This post is easily the most difficult one that I've ever written. I've been trying to put it together for three days now and I've had very little success. But here goes.
Regular readers have likely noticed that my presence here has been rather intermittent and sporadic the past couple of months. That's because these past two and a half months have been the most difficult months that we—my wife and children and I—have ever experienced. Not that this is really about us. It is about an eight-month-old baby girl named Elanor.
We first heard of Elanor in early April. At that time we were in the process of working toward adopting a third child through an agency. Our first two children, who are now almost four and eight, came to us through private adoptions, both of them in surprising and providential fashion. So when we received a phone call (from the same wonderful lady who had called us years ago about our daughter) we were both surprised and, well, not surprised. Surprised because it was so amazing to have it happening a third time; not surprised since we'd been blessed in unexpected ways before and knew God could do it again.
The story was simple enough: Elanor, born on January 10, 2008, was three months old, her birth parents were struggling and recently wed teenagers, and she needed a family. Were we interested? Absolutely. In short order I spoke with the birth father by phone and arranged for my wife and I to meet him and his wife that evening for dinner. That meeting went very well; they explained their situation and talked of their decision to place Elanor for adoption. At the conclusion of that first meeting, they asked if they could bring Elanor to our home the following Saturday to meet us and our children. Yes, of course—and so they did. And after more time talking, they said they wanted us to be Elanor's family. And, since they were certain about that decision, were we open to taking her into our home right then and there? Yes, we said, we would be happy to.
For those who have never been involved in an adoption, especially a private adoption, this might seem rather strange, abrupt, rash, sudden, impulsive, even surreal. But that in fact, was a rather drawn out
beginning compared to the start of our first adoption, which began with a phone call at 6:00 on a Saturday night, which led to us having Felicity Rose in our care 23 hours later. That was sudden! How, exactly, does such a thing happen? Well, it's not "normal," of course, but then there is plenty about the adoption process that is not normal, as any adoptive parent can tell you. What is normal is the recognition that a child needs a home, you are able to provide that home, and you are willing to face the various risks and unknown factors that accompany such a decision. Having already had an adoption (through an agency) fall apart on us three years ago, we knew that such risks were impossible to avoid.
When Elanor came to our home, she was not very healthy. She was undernourished and listless, and three days later she began suffering from extreme respiratory distress, which led to us pulling an all-nighter in the emergency room. Thankfully, it was not serious; she had a condition called tracheomalacia, which is a developmental abnormality of the trachea. She also had troubles keeping down commercial formula, and so my wife eventually found the recipe for a custom, organic formula that she made each day, sometimes twice a day. Within a few weeks, the transformation in Elanor was obvious: she was putting on weight, filled with laughter and smiles, and strongly attached to us, especially to my wife.
The birth parents had said that they planned to come see Elanor a week or two after they placed her, but didn't. We figured it was too difficult at that time, as was to be expected. I spoke several times to the birth father and everything seemed to be on track. Paperwork was going back and forth between lawyers and we anticipated the adoption being finalized in July. Things seemed to going a bit slowly, but we figured that summertime busyness was the cause. Elanor continued to flourish and the two older kids played with her constantly.
On July 10th, Elanor's six-month birthday, the phone rang. It was our adoption lawyer. "The birth parents want her back," he said. "They aren't going through with the adoption."
And so the nightmare began. We were devastated. There had been no previous indication that the birth parents were rethinking their decision or had doubts. Nor that their circumstances had so radically changed in three months that they no longer faced the same serious obstacles they had told us about when we first met with them. I called the birth father and he gave vague, evasive answers about why they were demanding Elanor be returned. Our adoption lawyer told me that we had very little recourse: since no paperwork had yet been signed (although it had been drawn up), we had no legal legs to stand on. It was over. She would have to go back.
If I were to do justice to what transpired between that dark day and now, it would take a book and too many tears. And, frankly, so much has happened that simply shouldn't be put on a public blog. My purpose here is not to vent or bash or air dirty laundry. So I'll try to summarize matters in a way that will convey some small sense of the anxious craziness of those weeks.
