“Gotcha Day!”
In recent years I have posted stories about adoption, and the beautiful and ceremonial expression of “gotcha” day – the day that marks the adoption as final.
Today is such a day!
My wife and I, with our three-year-old daughter, awaited the arrival of our new little one. What an amazing blessing that God had proven in our lives. Not able to have children of our own, God had already blessed us with our first child (1997). And now, in 2000, we awaited the arrival of our second daughter. God continued to grow our family. And He did so miraculously with our little Bet-Bet. Be blessed by the story of Bethany Grace.
A family in the church I pastored approached my wife and I with a request to consider adopting the baby of one of their family members who was in desperate need of placing the little one up for adoption. Without a moment’s hesitation we said, “yes.” Unlike our first adoption with only hours to prepare for the arrival of our little one, this opportunity unfolded slowly. The birth mother was early in her pregnancy, had heard of how the Pruitt’s were open to adoption, and moved from New York to North Carolina to be near her own family, to deliver the baby locally, and then to place the baby with us – the family of her choice. What an amazing day when this young mother, recently moved from New York, stood in our home with her sister (a strong congregant of the church I pastored) and asked my wife to participate in all the prenatal doctor’s visits. This was such an amazing journey for our family, and for my wife. Weeks turned to months, and soon the birth date was drawing close. Our entire family, and our church family, were ecstatic. Our three-year-old could not wait for her baby sister. And the young mom was excited as well. Having moved to our perish, she had attended church regularly, and had recently invited Jesus to be her Savior and Lord. I had the privilege to baptized her within weeks of her delivery. Wow! Baptizing the lady who would deliver a child that would become our second daughter! The exactment and emotions were soaring, and our entire community celebrated.
Five weeks before the delivery date, all things celebrated came to an abrupt and devastating halt. Because of some inner conflict within the biological family, a quick and emotional decision was made by the birth mom to call off the adoption and to attempt to raise the baby on her own.
My wife and I had never felt such pain and grief. We were devastated. We walked up stairs in our home, looked at the beautiful nursery (with our little three-year-old daughter trailing behind us confused by our tears), and we shut the door of that room decorated with lace brown teddy bears. Oh, you should have seen this room – a beautiful nursery for our little one, our little one that would not be coming. So, we closed the door, and we grieved.
One morning while sitting in my pastoral office, the phone rang and the secretary said, “Pastor Ken, a call from Cleveland Regional: one of our congregants was in a very bad car accident, she and her family are in the E.R., and they are requesting your presence.” I immediately responded, and as I rushed from the office, I turned and asked, “which family?” The secretary responded – Pastor, Ken, it’s Jennifer. I froze! I could not move! Jennifer was the birth mother. And as I stood in the doorway of the office, paralyzed by thoughts of her dilemma, I could not help but wonder about her baby, who must have been no more than two weeks hold. Our secretary walked over to where I stood motionless in the door, and she said, “Ken, the baby was with her in the car.” As if the devastation could not grow any worse, I forced myself from that paralyzed state of disbelief, forced back the tears, and drove to the hospital. I could not believe what I discovered when I arrived.
