I was sitting in my church office, a Thursday morning, halfheartedly thumbing through the hymn book, looking for selections for the Sunday service. But my thoughts, as they so often were these days, went elsewhere.
I stared at the sonogram of my granddaughter-to-be taped above my computer, studying every inch of the image. Already I felt such a connection to her, as if I could almost feel her in my arms. Yet would it ever be?
I was so absorbed in my thoughts it took a moment before I even registered that the phone was ringing.
“Mom, it’s Allie.” My 19-year-old daughter, five months pregnant. She sounded nervous. “I’ve made my decision. I can’t keep this baby. But I don’t know who to call about adoption. So I need your help. Please.”
“Is it just about the money?” I asked. I could hear the desperation in my voice. I’d been dreading this very call from Allie. “I’m afraid I can’t do much,” I said, “but you know I’ll do whatever I can.”
“It’s not really that, Mom,” she said. I could hear the strain in her voice. “It’s more. Brandon and I already have Felicity to think about and with me working at Pizza Hut…it’s just hard. I want my children to get all the love and attention they need.”
Love and attention—isn’t that what a grandma is for?
“Of course,” I said, reining in my heart. “I know you and Brandon have given this a lot of thought. I’ll make some calls. I just wish there was another way.”
“I know, Mom,” she said so quietly that I could hardly hear her. “But right now I just really need your support.”
I hung up, but my eyes froze again on the sonogram. I couldn’t bring myself to look up the number for Social Services. I knew this needed to be Allie’s decision, how difficult life was right now for her and Brandon, financially, emotionally.
She’d wrestled with the decision for months. She knew my feelings. Now she wasn’t asking for my blessing, just for me to be there for her.
Still, my heart broke. All I could think about were my five grandchildren. Each one of them was a gift from God. All the precious memories we’d shared, reading stories, baking cookies, cooking brats around the campfire, donning our cheeseheads for Packers games.
How could I not be a part of a new granddaughter’s life? Was I just supposed to pretend that she had never been born?
I found the number for Social Services and dialed.
“I’ll be happy to call your daughter and explain the process,” said the woman who answered. “Adoption’s much more open these days. In fact, many adopting families want to keep a relationship with the birth mother and even the extended family, and lots of experts think that can be a very healing thing for all concerned.”
I thanked her and went back to searching for hymns. I wasn’t particularly reassured by her explanation. I wasn’t looking to form family ties with total strangers.
The whole idea left me feeling uneasy. How would it even work? Would I still be the baby’s grandmother? And this couple. They wouldn’t call me for advice when the baby was teething or colicky. Wouldn’t drop her off for an afternoon. It just wouldn’t be the same.
I tried to imagine what they’d even look like, but no one came to mind. No wonder. It wasn’t like we’d have anything in common.
Lord, I always thought you made me into a pretty good grandma. Why deny me now?
A faint knock on the door interrupted my worries. “Is the pastor in?” I heard a man say.
I turned to see a tall man standing in the doorway, mid-thirties, his salt-and-pepper hair receding. He was clutching a sheaf of papers. His hands shook ever so slightly.
Salesman, I thought. But I smiled and said, “I’m the pastor. How can I help you?”
He sat across from me, cleared his throat and said, “My name is Jeff and my wife, Rhonda, and I are hoping to adopt a baby. We wanted to give you our profile in case you might know of someone…”
I couldn’t listen anymore. I could feel my hands clenching, my blood pressure rising. Who was this guy? How had he heard about Allie? Were people already talking?
“What made you think of our church?” I asked, trying not to snap. I had to try pretty hard. It was bad enough I was losing my granddaughter, and now total strangers were coming out of the woodwork?
But if he knew about Allie’s situation he didn’t show it.
“My wife and I, we’ve been trying and praying to have a baby for three years now, but it’s been really difficult. We’ve had two miscarriages and had fertility treatments. Nothing worked. But we’re not giving up. We feel that the Lord wants us to adopt.
“I’ve been giving our profile to ministers in the area and, well, we were passing through town to go camping when I saw your sign.”
His expression never wavered, his face kind and warm, a trace of shyness in his eyes. I felt bad that I’d doubted his motives. But still, I wasn’t going to give up on having another granddaughter yet. There was still a chance Allie could change her mind. Wasn’t there?
I took the booklet from him, almost reluctantly. There was a letter from Jeff and Rhonda printed on the cover. I laid the booklet on top of a stack of papers on my desk, stuff that I’d been meaning to get to for weeks. “I might know of someone,” I said.
“Thanks so much,” he said and walked out the door he’d come in. I turned back to my computer, pretending to work. But instead I watched out my office window as the man got in his car and drove away.
It still seemed strange, this Jeff fellow coming in not 10 minutes after I’d talked with Allie. What were the odds? Maybe it wasn’t the odds. Maybe this was something more certain, something I was being asked to accept but wasn’t sure I could.
I picked up the profile. “Dear Birthmother,” the cover letter began, “we cannot imagine the emotions and feelings you are experiencing.”
I knew the words weren’t intended for me, but still… They seemed so personal, full of warmth and understanding for the very struggle I was going through.
I read on: “Camping, grilling out and walking our dog are just some of the things we enjoy. Jeff loves the Packers….”
I scanned the pages of photographs that followed, pictures of Jeff and Rhonda cuddling, reading books to their nephews and nieces, picking pumpkins. All the things I liked to do with my grandkids.
I could see myself sharing a brat with them, cheering for Green Bay wearing our cheeseheads. Cheeseheads may be a silly way to bond, but I felt like I’d known Jeff and Rhonda my whole life.
I saw the love and tenderness in their eyes, hope and laughter, a joy for life. Most of all there was the faith that had sustained them, that had…yes, the faith that had surely brought us together.
I skipped to the last page. A closing note: “Your child will know about you, the difficult choices you made and that you made them out of love. You will forever be a part of us.”
I recalled the social worker’s words, about how birth and adoptive families can form new lasting bonds, about how we are all God’s children. Hadn’t I said that myself in sermons?
Maybe it wasn’t about losing a grandchild, but rather giving her a bigger family, one able to give her all the care, attention, support and love that she deserved. I thought about how hard this decision was for my daughter, to give up a child that she would carry for nine months. I knew she was at peace.
Now I needed to pray again, different this time. I bowed my head. Father, give me the strength to accept your loving will for this child.
There was someone I needed to call. “Honey,” I said when Allie answered, “I just talked to a man I think you might want to meet.”
Allie, Brandon, little Felicity and I met with Rhonda and Jeff at the church. It was Allie’s decision to make. I mainly chased Felicity around the fellowship hall—happy to be the doting grandmother— while the two couples got to know each other.
All I could hear were bits and pieces of the conversation. “We really want the baby to know you guys and Felicity,” Rhonda said. “It’s important to us for you to always be part of her life.”
“I’d like you to be in the delivery room,” Allie said a little while later. “I want you to be there when your daughter is born.”
What do you think of the name Jada?” Rhonda asked at the end of their meeting.
“Beautiful,” Allie said. Then came laughter and tears of joy, the sounds of a new family.
I held Felicity tight against me, feeling the warmth of her small body, sharing the love only a grandma can give. I couldn’t wait to welcome another grandchild into our family.
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