Hidden In The Heart, A Love Story

Tags

Adoption, Birth Mother, Blessings, Faith, Reunion, Search

I’m just back from Nicaragua, which I’ll tell you all about at a later date. But while I was away, my second novel re-released, so I thought I’d share that excitement with you today!

Hidden in the Heart is loosely based on my own search and reunion journey, and it means a lot to me, so I’m thrilled to have it available to readers again! I hope you’ll enjoy it. Since you may be curious about my own adoption story, here’s the gist, taken from my website. I love to talk about my experience, so feel free to ask any questions! In this season of reflection and thanksgiving and hope, I’m mindful of all the blessings I’ve been given.

My Story…

I can’t remember ever not knowing that I was adopted. I had a wonderful upbringing, two loving parents, and I really lacked for nothing. Except answers. Like most adoptees, growing up I would stare at my image in the mirror and wonder…whose nose did I have? Where did my brown eyes come from? Little things that most people take for granted, or maybe never even think about.

My parents would talk to me about my adoption, but I always felt a great sense of guilt whenever I asked them anything, like I was betraying them in some way by wanting to know. Because of that, I ignored my curiosity. I even convinced myself I didn’t really want to know. Didn’t need to know.

All that changed in January of 2001. I still can’t say exactly how or why it happened, but I suddenly knew I had to get the answers to the questions I’d been asking my whole life. And I wouldn’t be able to rest until I had them.

The entire concept was utterly terrifying.

The first thing I did was talk to God. I knew that if this was not from Him, but just my own human curiosity finally getting the better of me, that He’d let me know. My prayer was that if this was not His will, all doors would remain closed, and that I would be able to accept that and know it was not meant to be.

The second thing I did was talk to my Dad. That was probably one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. I was so nervous I thought I might throw up. I was scared of hurting him. I was scared he’d be angry. I was sacred he might actually know something I didn’t.

I needn’t have worried. Because one thing I’ve always been sure of is how much my Dad loves me. He proved that again by offering his unconditional love and support. The day after our conversation, he presented me with my adoption papers.

A Name!

To this day we don’t understand it, but there on the yellowed typed out sheets of paper, was the full name of my birth mother. Back in the ‘60’s when I was born, all adoptions were closed. No names were ever supposed to be released to either party.

But there it was.

As strange as it sounds, holding those documents in my hand gave me a sense of validation. I came from somewhere. Someone. And she had a name.

I was stunned. All air left my lungs. My heart pounded. For a moment, all I could do was stare, and wonder.

My search had begun.

Open Doors …

I began my research online, joined a few Adoption Registries, and discovered some wonderful support groups. Within a couple of days, people I didn’t even know were helping find clues as to where my birth mother might now be located. Within a week, going on information I had about her, I was pretty sure I had found the right person.

Waiting…

I’m really not a phone person. I debated making the call that would change the course of both of our lives, but in the end I chickened out and opted to send her a letter instead. I’m sure I lost my mind several times over in the weeks it took for her to respond. Finally convinced that my letter had gotten lost somewhere over the Atlantic, I summoned courage and sent an email to the woman I believed to be my birth mother.

Found!

She responded. At first I was beyond thrilled to see that email appear in my Inbox, but as I read it several times over, I realized that this might not go the way I’d hoped. I wish I could tell you that within hours we began making plans to meet, but that was not the case. She was hesitant, not overly friendly, but yet the door was opened just a crack. And I was determined to crash through it.

Be Careful What You Pray For…

My birth mother and I corresponded for a year via email. No phone calls. No plans to meet. Not even a picture of her. Our conversations mostly revolved around the weather and her dogs. Being the sentimental pushover that I am, I had no qualms about sharing my life with her. Somehow it never dawned on me that she might not be all that interested.

I quickly figured out that I was a secret she intended to keep and carry with her to the grave. And I’m sorry to say that there were times when I ignored God’s warnings and went ahead and did my own things to change that. I was desperate for answers and she was the only one who could give them to me. But I was running up against brick walls, shaking chains securely bound with padlocks rusted with age.

By the end of that year I was an emotional wreck and my friends and family were begging me to cut contact with her and give it up. But I couldn’t. I knew somehow, that there was a reason for all this. I was determined to find it.

A Sister!

In a surprising turn of events, my birth mother suddenly gave me some family information that led to a startling discovery. I had a sister. I was so excited! Growing up as an only child, I’d longed for a sibling. And now I had one.

She had no idea I existed.

