrived.

Also, Darla had neglected to tell us we needed to update our fingerprints, so four to six weeks were added to our wait. Why were we ignorant of so many things? Then we found out the county attorney wouldn't even set an adoption date until our fingerprints were processed. So we were looking at a day in October as a possibility. It was agonizingly far away, but I had to remind myself that, nevertheless, the day of celebration was steadily approaching.

In order to bolster our chances for keeping Ava, Darla thought it would be good to film her having a good time playing with Wyatt in the visitation room. But who can predict how well a 2-year-old and 9-month-old will share toys? I recalled their times of screaming over the same stuffed animal so I prayed in desperation that they would shine throughout their ten minute debut since Ava's future could depend on it.

On the day of their big performance it was agonizing to watch Wyatt repeatedly grab play food from Ava, but I was amazed how she never protested. God was helping them to be content. She followed him around a lot and they laughed together, much to my relief. After watching their impressive interaction who could have the heart to split them up? It was a wrap.

Besides being prepared for the judge, the video was sent to Sarah and her parents. I hoped it would change their minds about separating the kids. In addition, Patrick put together an array of video clips of the kids' antics for the birth family. Sarah watched it in the visitation room crying and laughing. I was glad she could keep that collection for sweet memories.

Looking for more support and friendships, I joined a group at church that was discussing a book on motherhood. There were only three other women at the first meeting. The dinner was lovely and the conversation fun.

I was surprised to discover they were all late thirty-something homeschoolers who raised chickens in their backyards. I felt out of place at first, then grew comfortable enough to share what was going on in my life. Later that night I felt God's supernatural joy and believed the women were praying for me.

The group grew quickly and I was thrilled when an adoptive mom came, but she didn't stay perhaps because she never had any biological children like everyone else did. I have to admit it was sometimes painful listening to stories about pregnancy and labor and not being able to participate.

Soon a new foster mom came and I was grateful that I could try to encourage her along her journey. She already had two biological children, but from a young age had the desire to adopt. When she got a call for a newborn suffering from withdrawal due to exposure to a variety of toxic substances, her husband heard God say the baby would become theirs. They needed that reassuring word as she endured months of being awakened numerous times during the night to care for the baby while pregnant. Interestingly, they discovered they probably conceived the same day that their foster baby was born.

When I visited them one day, I cried at the sight of the tiny baby twitching in my arms. She was utterly helpless and had no choice about what had been repeatedly pumped into her system in utero. I was impressed by how willing the foster mom was to sacrifice much needed sleep during pregnancy for a child that was not yet hers. Even though God spoke a great word of hope from the beginning, it still was a walk of faith through some terrifying moments in the case along with a custody dispute, but my friend was finally able to adopt the child almost two years later. She was becoming a lovely girl who stood as a testament to God's gracious healing power. Two years later they were able to adopt her baby brother also. What a happy family they were!

**Chapter 37 - Custody Battle**

"Defend the cause of the weak and fatherless; maintain the rights of the poor and oppressed." Psalm 82:3

A few days before the placement hearing I consulted with Darla in an attempt to get any words of hope I could find. The grandfather had shown up for only two of the four visits with Ava and his wife didn't show up for any. I asked, "Would that look really bad in the judge's eyes?" Darla replied, "Well, he could figure that the step-grandma was a busy working woman and just couldn't make it." That was disheartening to hear.

She added, "The judge could rule either for you or the grandparents to get custody of Ava. I have a difficult job ahead trying to convince the judge that a baby should stay with a foster family and her brother even though two relatives' homes have been approved for custody of her." I wasn't aware that the situation was so dire. I left the conversation very worried once more. I kept trying to cling to the CASA supervisor's belief that we had good reason to be hopeful.

I awoke the morning of the placement hearing with a pit in my stomach. Immediately, I began crying out to God for his thoughts to uplift my spirits. I was pitifully weak in my faith and terrified of the path ahead. I couldn't lose my precious girl! If she went to live with a grandparent I might not see her again. What dreadful things could happen to her? How will we all recover from the grief?

As I lay quietly in bed I thought I heard God say, "You will win." Then Isaiah 55:12 came to mind, "You will go out with joy and be led forth with peace..." My hope started to rise once more. I sensed that God would get great pleasure in granting us Ava. However, we would still have to wait for the parents' rights to be terminated at a later hearing.

Even though I was convinced that it was God's will for us to keep Ava, I sensed that there was a spiritual battle I needed to engage in before entering the courtroom. I went into our laundry room before the kids woke up because it was the only place in the house where I could pray loudly with abandon. I felt the Spirit praying through me with a force I rarely experienced. I sensed God was commanding all evil to flee from Ava's situation. Becoming keenly aware of God's power moving in the heavenlies to bring about his will, my courage grew to its strongest.

We arrived in the courtroom where Patrick and I sat on pins and needles. Sarah's mom was the first to testify. She participated by phone from Tennessee. Admitting she had never met Ava and that it would be a bad thing for the baby to leave her brother, she still insisted that it was more important for Ava to live with her cousins and the rest of her family.

Then the judge asked the grandma if she would allow unsupervised contact between Ava and her parents. I waited expectantly. The grandma thought a moment, then said "I would allow it after a few years if Ava wanted to see them." I was grateful that she was so clear about her intentions. By law Troy was not allowed contact with anyone under the age of eighteen. I was certain that she lacked a proper protectiveness due to ignorance about how dangerous he really was. The judge was not impressed with her answer. Yes! The tide began to turn in our direction.

Then the GAL stood up and remarked that Ava should not go to the grandma because, not only did she never visit her granddaughter, but she did not send cards or presents either. She had virtually no involvement in Ava's life. I wanted to pat him on the back.

The court took a five minute break. Sarah and her dad left and had a conversation in the hall that caused her to run off crying. Something was up. When his name was called, the grandfather sauntered up to the witness stand. He looked bedraggled from the whole ordeal, but pleasant nevertheless. After politely answering a few questions, he said that he couldn't ask for better foster parents than Patrick and myself. I started to cry. Such a generous endorsement coming from him would greatly increase our chances of keeping Ava. A wave of peace swept over me.

He then mentioned his wife had heard that Patrick and I were not planning on adopting Ava, so that's why they had pursued custody of her for a time. That was one of the most bizarre comments I had heard. I shot back a perplexed look to the step-grandma sitting behind me and she whispered, "Sarah said that!" I didn't know what to believe. I whispered back emphatically that we very much wanted to adopt Ava. I started to cry again.

He continued, "I can't separate Ava and Wyatt. Siblings you have for life." Everyone in the courtroom stared in shock. The judge commended him for his wise, but obviously painful decision as he placed the welfare of the children above his daughter's pleas. I heard later that up until he got on the stand the grandfather didn't know which way he was going to lean. God had tipped the scales at the last minute.

Darla took the stand next and accurately answered the judge's questions about our intentions regarding the possibility of continuing a relationship with the grandparents. He asked if we would continue contact even if they got Ava and she admitted that we had concerns about the impact on Wyatt who might feel rejected wondering why they pursued custody of her and not him.

Unfortunately, they couldn't show the video of the kids playing together because the courtroom did not have the right equipment. Why hadn't someone been better prepared? At least the judge was given a photo of a smiling half bald Ava with large rosy cheeks. He chuckled and said, "No wonder everyone wants her, she is exceptionally cute!"

My brain kept jumping frantically from one person's statement to another as I wondered how the judge was going to rule. Patrick and I just sat motionless holding hands and barely breathing. Was our fragile structure of a family about to be destroyed or were we going to be given a surer road toward adopting this precious little angel? Would Ava be delivered for the time being or plunged into a precarious life and the heartache of separation from us? "Oh, God, save her!" I prayed.

The grandma in Tennessee was still very insistent that she wanted Ava, so the judge asked for assistance in finding laws about which relationship takes precedence, one between a grandparent and grandchild or one between siblings. Wyatt and Ava had been growing up together for ten months by that point, so the bond between them was considered significant. Someone finally found a statute that said the relationship between siblings took precedence so the judge denied the grandparents custody of Ava. I sat in disbelief for a moment. Was it true? Was that really the end of the custody battle? Patrick and I hugged each other as immense relief and joy filled our hearts.

But my joy was quelled by the sight of Sarah running up to her dad to throw her arms around him in a broken embrace filled with weeping. I had feared she would ostracize him after his testimony, so I was very happy to see them standing together to comfort each other. Tears rolled down the grandfather's weatherworn cheeks as he patted his daughter's back with a forlorn gaze that said, "I'm sorry I couldn't make it all better."

We went out to the hall where I found Ava's team smiling. All the ways they had disappointed me were pushed to the recesses of my mind as I gleefully hugged and thanked each one. I told the CASA supervisor that I had clung to his words, "You can have hope," to carry me through. We all praised the grandfather for making such a difficult stand and admired the judge for how he handled everything so graciously, all the while carefully adhering to the law.

As Patrick and I strolled along the sidewalk with the kids to our car, the sun seemed to shine brighter than it had in a very long time. The trees looked more lush and the flowers danced happily in the breeze. Everything was more alive. It was as if I could hear all creation praising God. He had vanquished our last great threat to Ava's safety. At last we could breathe easy.

**Chapter 38 - Casework Bungling**

"He will bring to light what is hidden in darkness..." 1 Corinthians 4:5

In September I was so excited for Ava's next hearing because I understood that the parental rights were to be terminated. Beatrice thought so too, but someone clarified for her that it was merely an "Advisement to Termination" where the parents would be told why their rights to Ava would be ended soon. What a waste of time! I had the sense in August that things were "falling through the cracks" as I put it to Darla, but she assured me that everything was being taken care of in a timely manner. Sad to say, my gut feeling was right on target.

Darla decided it was time to leave casework and pursue a degree in another field, so Ava was assigned to Kristie as her new caseworker. She was new to casework, so I was dubious about her competence. And it didn't help Ava that Kristie was distracted with an urgent family matter. "At least the hardest part of the case is behind us," I told myself. I soon noticed that she had a sweet manipulative manner and intelligence that enabled her to quickly redefine situations and wrap others around her little finger so she could get away with things or buy more time to get paperwork done. I didn't trust the sly look behind her lowered eyelids.

At the hearing we got the disappointing news that Troy's treatment plan should have been turned in sometime between May and August but Darla had neglected to do so. Kristie procrastinated another month and had just turned it in the day before the hearing, leaving Troy and his lawyer no time to even read it let alone try to comply with it.

At least Troy's treatment plan had been written to such high standards that it was difficult for him to meet all of its requirements. No one quite knew how to write a treatment plan that would grant a child molester custody of his daughter, so the caseworker needed input from an experienced lawyer. To allow Troy the obligatory two month period to attempt his treatment plan, another Advisement to Termination was set for November, pushing the actual termination back to the following year. I had been really looking forward to no longer having to bring Ava to visits with Sarah, so I felt sick over the thought of several more months of putting my sweet baby at risk.

We also had the great aggravation of having to wait until the hearing to get permission to leave for Utah. Our trip was supposed to begin in two days! I had started requesting that Darla get permission from Troy and Sarah three months prior, but she had neglected to do so. So we were down to the wire waiting on Kristie, who waited until four days before our departure to confirm it with Sarah. She never bothered to ask Troy, so we had to get permission from the judge. So much aggravation and emails to her superiors just to get a simple go ahead. We were trying to reduce stress by planning a lovely vacation to Arches Park and it seemed like the caseworkers were doing everything they could to increase our stress.

The judge granted us permission after all, but it took me awhile to relax. In fact, since Ava's placement hearing I was still wound up and wondered if I had a measure of post-traumatic stress disorder. Of course, I didn't suffer severely like some soldiers who return from war, but I had prolonged mild symptoms that told me I wasn't quite myself.

Because I had been through a succession of unpredictable events that threatened Ava's safety while being forced to stand helplessly on the sidelines, I was still decompressing. I often relived distressing scenarios related to her case, I had feelings of mistrust and betrayal and I lived with an almost constant sense of there being a threat to Ava. Having witnessed numerous oversights, I hovered over the details of her case with hypervigilance, worrying that something else bad might happen. At times it was hard to concentrate on things and I certainly didn't have the creative inspiration I needed to get back into writing articles or weaving beaded necklaces. I asked God to restore me and tried to think about better days that were in store for us.

**Chapter 39 - A Promise Fulfilled**

"I prayed for this child, and the Lord has granted me what I asked of him." 1 Samuel 1:27

Touring desert parks in Utah with fascinating reddish rock formations, deep canyons and the roaring waters of the Colorado River took me away to another world filled with adventure. We managed to do several hikes with the kids, but my favorite trek was one I did solo along a smooth stone path shrouded in darkness in Arches National Park. My goal was to reach the world's longest arch before sunrise. My destination was the impressively thin, yet monumental Landscape Arch with its nearly 300 foot span. I rushed along in the cool early morning air with a lone hiker far ahead of me, offering a degree of comfort in the wilderness.

Blending into the surrounding rocks, I didn't notice my subject until I was almost upon it. Its massiveness wasn't fully apparent until another photographer ignored the sign, hopped over the fence and stood beneath it. Portions of rock the size of cars had fallen from the arch in the recent past, so he was taking a risk. Just as the sun threatened to burst over the horizon I planted myself in a strategic location and began clicking away along with four other early risers. The sandstone arch took on a fiery glow that intensified by the minute until it was a full-blown orange-red. It was a satisfying sight.

I continued on to the next set of arches, but quickly lost the path amid jutting rocks and a climb that intimidated me. Also, my glasses had just broke, so I turned around in defeat, but found more arches to enjoy along the way back. I really needed that time alone to reflect on the beauty God had created around me and to rest in his loving presence, free from distractions and turmoil. Life was simple there. Nothing was demanded of me and everyone was cordial and happy.

The day after we returned home, I was fatigued from running errands while trying to get used to the trifocals I had picked up that day, so in the darkness I missed my turn into the post office. No problem. I would make a right turn at the next driveway. But a policeman was on my tail with lights flashing in an instant. Where had he come from?

I was relaxed because I expected that I hadn't done anything wrong. He explained that I had failed to turn in a right turn only lane. What? The lane I was in had ended at the post office, so it was illegal for me to continue going straight even though the width of the road stayed the same. I had no idea I could get a ticket for that infraction. Then he asked me if I was intoxicated or on drugs because I seemed slow. I was incredulous and offended. No one had ever asked me such a question before. I started tearing up as I explained how tired I was from our recent trip and all my errands and how I was getting used to my new glasses.

To make matters worse, I couldn't find the proof of insurance anywhere. Patrick had forgotten to put it back in the glove box after he renewed our plates the week before. I was certain that I looked like a complete basket case. So the officer wrote up a ticket requiring me to appear in court. To add to my annoyance, the week before I had received a summons to appear for jury duty on the day before we were to adopt Wyatt, so I had to ask for that to be postponed.

With the weight of Ava's case still upon me and an accumulation of small things bothering me, I told Patrick I didn't have the resources within myself to throw an adoption party for Wyatt. I preferred the idea of having a joint party for both children once we adopted Ava. Maybe I'd be in a better frame of mind then. It didn't help that our computer had just crashed, making it difficult to send out invitations.

In addition, I had been feeling abandoned since the two women in my playgroup had recently moved out of state, leaving the kids and myself somewhat isolated. I had attended their children's adoption hearings and was impressed with the show of support from dozens of relatives and friends they had received in the courtroom and at parties thrown for them afterwards.

Our immediate families lived too far away to consider attending Wyatt's adoption. Of course, they were very happy about us being able to adopt him. At least I had two friends who were planning on coming to the adoption hearing.

After our arduous journey of nearly a decade to parenthood, we needed a larger celebration of God's goodness than a court hearing. I decided that I wanted to provide Wyatt wonderful memories of a rich welcome into our family with photos of our joy. Our son's adoption and the Lord's deliverance from a dire situation was a major event that definitely deserved a party. Even though I was emotionally drained, I didn't want to cop out and live with years of regret. So I got over my distractions, sent invitations and planned dinner for seventeen people.

Just before Wyatt's adoption we had a meeting to learn about the details of his first months of life and read reports on his parents. I was disturbed to read that Troy started yelling about hospital restrictions while high on meth, threatened to kill the staff and had to be escorted out of the building. I saw some similarities to Ava's birth experience and lamented that neither child had a peaceful welcome into the world.

For his first two months Sarah took Wyatt to live with her dad and step mom. After awhile Sarah couldn't tolerate her step mom's confrontations about her lifestyle, so she moved out and lived in a homeless shelter for a couple months. At least it was summertime when she was pushing Wyatt around in a stroller along the streets. She was able to feed him through the WIC program, but I wondered how she got diapers and clothes for him. I saw a photo of Wyatt that Beatrice took in front of the shelter and was happy to see that he looked well fed, but he looked weary. My heart broke for my beautiful boy having to suffer through so much upheaval in his early days on top of enduring withdrawal symptoms from meth exposure right after his birth.

Wyatt had a very compassionate caseworker who eventually provided for them a government subsidized apartment. Sarah must have thought she had it made by that point. It sounded like Troy was taking advantage of the free housing, too. They settled into a regular routine of hanging out with bad company and neither of them working which led Sarah back to meth use. That was why Wyatt was removed from her care. She had been smoking meth in her apartment with Wyatt there and missed a UA. Wyatt was taken from her arms while they were in court.

I sat there aching as I pondered what Wyatt had suffered from moving repeatedly and the sudden separation from his mom. When I held him, I looked at him with deeper understanding and yearned to bring him the full comfort he needed. I prayed for God to touch the depths of his young soul with his everlasting love and heal all the brokenness inside of him. If only I could have protected him from all the ugliness he had experienced. I marveled at how joyful he was in spite of it all. He did seem more prone to crying about little things than the average child, but I could see that the Lord had already been doing a great work in his heart. Oh, how grateful I was that the Lord had stopped me several times from sending Wyatt away when I thought there was no chance of adopting him!

On the morning of Wyatt's adoption I awoke to a vision of heaven in exhuberant rejoicing over him becoming ours for good. I thanked God for that truly inspiring scene because the adoption ceremony in court was anticlimactic after all we had endured. I was disappointed that the judge who had seen us through so much couldn't be there, so a complete stranger filled in. The hearing was primarily a legal procedure after all. The two friends I was expecting showed up late, so when the judge asked me if there were any guests for me to introduce, I had to say with pain and embarrassment, "There is no one."

Wyatt's second caseworker who had done a lot for him didn't make it. He would have enjoyed seeing her again. Ava's team showed up minus Darla, so that was a relief. Plus, three people from our agency surprised us with a very nice toy for Wyatt and one of them took photos of everyone. I really appreciated their kindness. There definitely were some good-hearted people working at our foster agency.

At the judge's decree of adoption with the pounding of her gavel to affirm it, I was thrilled that my twenty-one-year long dream of becoming a mom was finally officially realized and Wyatt was safe! I told the judge that I felt privileged to become Wyatt's mom and I meant it with all my heart. He was a gem of a boy with a fun loving nature and sensitive soul I could relate to.

However, I was surprised that I didn't break down crying for joy and relief as I imagined I would. I guess I already had that moment of ecstasy when I got the call about the parents' rights being terminated.

My rejoicing was tempered by my concern for Ava's full protection, too. We were not a complete family yet because one child was still dangling over a cliff. Sarah was given three to four months to prove she could stay clean again as we waited for the termination hearing in February.

Wyatt's adoption party went nicely with many guests. Everyone there had been through the foster to adopt journey with us and knew how sweet the victory was after a hard journey. Even though Wyatt hid under a table when he saw all the adults arriving, he was out like a shot as soon as two children came. He was in his element while he laughed and played with them in the backyard. A friend brought balloons that he artfully tied into planes and animals for the children. I was delighted to see that our son had the most fun out of everyone there. With the group of guests in a circle we said a prayer of thanksgiving. I had no regrets.

