Infertility is a grief. At age 28 I was 4 years childless. An intriguing offer emerged. We had a personal invitation into a risky adoption. The mother, a beautiful, intelligent, mature woman, found herself in a struggle. After arguments and threats she had been dropped off, by her boyfriend, at an abortion clinic. Knowing she lived in America, a free country, she made the choice to leave and not terminate the pregnancy. This open adoption would take two lawyers in two states. We accepted, fully understanding the complication, the father did not know the baby was still growing. It could all crumble.
A nursery was decorated in a Noah’s Ark pattern; light blues and greens, with splashes of yellow and pink. We accumulated all the items customary for impending parenthood but refused an offer for a baby shower. When the phone rang, we jumped into the car and traveled the hundreds of miles required. Though there had been a public notice published, the uncertainty that existed at the initiation persisted on the journey.
We were able to connect with the mother and care for the infant for two days…and then, as if on a dime, everything turned, twisted and skewed. The father was exuberant, donning a huge smile at realizing that the child was alive. He stopped the adoption. Initially, I was outraged. However, this was his legal right. We morphed with the situation and turned from nurturing the baby to supporting the mother. We gave her everything we had crammed into our blue Ford Escort. I took her shopping for necessities we had not toted from Florida; a crib, changing table etc.
Shock is a useful emotional buffer. We could reply, “Fine” to the question, “How are you?” What we could not deny was the twelve solid hours that Dante’ and I both slept as we rested at a hotel on our path back to Jacksonville. Clearly, we were absorbing the course alteration.
Back to work and trudging forward, I told my husband, “I’m going upstairs. I’m not coming down until I know something about all this.”
In all earnestness, I anticipated being in that bathroom for an hour at bare minimum. I had questions. I wanted answers!
I sat on the floor, as was my custom, and began, “God what about this? What about ….? And what about …?” On and on my inquiry proceeded. I probably had twelve itemized questions on that foundational docket. I poured out every disappointed detail at the foot of The Father. The last thing I expected was a question.
“Do you trust Me?”
“You are the God of Abraham, Issac and Jacob. I trust You.”
“Let me handle it.”
I continued,” But God, what about…?” This time my list was approximately 6 items in length. The technicalities and the angry disappointment were strangely starting to unravel. Again, the question.
“Do you trust Me?”
“You led the Israelites out of slavery. You have been faithful through all generations. I trust You.”
“Let me take care of this.”
My defenses and emotions were exponentially softening. The third and final inquiry was concise, approximately two arguments. Again, the question.
“Do you trust Me?”
“Yes, Father, I do. I do trust You.”
“I will handle it.”
Five minutes had transpired. I was bewildered, yet strangely filled with peace. I paced down those steps and announced, “I don’t understand this. I don’t like it, but all I can tell you is it’s OK. God is going to work it out, His way.”
I soon became convinced that I would have my own child. I would see a pregnant woman and I would think, “That’s me!” Two years later my beautiful daughter, Kathryn Nicole Amodeo, came bounding into the world, making me a mother forever.
When I contemplate the circumstances I have navigated, the ones that fill the blog http://www.brokenbutbeautiful.org, I shudder to think what may have transpired if my initial response to the question was a resounding, “NO!” Most people are not worthy of my trust. It is not easy even to put full confidence in God, in this messed up, contentious world. It is not. On numerous occasions I have wanted to throw in the towel and quit. The merits of reliance on Him is not my emotional composition in times of celebration or in the middle of burdensome trials. I believe in God based on this: His proven character though all eternity. My hope is today, even if things aren’t fitting neatly into boxes in your life, that you will join me on a fragile, honest attempt to answer that question, “Yes, I trust You.
Broken but Beautiful 