Suffice to say things went from bad to worse in my relationship with my birth mother after that. She was running scared now, afraid that I would contact my sister and blow her out of the water. I could have. I wanted to. It’s probably fair to say I have never wanted anything more fiercely in my life. I didn’t know whether my sister would want to know me, but I firmly believed she had the right to know. But again, after praying things over and receiving good Godly counsel, I knew deep down that I needed to wait.

Let It Go…

I am not a patient person. Not taking action just about killed me. I repeatedly asked my birth mother when she would tell my sister about me. She said not yet. Months passed. When I couldn’t stand it anymore, I acted on impulse and sent a cryptic letter to my sister, sure that my birth mother would have said something by now. Of course she hadn’t, but I didn’t know that. In a moment of desperate prayer, I distinctly heard three words. Let it go. I knew then that I had to cut my losses and release my vice grip on the entire situation.

Rewards Beyond Imagining!

Reluctant obedience. That’s what I did over the next few months after accepting that for whatever reason, the doors were now closed on my search. Any thoughts of a possible reunion between me and my birth mother or sister were now just shattered dreams.

Still, I had to believe that God works all things together for good. I didn’t understand it. There were days when I was angry, days when I questioned why I ever bothered to search in the first place, but in my grief, I grew closer to Him.

And then one day, I sat down at my computer, checked my email, and screamed.

There was an email from my sister.

I didn’t even need to read it to know I was sitting in the middle of a miracle. The subject header read, Communication At Last.

The Road Home…

This coming year, my sister and I will celebrate twelve years of being sisters. I have traveled to visit her many times and each time I get in the car and we head toward the place I came from, it feels like coming home. I can’t explain it. It just is.

About a year after our first meeting, I was given the gift of being able to meet my birth mother. It was another weekend of miracles, and I will be forever grateful to God for orchestrating the events that took place over those three days. She passed away five months later, but I believe we both found the peace and healing we needed.

My sister and I know without a doubt that God had planned our reunion long before either of us knew of the other’s existence. It has been a powerful testimony in our lives, and in the lives of others. There are so many details that I can’t share here, but I will close with this thought.

God knows. He knows what you need, when you need it, and He will provide.

Do you know this? I’d love to hear your story. 

Soul Deep

Tags

Adoption, Connections, Faith, Hope, Love, Relationships, Reunion, Soul Deep

I never knew I had a sister.

Never grew up with a brother or a sister. Just a lot of dolls, a cat, two dogs and a hell of an imagination.

I was never really lonely. When friends were scarce, I made them up. Funny that. I think I started making up stories from around age three or so. Fairies lived in the dark holes beyond the trees. Elves danced around strange circles of stones we’d find in the bottom of our garden. Dew on chilly winter mornings was simply leftover fairy dust.

My mother was a story teller. I wish I’d realized it before now. Wish I’d sat by her side a little longer. Wish I’d asked her to tell me just one more story. One more tale from days gone by. Of course I couldn’t have known back then, a child at her knee, what the telling of those tales would someday mean to me. Couldn’t know that the magical story of how she met my father on a ship in the middle of some ocean sailing from London to Johannesburg at some point in time long before I was born–how they met and spent the majority of that passage together, and fell in love, even though she was engaged to be married–oh, I couldn’t know what stories that would spark in my mind. What true love might look like to me someday, years away.

It was only as I began to tell stories of my own, the ones I made up from the depths of the crazy imagination that got me into so much trouble in my younger days, that I realized the importance of those soul deep connections.

My mother and I were never connected by blood. I was adopted at 21 days old. Our family trees would never cross paths genetically. Oh, but God doesn’t care squat about Ancestry.com. My mother and I were connected through a carefully woven, hand-spun thread that spanned years and countries. I believe it was in the making before I even took my first breath.

If I’d known then how little time I’d actually have with this woman who took me home and made me her own, I wouldn’t have wasted a minute of it. But I didn’t know and I lived precariously as the young do. Reckless, without much thought as to how my actions might affect those who loved me best.

Until one day you’re thirty-two years old and you’re burying your mother and trying to stop your five year-old from falling into the freshly dug grave. I don’t remember much from that day, but I do remember that.

And then, a year or two or three later, this astounding discovery comes.

I have a sister.

Flesh and blood and breathing, and very, very real.

And she wants to know me.

We’re into eleven years of knowing each other now, yet those first few weeks, that first email, that first conversation, the first time I looked her in the eyes and wanted to bust out crying but didn’t….it could be yesterday.