**Chapter 40 - Taking on a Leviathan**

"Saul replied, 'You are not able to go out against this Philistine and fight him; you are only a boy, and he has been a fighting man from his youth.'" 1 Samuel 17:33

My frustration regarding the caseworkers' mishandling of the kids' cases was ongoing, so I was elated when I found a sympathetic ear with our new home supervisor, Erin. Her job was to visit foster homes on a monthly basis to report on how everyone was doing and offer assistance where needed. She had fiery dark eyes and was ready to right all wrongs. Our previous home supervisor had a justification for every bad move the caseworkers made, so it was reassuring to finally see genuine concern in Erin's face and hear her plans to speak to those in charge. I was inspired.

Erin had a close relationship with our agency's director, Don, and managed to talk him into meeting with me. He was a lanky marathon runner obsessed with fitness like many in Colorado. His amicable, outgoing nature paved the way for him to build broad support in the community and recruit new foster parents. I hadn't bothered to speak with Don since my first attempt a couple years ago because all lines of communication had been shut down by his underlings perhaps to keep him from being overloaded with people's problems. I was grateful for the new opportunity.

I carefully arranged all of my emails from the caseworkers as documentation and included hearing reviews and caseworkers' reports. I sat down across from Don with the stack of papers in hand and proceeded to rattle through all the ways the kids' cases had been poorly handled, giving him papers to read as I went along. He was impressed with my thorough knowledge of the cases and initially tried to explain away some of the issues, but I pointed out why those excuses didn't hold water.

After I plowed through more problems, he admitted concern over a few things, especially the needless delay of Wyatt's adoption by several months and the ridiculously long wait for Troy's treatment plan to be submitted. He also showed empathy over us having to wait until the last minute to get permission to take a vacation. That brought me some sense of satisfaction. I also warned him about what I had seen and heard regarding the tendency of supervisors to cover for their caseworkers so their mistakes would not reflect poorly on the supervisors own job performance. He nodded in agreement confessing he had experienced that issue with a former supervisor. In fact, the agency had gone through three supervisors within one year. Something definitely was amiss.

When I mentioned how I believed Ava had been abused by Sarah during diaper changes, he assured me that they had cameras in the visitation room play areas. "But do you have one by the diaper changing table down the hall?" I asked with my eyes full of alarm. He confessed that the idea had never crossed his mind. He said they would look into it. I emphasized that the changing table corner was potentially the most vulnerable location in their building when it came to child safety and the inexperienced visitation staff could be overly trusting of the birthparents.

I left the meeting feeling as though I had made some progress on behalf of Ava for the future of her case and was encouraged that Don said he would have a certain woman audit the files to be sure all paperwork was turned in on time. Then Don pushed me to talk with the caseworker supervisor the next day and he offered to mediate. I had great doubts about how constructive such a meeting would be. Often the optimist, he thought my input would help her instruct the caseworkers about how to better communicate with foster parents.

I already knew the supervisor wasn't inclined to listen to me after my phone call with her a couple weeks prior. She took a month to get back to me regarding my complaints about Kristie and that was only after Erin had urged her to return my call. Since the previous supervisor had been a trustworthy listening ear, I shared my concerns, but was very disappointed to hear her give one excuse after another for Kristie's behavior. I hung up regretting that I had told her so much.

Don assured me that he would have my back during my conversation with the supervisor so I shouldn't be nervous. I believed him, not knowing how little control he had over the caseworker department. I was riding the wave of reform Erin had stirred up in me. I saw it as my mission to speak up about ways to improve caseworker performance by urging a higher level of accountability with casework details and better communication with foster parents that could ultimately benefit the children.

So at the meeting the following day, though I trembled inside, I was very direct about several casework concerns. When I expressed my horror over Darla's plan to send Ava to a drug addicted father who was a registered sex offender living with her mom, they refused to believe that Darla would do such a thing and asserted there must have been some other explanation for what happened.

I didn't feel it was the time or place for me to go into excessive detail to make the matter plain to them because no one was watching the kids as Don had promised. It was a wonder that I could articulate anything well because Wyatt and Ava were very busy exploring a room that had not been childproofed. An outlet cover was missing in the office and I had to get up periodically to grab breakable things out of their hands and make sure they didn't knock over a tipsy floor lamp. My stress was quite high but somehow God helped me maintain my composure.

Next I emphasized how important foster parents are in recruiting other foster parents for the agency. If we were mistreated and ignored, it was unlikely that we would encourage others to join us in our misery. I continued, "This week I had three opportunities to talk about what it's like to be a foster parent with people who have an interest in helping neglected and abused children. I'm sorry, but I couldn't recommend your agency so I mentioned a different one." Don's face fell, but he recovered quickly.

Throwing caution to the wind, I pressed the supervisor to give me the assurance that she would be more responsive in communicating with me and the other foster parents. Clearly annoyed, she sat erect on the edge of her chair as if coiling like a cobra preparing to strike. Her cold blue eyes focused on the floor as she pondered her response. With a tight face she looked up and replied, "I hear you." She decided to hold her venom for later. I was surprised that she wouldn't pretend to be more agreeable with her boss sitting with us in the room I summed up my points by lamenting how it appeared that Kristie had little regard for Ava's welfare. My words fell on deaf ears.

After the supervisor left, Don said, "I could see that you got under her skin." I did more than get under her skin. I was certain that she now hated me. A foster mom who didn't deserve the time of day just scolded her in front of her boss. What kind of backlash could I expect? I felt like Don had set me up to fight the battle alone as he sat quietly through most of the meeting, probably enjoying the show. Now Ava might have to pay the price with poor representation in court. On one hand it felt good to give the supervisor a piece of my mind, but on the other hand, I quickly had misgivings about being so confrontational.

Even after such an unpleasant encounter, Don wanted me to speak to the entire group of caseworkers at the agency since many of them were somewhat new. His goal was for me to instruct them on how to improve their relationships with foster parents by presenting my very long list of suggestions. His confidence in me went to my head momentarily, but when I got realistic, I knew they would never pay any heed to a member of the lower echelon they had been trained to ignore. I was right. The instructional meeting was never set up, but at least I had the satisfaction of hearing from a couple other women who worked at the agency who said my list had been passed around and they had read it.

Another one of Don's promises didn't quite pan out. When I asked the woman assigned to audit Ava's file how things were going, she said she didn't know what I was talking about. Don must have mentioned auditing just to give me a false sense of peace or he completely forgot about the matter. Either way, I wasn't happy.

Nevertheless, my meetings with Don and the supervisor may have had a greater effect for good than I thought. Perhaps a few of the other foster parents had complained, too, because several months later an announcement about a big organizational change was made. Amazingly, all the caseworkers had suddenly found different avenues in life to pursue so they were going to close the department and use caseworkers from another agency that ran a tighter ship.

Based on reports I heard from several sources, I knew it wasn't as simple as that. One person said the supervisor's first loyalty had been to her caseworkers instead of the agency (or the children's welfare), which is what I had believed all along. Another person said something else. Whatever the reason was for the restructuring, it was clear that the agency wanted to focus on the needs of the children and foster parents and create an atmosphere of trust. That was good to hear. Sticking my neck out had not been in vain.

Unfortunately, the one caseworker left was Kristie, who would keep Ava's case and eventually work out of the other agency. Overall, the change was for the better because Don and his staff could invest more energy on recruiting foster parents, setting up fund raising events and providing occasional fun activities for the many foster children to help brighten their days. I was thankful to witness how God was moving to defend the children.

**Chapter 41 - The Silent Treatment**

"If the world hates you, keep in mind that it hated me first." John 15:18

The backlash I expected began a couple weeks after my confrontation with the supervisor in Don's office. Kristie started refusing to answer any of my questions about Ava's case. It was impossible for me to attend the last hearing because Ava's visit with Sarah was scheduled immediately afterwards. It was customary for caseworkers to mention pertinent decisions from a hearing because it could take six weeks for reports to be sent from the county attorney's office. But Kristie was a closed book.

By now Erin had bonded with everyone at the agency and her drive to improve their work performance had vanished from what I could tell. It didn't take long for her to adopt the attitude of superiority typical among the caseworkers. After I made numerous attempts to contact Kristie, Erin called me on her behalf even though she knew virtually nothing about Ava's case. She had to ask Kristie, who was sitting by her, for every answer to my questions. The whole process was ridiculous. It took more time for Erin to relay responses than it would have taken for Kristie to talk to me herself.

The answers soon became insulting as Erin parroted, "You should have been at the hearing. You will get a report about the hearing in the mail," which would arrive a month later. I protested that Kristie's husband had scheduled Ava's visit immediately after the hearing, making it impossible for me to attend. That didn't matter. I asked Erin if I was the only foster parent that Kristie refused to have any contact with and she said, "Yes, because her other cases are in a constant state of emergency and Ava's case is the easiest, therefore, she has no time to communicate about your case." She didn't even want to tell me that the termination hearing date had been set for the following year, which was big news. Well, that was the price I had to pay for opening my big mouth when I complained to the supervisor.

To be completely cut off from a caseworker created anxiety because she was the one person who determined the direction of the case. We were in the clear for the most part, but the parent's rights had not been terminated yet so Ava was in limbo. Even Beatrice found it difficult to maintain good communication with Kristie and didn't always know what her plans were. Since Beatrice was a volunteer, I supposed that Kristie felt free to treat her with less respect than the other team members who were "professionals," like the attorneys.

I needed comfort from the Lord. I felt better when I read about Philip as he described to a man from Ethiopia how to be saved through Jesus' sacrifice on the cross, "In his humiliation he was deprived of justice" (Acts 8:33). Having endured far more maltreatment and pain than I ever would, I knew Jesus could relate to my sorrow over being treated unfairly by the caseworker. He was witnessing everything that was going on. I imagined that the supervisor had told Kristie, "Because Jennifer had the nerve to demand better communication, cut off ALL communication!" What I feared would happen did happen and Don was none the wiser since he had other agency business to deal with. With her parents officially out of the custody running, Sarah still failed to get serious about her treatment program and withdrew from Ava by attending fewer visits as November approached. Then she said she was going to be gone for a month for a family reunion. What reunion lasts a whole month? Right away I became suspicious. Sarah had been looking just like she did a couple months before she delivered Ava and was wearing large loose shirts again. Was she going to a relative's home to have a baby? When I suggested that idea to Ava's team, no one wanted to investigate. This time I didn't feel a strong attachment to the baby (if there was one), so I just kept the situation in prayer and thoroughly enjoyed the month break from worrying about Ava's safety at the visits.

In an effort to be friendly, Patrick and I set up a meeting with the grandfather and step-grandma so they could play with the kids at Chuck-E-Cheese just before Christmas. I wasn't sure how many times we'd feel comfortable meeting with them, but I wanted to make this initial gesture to help Ava's case go more smoothly. They were polite and subdued as they sat with us to eat pizza.

I asked the grandfather about Sarah's ethnic background and what her childhood was like so I could have some happy memories to share with the kids when they got older and provide for them a broader sense of personal history. He said she grew up around horses and loved riding them. She also took great delight in caring for babies. How tragic that she later failed to take good care of her own children! What caused the dramatic down turn in her life? Unfortunately, she started hanging out with the wrong people in high school.

The grandparents brought a nice present for both of the kids and took them around on the rides. The grandpa was having fun showing Wyatt around, but his wife looked like she was trying to be a good sport as she helped Ava get on and off the rides. Part of me wished that the kids could continue seeing their grandparents because the visit went well and it might help them have more of a sense of belonging, but I was too fearful of Troy finding out about the kids' new names. Also, even though they were primarily good-hearted people, their vacillations during the case and accusations toward those involved made me wary about forming an ongoing relationship with them. As we parted ways, the grandfather mentioned again how he wanted to take Wyatt fishing. We just waved good-bye and smiled. I was so glad to retreat into our car without having him yell at us.

The next month Kristie broke her silence and called me. Her voice was very upbeat as she shared the good news that Sarah had chosen to relinquish her rights to Ava. The case had been dragged out so long that Sarah had grown weary. Kristie saw an open door to suggest relinquishment since she was planning on moving away to live with her grandparents.

I was ecstatic to hear the news since that meant we didn't have to wait for the appeal process. I wasn't entirely surprised since Sarah missed the last six weeks of visits and hadn't done any of her treatment plan for nine months. She had given up and felt a need to move on with her life and make a new start. I hoped that being close to extended family would help her feel loved and secure so she wouldn't be so vulnerable to using drugs and seeking out bad relationships. Sarah was also hooking up with an old boyfriend who had a job and a car. She had turned her back on Troy once he was sent to prison because his family kicked her out of their house. All of those changes sounded promising.

Ava's final visit with her mom was scheduled in January. Initially, I was jubilant, then I felt sad for Sarah knowing she would never see her kids again unless they chose to meet with her once they became older teens.

On the day of the visit, Kristie discovered that it was Sarah's birthday and brought her a cake. What poor timing for a final good-bye! I felt horrible for her. I noticed she had been posting inspirational quotes on her Facebook page about God answering prayer. I was encouraged that she was looking for strength from Heaven in the midst of her pain. Since Wyatt was with me I had no contact with Sarah, but I imagined that she was an emotional mess having to say good-bye to her adorable baby girl.

When Ava was back in my arms safe and sound I heaved a sigh of relief knowing there would never be an opportunity for her birthmother to abuse her again. A door for the Enemy was cemented shut.

At church the next Sunday I cried with relief knowing our battle was over. It was wonderful to finally be able to lay down my sword in this arena of my life. I was overwhelmed by how much God had done by delivering such dear children from evil and bringing them to our home. It was amazing how well Ava and Wyatt fit with us and what blessings they were. I honestly couldn't have asked for more enjoyable children. Every day of difficulty had definitely been worth it. The only thing I still longed for was the day in three or four months when our home inspections from several people were finally done.

I sensed a welcomed stability for the first time in years. I wrote in my journal reflections about our foster parenting ordeal, "As the fear of losing Ava evaporates, I have been enjoying God's gentle breezes of peace, love and rest. I feel as though I've been through a dreadful battle for the life and soul of an innocent child and won. God has given us such a sweet victory. He is healing my soul from the ravages of people who don't seem to care much about the welfare of a baby because they are burned out from caring so long for too many hurting children. The Lord allowed me to encounter repeated callousness from people in the foster system so I could have a taste of what an older foster child might feel like after years of being shuffled around. But they suffer far more because it is their own life and well-being that is at stake and they know it."

However, God was working on behalf of those who remained orphans year after year with no family willing to adopt them. Due to the increase in awareness of their plight through church outreaches, Focus on the Family's annual "Wait No More" initiatives and the ongoing efforts of many foster agencies, the number of waiting children in Colorado had been reduced by about half during the three years we had been foster parents. What an accomplishment!

Also, a church in our state opened up a transitional house for young men who had never found a forever family. They could live there for a year and prepare for life on their own with jobs and have a place they could return to in the future and find a sense of family. Without such support many of them were at greater risk of turning to substance abuse or crime and could end up in prison. It was a noble outreach that I hoped would be modeled around the nation.

**Chapter 42 - A Challenge from the Indian Child Welfare Act**

"He who fears the Lord has a secure fortress, and for his children it will be a refuge." Proverbs 14:26

Even though both parents were choosing to relinquish their rights, there had to be a formal termination hearing in February. Patrick and I went to it fully expecting to finally have the parents' rights ended. That matter was carried through with little fanfare, but we were confronted with a new problem that left us fighting back the tears as we sat in court stunned once more.

While the judge spoke with Troy by phone from prison, the subject of Native American heritage came up and the judge discovered that Troy still hadn't turned in the form given to him by his attorney last May. He claimed that his grandmother came from a Sioux tribe and had donated Indian artifacts from her family to two museums. When I heard about the museum donations I got very nervous. His family took their heritage seriously so perhaps they had strong ties to one or more tribes.

I had no idea how much blood quantum was required by Native American tribes to enable them to claim custody of a child. I had visions of Ava screaming as she was ripped from my arms and handed to complete strangers. I just couldn't lose my baby! I became sick with worry.

Sarah had filled out paperwork for both children denying any Native American heritage claims. Her family had traces of it, but not enough to make it an issue and apparently, neither of her parents were registered with a tribe. So the judge became upset as he asked everyone involved in the case, "Why has there been no follow up on Troy's filing of this paperwork and why is this the first time I am being informed of this matter so late in the case?" The whole team had never looked so incompetent as they took the tongue-lashing in silence. No one had an explanation.

How had this major oversight occurred? My mind went back to the hearing last May when a substitute judge filled in and nothing much was dealt with. That was when Troy's paperwork was ignored and put on the backburner. But with so many people involved, why had no one brought up the matter during the nine months since then?

Troy agreed to give up his rights to Ava since he couldn't parent her from prison and his criminal record made it very cumbersome, if not impossible, for him to complete a treatment program to even get to the point of getting permission to have visits with her. He had made it clear at a previous hearing that he didn't want the financial responsibility with his lack of employment. Someone started to read off his criminal record, but he cut them off, claiming it had nothing to do with Ava. Committing a sexual offense and physical abuse against one of his other children had everything to do with Ava, but I'm sure he just didn't want the courtroom hearing about it.

Sarah participated by phone from the other side of the state. Her voice wavered as if she was trying not to cry when she agreed to relinquish her rights. She explained her reasons with great pain while maintaining her composure, "Ava's in good hands. She don't need to be going through this no more. Even myself don't need to go through this no more. I do love and care about my daughter. That's the only reason I'm doing this." They were words from a defeated woman whose heart was still attached to her daughter.

I listened to her surrender and pondered the tragedy of it all. I thought about how her immature choices as a teen led her into a lifestyle full of bondage culminating in a heartache she never imagined. But God could redeem her life and bring his beauty into it. She was young and in pretty good health despite the drug use. Her road ahead was full of possibilities. I prayed for both of the parents as I sat there and determined to continue praying for them. The judge commended them for their choice to give up their rights in Ava's best interest. He tried to impart hope to Sarah, encouraging her to prepare for raising a family in the future to enjoy someday without the involvement of DHS. That was a nice close to the conversation.

We had been set on adopting Ava by April, but now there would be a delay of at least two months beyond that. It was a huge disappointment after our hopes had been flying high. After the hearing the CASA supervisor said the chances were small that a tribe would find Ava eligible for membership with just one great-grandparent possessing Native American heritage because that relative would have to be a full blood Indian from one tribe for her to possibly qualify. But what if she did qualify? I trembled at the prospect of losing Ava.

When we rode down in the elevator I spoke with someone from the county attorney's office to get an idea of how long it could take to get a response from the tribes. She pointed out that they are independent nations so her office had no control over their response time. That was certainly discouraging!

As soon as we got home I spent a couple hours anxiously researching the Indian Child Welfare Act (ICWA) and tribal requirements for membership since no one on Ava's team knew any specifics. I found a long list of Sioux tribes and was relieved to find most required that an individual be at least one-quarter Sioux Indian blood, not one-eighth. In addition, there needed to be documentation on the family lineage complete with birth and death certificates. I doubted that Troy's family kept sufficient records.

Yet some tribes had less stringent standards so I was left hanging and troubled with fears of Ava being taken from us. Was this why I thought I heard God say over a year ago that I would have to let her go someday? Would a tribe really separate siblings? I figured Wyatt was exempt from the process because Troy had not participated in his case.

I noticed that ICWA had been written in 1978 as a response to the alarmingly high number of Indian children who were being removed from their homes by government and private agencies. The intent of the law was to promote the stability of Indian tribes and families. Tribes had the right to petition to transfer a court case to their own tribal court and intervene in foster and adoption cases with Indian children involved. Who would represent Ava if her case was moved to a tribal court?

As I understood it, ICWA was enacted to preserve intact families, not to tear up families that had already bonded during a period of a year and a half. I had heard a couple of stories through our agency about foster families expecting to adopt children only to discover at the last minute that a tribe wanted custody of them, so they were sent out of state to people they had never met. In one case the kids were carried off while yelling, "Mommy! Daddy!" as the foster parents just watched helplessly in tears. They were sent to live with someone who wouldn't allow the foster parents any further contact. The couple had to tell themselves that the Lord could still work something good for the children through that tragic separation.