As I walked in, the Emergency Room was swirling with activity in typical fashion, and because of my frequent pastoral visits, many of the nurses and attendants knew me. So when I arrived I was quickly ushered to Jennifer and her family. As I walked into a private room in the E.R., I heard Jennifer crying in pain (with two broken legs among other injuries), family members sobbing, and a little baby crying. I walked to Jennifer’s side, who said, “Pastor Ken, pray for me.” And as I began to pray, one eye closed with the other eye scanning the room for the baby, I caught a glimpse of this beautiful little baby girl. (I had not seen her before – this little one that was to have been ours.) After the amen, Jennifer’s sister walked over to me and said, “the baby is ok. It is a miracle. The car is totaled, Jennifer is hurt very bad, but the baby does not have a scratch.” Soon, the attention went back to Jennifer, who was still traumatized and required all the attention. Out of necessity a family member said, “here pastor Ken, will you hold the baby?” And there I stood – the baby that was to be ours, the adoption that was called off, the pain that we had endured for weeks, became manifested in a soft and quite whimper in my arms as I held this precious little girl. Because the car wreck was so destructive, the diaper bag, and all other belongings of the baby were left at the scene of the accident. All this little one had for the moment was the cute little onesie, and me. She begin crying with what I knew was hunger. The family said, “her formula is not here.” Then, they turned to Jennifer to continue helping her in her traumatic state. So, I passed the little one to another family member, and darted to Rite Aid for formula. I returned, and again, they handed me the little one and said, “Do you mind feeding here, they need to take Jennifer into surgery?” So, there I stood, praying for a congregant (who was a brand-new Christian), holding a baby that was to be ours, and feeding her as if she was. After hours of such chaos, I stood quietly and looked into the face of this precious face, and to this day, I have no words for what I felt. Immense love, overwhelming grief, and a desire for what we thought would be. Soon, all things at the hospital calmed, Jennifer was recovering, a family member came for the baby, and I quietly departed.
I explained to my wife all the events of the day, and we continued for the next three weeks in grief and uncertainty. As Jennifer recovered, unable to care for her new little one, several of Jennifers’ family members and close friends took turns providing care. This placed the little one in proximity of our church nursery, so often my wife would be in the nursery area with her usual responsibilities, looking painfully at a baby we thought would be ours. We remained unaware of the family conflict that had caused the birth mom to change her mind about the adoption, and we remained confused and uncertain, longing for what we thought would be. At home, the door to a beautifully decorated nursery remained regrettably closed.
One afternoon at my office, some five weeks after the accident, the secretary received a phone call: “Pastor Ken, you or not going to believe this . . . Jennifer is on the phone and needs to speak with you urgently.” I took the call, and I heard Jennifer’s voice with a tone of confidence I had not heard before: “Pastor, Ken, can you come visit me . . . and please bring Ms. Terry.” Without question, I called my wife, and we began driving to White Oak Rehab where Jennifer was undergoing extreme rehabilitation from her accident. I assumed Jennifer desired to apologize for cancelling the adoption, and we postured to sort our emotions appropriately to somehow minister to her. My precious wife, having undergone the most traumatic grief she had ever known, rested heavily upon God’s grace to get her through this visit.
We sat by Jennifer’s hospital bed as Jennifer struggled with both legs remaining in surgical casts. We will never forget this moment. Jennifer leaned painfully toward us, and with a peace like I have never seen on her face, said, “I need you to forgive me. I allowed a family conflict to cause me to drop the adoption just to prove myself to others, and I realize now I made a terrible mistake.” She then looked intently at my wife, and then me, and said, “I am sorry. I have your baby. She belongs to you.” I pastorally looked at her, not desiring to trust that she might change her mind again, and said, “Jennifer, no, let us help you care for the baby if that is what you want.” (I have never been so stealthy and painfully pinched in the arm as I was by my wife that day). Jennifer struggled with two broken legs, but somehow sat herself up on the bed and looked at us with the response, “I have you baby, she is yours, and I am sorry. God has put me in this bed to show me, she belongs to you.” Within three days of that conversation, as Terry and I and our three-year-old Nichole awaited, the biological grandparents brought the little one right through our front door with her little collection of items gathered in her first 5 weeks of life.
There we were. A family. As God had promised. We saw with our own eyes the mighty hand of God reaching down and blessings us. To this day, we love and honor Jennifer, and her precious family. (And, for the next several years, our oldest daughter would say, “I know where babies come from – the front door.”)
That little precious and beautiful baby girl, that night, became Bethany Grace Pruitt. We all four walked upstairs, and opened to door to that beautiful nursery, decorated with beautiful lace and teddy bears. The door opened, and we brought our little one home. Approximately 6 months later, on February 19th, the adoption process was final. Bethany Grace Pruitt. Her name means, “God’s riches in our poverty.” We were without, and God brought HIS blessings to us. Oh what grace! Her name is Bethany, and we love her so much. So, today, how can I not write about, “gotcha day.”
Blessings,
Ken