Soul deep.

That connection God gave me with my Mom, the mother He chose for me…I found it there too, with my sister. Immediately. And He knew I would. Crazy, right?

We don’t think so. We know what it is and where it comes from. You can call it karma or good vibes or whatever the heck you want to…but I’m happy going with the God thing.

Think about what it feels like to sit in the dark. Power outage. Nothing works. And the frustration builds. You’re hot or cold and there’s really nothing to do. You’re missing  Dancing With The Stars for crap’s sake! And don’t even talk about all the emails you’re not getting or the status updates you might not catch on Facebook. Fluffy the Cat finally farted. (Yeah, I said that).

But then the lights come on. Relief floods through you and you grin like an idiot for no real reason except for the fact that you feel connected again. Connected. That’s the best word I can come up with for what it felt like the day I met my sister. But it was more than that. It was like…all those years we’d been apart…never knowing the other existed…somehow we did. Soul Deep. Connected through the Spirit.

We were.

And that’s part of my story. Part of the vault I dip into when I write from the heart. When I sift through emotions and feelings like rejection, abandonment, despair, confusion…I dig a little deeper and find hope. Hope that lifts the spirit from those dark and dangerous depths. Hope that breaks down barriers, heals the hurt and provides joy in simply being. Here. Today. Together. I know that joy. I also know that pain. And I know soul deep connection. It doesn’t come along often. Maybe once a decade. You might find it in your spouse. Your best friend. Your daughter or son. Or you might find it in a sister you never knew you had.

I’ve found it a few times.

Maybe you have too.

Or maybe you’re still looking. But you know…don’t look too hard.

What you seek might be right in front of you.

Does God Answer Prayer? You Bet He Does!

Tags

Adoption, Amazing Stories, Catherine West, God, Grace, Miracles, Prayer, Reunion, Sisters

When I embarked on the search for my birth mother, just around this time twelve years ago, I had absolutely no way of knowing what doors would open. There were no warning labels, no flashing red lights, no “do not pass go” directions…all I had was that gut feeling that God was giving me permission to proceed.

But, I was scared. And yes, while I know we’re supposed to pray without ceasing, which means, well, all the time, sometimes I forget. I don’t pray in the grocery store before deciding which brand of toothpaste to buy. I don’t pray before I cross the street. I do pray when I’m sitting on an airplane, strapped in, listening to the sound of the engines building as we rumble down the tarmac. I do pray on the way down and each time we hit a bump. I pray when I’m in a car on a busy freeway. I pray when I’m scared. A lot. But this is all kind of beside the point. The point is, I embarked on this search believing God was behind my desire to search and I trusted Him to lead the way.

He did. My search ended about two weeks after it began. My journey did not. Unbeknownst to me, there were many miracles left to be revealed. Many mysteries to be solved. Many that wouldn’t be.

One of the biggest miracles on my journey was the discovery that I had a sister. I grew up as an only child and always wanted a sibling, so this was incredible news! But then I got scared again. I knew that she didn’t know about me, and I didn’t know how she’d react. I knew that my birth mother didn’t want to tell my sister about me, and I definitely knew how that would go down if I went ahead and did it anyway. Suffice to say, this was one of the most difficult, trying times in my life. I wanted more than anything to reach out to my sister, to see if there was a chance at a relationship, but I knew the time was not yet right.

And so I prayed.

Sometimes when you’re desperate, prayer is the only thing you can do.

It was one of those very surreal situations where, while I didn’t understand why, I knew without a shadow of a doubt that I was not meant to make contact with my sister. But every single bit of me wanted to. Deep down I just knew…I knew that we were meant to know each other. Creepy, weird, visionary, whatever you want to call it, it was definitely one of those you know that you know that you know things. But I also knew God was saying ‘wait’. And it sucked.

When God tells you to do something you don’t want to do, what do you do? 

Well, you can run like heck in the opposite direction. I’d already been there, done that, a few times in my life, so I kind of knew how that option would turn out. Or you can choose to be obedient. Having had the privilege of watching God work some amazing miracles in our lives just a few years prior, I figured obedience would be my best bet. So, I hung out and waited. For approximately fourteen months.

About halfway through that waiting period, I just couldn’t take it anymore. Out of desperation, I attempted to contact my sister via a letter. No response. I was crushed. And guilty because I’d gone ahead and done things on my own, knowing I wasn’t supposed to. So maybe she didn’t want to know me. And maybe that’s what I deserved.