After I had settled into a peaceful frame of mind thinking that every issue on Ava's case had been sufficiently dealt with, we were now hit with yet another blow that left me swirling in a sea of terrifying confusion. I was not prepared for any more trials in her case. This was the fifth time we faced the possibility of losing her and I was extremely drained. I felt like I couldn't handle any more threats to her well-being or I'd go over the edge.

Before the hearing in March, God was merciful and had me flip open to the same scripture he had shown me before Ava's placement hearing last August, which was Isaiah 43:6-7, "I will say to the north (God will speak to the judge), 'Give them up!' and to the south, 'Do not hold them back.' Bring my sons from afar and my daughters from the ends of the earth – everyone who is called by my name, whom I created for my glory, whom I formed and made." I felt more certain that God had created Ava to be raised by parents who would help her to know and follow him, namely, us.

With the next hearing only a month away I expected that everyone would move quickly to get letters out to the eighteen tribes that had to be asked if Ava qualified for membership. So I was shocked when I heard that two weeks later no one had done anything. Weren't they concerned about the judge reprimanding them once more?

Beatrice was the only one who wanted to move things along in a timely manner so she started making phone calls to urge people to do their jobs. Troy's lawyer had the nerve to say that the whole issue wasn't important. Yet her pressure got him to contact Troy's mom who said nothing about being related to any Sioux tribes, but mentioned two other tribes. I wondered if he had just come up with whatever tribe he could think of while on the phone with the judge because he pronounced Sioux as "Sigh-ox" as if he had never heard anyone say the word before. At least Troy's mom only had scant information on her parents.

So I started a frantic research on the next two tribes and discovered one required that a person have one-quarter blood from their tribe, so that ruled them out. But the other one didn't care what percentage of blood came from their tribe. The only thing that mattered was if one's lineage could be linked to a name on their tribal roll from many decades ago.

That was the one piece of information that made me nervous. I wanted every possibility of Ava qualifying for membership to be wiped out, yet one door was left open. I had heard some tribes took up to a year to respond and we were waiting on eighteen tribes. It could be a long process and I was in no frame of mind to endure endless suspense.

I decided to call the tribe to ask how long it might take to determine if a child was eligible for membership. In my mind my inquiry was no big deal because my anonymous call to a Sioux tribe had gone very well. They had no intention of separating siblings. All they wanted was for us to enroll Ava if she qualified for membership, which I was happy to do. But Erin, our home supervisor, had told me not to call another tribe for fear they might figure out who Ava was when her file arrived and then investigate her more thoroughly. I saw no threat, though God did warn me that Erin wouldn't like me calling. Her heart was in the right place, but she had no empathy about my severe turmoil while being in limbo.

When I called, the woman who answered sounded very busy as she asked me a series of questions to help her identify which child I was talking about so she could give a conclusive answer. I knew Ava's file hadn't been mailed yet, so I didn't bother to answer the questions. I just wanted to know how long they took to process a membership inquiry for a foster child up for adoption.

She got suspicious when I wouldn't answer her questions, so her tone became stern as she warned, "Everyone on the child's case better do their job right because we have the ability to overturn adoptions! If the information sent to us is insufficient, we may request more information." That shook me. I replied, "The county attorney's office has been slow about dealing with this matter, but they just mailed out a letter that you should be receiving shortly." That caused her to back down and she calmly said, "It should take us a few weeks to respond." Wonderful! I was able to deal with the whole issue much better knowing that our wait would be over soon.

One night I had insomnia as I worried about losing Ava, so I got up to read my Bible and my eyes fell on Psalm 62:2, "He alone is my rock and my salvation; he is my fortress, I will never be shaken." When I read the verse a second time, I inserted Ava's name and saw God's ability to protect her from tragedy. The next morning I awoke sensing God's loving presence and believed I heard him say, "I chose you to be Ava and Wyatt's mother because I see that you can nurture their faith." That was a good word to hang onto, yet my faith still vacillated.

At the hearing in March the judge reprimanded Troy's lawyer for taking so long (ten months) to make sure his client turned in the ICWA forms. He was concerned that with a long delay, "A lot of harm could come to this child," due to the trauma of being taken from a foster family that she lived with almost a year longer than necessary if she was supposed to join a tribe. The possibility of Ava being handed over to an unknown family coupled with hearing the judge's concern made me cry. What could we do to help Ava at this point? At the end of the hearing I raised my hand and the judge called me forward to speak.

Teary –eyed, I asked the judge if we should get a lawyer because I had spoken to a social worker from one of the tribes who sounded somewhat aggressive about pursuing members who were up for adoption. He said that wasn't necessary yet and told me there was no need to cry - even though he had just spoken about the possibility of "a lot of harm" coming to Ava.

After court I made the big mistake of talking with Kristie and the CASA supervisor to get a better feel for what might happen to Ava. I described only the negative aspects of my phone call with the last tribe, not realizing I was giving Kristie enough information for her to concoct a twisted story for her supervisor and Erin to fan the flames of their malice.

Then the supervisor from CASA told me the unthinkable. If the tribe found proof that Ava was eligible for membership, they could overturn Wyatt's adoption and take him, too, since it had been proven that they had the same father. In fact, tribes have up to two years after an adoption is finalized to contest it.

After enduring years of turbulence, my shaky airplane of life had just received a lethal hit and was spiraling down for what seemed like an eternity as my stomach hit my throat. I had no idea Wyatt could be taken from us also! There went my argument for keeping siblings together. What would become of our beloved children? It was as if someone had pronounced a death sentence upon them because we might not ever see each other again.

My eyes spun around the intersection of hallways where I stood as the realization hit me that I might never be a mother after all! I just couldn't handle fostering a new child for many months knowing the odds were that I would lose him or her. I was about to turn forty-nine and was at the end of my resources.

I drove home in a daze. I questioned all the scriptures and promises God had spoken to my heart about answering my prayers. The reality of his miracles already performed to save Wyatt and Ava vanished momentarily behind a thick veil as I lost my focus. Was I delusional because of my intense desire to have children?

An hour later a phone call from Beatrice prevented me from crashing into a pit of despair. She was convinced there was no way the tribe could gain custody of the kids because Troy's mom knew so little about her parents' history. Her words were like balm on my battered soul.

Then Erin called a few minutes later in full combat mode as she shot out commands like bullets aimed at a cornered criminal. I stood staring out a bedroom window as I gripped the phone and desperately tried to determine the reason for her brutality. She was furious that I had violated my agreement to not call more tribes so she kept ordering me to refrain from calling any more. She added, "Your anxiety is causing you to make poor decisions!" Then she said, "The judge told you not to cry!" I replied, "No, he had told me there was no reason to cry."

She couldn't have been more insensitive and degrading with her harsh tone. In her eyes I was a nutcase wreaking havoc. I said repeatedly that I had no plans on calling more tribes because I had done research on the others and already knew Ava did not fit their requirements. But no matter how often I said I had no reason to call another tribe, she didn't believe a word I said and continued to chastise me.

In addition, she was outraged having believed Kristie's twisted account that I had offended a tribe. Wow, that was a stretch of the truth I had never anticipated! Her refusal to back off struck terror in me because she was part of the machine that could determine Ava's fate. I explained that I assumed that her first warning was just a friendly word of advice, so I ignored it to greatly reduce my anxiety. I believed I had not compromised Ava's safety at all, but Erin completely disagreed. When I hung up, I realized how verbally abusive she had been and knew I had to report her to Don - but he was her close friend.

A couple days later Erin told me she was afraid that I was still calling more tribes after our phone call. She hadn't believed a word I said, which I found insulting. When I confronted her about how offensive she had been, she apologized, but still felt justified in her position. I forgave her, but I no longer trusted her ability to be civil. I asked if she had ever spoken to another foster parent in that manner. She raised her eyebrows above wide eyes and shook her head as she exclaimed, "No way!"

When I told her that Don could see I got under the caseworker supervisor's skin at our meeting awhile ago, Erin thought a moment and said, "Maybe that is where all this is coming from." Where what was coming from? Then a light went on. The supervisor and Kristie must have embellished a story to get Erin all up in arms so she would decimate me. Sly move on their part. She had been their pawn to bring retaliation after I complained about their poor work performance to their boss.

A week later Kristie came by and said she would provide updates on the tribes' responses to the letters about Ava's membership eligibility. That was great. So a couple weeks later when I asked for an update, all she wrote was, "5 out of the 18 have responded." That was like saying six out of eighteen teams have played in the playoffs, but not mentioning who won. So I asked for specifics and if Wyatt's name was mentioned, but she replied coldly, "If you need more information than I can give, I suggest you hire an attorney. And stop contacting the county attorney." I was able to talk with the county attorney in the past. Why the change?

So I immediately looked up ICWA attorneys and found one who charged $290 per hour. That was ridiculously expensive and we couldn't imagine affording that. I just had to have patience. But I didn't have to wait long because later that same day I received my first copy of a letter from a tribe stating they denied Ava membership. It was wonderful to see it in writing. Why didn't anyone, especially Kristie, tell me I would be getting copies of letters from the tribes?

Then Kristie added insult to injury by telling me the county attorney wanted her to tell me I shouldn't have cried in court because the judge could interpret that as mental instability. I had been controlled and brief, not sobbing by any means. The judge acted like I was behaving in a normal fashion and the CASA supervisor completely understood where I was coming from. Showing a little emotion was evidence that I loved Ava, not that I was unfit to be a parent! Kristie wanted to go so far as to have Erin baby-sit me at the next hearing to make sure I stayed quiet. I convinced Erin that she didn't need to be there.

I was perfectly fine at the next hearing. It was merely a report on what tribes had responded and the judge tried to call a couple of them during court in order to wrap the case up quickly. He was able to give all the tribes a deadline of a month to send an answer, so I knew Ava's case would be settled soon. The judge set an adoption date for Ava in early June. Yippee! We finally had a date set. We also were waiting for Kristie to bring a paper we needed for Ava to travel to Michigan to see our family. As usual she completely ignored a series of email requests then came through at the very last minute.

During this stressful time I had been having difficulty sleeping again and was prone to sinus infections. So I asked my women's Bible study to pray for me to sleep well and that night I got almost eight hours of sleep and the next night I miraculously slept eight and a half hours. I hadn't slept like that for over six months. I was very grateful and impressed with the power of group prayer. I had so much energy that I pushed the kids in their stroller up an enormous hill in a lovely park. During our outing I reflected on the past few years and realized that the prayers from my women's group had sustained me through many fostering trials. My own prayer life had often been weak because I was often just struggling to survive. I really treasured my sisters in Christ.

One blustery sunny day near the end of March I went to the mailbox and saw an envelope from the tribe I was worried about. I anxiously tore it open and frantically searched for their summation and saw the words, "is not eligible for membership." My hands shot up in the air as I thanked God. Oh, the joy! The glory! I was soaring on heavenly wings as I saw the last threatening door close with a thunderous bang, never to be opened again. I didn't need to hear from the remaining tribes. I already knew what their answers would be. Ava and Wyatt were ours forever! When I showed him the letter, Patrick stood there subdued, filled with quiet wonder. We embraced as we realized our tortuous ordeal had come to a close.

Throughout the day I kept thanking God for his wonderful gift of children to us. That afternoon we went biking as a family on a path that wound through the high desert terrain dotted with cactus and yucca plants. Patrick pulled the kids in a two-wheeled carrier while I zoomed ahead at one point. When I reached a bridge, I turned around to soak in the expansive beauty of the imposing mountain range in the distance.

As I stood there, the enormity of all God had done in delivering Ava over and over hit me all at once. The Lord broke into my thoughts and whispered, "I was faithful." "Yes, Lord," I sobbed, "you were faithful." In spite of all my doubting and fears, he indeed had been faithful. God was more loving than I had believed.

He was true to the word he spoke after I turned in our application to become foster parents as he promised, "Now something VERY good is going to happen." Becoming parents took nine painfully long years following our wedding day. However, each delay tested and eventually strengthened my faith that God richly blesses those who trust in him, but sometimes those blessings can only be granted when we answer his call to sacrifice for those in need.

As I rode my bike back to Patrick and the kids I said repeatedly through tears of immense joy, "You were faithful!"

It was such a pleasure to be able to look at Ava as my full-fledged daughter even though we didn't have the proof in writing yet. I couldn't imagine our family without her. I loved kissing her pudgy soft cheeks and hearing her little voice say "No," when she usually meant yes. Her cheerful demeanor brought us all such joy. I no longer had any doubts whatsoever to torment me.

The sinister and oppressive cloud of fear that kept trying to discourage me from my quest for children was blown away in an instant. I was free because Ava and Wyatt were free from harm. No one with deep-seated problems, wicked agendas or indifference could ever take them from us or threaten their lives again. We had won the battle and snatched them from the pit of destruction with the weapons of hope, prayer and God's word and the help of a number of dedicated workers in the foster system, especially Beatrice, Leslie and the judge from the higher court.

I was able to release the tormenting thought that came to me as Ava lay in her crib as an infant, "You will have to let her go someday." I concluded that it must have come from Satan because the words had only brought me fear. I suppose that vulnerability to such deceit came from being shocked by the sudden and perplexing manner in which Rose had been taken from us. God had told me while at her last hearing, "You can look forward to the next two children." He had granted us not just Wyatt, but Ava as well, according to his promise. Doubting his word of encouragement to me had caused me so much turmoil. At last peaceful sleep could now descend upon me naturally each night.

Psalm 92:4-5, 11-15 expressed my heart well, "For you make me glad by your deeds, O Lord; I sing for joy at the works of your hands. How great are your works, O Lord, how profound your thoughts!...My eyes have seen the defeat of my adversaries...The righteous will flourish like a palm tree...they will still bear fruit in old age, they will stay fresh and green, proclaiming, 'The Lord is upright; he is my Rock, and there is no wickedness in him.'"

**Chapter 43 - Connecting with Foster and Adoptive Families**

"he predestined us to be adopted as his sons through Jesus Christ, in accordance with his pleasure and will..." Ephesians 1:5

Knowing there were no more threats to the kids' safety, the tension eased and I started to become more myself again. I was excited about the opportunity to share our adoption story with about twenty foster parents who were in training through our agency. A couple who started fostering when Patrick and I did was sharing their story, too. They had fostered twenty-three kids and adopted four from three different families – all with their own difficult stories and some obvious interventions from God. Their biological teens at home pitched in to help care for all of the younger foster kids, which was often the case with the large adoptive families.

The couple was bold in sharing their faith with one of the birth moms and they challenged her to change her ways. She took their words to heart and made progress so she could get her kids back. One child they adopted was an older boy who had been through three failed adoptions and had bed-wetting challenges. They seemed to take everything in stride.

I shared our story by explaining how God helped me persevere and worked miracles against the odds. Most of the people were listening with interest, but I noticed one woman in particular who was eating up every word as she leaned forward with a big smile. That was encouraging. My greatest desire was to help all of them believe that God was working in response to prayer even when situations were crumbling into chaotic disaster. It was a fun experience, though I also felt somber, knowing most were about to be stretched in one way or another.

It was exciting to share our story with a Christian women's outreach group. I was so happy to hear that I had inspired one woman to get CASA training and two others were considering adoption through the foster system.

I wanted to offer support to more foster parents and befriend other adoptive couples, so I contacted a woman who had led an adoption group at our church in the past. She asked me to co-lead a group with her, which I did for a few months.

Two couples attended our first meeting. One had several biological kids and wanted to adopt a younger child from foster care. The other couple had just adopted young siblings from foster care after having about twenty other children go through their home. They were stressed out dealing with their children's behavioral issues.

We shared as much information as we could to make the other families' lives easier. Our next meeting involved a dinner and testimony from a teen who was dealing with ridicule from peers in his high school simply because he had been adopted. I couldn't believe how cruel some of his classmates were and wondered if someday our kids would have to endure the same kind of mockery. But his trials had brought out an exceptional maturity and selfless love that I rarely witnessed in young men.

I also joined a new adoptive moms group at church. Many of them also had biological children, so their families were large, ranging from five to eleven in size. A couple of the women had started out childless like myself and most were older moms, so I felt right at home. Several had met through a therapist their children were seeing and were working through conflicts with their preteens or teens who had been adopted at an older age. Women shared strategies they used to promote order and unity, like planning realistic outings that were less likely to push their kids toward acting out. I was intrigued when one woman mentioned how she and her husband tried to give every child one on one time once per month to help them feel special.

I had great admiration for these women who had taken on mammoth challenges that caused them stress almost daily, yet they persevered. A few admitted to losing their tempers and being at a loss about how to solve all their children's problems, but they hadn't given up. They were pressing forward helping each other, learning from experts in the field and growing in God's grace to be better moms. They were laying down their lives every day and making a difference. I wanted to be more like them.

As I listened to their stories I wondered if Wyatt and Ava would have thoughts of abandonment and rejection to test their sense of worth when they got older. I had experienced a profound healing from depression as God poured his love on me when I became a Christian at the age of eighteen. As a result, I firmly believe God can continue to restore my children as I pray for them and raise them with sensitivity and love with the Lord's help. The day will come when God will call them to a closer walk with him and then they can receive deeper knowledge of his profound compassion for them.

**Chapter 44 - Sweet Freedom**

"It is for freedom that Christ has set us free." Galatians 5:1

Shortly before Ava's adoption, there had to be another state review for her case. The reviewer asked me if I felt supported by our agency and I replied emphatically, "No! They were slow in getting paperwork done which delayed Ava's adoption by four months. I don't care to give more examples because it would take up too much time." By that point I was ready to move on.

Having adopted Wyatt less than a year earlier, there was little we had to do in preparation for Ava's adoption because our fingerprints, adoption classes and physicals were all still valid. When I got the call from Ava's adoption worker saying she now had Ava's file, I breathed a sigh of relief because I no longer had to deal with Kristie unless she decided to attend the adoption in court. Again Kristie had procrastinated for several weeks before she sent Ava's file, requiring Beatrice to make phone calls to push the process forward. I thanked God once more for Beatrice.

At Ava's information sharing with her adoption caseworker I was finally given a copy of the hospital's record of her myconium test to see if she had been exposed to drugs in the womb. I was disturbed to see that everything except the test result was in print. Someone had merely scribbled one sentence claiming no drugs were found. That didn't look official at all! The paper cemented my suspicions that the hospital had conducted a cover up. Besides, there was the UA that had tested positive for meth a couple months after Ava's conception so I knew she had been exposed at some point and I expected Sarah had used many times after that since she had refused to do UA's for the majority of her pregnancy for Wyatt's case. At least I could keep trusting in a God who heals and continue my prayers for both of the kids who were doing so well in spite of it all.

With the stress of losing Ava gone, God was able to inspire me to get involved in ministry at my church. I started a hiking group for women and Patrick started one for men since we couldn't take the kids on the more difficult trails and we enjoyed the company of friends, especially in remote areas. Many people signed up for our groups, but few actually showed up. It was then that I realized how very busy people are. At least two to five women showed up for any given hike and it was as if God hand-picked them because the conversations were so enjoyable. I ended up making several friends and had a great time giving tours of trails most had never been on.

In addition, I started a playgroup through the church. Only two other moms came who were significantly younger than me, but all of our children were about the same age. The kids had lots of fun running around at water parks and playgrounds.

In need of regular prayer support myself and feeling called by God to teach women on spiritual disciplines, I also started a prayer group. I fretted that no one would show up because none of the women I knew were interested. But God assured me by saying, "I will bring them." And he did. He brought six dear women who all got along well with each other. We enjoyed meaningful conversations and powerful prayer times as we gathered around each woman to pray about whatever she had shared that evening. We had the joy of sending one of them off for a long-term missions trip overseas. We prayed another woman through brain surgery and shared a host of each other's burdens. I quickly learned that every woman has something that concerns her and is blessed if she can share her fears and needs and joys with caring friends who will approach the throne of God with her for help and wisdom.