First, having spent a week gathering information and coming to the conclusion that Elanor could be in serious danger if she left our home, we hired a new lawyer and were able to get a temporary guardianship petition put together. Amazingly, it was signed by the judge. For several days I was dealing with legal papers and communications for six or eight or even ten hours a day. Then in late July there was a two-day hearing after the birth parents contested the temporary guardianship. The judge withheld a ruling, but ordered that there be weekly parenting visits for the birth parents, and that the birth parents attend parenting classes and see a court-appointed counselor (which never happened).
The parenting visits were stressful and did not go well, even though they were supposed to be part of what was, from a legal perspective, the inevitable transition of Elanor back to the birth parents. Our lawyer was brutally frank with us: the chance of us overcoming the legal presumption that birth parents act in the best interest of their children was not good. At all. Through a series of confusing and complicated legal events that I still don't fully understand, we embarked on the path to indefinite guardianship in mid-August. Legal shrapnel was flying fast and furious; needless to say, the parties weren't getting along too well. A parenting visit at the birth parents' apartment in mid-August went poorly and we were concerned that the visits were causing serious emotional trauma to Elanor.
On August 31st, as we were going to bed around 10:30, there was pounding on our front door. It was three police officers who wanted to talk about the baby in the house. They had been enlisted by the birth parents to remove her from our care; they
were apparently frustrated that we hadn't brought her to their home for another visit and decided they had the right to demand her back in such a fashion. They didn't succeed that evening (it took two hours, three policemen and their supervisor, and our lawyer to sort things out), but the writing was on the wall. In the words of our pastor: "DNA trumps everything." Indeed it does, at least in the courts. Our temporary guardianship had expired, the permanent guardianship hearing date was moved out, the birth parents had no interest in agreeing to a stipulated order that would keep Elanor with us until the matter was resolved in court; the result was a large and vulnerable legal gap.
On September 9th the gap became a raw gash. Elanor was taken from our home. Screaming. Crying. Frightened. It was the darkest moment in our married lives. Why would God bring this vulnerable, helpless baby into our lives and then let her be taken away in such a fashion? It seemed as though all of our prayers and the prayers of dozens of others was for naught. The worst part of it, of course, was telling our kids what was going on. That was simply hell.
On September 16th and 17th the hearing for indefinite guardianship took place. We knew the odds were not in our favor; our lawyer gave us a 1-in-3 chance, but we steeled ourselves for what seemed almost inevitable.
The judge, in ruling in the favor of the birth parents, made it clear that the court believed that we had acted in the best interests of Elanor. She also had some strong words for the birth parents. She emphatically stated that this case was not about us or the birth parents. With all due respect, I remain unconvinced; it was clear that the case was simply about parental rights: if you have them, you have them. And it takes a lot to lose them. A lot. It seems as though the balance between those rights and the responsibilities that parents should shoulder is severely skewed. But that, as they say, is a topic for another time and place.
As I mentioned earlier, there is much (so much!) that could be said, but shouldn't be said, and won't be stated here. It would serve no good purpose. I didn't want to say anything publicly about this ongoing situation until after there had been a legal resolution. In addition to explaining my whereabouts, my main reason for writing this is to solicit your prayers on the behalf of Elanor, for her safety, and for her birth parents.
I also want to express my deep appreciation to Mark Brumley and all of the folks at Ignatius Press, whose support and concern has been constant, amazing, and humbling.
Finally, if there is anything that I've learned through our time with Elanor and our attempts to protect her, it is the simple but profound truth that true love is a gift that does not act with the desire to obtain something in return. If love worked like the stock market, we would be a very destitute and impoverished people. In a world distorted and disfigured by the need to control, own, and possess, it is the mystery of authentic, self-giving love that provides wholeness and peace, comfort and perspective. But it only makes sense and really exists in the light of the Cross, in the paradox of death conquering death. Or, in the shocking but true words of Adrienne von Speyr, "The only thing you can say about love of God is: it leaves behind scorched earth."
Why would God allow Elanor to come and go as she did? Why does God allow children to suffer, or even to die? Those devastating mysteries cannot be answered with platitudes, facts, or logic; in this life they likely will not be answered at all, but must be endured, gathered in and held in hands that reach out to the crucified Lord and His blessed mother.
Blessèd sister, holy mother, spirit of the fountain, spirit of the garden,
Suffer us not to mock ourselves with falsehood
Teach us to care and not to care
Teach us to sit still
Even among these rocks,
Our peace in His will
And even among these rocks
— T. S. Eliot, Ash Wednesday, VI
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