I remember crying out to God one day, literally, in tears, asking him why. Why couldn’t I just pick up the phone and end this right now – I could even get on a plane and show up on my sister’s doorstep. I had all the information. I just didn’t have the permission.

Again, I was told no. But this time it was different. This time, in another surreal spiritual moment, I was given three very clear words.

Let. It. Go.

Say what? Oh, yeah. Right. Really?

Yes.

Once again, I knew I had to obey. You see, when you decide to get in the boat with God, when you decide to follow Him, fully trust Him with every ounce of faith you posses, it’s no longer about doing things your way. Faith is all about trusting. And believing. And knowing that the God you’ve chosen to claim as your Heavenly Father loves you beyond boundaries, beyond breaking point, and He will bring all things together for good. Always.

Not an easy concept to grasp, is it?

Well, I did let it go. I was miserable. Angry. And definitely not in possession of any real understanding of why things had worked out this way. But I got on with my life. I had to. I knew if I didn’t, the whole thing would just make me nuts.

But then something happened. Something so incredible, that to this day I can still feel it. Chills still race through me at the memory.

It was a Thursday. January 23rd, 2003. Around five thirty in the evening. We’d just come home from my daughter’s piano lesson. I went downstairs to check my emails before starting dinner. And that’s when my whole world changed.

There in my inbox sat an email from my sister. The heading?
Communication At Last.

She wanted to know me.

I can’t go into all the whys and hows and wherefores of what brought her to the point of writing that email at that particular time. Suffice to say, God’s timing is everything. While I was moaning and groaning and mourning things that would never be, God was working. Creating circumstances and lining up facts and putting things into place that would prepare us for this moment. Far be it for me to question the mind of God.

All I can tell you is this.

God gives and God takes away. God answers prayers. Sometimes He says no. Sometimes He says wait. Sometimes He floods your soul with a resounding YES, in ways you would never imagine.

Next Wednesday is January 23rd, 2013. Ten years since the day God answered my prayer. Ten years since the day my dream came true. Ten years since the day God gave me my sister.

I’m going to spend the week with my sister. We will celebrate together. We will thank God together. And we will look forward to the next ten years, whatever they may bring. And I know God is smiling. Maybe He’s even laughing, because He knew…long before either of us were even born…He knew this day would come.

And He knew it would be good.

Conceived on Memorial Day, Almost Aborted on Columbus Day, Placed for Adoption on Valentine’s Day by Beth Willis Miller

Tags

Adoptee, Adoption, Beth Willis Miller, Family, National Adoption Awareness Month, Reunion

In many ways, it’s still a mystery…how I came to be. During a visit to Ellis Island’s American Family Immigration History Center, I was delightfully surprised to be able to locate and obtain an authentic copy of the ship manifest page from the ship, Princess Irene, which brought my maternal birth grandparents, Olympio and Vincenza from their home in Scontrone, Italy, through the port of departure in Naples to Ellis Island on August 30, 1906. Just seeing their two names listed one underneath the other on the ship manifest page gave the mystery such a tangible basis in reality. She was only 16 years old, he was just 24, and they were on their way to live with cousins in Chicago. What compels a 16 year old girl to board a ship in Italy, facing days on the ocean in most likely uncomfortable, even dangerous, conditions for a destination yet unknown to her? Somehow she and her fiancé, Olympio, were so motivated to start a new life in a new country that they left their home in Scontrone, Italy, and traveled to New York City, eventually settling in Chicago. They married and had a daughter, Lydia, in 1911.

I met my birthmother, Lydia, in 1983, when I was 30 years old, and Lydia was 72.  Lydia explained to me the circumstances of my conception, birth, and adoption. During a Memorial Day holiday get-away weekend with a gentleman in 1952, Lydia, at age 41, became pregnant with me. When she realized she was pregnant, she told the gentleman with whom she had spent the weekend and he was unwilling to help her. Her mother, Vincenza, did not want her daughter, a single mother at age 41, to disgrace her family with an illegitimate child, so Lydia left Chicago to live with a relative in Miami, Florida. In October, around the time of Columbus Day, she went to a back-alley abortionist to abort me, but when the abortionist examined her and realized she was over four months pregnant, he told her the abortion might kill her, and he refused to do it.