While fellowship at church improved, our life at home was very fulfilling. Considering the damage meth exposure can possibly do to the heart, I was encouraged to witness Wyatt hike five miles with us one day. He had just turned three and his sturdy legs carried him like a mountain goat that just wouldn't quit. Back in the car he crashed once he had a long drink. But before his eyes closed, I photographed him holding his juice with a large grin spread across his dirt-streaked face framed by sweat stiffened locks. By God's mercy he was doing extremely well. Ava walked almost a mile, but enjoyed bouncing in Patick's backpack most of the way.

Once or twice each month we explored picturesque trails all over Colorado as a family. The kids were just as enthusiastic as we were over exploring the outdoors. During the summer Crested Butte and the Alpine Loop near Silverton were my favorite areas for rugged mountain and wildflower beauty. Gazing at shimmering waterfalls and soaking in endless vistas always refreshed my spirit. We had a good life together.

Ava's adoption day arrived none too soon. Patrick and I headed for the courthouse with heads held high and confident, happy hearts. But the sight of black smoke over the horizon dampened my spirits a little as we drove through town. Many people were fleeing from a wildfire. Because of roads closed due to the fire, Beatrice was unable to attend Ava's adoption or her party. I was upset that the one other person who would rejoice as much as we would when the gavel hit the judge's desk had to celebrate miles away.

I was missing friends who had to work or care for children on Ava's special day, so we would have to wait to celebrate with them at her party. The only people who were coming were those hired to be on her case and two other people from our agency, but we didn't know any of them very well.

As I walked through the courthouse door, my heart sunk when I spotted Kristie. I never thought that she would attend given our volatile relationship. I tried to avoid her as best I could, but there were only about ten people in the room, so I forced myself to make brief cordial conversation. I had to walk in forgiveness.

A man from our agency who was a close friend of Erin's also showed up, but he had the most sour look on his face. I had never seen him look so glum. He couldn't even smile for the group photos. He had clearly come out of a sense of obligation to represent the agency. At least he and Kristie stood on the edges of the group photos so I could edit them out later and have a more jovial bunch for our memories.

Wyatt's former caseworker, Leslie, had moved back to town, so she surprised us by showing up. Her exuberant manor helped greatly in uplifting my spirits as I watched her tickle Wyatt while he rolled around and filled the room with laughter. It was good to see her again.

I gave the judge a card thanking him for the many ways his wisdom, concern and guidance had saved our children from a desperate existence of neglect and drug abuse. I knew that his Christian faith brought the Lord's compassion, justice and insight into his courtroom. I told him how grateful I was that our children's cases were eventually moved to his jurisdiction because it was scary seeing how the previous judge was handling matters. He beamed with confidence and said, "Things usually work out in the system." I stared at him in disbelief, finding it hard to understand how he could say such a thing, especially after he had witnessed so many people in the system being lax regarding Ava's case. Well, at least in his courtroom justice seemed to prevail even if it sometimes had to crawl through a maze due to others' bumbling.

With Ava's adoption finalized, I turned my attention to hosting her party. She had picked out a Cinderella cake with orange pumpkins scattered around the princess and her carriage. I was so glad Ava's nursery worker, who helped pray her to safety, was able to come. She had been a weekly encouragement to me by asking with the concern of a grandma how things were progressing with Ava's case. So she had the seat of honor as she held my sweet pea in front of the cake when I took a picture and we sang "Happy Adoption Day" to the tune of "Happy Birthday" while Ava looked around at everyone with glee. Three other children came and jumped in the bounce house in our backyard. It was great to see Ava and Wyatt jumping together and laughing with delight, completely free from the threat of ever being separated.

The party was a perfect celebration with many loving friends. I was able to focus on the fact that God had given us a pair of very precious children. I had no doubt whatsoever in my mind that Patrick and I were privileged to have the honor of becoming Wyatt and Ava's parents. They were exceptional children full of wonder and we were on a glorious adventure.

They were ours. It took a few days for the full reality of parenthood to sink in. Even months later I kept thinking that we had to ask someone for permission to take the kids out of our county if we brought them on a hike or drove to a museum. It was hard to shake off the daily compulsion to have the house looking reasonably put together in case we had short notice about an inspection. Even when I made the kids breakfast I had to push away bothersome thoughts about reporting to someone what they had eaten that morning.

While drinking in the beauty from the top of a ridge I had hiked up one day, I quieted my soul and heard God say, "If you are full of my love and joy, the poor treatment and cold words from others will not have such a powerfully negative effect on you. Weak is the person who crumbles from each unkind word or act." I saw how weak I had been throughout our adoption and fostering journey and realized it was never God's intention that I suffer emotional pain to the degree I had from taking so many things to heart. He understands our sorrow and pain when we are disappointed or wronged, but my reactions were a bit extreme sometimes, which wore me out.

Another time when I hiked to the same ridge I saw birds soaring over the valley unhindered by any excess weights. They were strong and free. That was how God had wanted me to fly through our years on the road to adoption, full of his Spirit and free from worry in the face of numerous trials. His tone was not condemning at all. He was merely showing me how much more tolerable the process could have been had I trusted him more. He was healing my heart with his loving balm and helping me fly high in his Spirit again.

Eventually, I discovered that I had been mistaken about Sarah having a baby around the time she stopped having visits with Ava. I found out through Facebook that she had married a new man and had a baby a year later and then one more child after that. I hoped that her boys were safe and happy and that the parents were drug-free. I felt a longing to protect Sarah's children and have the pleasure of seeing Wyatt and Ava play with their siblings while growing up. But considering a reunion would have to wait until we could determine how much Sarah had changed for the better and when my kids were old enough to decide for themselves.

I was happy to see Sarah looking so radiant. She finally got her chance to start over. Maybe she could be the good mother she had wanted to be since she was a young girl. She had moved to Pennsylvania, far from the bad influences of a couple years ago. I saw a quote she had posted about regretting having been so foolish earlier in her life. It was promising that she was facing more of reality and owning up to her responsibility in having brought harm to her first two children.

Sarah had given me her address, so I sent her an update on the kids. I knew she would treasure every word. Even though she had more children, she would always miss Wyatt and Ava terribly. I still grieve for her loss. I finally shared with her my testimony of salvation emphasizing God's power to restore broken lives. I don't know how she received it.

It didn't take long for us to realize that our son has natural athletic ability. It has been fun watching him give it his all as he quickly learns skills for baseball and soccer where he runs like the wind. Wyatt has done well in school after learning how to sit and listen, which took a couple years. He is highly social and tries to be the class clown, but a strict teacher helped him focus on his studies. After agonizing over his rough start, it has become such a joy to hear him read at grade level with good comprehension. His ability to concentrate is evident when he assembles Lego kits with hundreds of small pieces, an activity started at the age of five. I am especially happy to hear him absorbing Bible stories. We treasure his tender heart and fun-loving spirit.

Ava enjoys learning and playing with friends at school. The Lord has given her enthusiasm for singing worship and other types of songs. An exhuberant dancer with a loud voice, she will make a perfect cheerleader. She pretends she is a mom with a mini van filled with dolls in makeshift car seats. In the kitchen she tries to take over and prove her budding culinary skills. I am so impressed with her willingness to help and comfort others. She will gladly run and get whatever someone needs, which we are grateful for since she has by far the best memory of all of us and can find almost anything that is lost – even the TV remotes. It is uncanny how, just like her birth mom, Ava has a love for horses and rides as if it's second nature even though neither I nor Patrick have any interest in horses.

I am so grateful that both Ava and Wyatt are both very affectionate and enjoy being held. God has already brought so much healing physically and emotionally to their lives. It is exciting to think about what God has in store for both of the children down the road.

Finally, I know why God had allowed us to lose our baby to miscarriage and why he said, "If you had given birth to this baby, it would not have accomplished my purposes." Even though part of me still wishes we had been able to raise a biological child in addition to Wyatt and Ava, I know that if our baby had lived, I would not have bothered to pursue adoption with such persistence. After the first series of difficulties I would have said, "I guess one child is good enough. It must not be God's will for us to have a larger family." But God had a plan with two children that brought us tremendous satisfaction and joy in the end. He showed me that he can bring his will to pass in the face of an array of human and spiritual opposition with help from faithful servants involved with the foster system and the persistent prayers of many righteous people. It didn't matter that I was weak and powerless because God could sustain me and he has all the power necessary to deliver helpless children from abuse.

In looking back, what most amazes me is how God carried me through the exact trials and situations I had tried so hard to avoid at the outset. While pursuing domestic adoption I wanted to protect our family from a potentially dangerous drug addict by concealing our contact information. However, while we were fostering, the county attorney accidentally sent my full name and address to a meth addicted birthfather who worshipped Satan and had been imprisoned for trying to run someone over with a car. God showed me his power by protecting my family and my sanity while living ten miles from him for several years.

Also, I repeatedly resisted adopting or even fostering a drug exposed child, yet God managed to get two of them into my home who became adoptable only as a result of his intervention. They have been far easier to raise than I expected. The only challenge drug exposure might have created for our children is minor emotional dysregulation. Methamphetamines cause extreme highs then lows which Ava and Wyatt probably experienced in the womb, yet they are able to live the normal life of the average child. There has been no need for medication of any kind.

I'm grateful to have my eyes opened to the suffering of hundreds of thousands of children in foster care in America. Their lives can be greatly improved by people who genuinely care about their welfare and are willing to provide for their needs or represent them in court. So it is my continued prayer that our story will touch hearts and move people to explore how God might call them to serve the least of these – young treasures sometimes overlooked by society, but forever close to his heart.

We were free from inspections and what felt like cold tyranny at times. Our children were delivered from abuse and danger. It was such a relief to eventually move far away from where their difficulties began. At last we were a family in the full sense of the word.

Thank you, God! Even when fear and weariness from a long journey tempted me many times to unknowingly forfeit the blessing of precious children, you remained faithful and made sure I persevered to the final victory. Your goodness is beyond measure and sometimes hides within the most difficult circumstances as a surprise just waiting to spring forth when we don't expect it.

"Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world." (James 1:27)

**My Little One**

Your mind may lose focus learning new things,  
But your thoughts I always hold dear.  
A storm of emotions may cloud praise the bird sings,  
But my comforting arms forever are here.

Immense grief over parents who failed to protect you.  
Now the privilege is mine to help shield you from harm.  
My child, God's precious gift, his grace will renew;  
I embrace all that you are, no cause for alarm.

Your worth is not diminished by the past.  
They walked away to pursue empty pleasure,  
not seeing those things wouldn't last  
as they left behind you, their greatest treasure.

You have a Father in heaven who heals;  
With abuse and neglect he would never approve.  
Though it seemed at times he ignored your appeals,  
Always faithful, your mountains he strives to move.

Jesus will help you forgive and be free inside;  
He longs to fill you with joy and peace.  
A future hope shines bright as in Christ you abide.  
His perfect love makes all fears cease.

###

Thank you for reading my book. If you enjoyed it, won't you please take a moment to leave me a review at your favorite retailer? You can contact me at bstronginchrist@gmail.com. Many blessings for your journey. God is on your side!

Jennifer Z. Wright

Cover art: our children in Patrick's arms by Jennifer Z. Wright

Also by Jennifer Z. Wright:

A Perfect Love to Conquer Perfectionism  
(sample after Resource section)

**Resources**

According to the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services study on "Trends in Foster Care and Adoption: FY2002 – FY2012" (based on data submitted by the states to AFCARS – Adoption and Foster Care Analysis and Reporting System), it shows a reduction in the number of children in foster care by 24%, which is something to celebrate. However, the remaining high numbers are evidence that there is still much to be done on behalf of abused and neglected children in our country. In 2002 there was an estimated count of 524,000 children in foster care which dropped to 400,000 in 2012. Of those 400,000, about 102,000 were waiting to be adopted. That does not include those aged 16 to 17 whose parents' rights were terminated and are waiting to be emancipated.

The Congressional Coalition on Adoption Institute reported that in 2011 about 60,000 children in foster care were placed in institutions or group homes where it is harder, especially for the younger ones, to form meaningful bonds and thrive. The particular importance of placing children aged three and under with individual families for foster care instead of an institution is evidenced by an IQ of twenty points higher, fewer developmental delays, less neural atrophy and better attachments. Even with those benefits, life is still very difficult as over half the children in foster care experience more than three placements and one third change elementary schools over five times, losing relationships and falling behind in education. An average wait to be adopted is three long years.

The CCAI report also states that each year an estimated 26,000 young people age out of the foster system at eighteen with no parental figures to love and inspire them, provide financially or hold them accountable. About 40% become homeless or transient, 60% of the men are convicted of a crime and only 48% are employed. 75% of the women and 33% of the men received government benefits. Half engage in substance abuse and almost 25% aged out of the system without a high school diploma or GED. Only 6% finish a two or four year degree, but 70% express a desire to attend college.

Their needs are great, however, you can make a huge difference in the life of a child in foster care with even a small amount of time invested. Just expressing ongoing interest in a young life may be all it takes to give them the confidence they need to venture out into the unknown and make it on their own.

Here are other ways to help children in foster care besides foster parenting:

Become a CASA (Court Appointed Special Advocate) Volunteer with a Powerful Voice in Court on Behalf of Abused and Neglected Children

(Go to casaforchildren.org for an application. Most of the following is gleaned from their site.)

A CASA is appointed by a judge for the more difficult cases in the foster system and is expected to remain on a case until it is closed, usually about fifteen months. CASA's are in high demand. In some counties only half of the children in the foster system have one to speak up for their best interests in court. A CASA is assigned to just one case so they can focus on those children, unlike the caseworker or GAL (Guardian Ad Litum) who are often overloaded with many cases.

Foster children who have a CASA are more likely to be adopted, are half as likely to re-enter foster care and are less likely to be in foster care long-term. Those with a CASA are more likely to be provided with the educational and therapeutic services they need. They tend to do well academically and behave better in school.

A CASA is more likely than an attorney to file written reports and judges rate them higher than attorneys regarding their duties. A judge will give serious consideration to a CASA's recommendations and often adopt them.

Requirements and Duties:

They must be at least 21 years old and have a high school diploma to become a CASA.

They cannot have any felony convictions.

Must be available for court appearances and monthly visits with the children.

About 3 to 6 hours of work per week can be expected with more at the beginning of a case.

Complete 40 hours of initial training on the juvenile justice system, courtroom procedures, social services and the needs of abused and neglected kids.

Attend 12 hours of annual in-service training.

A CASA helps connect people and organizations related to the foster system to build cooperation for better solutions.

They have to maintain confidentiality of all information and be able to communicate clearly through written reports and speaking in meetings and in court.

A professional staff member provides supervision.

Or in some counties you can become part of the SEPT program (Supervised Exchange and Parenting Time) to supervise children's visits with their parents. You have to be 18 years old and complete 28 hours of training and observation, then do 8 hours of annual in-service training.

With minimal training you can become an effective voice for helpless children. If not for our children's CASA's investigative resourcefulness, our daughter on two occasions would have been sent to her birth father who had been convicted of molesting and physically abusing his older children. The caseworker had erroneously believed that her birth mother was not living with him, but the whole truth came out later in court. You, likewise, can make a life saving difference on behalf of an abused or neglected child.

Adopting Legally Free Children

Adoptuskids.org or foreverfamily.org - You don't have to become a foster parent to adopt a child from foster care. Have a home study prepared by a social worker, go through a background check and you may have to take some parenting classes depending on your state's requirements. Look through online lists of children whose parents' rights have been terminated and are waiting to be adopted. Most have been in at least a couple of foster homes and are over the age of three. In some cases a safe relative would still like to keep in contact with them. If a child needs ongoing special services, the government will provide you with a monthly subsidy to help cover expenses.

Volunteering at a Foster to Adopt Agency

Contact a local foster agency and ask how you can best help them continue their work. Here are some ideas I gathered from various agencies:

Gather a group of people to take turns serving a foster family with meals during the first week of a new placement of children while everyone adjusts to each other. Offer childcare or run errands for them.

A Boy Scout asked for donations of used bicycles from his community to repair and clean then give to our agency. We heard that he brought over twenty bikes and we were excited to pick one out for our foster kids because a bike can bring a lot of happiness to a child especially if they never had one before.

Put together welcome bags for children arriving in foster care that are distributed according to age. It was comforting for our younger kids to receive a stuffed animal and blanket and for the older ones to have a game or things to be creative with to distract them for awhile. All of our children arrived with nothing but the clothes on their backs and the babies came with a bottle (three got a few things from home a week later).

Provide school supply backpacks or bags with hygiene items or a bed in a bag (the latter may be needed more for a child going to a group home).

Help with Christmas parties and other special events.

Sponsor a toy drive for Christmas.

Provide respite care. Receive the same training as foster parents, but take in children only for a day or a week or two. You have the option of providing care sporadically.

Help with activities like art, music or games.

Royal Family Kids Camp (royalfamilykids.org)

In most states there are several churches that host week long camps during the summer for foster children ages 6-12 where they get an abundance of loving attention from a large group of safe, trained adults committed to creating special memories to last a lifetime. But these churches are only able to reach a fraction of the foster children out there. Would you like to learn how to start a camp through your church? People can volunteer to be camp counselors or grandparent figures or help with activities. There are a variety of positions.

After camp you can become a mentor for a child by committing to meeting for nine months with four hours per month doing fun activities. They can also attend a monthly club meeting with other campers and counselors to maintain relationships that were started at camp.

Before becoming a foster parent I helped out with a birthday party held for every camper where each child was made to feel like royalty. Not every child has their birthday celebrated at home, so this is a real treat for them. Each had a crown placed on their head with blessings pronounced over them before they paraded through two lines of people cheering enthusiastically for them before they sat down for cake and the opening of presents. Their eyes were wide with surprise and excitement. At the end of the week they received albums of photos commemorating their stay to help them remember how precious they are.

Support for those who have Aged Out of the System

Church - If you were never adopted, God desires to adopt you and would be honored to become the faithful loving Father you never had (the plan of salvation is at the end of the book). He has a very rich welcome for you no matter what has happened or what you have done. He has provided an extended family through his church. That is where I have frequently found great support and know you can, too, if you ask for God's guidance to find a Bible teaching fellowship that meets together throughout the week. The Church can be the ultimate family. While not perfect, it is where God's Spirit resides, providing a place with genuine love and healing.

Agingoutinstitute.com has the most thorough list of resources for those aging out of the foster system including about 45 different programs across the nation in addition to state specific services (two are mentioned below).

camellianetwork.org connects youth with people who can provide job opportunities, encouragement or financial support. The youth prepare profiles with their goals and what they need to be successful. It is very touching to read some of the conversations between grateful young people and those who have made a difference in their lives.

Covenanthouse.org runs 15 transitional houses across the U.S. (more in Canada and Latin America) to empower thousands of homeless, runaway and at-risk youth ages 16-21 to live productive and independent lives by providing emergency shelter, educational resources, job skill development, counseling and life skills classes. They can stay up to two years in a home. They also fight human trafficking and have a political action network.

Faith communities in New York, Atlantic City, NJ, Anchorage, AK and Fort Lauderdale, FL accept college graduates as residential advisors for a year of service.

Understanding Traumatized Children

Adopting the Hurt Child by Gregory Keck PhD and Regina Kupecky. Gregory founded the Attachment and Bonding Center of Ohio and adopted two boys who were adolescents. Available on christianbook.com

Wounded Children, Healing Homes: How Traumatized Children Impact Adoptive and Foster Families by Jayne E. Schooler. An adoptive mom and instructor discusses building attachments with troubled children in your home. Available on christianbook.com.

cavalcadeproductions.com provides an extensive list of training videos for therapists, but they are also helpful for foster and adoptive parents, especially "The Traumatized Child" which explains the effects of abuse and neglect and a child's needs at home and school. You can rent or purchase the videos, but even to rent a 45 min. video can cost $45 because there are often numerous presenters who are clinical psychologists along with adoptive parents and former foster children.

nctsn.org – The National Child Traumatic Stress Network has resources that address healing for children exposed to domestic violence, neglect, physical and sexual abuse, traumatic grief and other issues. Their reading lists consist mostly of research articles in psychiatric journals.

Salvation through Jesus Christ

If you are interested in learning more about Christianity and Jesus Christ, reading Romans and John's Gospel in the Bible are good places to start. Go to the Psalms to build your faith in God's love for you. Attending a church that faithfully teaches the Bible, promotes holy living and provides good opportunities to get to know and serve others is vital for growing as a Christian.

Steps to salvation: Repent of your sins and believe Jesus' sacrificial death on the cross paid the penalty of your sins to make you clean before God. Ask Jesus to enter your heart and give your life to him. Become his disciple, following where he leads and learn how to become more like him. Baptism in water identifies you with Christ's death and resurrection. Baptism in the Holy Spirit empowers you to live the victorious life God provides. I never could have gone through the process of adoption without strength and love from my Savior Jesus Christ.

Here are some verses from Romans that further describe how to become a Christian.

"...for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, and are justified freely by his grace through the redemption that came by Christ Jesus." (3:23-24)

"For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord." (6:23)

"That if you confess with your mouth, 'Jesus is Lord,' and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved." (10:9)

**Also by Jennifer Z. Wright**

A Perfect Love to Conquer Perfectionism

Below are the first four chapters on how intimacy with God helped me overcome anxiety and take leaps of faith during the joyous adventures and loneliness of twenty years as a single woman in pursuit of a healthy marriage.

Chapter 1 – The Early Years

Born in Ann Arbor, Michigan in the early 1960's, I grew up with only a limited awareness that just a few miles away political unrest and innovative ideas were churning. The focal point of protests and speeches lay in the heart of the city where the central campus of The University of Michigan resides. The student body was primarily comprised of intellectuals who thrived on academic excellence, intense discussions and idealism. John F. Kennedy helped to inspire these young minds to strive for a better world when he presented his plan for the Peace Corps on the steps of The Michigan Union on October 14, 1960. Discontentment with the current state of our country grew among the students as they saw what was going on around our nation and abroad.

It wasn't long before Civil Rights demonstrations and anti-Vietnam War protests on the campus started drawing national media attention and, as a result, attracted more radical elements, especially from the West Coast. Like hoards of students in California, many broke with traditional morals and reveled in "free love" and illicit drug use. During that same decade, leaders of the Women's Movement came to speak to receptive crowds about equality for both sexes. In the midst of the upheaval, a primarily Catholic charismatic group, The Word of God Community, started gathering people from various mainline denominations to worship God in a deeper and more expressive way. The status quo was being challenged on all sides and large numbers in the city were interested in riding the waves of change in one way or another.

Though my father witnessed anti-Vietnam War protestors shouting atop the hoods of parked cars and throwing bricks at police near the building where he worked on the central campus, he remained merely a curious observer who kept abreast of the latest news reports. He primarily occupied himself with supporting a family and enjoying the great outdoors during his free time. On the other hand, my mother was swept onto the waves of the feminist movement and new psychological theories as she devoured book after book and listened to Gloria Steinem, Marlo Thomas, and Margaret Meade when they came to town.

It was just a matter of time before my parents' worlds collided. The fun-loving country boy who honored traditional values was not evolving along with the serious feminist. Though they had come from basically the same stock, their perspectives on life grew increasingly divergent. In addition, they had marked personality differences that presented ongoing challenges in communication. The ground beneath our family began to shake. I was oblivious to the tremors, however. I was busy being a kid.

My parents were both raised in small towns in Michigan's Upper Peninsula where family ties were strong and most of the men worked hard in the mining industry. Being Christians of Finnish descent, all of my grandparents attended Apostolic Lutheran Churches. Strict rules were laid down for the congregations, such as not lighting a fire for the sauna or playing cards on the Sabbath. Consumption of alcohol and going to the movie theater were forbidden. Owning a television was prohibited at my dad's church until it was discovered that the pastor had one.

It was a joy when I was a young teen to visit the remains of the dairy farm where my father grew up west of Marquette. All that was left was part of the house's foundation and bits of decades of wallpaper in the rubble. I imagined my dad rising at 5:00 a.m. with his oldest brother to milk the cows. Having viewed his old home movies, it was easy for me to picture his whole family in the fields gathering hay and running around, teasing each other. A short distance away in the woods stood a 7'x10' shack he had built as a teenager. He constructed it so well that it still looked sturdy after over twenty years. Since then the land has been mined for iron ore, leaving a sad, gaping hole surrounded by a fence.

The general store and gas station where my mother was raised still stands alone on a remote highway. Her family lived with her grandmother who emigrated from Finland in the early 1900's. She was a tall, robust woman with white hair plastered back in a bun. It is evident from her deeply lined face in old photos that she had put in many years of hard work. She looked as tough as nails, but I felt welcomed on her lap. I listened with envy to my mother's stories about the days when she was little and would sneak candy from jars on the store counters and meet all kinds of interesting people who would stop for supplies.

My mother married my dad at the age of 18, much to the chagrin of her mother who wanted her to go straight to college. She joined my father in Ann Arbor, glad to move to a larger city. Two years later, once I was a toddler and my sister, Claire, was on the way, my mother enrolled at a nearby university and eventually earned two degrees. With working part-time in addition to her coursework, she was often elsewhere. But when she was home, she frequently encouraged us to expand our learning and creativity. I loved reading, especially biographies of famous people, such as Laura Ingalls Wilder, Daniel Boone and various presidents from the America's early years. My mom set up a large desk in my room and placed shelves above it filled with paper and materials for art projects. I could spend hours reading or drawing.

As a reliable and amicable man, my father brought stability and playfulness to our family. I liked the fact that he spent a lot of time with me and my sister and that he was considerate. Even when we were young, my dad usually related to us in a manner that helped us feel as though our ideas were important – he truly listened. As a sharp contrast to Claire and myself greedily grabbing for the largest portion of a treat, I was always taken aback by my father's generosity when he'd habitually allow us to have the first pick from pieces of dessert. I also appreciated the fact that he took the time to teach me how to hit a baseball so I wouldn't be embarrassed in front of my classmates. We were regularly humored by his coin tricks and the funny voices he invented to dramatize the fairytales he read to us.

We attended churches with a modernized and much more lenient version of the Lutheran faith than what my parents had grown up with. My mom wanted to avoid the fire and brimstone sermons she had heard as a child. However, our faith in God was rarely mentioned outside of church, so it seemed to have little relevance to our everyday lives. Still, I said my prayers at night and sometimes wondered who God and Jesus really were.

I don't quite remember when it all started, but perhaps around the age of five my right-side-up world began to erode as my mother started yelling at me for things that obviously were not my fault. She had always been strict with me and I usually tried to be obedient to make her happy, but now I could no longer count on my good behavior to shield me from verbal attacks. I was too young to realize she had her own problems and was simply venting at me. After awhile I blew off her repeated apologies because I saw no evidence that she was trying to improve her treatment of me. Born with a sensitive disposition, I was easily crushed by harsh words. I felt helpless and soon developed a root of bitterness and some insecurity. I would make vows in my heart never to speak to her again, but quickly discovered that I couldn't keep my resolve. After all, she was my mother and I needed her.

Besides my mother's moods being unpredictable, she had a habit of allowing her schedule to get out of control. Her free style approach to life frequently made me nervous since I wanted to do things in an orderly manner. Whenever it was time for her to take me to a swim lesson, my stomach would get in knots as I paced our front porch, periodically hollering with a glimmer of hope through the screen door, "Are you ready yet?"

I knew my mom was most likely trapped in front of the mirror doing battle with her hair, struggling to sculpt the voluminous hairdos of the late sixties and early seventies. She rarely failed to look as though she had just stepped out of a salon. If only the fashion magazines had promoted models sporting flat, lifeless strands of hair, our lives would have been much easier.

After a few years had passed, I started comprehending to a limited extent a few of the new feminist and psychological theories that my mother was discussing and I rarely liked what I heard. I was especially disturbed by her attempts to psychoanalyze me. One evening my mom and I sat on the living room floor because she wanted to have a serious talk with me. She said I had to "loosen up" and get rid of my perfectionism. As I sat leaning against our stereo cabinet, her words shot at my soul as if they were a handful of cold knives, cutting away at my sense of worth. I was at a loss as to how to respond.

It was no longer just my behavior in a specific situation that was being addressed, but my mother had determined that my personality, indeed, my whole approach to life, was imbalanced. My head spun in confusion, trying to grasp what she wanted from me. All I knew was that I had been trying hard to be the best person I could be and do things the right way (except for occasionally tormenting my sister) only to discover that I had it wrong all along. How could she drastically change the game plan on me when I was already so in sync with the old one? I felt like she didn't really like who I was because she wanted me to become someone I wasn't. I couldn't pretend day after day that mediocre schoolwork gave me any sense of accomplishment. And no matter how hard I tried, I knew I couldn't sigh with delight at the sight of my bedroom in disarray. I cried in despair.

But because I was a compliant child, I started draping my clothes on a chair instead of neatly putting them away every night. Even though I hated looking at that pile of clothes, I kept up the practice for many years until it became natural. That's as far as I went toward loosening up. I really had no idea what it meant to free oneself from perfectionism.

However, I maintained a hard-line when it came to my appearance no matter what my mom said about how I dressed. I insisted on keeping the top button of my blouses closed even though my mom would sometimes reach down in exasperation and undo them. Modesty was a part of my fabric and I tried my best to keep myself covered. I had no desire to go out in public looking like a hussy. I could hardly stomach wearing the surprise bikini my mom bought me one year. I insisted on a one-piece swimsuit every year after that. I was fully aware that, even though we were very young, the boys my age didn't pass up opportunities to stare at a girl's exposed skin.

Though my mother wanted to free me of my rigidity, it was the main reason for the favor I enjoyed with my teachers. I was the ideal student, especially for my second grade teacher. She routinely gathered us in a circle to drill us on when we went to bed and what we had for breakfast to make sure we were taking good care of ourselves. She listed the basic ingredients for a healthy breakfast and determined that 8 p.m. was the appropriate bedtime for all of us. As far as I was concerned, her word was law. So, of course, I became panic stricken one morning when there was no milk for my cereal. I would have to mar my spotless record and confess to the class that I failed to eat a healthy breakfast. My mom couldn't relate to my plight.

Even though another student's parents had eventually protested the daily interrogations and got the teacher to stop, it was too late for me. Her rules were already cemented in my brain. For a few years afterwards, whenever we were visiting someone in the evening – be it a weeknight or on the weekend - I would grow anxious if I couldn't talk my socially active parents into going home "on time." Rarely could I persuade them to leave before 8:00 p.m., so I resigned myself to the uncomfortable task of asking the host where I could lie down. To this day some of my relatives will laugh when they remember me stopping my play and marching alone up their stairs to go to bed while everyone else continued to have a good time.

In spite of my strict, conformist attitude, school was usually fun since I enjoyed learning and I had many friends. All of my teachers liked me. Even the sternest teacher refused to be harsh with me. The day after I learned to hum, I was delighting in this newfound ability while we were all quietly doing our work. After a few minutes, the boy next to me raised his hand and complained to the teacher that I was humming. I had no idea that he could hear me. I thought this interesting sound I made was completely contained within my head since my mouth remained closed.

I froze in utter fear. I was the only student who never got their name on the board for bad behavior. I realized this could be my moment of dethroning and I, too, would have to bear the mark of shame like all the others. But the teacher just looked at me, smiled and said, "Maybe she's happy." Wow! At home I could be berated just because I was within shouting range. In school I was completely blameless even when I annoyed a fellow student while he was working! Yet I never hummed in class again.

My sister, Claire, and I were usually good playmates. Our imaginations conjured up far away places as we made houses out of an overturned boat in the backyard or by draping blankets over clotheslines. We also had a great time learning new games from the many neighborhood kids who were close to us in age.

We also relished our quiet, contemplative moments. Many a summer day was spent traversing the high, slender branches of our willow tree in the backyard where our parents built us a tree house. If we felt festive, we'd lounge above the housetops in our mother's colorful abandoned party dresses that cascaded to our feet. On windy days, we felt like free, soaring birds, swaying back and forth on our delicate perches. It was a delightful place to sit and daydream about the possibilities of life that lay ahead. Being older than my sister had its advantages for getting my own way through manipulation sometimes, but it didn't mean I was always smarter. We often went camping with our relatives in Michigan's state parks where Claire and I loved exploring the grounds with our cousins. On one of our outings, we stopped to watch a fellow camper's TV because it showed a new child singing sensation with a captivating sound. As I listened to the high-pitched voice sing the catchy tune, I thought the girl looked pretty with her thick, dark locks framing her face. Claire and I asked who this kid was and we were told it was Donny Osmond. We had never heard of Donny before and started debating if Donny was a boy or girl. Claire was so certain the singer was a boy and I was convinced the kid was a girl so we agreed to bet a whole week's allowance on the matter, which was a quarter.

When we were told Donny was a boy, I became indignant and wondered, "How could a boy have such long hair and sing with such a high voice?" Apparently, I had never heard The Vienna Boys' Choir. And it was now the 70's when men's hair lengthened, their ties and sideburns widened, and fashion in general took a nosedive. I just wasn't up with the times. Humiliated by Claire knowing something I didn't, I reluctantly handed over the quarter as she beamed.

After that incident I wanted this Donny to disappear so I wouldn't be constantly reminded of my ignorance, but he kept becoming more and more popular. Young girls were swooning over him and the eight-year-old neighbor girl was no exception. She invited Claire and myself to listen to her latest Donny Osmond record. As soon as the music started, a dreamy smile spread across her face as she closed her eyes and slowly danced around the room as if we weren't even there. I thought the poor child had lost her mind. How could she be so in love with a boy she would never meet? Claire sang along and seemed to be enjoying herself. I stood there nauseated by the spectacle, squirmed through a couple of songs to be polite, then bolted, never to return to another Donny love-fest.

I knew where real love could be found: at my dad's parents' home where smiling faces and happy times abounded. My grandparents had a Christian faith that was evident in many aspects of their lives. I equated vacations at their home with visits to heaven because peace and love filled the air and I knew I would be completely accepted. Whenever we embarked on our eight-hour journey, my mind began spinning with delightful anticipation of loving arms, hikes in the woods, cardamom bread and stories about old photos. I was fascinated with the prospect of digging tunnels in snow higher than my head or of going in the cover of night to watch black bears dig for food in the local dump \- from the safety of our car, of course!

Taking great interest in each of his eight grandchildren, my grandfather was a natural at nurturing our individual talents. He had several hobbies and I was delighted that the two of us shared an interest in art. In his free time he painted beautiful watercolors of the northern landscape with waterfalls and birch trees. I'd watch in fascination as he expertly whipped off cartoon sketches. My eyes were glued to the paper as he gave me precise instruction on how to draw people in a realistic manner. His tips went a long way in helping me develop my artistic skills. Amid his many wonderful qualities, I was most profoundly impacted by the tangible love that emanated from him. Clear memories of his brilliant smile and playful demeanor have never left me. No one had ever shown me such a genuinely joyful love.

My grandfather frequently recounted his story about becoming a Christian to the extended family - much to the annoyance of some. He had left home at sixteen because he figured there were too many mouths to feed, coming from a family with twelve children. It was the early 1920's when he hopped an iron ore boat as it was leaving a dock in Lake Superior. He was late for its departure and literally grabbed a rope that was tossed to him, enabling him to clamber aboard. He was a sailor in the Great Lakes for awhile and eventually settled in Chicago where he worked odd jobs, such as making gold leaf signs for banks. It was not an easy life for him. Sometimes he found it difficult to make ends meet. He never wrote home during those tough years.

One day he kept hearing his parents' voices in his head saying, "Heaven or hell, heaven or hell..." He knew he had to choose one or the other. Tormented by these recurring thoughts, he eventually went to a downtown mission where he gave his life to Jesus Christ. God did a dramatic transformation in him. He decided to return home after four long years. His stepmother was stunned as she opened the door, laid eyes on him and exclaimed, "I thought you were dead!"

He soon married my grandmother whom he met at a church conference. Because of his desire to tell people about salvation through Jesus, he taught a Sunday school class in their home on a dairy farm until their area got a regular pastor for the church. I have a photo of him with over twenty-five local children who came regularly to sing and learn lessons from the Bible. As the years went by he remained very active in his church. He also learned the trade of an electrician as he labored in the iron ore and copper mines.

Even as a young child, I admired my grandparents' sincere faith and strove to follow their example. One day when I was about nine, my family and I returned from church and I was mulling over my Sunday school teacher's admonition to be ready for Christ's return someday. I took her words to heart and wanted my parents to be ready, too. When I told them of my concern, they surprised me with their laughter. They reacted as if I had swallowed some fairy tale. I was horrified about their possible fate and wondered if I might end up thinking like them someday.

I went to my room to pray. As I sat on my bed, I asked God to help me continue believing in Him even though I wasn't quite sure what being a Christian was all about. I figured it meant that I should try to be good and go to church and pray once in a while. I had heard about kids becoming wayward when they entered their teen years, so I asked God to bring me back if I ever became rebellious and left Him. God was listening.

Chapter 2 – The Tearing of Family

When I was in the sixth grade, our parents announced to Claire and I that they were getting a divorce. We were given no explanation as to why. Being so young and having no warning, we were dumbfounded, not knowing how to even formulate relevant questions.

Just like a kid is left aghast with his mouth open after his friend tells him with the utmost certainty there is no Santa Claus, Claire and I were left standing there, stunned by the revelation that we were not the sunny family we had thought. Had we been living in a fantasy? Were our parents merely performing defined roles until they reached a breaking point? Who were they after all? What did they really think and feel? I thought my mom had been discontented primarily with me, not our dad. And I assumed my dad had been pleased with everything. The façade had been stripped away and we were left staring at the ugly empty hole of a love that had been pretend for who knows how long. With no control over the course of our lives, the two of us just had to go with the flow and try to make the best of a perplexing and scary situation.

I felt ashamed when I had to tell my friends the news. They nodded with some surprise and sympathy, but didn't make a big deal about it. I realized with dread that I was part of the growing statistic of children from broken homes. I tried to console myself with the fact that I wasn't the only one in class to suffer the same fate. Society was changing, particularly in Ann Arbor where progressive ideas were welcomed and the women's movement was in full swing, presenting new challenges to marriages.

We sold our house and my mom, Claire, and I moved a mile away to an apartment complex that had a stream running through a pretty setting. My mom tried to get us to be optimistic and excited about this new "adventure." She had an aversion to television for the most part, but wanted us to join her in watching a new comedy called "Rhoda," which was about a single woman having a good time living on her own. The show was funny, but it didn't help me get in the spirit of enjoying life without my dad at home. Couldn't my mom see that our new life was much worse than before?

Within a few months she started dating a couple of guys who were nice, but as far as I was concerned, they didn't belong in our family. I eyed these intruders with suspicion when they would come to our place. Going on special outings with my dad every other weekend was ten times more fun than hanging out with the "dad imposters" who sometimes already had their own kids to love.

To the casual observer Claire and I were coping quite well with the divorce. The only apparent change in our behavior was our introduction of a form of civilized wrestling to our routine. For some strange reason we both felt the urge to grab and pull something in contrary directions. Why not use each other's limbs? On occasion we inflicted more pain on each other than we liked, so we agreed on rules to restrict us from all out combat: no scratching, biting, pulling of hair or eye-gouging (well, the last one was understood). We adhered to our rules faithfully because we did not want to end up like the kids from a family we used to visit. With parents off in another room, tempers sometimes flared between the siblings during play and they would resort to guerilla tactics. With horror I had witnessed flailing fists clenched around clumps of extracted hair, followed by ear-piercing screams and more hair pulling. Claire and I were too delicate for that.

I also had more constructive ways to forget about my troubles. A journal entry from that time period described one of my favorite recreational activities - biking around the nearby neighborhoods:

"I have just returned from dad's house...wonderful dad. It has just stopped raining and there is a fresh, exciting and dreamy feeling in the night air. I'm riding the green bike I got yesterday. I ride swiftly down the slushy path beside the road. White and red lights fly by. I feel wonderful...like a bird soaring over the world. I see the backs of houses across the road. They seem so obedient and asleep. I look at mom pedaling her regular dull pace and Claire pedaling furiously on her small bike. It looks silly. I then ride slowly and gracefully sucking all the night air in. I'm so relaxed and happy that I feel like singing out loud, but I don't dare."