Lydia made arrangements with the Salvation Army hospital in Jacksonville to give me up for adoption. On Friday the 13th she gave birth to me, and signed the papers giving me up for adoption on Valentine’s Day 1953. I was adopted by loving Christian parents. I grew up in church, active in Sunday School and missions organizations. I prayed to receive Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior at a young age. I am married with two adult children and one grandson. I have a master’s degree in education and after serving in various teaching and supervisory positions, I was selected as the state consultant for gifted education programs by the Florida Department of Education in Tallahassee, and other leadership roles.

I believe there are no “accidents” and every conception and every birth is part of God’s sovereign plan, that nothing comes into my life that is not filtered through God’s hands of love. I believe God planned who my birth parents would be and who my Mom and Dad would be, and both influences, plus His, are needed to help me become all that He created me to be. I believe that God sees the end from the beginning. He knows me intimately, He knit me together in my mother’s womb, one day I will see Him face-to-face and I will know as I am known. I didn’t bring myself into this world, and I can’t take myself into heaven. I ask God to make me sensitive to the reality that He is in control, and that He is using my adoption journey to conform me to the image of His Son. I train my mind to acknowledge God’s hand in whatever it is I’m living with. I practice words like, “I don’t know,” “I will trust,” “I can’t explain,” “I release it all,” because God is sovereign. He is the beginning, He will be the ending, and in between, by His grace, He lets us be part of His perfect plan, for His glory and for our good. In the meantime, I will expect a mystery, as Catherine Marshall prayed, “Lord, I trust You…You know what You’re doing…I relinquish my will to Yours.”

Beth Willis Miller, M.Ed., is a member of the Advanced Writers and Speakers Association. Beth’s expertise as a creative and critical thinking specialist is steeped in years of experience as a writer, presenter, and educator. She is married and has two young adult children and one grandson. Beth and her husband, Jack, reside in Lakeland, Florida.

Blog: www.BethWillisMiller.blogspot.com

Email: BethWillisMiller@gmail.com

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/bethwillismillerauthor

Twitter: https://twitter.com/bethmiller

Amazon: www.amazon.com/author/bethwillismiller

I Had To Find My Mother To Find Myself by Catherine Leggitt

Tags

Adoptee, Adoption, Author, Catherine Leggitt, National Adoption Month, Reunion, Search

At two weeks and one day old, I rode home with my adoptive parents. Of that first family plane ride, I remember nothing except the joy and excitement my parents expressed each time they told me the story—joy and excitement that never diminished, no matter how often I requested the telling. Through their eyes, I never considered being adopted as a negative. I was chosen, as eagerly anticipated as any natural child, maybe more than some.

Two years later, my parents brought my sister home and our family was complete. My childhood came as close to ideal as human childhoods can. Dad grew oranges on a farm in southern California; Mother—Dessie—managed the household and ran the Sunday school at church. They were available, loving, gentle, and excellent role models. 

Laughter, flowers, and music characterized my childhood. Fresh orange juice for breakfast and vegetables from the garden nourished our bodies. Daily prayer and Bible reading nourished our souls. Hot summer nights became excuses to sleep on a haystack under the stars. Going-to-bed rituals included either Mother or Dad reading the classics or poetry.

Yet, in this idyllic setting, something was always missing. A longing for my biological mother, Deloris, grew in my heart over the years. My parents knew a few facts about her, such as her first name, but I had many more questions they couldn’t answer. I thought that finding my birth mother would banish the pesky unknowns that weighed me down like a lead backpack—questions about my nationality, who I looked like, where my ancestors had lived and what they had accomplished. Details all of my friends knew about their heritage that were unknown to me.

I married young and soon had two children. By the time I neared thirty, I was struggling with a turbulent marriage and smothering under a load of self-doubt. I had nearly completed the puzzle of my identity—the frame and corners that defined me were in place as well as some of the inside pieces—but important sections were missing—gaps that made it impossible to see myself as a whole person. I believed that locating my birth mother would provide the solution.

Finding her proved easy. I knew the town where she grew up and her age when I was born so we searched in the high school yearbook and there she was—eyes so like mine she must be related. Armed with her last name and bolstered by my mother’s full blessing, I hunted through area phone books. First I found her uncle, then her mother, and finally, I found Deloris.

We met for lunch at a restaurant. I couldn’t stop staring. Besides the same expressive blue eyes, we also shared big toothy smiles, keen observational skills, and certain mannerisms. Her first question for me, “Do you laugh a lot?”

I asked her a hundred questions and she answered every one.

“What now?” She asked, her hand clasping mine as we stared at each other across the table. “Now that you’ve satisfied your curiosity, where will you go from here?”