I wasn't entirely content, however. Recorded amid the joy were complaints about my mother's comments of frustration during the ride. My struggle with her lived on.

The divorce only lasted six months. My mom was the one who had wanted the divorce and now decided to return to my father. Still no information was shared with us as to what was really going on between them. I was happy that the divorce was short lived and I naively hoped to proceed as if nothing had happened. "Maybe my parents really did love each other after all," I said to myself. Little did I know what lay ahead, as I would witness my parents forge an impenetrable wall between them.

It was unfortunate that my father was not interested in seeking family or marriage counseling, perhaps because it had a stigma in many circles at that time. On the other hand, my mom was all for therapy, especially the newest types. I wasn't comfortable with her choice of therapy, however, because it encouraged what I saw as emotional expression gone haywire. The goal of the treatment was to regress to one's childhood and achieve healing in one's soul by reliving painful incidents from the past. I became very fearful as I overheard her efforts to attain emotional healing from the bowels of our basement. Not knowing how to cope with my mom's expressiveness, my dad withdrew to some degree. I trembled as I saw them on a few occasions break things in anger and frustration. At least there was no physical abuse.

At a loss as to how to deal with the pervasive tension at home, I started experiencing frequent bouts of depression. I wrote in a journal addressing my entries to God, asking Him why He was allowing so much expression of anger and hatred in my family. Sometimes I would lie in bed crying at night. I'd stare at the moonlit sketches of lions on my wallpaper as my soul kept asking, "Why?" I hoped that God would somehow speak to me and soothe my heart, but there were no divine intrusions on my thoughts.

Imaginary comfort seemed better than none at all, so I pretended to have conversations with the lions, telling them my troubles. They were not far off in the heavens somewhere as I thought God was. They were close and visible. I could stroke their flat manes with my fingers. They looked so serene as they lounged in their African scenes. I wished someone could hear me and understand my heart. I dreamed of another day in the distant future when I would be old enough to be independent and have the opportunity to be genuinely happy and at peace in my own home.

My frustration in trying to converse with God resembled how I felt one night years earlier when I was about five. My mom's mother was putting me to bed in her sewing room and she stood at the door as I said my prayers. She told me that God would talk to me as I prayed. I believed her, so after she left I excitedly asked Him a question, then waited to hear a response. I don't recall what I asked, but I expected to hear an audible voice as I strained my ears and gazed at the ceiling. As I kept asking and hearing nothing, I grew angry with God. If He talked to others, why wouldn't He talk to me, too? I gave up trying to hear Him. But years later my desperation and confusion moved me to knock at His door once more. Surely He was out there somewhere. Though I was unaware of it, God knew my sorrow completely and was listening attentively.

Perhaps I couldn't hear God's voice at that time because I was blaming Him in large part for the turmoil in my life. In my young mind I reasoned that, since God was in charge of everything, He was responsible for all that happened in the world - both good and bad. I had not grasped the concept that evil is in the world as a result of God granting everyone the freedom to make loving or hateful choices. I didn't think about the influence of Satan and his demons on people. I had not faced the reality that it is possible for God to be all-powerful, loving and completely good while the innocent suffer at the hands of the wicked. I couldn't demand that God grant me heaven on earth because we live in a world infected with evil. Yet God did want to give me His peace in the midst of my troubles, just as He yearns to comfort anyone in sorrow. But the bitterness of my soul had blinded me to His concern for my situation. Plus, I didn't really know what it took to be in an intimate relationship with God in the first place.

We were now in a Detroit suburb where we had joined a larger, more impersonal church. My parents insisted that I attend confirmation classes for two years, but I didn't learn much about God or the Bible that I could apply to my life in a helpful way. One earnest girl asked our instructor, a young deaconess, how we can be certain that we are going to heaven. I waited with baited breath. After a moment of reflection and brow scrunching the deaconess replied, "Well, I'm sure if you are that concerned about it, you will be going to heaven." "What a lame answer!" I thought. Her words brought me no sense of direction or assurance. "If our teacher didn't know how to be certain of salvation, how could anyone know?" I concluded.

My first year of school as a seventh grader in the new place was rough because I had to work on making new friends. I had several casual friends, but only one really good friend. Near the end of the school year a small group of girls in my gym class decided to pick on me perhaps because I was not an aggressive volleyball or softball player and they could tell I wouldn't fight back. One girl literally shoved me from third base to home plate because I wasn't running fast enough for her. The public humiliation was unbearable. To my amazement the teacher did nothing. I had never encountered any type of hostility from classmates before. I was bewildered and so were some of the other girls as to why this was happening to me. I became terrified about going to school, but kept attending dutifully as I counted down the days to summer vacation which I hoped would make the bullies forget all about me.

But summer break didn't make the problem go away. I was dismayed to see the kingpin of the bullies in my English class. As she continued with her mockery, I pretended I couldn't hear her. Then I soon became the best student in the class since I loved writing and was highly motivated by our enthusiastic teacher. The bullies lost their ammunition and faded away. I was overjoyed.

But things at home only continued to get worse. My journal entries at age thirteen express some attempts to depend on God's strength in the midst of my trials. I don't know what inspired my faith as I wrote on one page some esoteric, yet encouraging words, a portion of which resembled Romans 8:28, "...in all things God works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose." Maybe my confirmation class had a good effect on me after all:

"One can always find peace with God. God is the image, the thought of love and inner serenity within. God will take care of me. God will make sure that everything that happens in my life has a good purpose and will improve my life. I want inner peace! Fear of nothing. Please God, stay close in my times of need – always. HELP!"

On the next page I'm suddenly in a state of desperation, alternating between looking to my own strength and then God's for deliverance:

"The stab of my parents' harsh, cruel bickering has set a wound inside me which only I can heal. I must fight for my sanity and my need for affection. STOP your fighting. Can't you see the wounds you are digging deeper and deeper inside our family? The blood is pouring out of me! We need help! Talk our problems over together. We must gain happiness. Try hard to make fulfilling lives. TRY!! If our family breaks up, we will crumble to dust. We will experience the weight of hell's depression upon our shoulders. God, help us to pull through if this shall ever happen."

I suppose my overly dramatic statements were fueled by my sense that, as a child, I had little power to rebuild the harmony that I thought had once been in my family. I was floundering in tumultuous waters that were way over my head. Writing provided me with private venting sessions, keeping me from becoming explosive around others.

As a family therapy activity suggested by my mom's counselor, my mom asked us to take turns describing each other in the roles that we saw typifying our family dynamics. Feeling awkward, we got up from the dining table and formed a circle. My mom had my dad on his knees in a begging position before her while she would alternate between helping him up and pushing him down. She must have viewed him as powerless. She had me helping him up and Claire was just standing there with our mom's hand on her shoulder.

My mother then said she saw me trying to solve our family problems, but she didn't want me interfering. She said the problems were just between her and dad. I explained that I wanted to help solve family conflicts because I was suffering from them and who wants to suffer? She replied that I should see the conflicts in a different way so that I wouldn't be hurt. She was asking the impossible and I knew it, but her words still caused me to internalize a measure of shame for feeling injured by their frequent arguing.

My dad's version of our family dynamics had us all arranged in a group hug. Such displays of affection were rare in our home. Maybe he was expressing what he desired to be the norm. Then Claire set me up on dad's side and her on mom's. I was offended that mom and Claire had the kids divided. I saw Claire and me being hurt as we stood in between our parents as they argued. Maybe each version had some truth to it. Though it helped us to clarify our thoughts and feelings to some extent, the exercise did not bring any degree of healing to our splintering family.

I grew increasingly discouraged. When I was about fourteen I remember walking into the kitchen and thinking that I did not deserve this much pain at home. I said in my heart to God, "You have not brought peace to my family like I asked, so I will not believe in You anymore!" What a dreadful and momentous decision I had made. I did not realize the devastating ramifications it would have on me over the next few years as I slipped further into depression.

Since my mom had become the major source of my grief, I began to buck her control. I decided that she had dominated me far too much for too long. We had heated arguments where I would not give in. We argued over how people should relate to each other, especially within a family. The first time I stood my ground on an issue, I was amazed that I had the courage to assert myself to such a degree. I had grown up as the extremely compliant child and now I was making it known that I had a mind of my own. It was frightening and exhilarating at the same time.

Soon elements of a role reversal began to appear between us. I no longer felt like I could lean on my mother to the same degree. I was compelled to be alert and do my best to watch out for my own interests because I had become uncertain that my mom was doing so. My sense of security and stability was continuing to erode.

My dad and I didn't argue because our values were basically the same. We just wanted my mom to be content with the life we had. From my childlike perspective I saw that we had a nice house, a big yard with a pool and garden, and we had plenty of friends and relatives to have a good time with. My dad worked forty hours per week, was home in the evenings and on the weekends, and helped out around the house. Wasn't that good enough? I didn't realize I was only looking at the surface of things.

By the middle of eighth grade my ray of sunshine became school. Like my experience in Ann Arbor, I had acquired many friends and favor with my teachers. It surprises me that I still did well in my studies even though my home was a battlefield. I must have been tightly wound at times, however, because a minor annoyance one day caused me to behave contrary to my quiet nature.

A boy walking by my desk decided to tease me by grabbing a pencil from my hand. Without thinking, I slugged his arm as forcefully as I could. He promptly dropped my pencil and retreated without a word. I was shocked at my aggressive behavior and so was my friend who started laughing hysterically. I desperately wanted her to just be quiet and help me by pretending nothing happened, but she was oblivious to my pleading stare.

When the teacher (who bore an uncanny resemblance to Helen Reddy) was told of my attack, she stared at me with wide eyes in surprise. Suddenly I forgot to breathe and it was as if I was back in the second grade fearing that my name was going to be put on the board. Then a grin spread across her face. She seemed pleased with my show of force as she replied with a smile, "Maybe he deserved it." (I could hear Helen Reddy singing, "I am woman hear me roar...") After all these years I was still completely blameless in school regardless of what I did. I heaved a huge sigh of relief.

I was following the advanced math track and by the time I reached ninth grade I often got the top scores in my class along with another student. What helped me do so well in math was my dad's enthusiasm. He would spend hours working on story problems with me. Sometimes we would be so stumped on a problem, even after investing a lot of time in it, that we could hardly wait for me to go to class and discover the solution. It was as if we were playing a fun, complex game of strategy.

I also got a sense of self-worth from being the best artist in my school. I didn't even have to try hard because no one else seemed to be nearly as interested in art as I was. I was dismayed, though, to discover that a girl who only drew horses was chosen as the most artistic for the yearbook. What an injustice! Most of the kids didn't even know I could draw because I didn't doodle like she did in the academic classes.

I liked a few boys, but was too shy to get to know them. When one boy I liked noticed me gawking at him he started being very friendly. I was terror-stricken. What if he wanted to ask me out? Suddenly his dreamy blue eyes, tan and David Cassidy feathered hairstyle did nothing for me. In fact, I was repulsed. I stiffened and stammered. He must have walked away very confused. I didn't need to worry about him coming around me anymore. However, I felt badly and wondered what was wrong with me. Why was I so fearful of him?

Boys had always seemed a bit dangerous to me for some unknown reason. By the end of ninth grade my mom decided to divorce my dad again. I was quite relieved to hear the news because I figured it would mean an end to the fighting and yelling. Again I was naively optimistic. Instead of fighting in person, Claire and I had to listen to them make negative comments about each other. Whatever their problems had been, not much had been resolved or healed.

My mom chose to move back to Ann Arbor. I was not happy about having to leave my current friends because I had grown very attached to them and wasn't sure if I could still fit in with my old friends from three years ago. We settled into an apartment across the street from my high school in a rolling setting with ponds, trees and miles of paths for me to explore by bike.

I had a happy reunion with my old friends and was surprised at how much they had grown up. Again I was the best artist in my school and I thrived on the attention. One of my art teachers went so far as to say I was the best artist the school had in ten years. I felt so valued. I had definitely found my reason for existence.

There were a few guys in my art classes who relished inane conversations. I felt comfortable laughing and talking with them as we drew or painted. That was about the extent of my male interaction. I didn't date anyone during high school, though I was always longing for a boyfriend. I wanted to be loved by someone, however, I had the same problem that I did in junior high. If a boy I liked responded with some interest, I turned away in fear.

A couple of boys had expressed some interest in me, but there was one boy in particular who rattled my cage. He was an attractive dark-haired lifeguard at our pool who was a year older than me. He found out where I lived and came over unannounced one day with a friend when only Claire and I were home. He asked to come in and was joking around. Out of the blue he grabbed me by the throat and shook me back and forth as he demanded to know where we kept the alcohol. He didn't hurt me, but I was terrified, not having encountered such forcefulness before. I stammered that we didn't have any. After a little more conversation he left.

In school he made flirtatious gestures, but finally left me alone when he realized I was so enamored with a football player coming down the stairs that I didn't even know he was standing right in front of me. I was glad to be rid of him. His disturbing manner only served to reinforce my belief that boys were not safe if they got close. Dating was too risky of a practice.

Intellectually, I thought pre-marital sex was acceptable because many people around me were engaging in it and it seemed to be the norm. At the same time, however, deep inside me I knew that sex without marriage was a dangerous place to tread in regard to my heart and my future. I certainly did not want to get pregnant, become a teen mom and make it difficult to obtain a college degree. Neither did I want to get used by a boy just for his pleasure and then get dumped like my two closest friends had been. Since our family had stopped attending church after the second divorce and I did not have a clear moral compass, I had just fear and some practical concerns to motivate me to hold boys at arm's length.

From my parents' example and trends in society, I expected to be divorced after five or so years of marriage due me drifting apart from my future husband, another impediment to me developing a healthy outlook on marriage came from a comment made to me by my mother's therapist.

My mom thought a family session would be beneficial. I was doubtful because I figured that the therapist had heard an earful of disparaging comments about me from my mom since we had not been getting along for years. Also, her approach to therapy and my experiences socializing with the aged "flower children" of my mom's therapy group made it clear to me that we did not possess the same mindset.

I sat on the couch with folded arms, not saying much. The therapist responded by mocking my body language and attitude. I acted indifferent to hide my hurt at being belittled. She told me that I was a closed person then stated bluntly, "You will never get married." I was stunned that she had the audacity to make such a cruel judgment call especially since she hardly knew me. I already felt deeply hated by my mother. Why was this therapist trying to convince me that no man would ever love me enough to marry me? I didn't realize she must have thought I was such a guarded person that I would never let anyone get close to me. In any case, I was deeply offended. I saw no point in just sitting there while this warped woman tore me to shreds with her words. My self-esteem was low enough and I wasn't about to let it be completely obliterated, so I stood up and headed out the door without a word. I marched home determinedly even though it was several miles away. I was livid. After the session my mom found me down the road and picked me up.

When my mom told the members of her therapy group that I had walked out on their therapist, they were amazed. The therapist had so much influence over them that they were afraid to contradict her. She may have been god-like to them, but I was not the least inclined to bow to her dictates. Even though I rejected her "curse" by walking out, her words would come back to haunt me during my years as a single adult.

While in high school I evolved into the opposite of my former fastidious self. Maybe the absence of my father in our home caused me to develop more of a "who cares?" attitude. I was still studious, but I abandoned math and science during my junior year, feeling more geared toward history, art, Spanish and English. I had become an atheist, partly inspired by some of my intellectual teachers. I had also adopted a liberal mindset on social issues. I supported basically anything anyone wanted to do as long as it made him or her happy. Gone was my prim and proper appearance. With an untamed lion's mane as a result of bad perms, I often looked sloppy in jeans and baggy shirts.

I had also cast aside my structured schedule. We rarely ate together as a family, so I threw together unhealthy meals at odd hours. My mom never gave me a curfew probably because I didn't have a boyfriend and I didn't show signs of substance abuse. Claire, on the other hand, had to contend with a curfew because she was dating and was tempted to come home late.

My studies kept me home most of the time, but on occasion I did hang out late into the night with my girlfriends or went to parties where we drank a little and tried a few puffs of pot with only slight effects on my state of mind. My friends and I agreed that I had a pretty cool mom who trusted my judgment so much that she allowed me to make many of my own decisions, even though I would have been better off with wise guidance. Thankfully, I wasn't vulnerable to substance abuse since I always had career goals in mind and peer pressure wasn't much of an issue in my school.

I enjoyed hanging out with three different groups of students. One group was comprised of artists who were a mix of intellectuals and drug users. Another group consisted of my closest friends. We were obsessed with our schoolwork, often pouring over it as we ate lunch together in the halls. One girl had been the valedictorian of her junior high school. Another ended up becoming the valedictorian of our high school. That was no small accomplishment because we had many bright students with very intelligent parents who worked at the University of Michigan or in the hospital. The other girl was following in the footsteps of her father who was a computer genius.

The third group I spent time with included wholesome, kindhearted Christians. One of them invited me to a Young Life meeting. Part of me wanted to go. But when I heard a lot of the popular kids from school were in the group, I felt intimidated. I didn't like the idea of revealing who I really was in a close knit group full of happy, well-adjusted youth. Many of these students were in the school plays and on the cheerleading squad and football team. They did fairly well academically and looked polished in their expensive "preppy" clothes. I dreamed of being like them, but knew I couldn't fit in, so I turned her down.

As my plans for my future progressed, I decide to take an excursion during the summer before my senior year with two friends to check out prestigious universities on the East Coast. Many of our fellow students were doing the same thing. One of my friends had applied to Harvard and I wanted to check out Boston University. I was enamored with Boston because it was like Ann Arbor, but on a much larger scale. I did end up getting accepted to Boston University and wanted to go, but the tuition was too high for my meager means and I had no desire to acquire massive debt, so I turned the opportunity down.

We continued on to Yale in New Haven. On the first night I felt as though I had just stepped into London as I marveled at the mysterious, old stone buildings shrouded in mist. We stayed with a couple of students who were very friendly and energetic. I attended anthropology and art classes. I kept my eyes pealed for the film actress Jodie Foster who was a student at the time, but I never spotted her. I was only mildly disappointed that I didn't get accepted there because my expectations were not high.

The University of Michigan was my back up school because I knew I met the entrance requirements and I could afford it through work-study, a loan, a grant and help from my parents. So after Ivy-League dreaming, I was remaining in Ann Arbor after all. But the appeal of the very high standards and ambition of the students I met out East would stay with me for many years. For now I just had one more year to endure at home and then I could be on my own even if I was only two miles away in a dorm.

Since my dad was no longer living with us, it seemed as though I took his place as the primary target of my mother's hostility. Life was no easier after their second divorce. I was still in the midst of a war zone, only the majority of the bullets were now aimed at me. My mother had not become any happier as a single woman. She was still filled with anger. I'm sure I rubbed her the wrong way because I had personality traits that resembled my dad's and I was openly disrespectful at times, full of hurtful, condescending comments. Also, although I was fairly liberal, I was still more conservative than her and spoke disapprovingly of her values. At home my mother seemed like two different people. I related well to her softer side. Sometimes we would have good heart to heart conversations about relationships and the meaning of life. At other times there were occasions when I thought I saw so much hostility in her eyes that I came to believe she would prefer it if I were dead. Feeling so utterly rejected cut clear to the core of my being. In response, I used to fantasize about ways to kill her and myself in order to end my misery. I knew I wouldn't actually harm either one of us, but that was my heart's desire at times. A deep, dark pit was engulfing me and I felt powerless to pull myself out.

Without advanced warning, my mom said that I would have to immediately start paying for my own groceries for the final months I was at home before leaving for college. She informed me that since I had turned eighteen, my dad was no longer obligated to send child support checks for me. Her manner was astonishingly cold and calculating. I wondered if she had been tolerating me living with her for the past three years merely so she could receive the child support checks and use some of the money for herself. We were able to buy new things to decorate our apartment, which was in a nice part of town and my mom never lacked for new clothes. My dad, on the other hand, lived in a small house in the country that was in desperate need of fixing up. Even though he had a decent job, he had severe financial struggles for a couple of years after the divorce. He must not have had a good lawyer.

It really hurt knowing that she didn't want to spend a dime to feed me and that she chose to spring the news on me suddenly. She said I could pay one third of the grocery bill or I could pick out my own groceries and pay for them separately. I received a $7 weekly allowance and knew I could make it stretch if I lived on hot dogs and peanut butter and jelly as my main diet, so I chose to pick out my own groceries. Lacking a car, skills and ambition to make extra money, all I found that summer was a volunteer receptionist job close by, so my funds remained tight, but the company surprised me with a check for a few hundred dollars on my last day there.

I felt like I had been ostracized from the family when I'd see my mom and Claire eating more interesting food as I ate the same thing every day. I never felt welcome in her home after that, especially when I discovered later that Claire had not been forced to pay for her own groceries once she turned eighteen. Since my parents' first divorce I had been painfully aware of a double standard when it came to how my mother treated us. Claire seemed like her daughter while I felt like an annoying border whose presence was merely tolerated. The day to move into the dorm couldn't come fast enough.

Chapter 3 - Descent and Deliverance at the Great Big University

It was September of 1980. I had rejoiced with my classmates during graduation and survived a number of parties during the past summer and now the long awaited day of deliverance had arrived. I was moving into a dorm on the north campus of the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor near the engineering, art and music buildings. The towering pines and rolling hills were lovely to stroll through on my way to the bus stop or art school. Occasionally I'd sneak off to the music school to find an empty piano room and play my favorite classical pieces I had learned as a child. It was fun setting up my room and meeting the women on my hall.

While I enjoyed the north campus setting, the 1,200 or so primarily engineering and music students in my dorm and the sheer size of the structure did not create a very welcoming environment for me, however. I soon found myself wishing I had chosen a smaller dorm on central campus that was rife with oddballs and intellectuals like myself. Some of my friends from high school lived in East Quad, so I ate lunch in their cafeteria sometimes.

My roommate came from a well-to-do family in New York. She was a sociable, pretty premed student who attracted men like a magnet. This was beneficial for me in the beginning because she quickly corralled a few guys to build a loft in our room where we put our beds. We were lucky as freshmen to be placed on a sophomore hall where the ceiling height was greater than the three floors below us, enabling us to have room for a couch and my messy art supplies. But after a few months, I didn't enjoy being locked out of the room on occasion when she wanted privacy. Even though I was not a champion of clean living, I was sickened by the substance abuse and casual sex practiced by many in the dorm. A part of the prim and proper girl that I used to be still resided somewhere inside my soul.

In my art classes I immediately began examining the skill levels of the other students and figured that there were about three or four who were better than I was. Not shining brighter than all of the others made me slightly uneasy. But what was harder to handle was the realization that most of my professors were not enamored with my work. One in particular kept trying to get me to loosen up my drawing. I was disappointed that we were rarely taught the basic principles of drawing and painting. It was impractical to me that, as first and second year art students, we were expected to develop our individual artistic styles even though we were all amateurs. I also disliked the heavily abstract bent of the school. Thankfully, one drawing and watercolor professor gave me some of the encouragement I so desperately longed for. She appreciated my attention to detail and realism.

I had only a couple of friends in my art classes. Many art students appeared to be lost in their own worlds. Some were on drugs. It was not a cheerful place to be. Occasionally I would wander upstairs to the architecture school and imagine working in a clean, orderly environment with people who appreciated the status quo and weren't always trying to break out of it. I attempted a drafting class, but dropped out, concluding that, "being meticulous about meaningless parallel lines and having to guess on correct line weight and length is for the birds!" My disposition determined that I was relegated to the free flowing lines of an artist and a world seemingly ruled by anarchy.

I felt quite at home at my work-study job in the Art History Department. It was the perfect job for me because I was assigned to the careful preservation of the slides used for lectures. We were told they didn't care how many slides we got done in a day. What mattered was that we were exacting. With no pressure about speed I was free to go at a relaxed pace while talking with the other students. We laughed a lot and shared personal stories.

Despite the nice atmosphere at work I didn't have a good support system, which I badly needed. I felt an enormous burden due to the high expectations I had placed on myself in terms of my artwork. One day as I walked around campus, it seemed as though I was holding the weight of the world upon my shoulders like the Greek mythological giant, Atlas, who supported the heavens. My shoulders were breaking under the load. I had acquired a very sick perspective of how I was to determine my value as a person. Even though I was not a prodigy in art, I believed that I had to be almost as good an artist as Michelangelo or Leonardo DaVinci in order to be a worthwhile person. If I was not the best at something, I felt as though I was a nobody who was not worthy of love or the right to exist. I had incorporated destructive messages into my mind while growing up and I attributed most of them to my mother. In a journal entry from the fall of my freshman year, though my mother never actually said such degrading things, I imagined these were her true thoughts about me:

"You are ugly. I wish you weren't my kid. You could accomplish so much, but all you do is sit and worry. What a fool! Get your life together and live. Be daring. Run, ski and laugh. Be the president of your own company. I know you can do it. A lot is expected from you. Perform with perfection. If you are mediocre, you are worth nothing. You know everything. Why do you ask me for help? Do you think I have the time? Simply go and do it. When you bleed it's your own fault. How dare you try and accuse me! You awful person, get away from me. You're here to haunt me. I'll kill you first."

Though I had moved out of her home, she was still with me, tormenting me in my mind. With such destructive thoughts plaguing me, I wanted to leave my life and the world around me. I tried to numb my pain by watching my soap opera, "Guiding Light," which my grandmother got me hooked on. I would get myself a treat, stuff my face and the world would go away for an hour. I also watched "Nova" and sat mesmerized by Carl Sagan's explorations of the universe. I read science fiction and relished thoughts of life in the distant future full of strange contraptions that could give people otherworldly experiences. I desperately wanted out.

I thought about my deceased grandfather. He was the only source of genuine, untroubled love that I could remember. I recalled that he was a Christian and wondered if I should become one so I could have the same peace, love and zest for life that he enjoyed. On Christmas Day0, I sat typing in my grandmother's basement on a desk next to his old typewriter:

"I feel quite similar to grandpa. I wish he wasn't dead. He was an exciting and loving person. He had many interests such as painting, electrical work, talking overseas on a ham radio, and a strong faith in God. I remember him teasing grandma a lot, tickling her and laughing, like he did with all of us grandchildren. He was such a playful person who enjoyed life to the fullest. I admire him for that. He used to go on long walks to keep his health up and admire nature. It was on one of these walks that he became ill and died soon after. How I miss him. I want to tell him about all the new things I'm dealing with in art school."

Besides struggling with negative thoughts about my mother and feeling lost in art school and in my dorm, another major factor that pushed me to want to quit college and life in general, was my calculus class. An advisor had told me that the medical illustration program was one of the best ways for me to make a living as an artist since I was good at drawing details. The downside to the program for me was that half of my classes would be in math and science. I decided to get my math requirement done as quickly as possible by taking a calculus class that had as a prerequisite one and a half years more of high school math than I had completed. I would have done okay if I had been motivated to do the homework. I took notes in class and paid attention, but since the homework didn't have to be turned in, I often skipped it. Perhaps once in my life I had received a "C" in a class, but now I was looking at a solid "D". I was mortified and anxious. I wouldn't find out my grade until early January.

I was also struggling with my conscience. I wrote in my journal about a comment my grandmother had made to me:

"I'm terribly conscious about using God's name in vain ever since grandma warned me about the dire consequences three days ago. She whispered the commandment to me in the car after Claire and Uncle Ron gasped, 'Lord!' and 'God!' in moments of strong feeling. She knows how to lay the guilt on. I'm prone to react strongly to any provocation of guilt, but I hold in my angry protests."

By the end of my first semester I was nearly depleted of my own strength and coping mechanisms. I confided in family members and my closest friend from high school, but sensed that they could only give me divided attention because they had their own problems. I also figured that my unhappiness was "too ugly for anyone to deal with." I joined a therapy group on campus for children of divorce and found a meager dose of support. I also saw a compassionate counselor for about two months, which helped a bit. Yet I felt myself teetering on the edge between sanity and a dark hole. One journal entry expressed my fragile state:

"When I'm in public I sometimes feel like crying. My eyes water and I have a hard time stopping myself. That's scary and could be embarrassing. This hasn't happened before. It must be quite serious. I want help. I hope I don't have a nervous breakdown."

During the Christmas break I spent time at my mother's, which was not enjoyable. I felt second rate as she ordered me around in a frenzy to get the condo cleaned for guests. I was miserable wherever I was and didn't know what to do with my life anymore. I did not want to return to college, but what else could I do with my life? I had little work experience and deplored the idea of working full-time at a fast food restaurant, being dirt poor and living in a tiny apartment. I was at an impasse.

A few days later, I was alone at my mom's and decided to watch some television. Since my mom disliked the TV, it was relegated to the dark basement, which was full of boxes. I flipped through the channels and an unfamiliar show caught my eye. People were talking about God saving them and working dramatic miracles of healing and performing other answers to prayer. I sat there stunned. I had never heard about God being so powerful and specific in working in the lives of individuals in our day and age. I was presented with convincing evidence that God is real and intervenes in everyday life if we pray and believe in Him.

While growing up, I had been somewhat like a Deist because I often thought of God as the distant Creator of the universe who pops down occasionally to hear our prayers. I doubted that He would provide answers to the types of prayers that required Him to change the natural course of things. I was still a bit incredulous and thought, "If what these people are saying is true, that would be SO WONDERFUL!" Near the end of the show ("The 700 Club") the host, Pat Robertson, invited the viewers to say a prayer to turn from a life of sin and believe that Jesus Christ's death on a cross paid the price to cleanse them from sin. Then he told us to profess Jesus as our Lord and Savior, inviting Him to come into our hearts. I joined in with earnest, really wanting the prayer to work. I desperately desired to know God like these people did. Then Pat told us to read the Bible regularly and find a church to join.

I turned off the TV and immediately began digging in my mom's boxes because I remembered that she had an old black Bible buried in one of them. I found it and went upstairs and laid it on the dining room table. I closed the heavy drapes to create a dimly lit sanctuary shut off from the world. I was expectant as I prepared to meet with the living God of the universe. I don't recall what scriptures I read. I cried and poured my heart out to God for some time. I became very open and honest as I reached down into the depths of my soul and dumped at His feet all of the pain and the blackness that had been residing in me. Two days later I wrote:

"I was pleading for help. I said that my life was His. I asked for forgiveness for my sins. I was so desperate. God seems like a protective parent. Strangely, pleasant coincidences have occurred in great numbers in the past two days. I saw friends on the street. My best friend from junior high, wrote back! I was so happy to hear from her. She wants to see me. I got a B- in Calculus!!! I'm so proud! I thought I'd get a D. The instructor must have raised everyone's grades equally when he saw how we all failed."

Just a few days prior my life was plummeting down a cliff into darkness. Then within an instant, as soon as I said a prayer, large hands broke my fall and gently lifted me back to safety. This dramatic change in direction hit me as I reached for the refrigerator door at my mom's within days of my conversion. My hand froze on the handle as I marveled at my amazing sense of optimism. I truly wanted to return to college. What happened to my defeatist attitude? It had vanished into thin air without me even having a breakthrough counseling session or an inspiring talk with a friend. I wondered if my decision to commit my life to God had resulted in Him working a miracle that completely transformed my outlook on life. I was confused, but definitely happy. Having watched "The 700 Club" sent my faith soaring and helped me believe that God really is loving and that He has the ability to work wonderful things in my life like He did for the people on the show.

God had made me a new person. He miraculously delivered me from a debilitating depression within a matter of days. By imparting a supernatural hope to my soul, He enabled me to believe that I was being cared for by Him. It's not that I was suddenly an incredibly well adjusted individual, but I was definitely emotionally stable now.

There was no way that I wanted to slip back into my former depression, so I was leery about spending much time with my family where my bad attitudes had originated. I decided to distance myself by not going home again until the end of the semester. I wanted to get strong in my faith and my positive outlook on life first.

On the day I was getting ready to return to my dorm after the Christmas break, my mom asked me to tell her what was bothering me. For once in my life I resisted opening up to her because my newfound strength from God told me to protect myself from her critical comments. So I simply said I was fine – I actually was.

I was not prepared for the onslaught that followed. She became furious. Perhaps she was realizing for the first time that she could not have complete access to my mind, try to influence my thinking and help me become a psychologically "healthier" person. Though we had been at odds for years, I used to be quite candid with her, even about my fears and weaknesses. It was as if I believed it was my duty to answer in detail all of her probing questions about myself so she could satisfy her desire to analyze every part of me. I had allowed her to become the judge and critic of the core of my being. This gave her great power to decimate my self-worth with words born out of some kind of psychotherapy that, though perhaps well intentioned, brought death to my soul. I had to put a stop to her playing my counselor or my well-being would be threatened.

I didn't mention my conversion at that time because I assumed she would be incredulous. After all, what severely depressed person can suddenly become a primarily content person without medication? Would she put a damper on my joy by claiming it wasn't genuine? When my mom realized that I wasn't about to pull out any dirty laundry, she gave up in frustration and shoved me away with, "I've tried to reach out to you. Since you won't talk about it, it's up to you to reach out from now on. I'm not going to do it." Later on I wrote:

"Boy, does she feel guilty. That was a very cruel thing for her to say. When she dropped me off, she didn't make any affectionate gestures, which is very unusual. I felt strange when she walked out. I felt rejected yet freer and happier. I covered what sadness there was with hope for the future. I had a stronger urge to reach out to others outside my family."

I felt bad about telling my dad that I wanted to stay at the dorm and not visit him for awhile. I'm sure he was perplexed, but he didn't protest. About two months later I felt freer to talk so we met for dinner. I told him about my new relationship with God and the hope and joy He had given me. My dad thought that all sounded nice and he was happy for me.

Even though I was now a Christian, my mind and desires needed to be cleansed of selfishness and directed on a straighter course. Watching the 700 Club each morning taught me some things about the Christian life, but I needed much more. As far as how I spent my free time, the only thing I recall that changed dramatically was that I lost my desire to watch my soap opera. Suddenly the previously captivating characters turned my stomach with their convoluted and bizarre lives. I quit the habit cold turkey.

I had not yet found a church, so I wasn't receiving the teaching I required in order to mature in my faith. I continued to write in my journal about such things as wanting to marry a rich man so that I could be free to paint all I wanted and sell my artwork. I still wanted fame and world travel. One day I wrote that I wanted to escape from everyone. What I needed were Christian friends and mentors. I saw ads for different churches on campus, but couldn't make up my mind on which one to visit or muster the courage to go.

I still attended parties with drinking and drug use, though I wasn't interested in getting drunk or high. My art friends went to such parties, so I followed. One night we went to an "End of the World Party" in a large old house near campus. Certain planets were supposed to align with each other that night and then the end of the world would come according to some strange prediction. Of course, everyone made a joke of it. However, I was slightly concerned about what might happen to the universe someday as I looked around the rooms filled with creepy decorations. I needed direction and fast. God was on the way to guide me further.

Chapter 4 - Baptized with Fire

In March I received a flier under my dorm room door. Across the top bold letters proclaimed, "Realize Your Destiny." My eyes widened with wonder as I imagined the possibilities that lay ahead for me as an eighteen-year-old. "Was this a lecture about predicting one's future?" I marveled. It annoyed me that there was no description about the group sponsoring the meeting.

I had long been fascinated by depictions of the future regardless of the source. Scripture, psychics or science fiction authors could easily arouse my curiosity. My favorite book to read in the Bible had become Revelation because it spoke of end times with fantastic imagery. I decided to go, expecting to sit in an expansive lecture hall amid numerous students. Just before I walked out the door of my room, I felt like I should grab my concealer. I never carried my makeup around with me, yet for some strange reason that night I felt compelled to bring it.

When I discovered that the meeting was in a small banquet room in a hotel basement near the campus, I started to get uneasy about what kind of crowd might be there. Fringe groups at The University of Michigan in the early 1980's retained some of the radical edge that had existed among students in the 1960's. What was I getting myself into? I peeked in the doorway and saw less than fifty people milling about, talking and setting up sound equipment. It looked far too intimate for me, so I decided to leave.

Just as I turned from the doorway, one of the popular girls from my old high school yelled out my name with excitement. I panicked like a wild animal that had just been trapped in a cage. I forced a smile and walked in, figuring I could endure one evening of pretty much anything. We spoke briefly and I sat next to her.

I was surprised to discover that I had happened upon a floating campus church that rented rooms for its meetings. Strumming a guitar up front was a man who looked like Elvis in prep school attire. The room gradually filled with young people. Then the worship started and I joined in.

Suddenly I was distinctly aware of being enveloped in a cloud of boundless love that fell from heaven upon us all. Even though I had never experienced such a phenomenon before, I knew it held the glorious presence of God. As I stood there captivated by the sense that large, divine arms were enfolding me, my battle weary heart began melting.

Waves of relief poured through me as I realized I no longer had to endure my life of empty isolation. This was the love I had been searching for all my life. I had never encountered anything so healing and wonderful. Nothing had ever penetrated me so deeply, not even my grandfather's love. This love brought new life to the deepest part of my soul. I realized that no matter what anyone did to me, the pain they caused paled in comparison to God's love and His ability to bring comfort. He didn't point out my shortcomings or make me feel ashamed. He merely poured Himself and His glory upon me.

Unstoppable tears began flowing from my eyes. It seemed as though cold, stone walls were crumbling around me and lush, green plants were growing in their place. What was happening to me? My tough protective exterior was vanishing, swept away by a mighty hand. It was as if God had spoken tenderly, "Your hard, lonely struggle is over. You can rest in My arms now. Everything is going to be alright." I longed to run to a small private room so I could bawl like a baby. I was embarrassed to have become such an emotional mess in the presence of so many strangers.

An energetic speaker told us that if we hadn't done so yet, we needed to make Jesus our Lord and Savior by coming to the front of the room. I had already committed my life to Christ, but I knew I desired more of God. I wanted to go forward so badly, but I was too self-conscious. I prayed for God to have at least one other person go forward, then I would go. My heart leapt for joy when I saw a young man eventually go to the front, so I quickly followed.

The speaker asked us to tell everyone why we came forward. I had never spoken in front of such a large group before, but I was compelled by my encounter with the Spirit of God that night to share my story. With tears again streaming uncontrollably down my face I briefly summarized my struggles due to my parents' divorces and what led up to me going forward that night. I was astonished at my newfound boldness. Here I was the girl who barely breathed a word in class over the years and now I was baring my soul before a large group of strangers. The protective walls truly were crumbling down.

After the meeting, Hank ("Elvis") and his fiancée, Gwen, spoke to me and the guy who also went forward about getting baptized in water and in the Holy Spirit. They were surprised by my ignorance of scripture, but this realization encouraged them because they saw through my life the power of Jesus to reconcile to God someone who had been very lost. I agonized, as my tears simply would not stop. After awhile Hank gave up trying to explain scriptures to me and asked Gwen to take me to another room and talk with me one on one.

I eventually calmed down and changed into someone's jeans and T-shirt in the bathroom to prepare for my baptism that night. I was to get dunked in a big tub filled with water in a small furnace room across the hall. Now I knew why I felt moved to bring my makeup. Since I was going all the way in the water, I would have been distraught about having a blotchy face in front of everyone. I thanked God for preventing my embarrassment.

I believed all of the scriptures Hank and Gwen had shared with me about baptism and I was eager to comply because God had met me in such a powerful way that night. I knew that my encounter with Him had not originated with my emotions or anything within myself. God Himself broke into my world and initiated our glorious communion in response to my openness to Him (and probably in response to the prayers of my Christian relatives).

Since Jesus needed to be baptized "'in order to fulfill all righteousness'" (Mt. 3:15), who was I to think I was exempt from baptism? Even though baptism isn't required for salvation ("That if you confess with your mouth, 'Jesus is Lord,' and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved." Rom. 10:9), it is a necessary next step for the professed follower of Christ. The purpose of baptism is clearly delineated in Romans 6:4, "We were therefore buried with him through baptism into death in order that, just as Christ was raised from the dead through the glory of the Father, we too may live a new life." Baptism is also "...the pledge of a good conscience toward God" (1Peter 3:21).

Even though I had been baptized as an infant, I considered that event as having had no significance in regard to my faith because I was incapable of comprehending salvation through Christ at that point. I knew I needed to get baptized now that I had made the choice on my own to give my life to Jesus. By going through baptism as a believer I was identifying with Christ's burial and resurrection and cementing my commitment to live by the power of the Holy Spirit the new life freely given to me through faith in Christ's atoning death on the cross.

I didn't quite understand the baptism in the Holy Spirit, however. I had heard of "holy rollers," but didn't know what they did or believed. From my relatives' accounts they were Christians who went a little overboard in expressing their enthusiasm for God. Was I now going to be thought of as strange by some people? I guess I didn't really care. Right after the meeting I had observed a group of people in the corner of the room who sounded like they were speaking foreign languages to each other. I was told they were praying in tongues. I hoped that I would be able to speak that mysterious language properly.

I got into the water and about fifteen people had stayed after the meeting to sing with the guitar players. They dunked me and prayed for me to be baptized in the Holy Spirit. I immediately felt a strong force rising up from within my spirit that wanted to speak out, but I feared that it would sound like strange gibberish, so I restrained it. That strong force was the Holy Spirit being poured on me in greater measure. Three people gave me prophecies that were words from God's heart to mine. I'm so thankful it was all recorded on tape. When Hank started to prophesy, he addressed some issues that only God knew about. The words brought even more healing to my heart. Some of Hank's prophecy went as follows:

"'Know,' says the Lord God, ' that I open My arms up to you and that I love you with a perfect and everlasting love. You were not created without a purpose, for I formed you Myself in your mother's womb and you are not an accident. I hand crafted you and I allowed you to be formed and I put My seal upon you and I said you are beautiful. I created you for Myself. I saw you as you grew up and I saw the toil and the hardship and I even saw your heart as it turned against Me. But I knew that I would call you again and speak to you. As you have turned to Me today, know that I am opening up your heart now to free you and liberate you and speak to you your destiny and your purpose. I sent My Son, Jesus Christ, for you. He knew you by name before you were born. He loves you and He forgives you. He has released you from the things of the past. He will bring you into fullness of emotions. He will bring you into the fullness of life. He whom the Son sets free is free indeed. The Son has come to give you life and give you life abundantly.'"

Halfway through the prophecy I became overwhelmed with emotion because God was acknowledging that I felt like an accident. The tears flowed again. For years I had known I was the result of an unplanned pregnancy and I was the reason my parents got married. My mother told me that my existence was kept a secret from my grandparents until I was born because she was ashamed and feared her mother's anger. Even though I could understand her feelings to some extent, having been that hidden unborn baby caused me to feel unwelcome in this world. God wanted to make certain that I knew He welcomed me just as He does everyone.

I was intrigued by God telling me through the prophecy that He saw my heart turning against Him and that He would call me again. Hebrews 4:13 is so true: "Nothing in all creation is hidden from God's sight. Everything is uncovered and laid bare before the eyes of him to whom we must give account." He saw me when I stood in my kitchen as a bitter fourteen-year-old telling Him that I didn't want to believe in Him anymore because He had allowed so much fighting in my family. He also saw me languishing in a deepening dark depression during my first semester in college. He knew He would call me back to Himself and that I would listen. I felt completely exposed before God, yet I took comfort in the awareness that He knows everything there is to know about me. Because of that knowledge, He can meet my needs and orchestrate the events in my life in a manner that is best for me. Therefore, I could place my trust in Him completely.

It wasn't until a few days later when I was in my dorm room putting something on my shelf that the Holy Spirit began to pour out of me as I started to speak in tongues. It was an intriguing and freeing experience as I felt the Lord's presence while I spoke the unusual, heavenly language. I soon came to find speaking in tongues to be an indispensable part of my prayer life. By uttering "mysteries" with my spirit (I Corinthians 14:2) I was edifying myself (vs. 4), that is, building up my faith through this prayer language that helped me focus on God and hear His voice more clearly. Praying and singing in tongues became a time of sweet communion with the Lord where my spirit could talk with and worship Him in a very intimate way.

I was now a member of a nationwide campus ministry called Maranatha. The movement had started over a decade earlier in Paduca, Kentucky. It was a nondenominational charismatic organization that strongly believed in the authority of scripture, sharing the gospel, and training new Christians in the faith through a somewhat controlling form of one-on-one discipleship. Through a newsletter and periodic Marantha Leadership Training Seminars, they taught us about our nation's Christian heritage and the need for Christians to permeate society in all areas, especially in the government and schools. By 1980 they had organized churches composed primarily of students on about 60 college campuses in the United States. Mature Christians trained new leaders who were sent to start new churches. Bible colleges and seminaries were not advocated for ministry preparation because there was a belief among the leadership that such institutions might dampen one's zeal for God by intellectualizing one's faith or encouraging gravitation toward a certain denomination.

Prophets and evangelists were sent on a regular basis to all of the Maranatha churches to help win souls and strengthen everyone's faith. When I went to my first meeting where a prophet spoke, at least half the people, including myself, received a prophecy. I found it all very fascinating to think that God Himself was talking to us through people like He did in the Bible. I was told that I would be a blessing to many girls because of the emotional healing God would bring in my life. It sounded like a good word to me.

At the end of the meeting the prophet started praying for people to get healed. Because I was a new believer, I was allowed to join a few others on the stage to witness a miracle up close. A member of our church had one leg that was about 1 ½ inches shorter than the other. They were invited to sit with their back flat against a chair while their feet rested on a chair facing them. The prophet was going to pray for the shorter leg to lengthen. I placed my head directly above the person's feet so that I could see the growth clearly and observe that they held their body still. As the prophet prayed, I was amazed to see the shorter leg grow like a plant in time-lapsed photography, sort of weaving back and forth a bit as if an invisible hand were pulling on the limb. It was freaky. Within a second or two the feet were even with each other. I could hardly believe my eyes. This was a group of churches that expected God to move supernaturally and He did.

It was easy to make friends in church. Two months after I joined Maranatha, five of us took a small camper to Georgia for Hank and Gwen's wedding. Since we were poor college students, we slept in the camper while someone drove or we stayed at various homes. On the way down we stopped at a Maranatha Church in Knoxville, Tennessee to wash up, eat and meet the people. Even though we were strangers, they welcomed us as though we were family members. I felt like I had loving relatives dotted all across America. God's Spirit really did enable people to break down all types of barriers.

When we arrived at the small country church for the wedding, I was appalled that there was no air conditioning. We sat in heat that was so intense, it melted the burning candles at the altar. They slowly started bending toward the floor, dripping wax all over. I marveled that no one had passed out in the pews. How did people in the South endure living in such a furnace? It wasn't even summer yet! We sat and fanned ourselves in desperation as we waited for the bride.

Then she appeared in the little doorway. It was as if I was watching a fairy tale as Gwen glided down the aisle toward Hank, beaming as he sang to her with a voice choked with emotion. I believed theirs was a match made in heaven. Gwen was about to be joined with the man of her dreams. I was so happy for her.

About a month earlier Gwen had told me she waited three years from the day God told her to marry Hank until the time he heard from God that he should marry her and proposed. I admired her patience, but such a long wait was ridiculous as far as I was concerned. She should have tried to manipulate the situation somehow to speed things along. There was no way I would wait three more years to get married. Why waste precious time? But since I had surrendered my life to God, He would determine my steps. Little did I know how long I would actually have to wait to get married. Maybe God wanted to make sure I acquired a lot of patience since I was so deficient to start out with.

I was glad that Gwen was assigned to disciple me. If I had any questions or just needed someone to talk to and pray with, I could meet with her. She was a tremendous help since I had a long list of questions and she had such a kind and gentle way of dealing with me. Though the general approach to discipling in Maranatha had the potential to be overbearing sometimes (such as telling someone who to marry and where to live), I did not receive such treatment from Gwen or anyone in the church.

I remember worrying about having quality prayer time with God and how to go about it. Gwen sensed that I needed to lighten up and suggested I talk to God while doing everyday things like making my bed. I was incredulous. From the preaching I was hearing in church about living a radical life for Christ, that kind of casual attitude didn't fit. Because of my serious nature and desire to please those in authority, I was like a sponge soaking in all of Maranatha's admonitions to have long daily prayer times with Bible reading and frequent church involvement. But since she obviously loved God very much, I gave some consideration to her words. Her easy going perspective helped me attempt to establish a balance in my relationship with God so that I wasn't driven to despair by a sense that I was never quite measuring up to the top notch Christian I often felt so pressured to become.

Besides working on my inner self with God to grow in my faith, I attempted to fit in at church by dressing more conservatively when I noticed that my hippie appearance was a little extreme. In the art school I usually wore jeans that became stained with a wide variety of colorful paint because I used my pants like a hand towel. I thought my jeans were cool because they were unique. They made it clear that I was an artist – well, at least that I worked with paint. I also often wore my dad's discarded oversized shirts. Realizing that I was a fashion disaster, I bought a few business casual clothes, which brought me compliments.

I admired the many members of my church who were bold about sharing their faith. Some would present their salvation stories along with the gospel while standing on a cement bench in the middle of the Diag, which was the intersection of several sidewalks at the heart of central campus where thousands of students walked on their way to class. This location was a prime spot for anyone who wanted to air their views and had been a popular locus for the political protests on the campus in the 1960's. I had heard an array of speakers there, including the sane and not quite so sane.

I was thrilled when I sometimes saw hundreds of students sitting on the grass listening to my pastor talk about Jesus. A couple of times I asked students what they thought of his message and they either said it was interesting or a little strange. It was a good thing he had been in the Marines because sometimes an irate heckler would attempt to shove him off the bench. I witnessed atheist professors arguing with him with great disgust that anyone in their right mind would believe in God. My pastor and the other brave members of my church had the courage to regularly deal well with such opposition by standing their ground and never lashed back in hate.

There were other areas on campus where we could be a witness for Jesus. When I took a course called "Jesus and the Gospels" with several students from my church, we soon became aggravated with the way our professor was chopping up the gospels and throwing out portions as if only certain sections could be considered authentic sayings of Christ. The book we had to read was based on redaction criticism and had no respect for scripture as being the inerrant and inspired word of God, so I barely read it.

When some of my friends would periodically stand up in the big lecture room and adamantly protest the professor's disparaging interpretation of scripture, I'd feel some embarrassment, but mostly joy. They spoke with firm conviction and an impressive lack of fear. They were inspired by sermons we had heard that were geared for Christian students at secular universities. Psalms 119:99 was mentioned from the pulpit a few times: "I have more insight than all my teachers, for I meditate on your statutes."

I was amused whenever the elderly professor sent a bewildered gaze our way as my friends asserted that all of the sayings attributed to Jesus in the Bible were actually spoken by Him, not invented by the authors. I'm certain that it was the first time he had encountered such fiery opposition in his class. Judging by his lack of equally impassioned counterpoints, I believe he was impressed with their zeal and knowledge of the Bible. It was a great place to share the gospel because the room was full of students from all types of backgrounds and religions who were searching for more meaning in their lives.

I ended up getting a "C" in the class and decided I'd better find out the faith of the professor before I took another course in religion. U of M did have a Jewish professor of Old Testament who had come to believe that Jesus is the Jewish Messiah. I later took one of his classes and absolutely loved it.

I was so excited about God's dramatic work in my life. I soon acquired a basic knowledge of key scriptures so that I could attempt to talk about Jesus in a simple, but concrete way. I was anxious to tell my friends how they could have the same joy and love I knew through faith in God.

However, I made the mistake of including too many of the new "rules" for holy living that I had been taught. My friends were perplexed as to why I would want to give up dancing, drinking, crazy parties and secular music. They couldn't believe that I had found a much better way of life and felt sorry for me as if I would be missing out on all kinds of fun. They hadn't realized how truly miserable I had been before my conversion. For me there was no comparison. Giving up a few old practices to help me focus on growing closer to God was like someone asking me to put down my slice of store bought cake so that I could sit down for an elaborate banquet prepared by a renowned chef. Life with Christ really was that much of an improvement.

I figured that if I could somehow get my friends to just come to a meeting, they would be filled with the same love of God that I had encountered. A good friend from high school was the only one I managed to talk into coming, and that was after I told her I had seen a reporter show up once to take notes for an article. She wanted to merely be an observer like the reporter. After the meeting I turned to hear her brief cerebral analysis of it. I was crestfallen as I realized her heart had not been changed by the singing or the message. I saw that it took more than merely standing in a glorious worship service to meet with God. One had to have an open and hungry heart for Him.

Some of my old friends wanted nothing to do with me once I started telling them about Jesus. I lost contact with my best friend from elementary school after I joyfully described my salvation experience, new church and clean life. It hurt me deeply that she could let twelve years of a good friendship end without a good-bye. I had later heard that her parents forbade her to return my phone calls. A friend in the art school would push her thick hair in front of her face if she saw me coming so she could pretend she didn't see me. I was wounded. However, I was consoled to some degree by the fact that I had made many new friends at church.

I'm certain that Maranatha's rule about no dating caused some to think I had joined a cult. But it was always made clear in their teachings that Jesus was our Lord and Savior, not any man, and that the Bible was our ultimate guide for truth, not any other writings. We were on the alert to test everything against God's word. A better way to explain their policy, though it was admittedly controlling, would be to say they encouraged singles to associate in groups where men and women could get to know each other in wholesome situations, significantly reducing the temptation to sleep together. Such a practice definitely has its benefits for maintaining purity. But the downside was that it was difficult to have very intimate conversations, making it hard to really know who was a wise choice for a mate. In any case, I didn't mind the rule for the time being because, even though I wanted to get married soon, I really wasn't ready. Knowing that no one was going to ask me out put me at ease and gave me the freedom to get to know the men as friends, which was a new and refreshing concept to me.

According to Maranatha policy, if I ever did feel like God was speaking to me about marrying someone, I was supposed to share that information with the woman who was discipling me. If the man I spoke of happened to tell the person discipling him that he believed God wanted him to marry me, we would all pray about the matter. If everyone felt that the Holy Spirit was in agreement with the "proposal," we had a "match made in heaven" and we could get married. Though the process sounded mysterious to me, I believed that as long as everyone was walking closely with God and hearing from Him, I would end up marrying the man God had chosen for me. I was eager for help from mature Christians in seeking God about such a serious matter.

Eventually, there came a time when I thought God wanted me to submit someone's name for marriage even though I didn't know the man that well. The couples in our church seemed happily married under the Maranatha plan, so I had little concern about exploring a potential spouse's past, their habits and how their personality traits meshed with mine.

I had asked God to speak to me in dreams because someone told me He sometimes does that. I soon had a dream that I was flying in a plane with my husband-to-be (who was unidentifiable) to New York City. When I got out of the plane, he disappeared and I looked straight up through a maze of expressways and saw a patch of blue sky. I sensed God telling me that the blue sky symbolized my future and that it would be full of His peace. Suddenly the letters of a certain state floated through the sky and I had a strong sense that I would live there someday. When I awoke I was so moved by the clarity and force of the dream that I was convinced God had spoken to me. I kept it to myself, waiting to see what would happen.

During a church meeting a few days later, a man stood up to announce that he would soon take a job in the state I had dreamed about. I immediately felt sick to my stomach because I wondered if God was telling me to marry this complete stranger. After the meeting I happened to speak with him and was struck by the glow of God's joy and peace on his face. I decided it might not be such a bad idea to marry him after all - if that's what God wanted. Since I preferred that God work out the matter without any manipulation on my part, I refrained from flirtation and I didn't tell any of my friends about my interest in him. We became casual friends and associated in groups.

After he moved, he kept in touch with the church and my feelings for him grew along with my imagination. I held off perhaps a year before submitting his name to my pastor's wife and then waited in anxious anticipation. In accordance with Maranatha's procedures, the pastor then asked the gentleman to submit the name of someone he thought God was leading him to marry, if anyone. When the man submitted the name of a different woman, he was asked to pray and try again. After several tries with my name not coming up, they gave up.

When I was told he had not mentioned my name, I was devastated. Up to that point I had completely convinced myself that it was God's will that we get married. Here I had been expecting to live happily ever after and, suddenly, I was hit with the cold reality that it was not meant to be. Apparently, I hadn't even been on his radar screen if my name didn't come up after a number of tries. That really hurt.

What shook me to my core was realizing that I hadn't heard God's voice correctly. I was absolutely certain that He was leading me all the while. I had deceived myself royally, yet part of me felt betrayed by God. Why hadn't He told me I was believing a lie for so long? Of course, God would never deceive anyone ("God is not a man, that He should lie..." Numbers 23:19). I must not have been willing to surrender my will and honestly listen to Him. I have concluded that my heart was fixed on this man in a selfish, idolatrous manner, looking to him more than God to bring me happiness and meet my needs. I have to admit that I drew my own conclusions from the dream and never directly asked God if He wanted me to marry the guy.

Why did I have that strange dream a few days before his job announcement? I still don't know what to make of the dream except to say that our hearts and ears need to be very in tune with God's voice and His word. I should have heeded the advice in James 1:5, "If any of you lacks wisdom, he should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to him." Seeking counsel from wise Christians who exhibit godly character is also very helpful. It is dangerous to rely solely on dreams, circumstances and our feelings to guide us in major decision making. Seeking God's direction was new to me and I had a lot to learn.

God didn't leave me without His comfort, though. I told an older woman in the church about my great disappointment and she gave me a scripture that I would often reflect on during the ensuing years if I felt myself floundering in general. Isaiah 40:27-31 reminded me to look to God alone for my strength:

"Why do you say, O Jacob, and complain, O Israel, 'My way is hidden from the Lord; my cause is disregarded by my God'? Do you not know? Have you not heard? The Lord is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth. He will not grow tired or weary, and his understanding no one can fathom. He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak. Even youths grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall; but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint."

Some years ago I heard a pastor state that the Hebrew word for "renew" contains the meaning of "exchange." Thus the concept in verse 31 becomes much more powerful for me: those who hope in the Lord will exchange their strength for His. Since my strength is so small, I am glad that I can appropriate His strength and let it carry me.

Even though I had hope for my future and a knowledge that God was with me, I couldn't shake myself of the longing to be taken care of and shown love from a husband. There was nothing wrong with yearning to be married, but having grown up without an example of a healthy marriage to observe on a regular basis, I was sorely deficient in my understanding about self-sacrifice, clear and respectful communication, and trust. Looking back, if I had gotten married at that time in my life, no matter how wonderful the man was, it would have been a pretty rocky road. Marriage wasn't only about what I could get out of it, but also about what I could contribute to my husband's life and I didn't quite see that at the time.

God wanted me to spend more time learning to lean on Him during trials and see how He could take care of me while I remained single. By delaying my day to say, "I do", He proved to me that I didn't need a boyfriend or a husband in order to have my daily needs met or to feel worthwhile and loved.

While I remained single I wanted to exercise wise discernment about who to consider for marriage. The apostle Paul expressed a fairly lenient view when it came to mate selection when he wrote 1 Corinthians 7:39, "...if her husband dies, she is free to marry anyone she wishes, but he must belong to the Lord." Even though scripture seemed to indicate that I could marry any Christian man I wished, I rejected the notion that God had several men I could choose from because I believed God had a specific course for me to take. After all, my life could be vastly different based on whom I married. I sensed that God had a particular calling on my life and I wanted to answer it. The atmosphere of my home could be so different depending on whether my husband had a strong, dominant personality or an easy-going one. Which personality type would I thrive with?

Since there are so many variables to consider when getting married, I hoped to have God's perfect foresight operating in my romantic pursuits so I might have the most meaningful life and marriage possible. I saw my husband and myself somehow working as a team to serve God and others. Needless to say, I kept my eyes and ears open should that certain someone cross my path.