The question surprised me. I had no answer. None of my imaginings had ever progressed beyond finding her and living happily-ever-after. I gulped down a lump in my throat. What now?

“Couldn’t we just stay here forever?”

That was over thirty years ago. My mother is gone now but thankfully, Deloris is still a big part of my life. Of course, I was disappointed to discover that finding her didn’t fix me. The things that were broken in me would take maturity and God’s mercy to fix. But a few of the missing pieces in the puzzle got filled in. I heard the other half of the story of my birth. And finding her gave me a new strength, boosted me over a rough period in my life, and spurred me forward in matters related to self-esteem. In Deloris, I discovered a cherished friend and confidant, a wise mentor.

If Mothers are defined as women who stick with you no matter what, loving you and nurturing you while you find your way in life, then I am twice blessed. God knew I would need them both.

To adoptive parents I say: Answer all your child’s questions as honestly and completely as you can. Support their desire to find their natural mother without feeling threatened. Trust God. The years you’ve put in as a parent, the prayers and tears you’ve shed for the child God placed in your care will never be matched or forgotten.

Catherine Leggitt is Author of the Christine Sterling Mystery series –

PAYNE & MISERY, THE DUNN DEAL, AND PARRISH THE THOUGHT Published by Ellechor Publishing

Connect with her at http://www.catherineleggitt.com

A Visit with Christine Lindsay – Birthmother

Tags

Adoption, Author, Birth Mother, Christine Lindsay, Reunion, Shadowed in Silk

Sitting in the hospital bed, I held Sarah, my tears splashing onto her tiny face. My counselor softly said, “Christine, she’s your baby. You can keep her if you want to.”

But I wanted a daddy for my baby. And I felt this promise from God—if I stuck to the adoption plan, He would reunite Sarah and me one day, in a unique birth-mother and birth-daughter relationship.

I banked on that promise.

Three days later, the gray, steel, elevator doors on the hospital ward closed between Sarah and me.

The years passed, and I met my wonderful husband. Three times over my empty arms were filled with our children. I couldn’t have been happier. But I couldn’t forget Sarah. As time inched closer to Sarah’s 18^th birthday I prayed harder for our reunion.

I could see it all—a big family dinner, Sarah’s family and ours, all sitting around the table, celebrating.

People ask me why I searched for Sarah instead of waiting for her to search for me. I felt at the time that God doesn’t wait for us to come to Him, but He goes looking for us.

Two years later, the day came that I’d been praying for 20 years. I was scared to death. So afraid Sarah wouldn’t be able to love me. So afraid of rejection.

My husband and I got to the counselor’s office before Sarah and her fiancé arrived, and we were given the bad news—Sarah’s mom and dad didn’t want to meet me. They were at home sobbing . . . broken-hearted.

I was stunned—they don’t want to meet me.

With these thoughts spiraling through my mind I opened the door to where Sarah waited. A beautiful, young blond woman stood up to meet me. For years I’d imagined us falling into each other’s arms and crying like people did on TV. But all I felt was intense sadness that this beautiful young daughter and I were complete strangers.

Reunion

It was clear God had given Sarah exactly what I’d prayed for. She was confident, happy, studying to be a nurse, planning her wedding. Why was I not overflowing with joy?

Because I wanted to be a part of her life, and her in mine. But Sarah’s life was full, so busy, there wasn’t much time for us to get to know each other.

I had never felt so rejected. Though I hated my self-pity, I couldn’t stop thinking how God had disappointed me.

He’d had 20 years to put this reunion together, and this was the best He could do?

Months later my husband found me crying on couch, and he put a brand new journal and pen into my hands, and said, “Write it”.

So I started writing—the heartaches, the emptiness—and healing gradually came. As I studied the Bible, this verse became my life motto.

Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have no compassion on the child she has borne? Though she may forget, I will not forget you! See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands…

 My love for my kids, including Sarah, pales in comparison to God’s love for us. It wasn’t Sarah that I needed to make me whole on the inside, nor any of my children, or my husband.

I needed God to fill that gaping hole in my heart.

I began to realize I also had no right to feel rejected by Sarah’s parents, and I lightened up on them.

Twelve years have passed, and a relationship between Sarah and me began to flower. Today we’re more like a favorite aunt and favorite niece.

But God wasn’t finished yet.

In 2011, my debut novel was released. Shadowed in Silk has nothing to do with adoption. It’s set in India, has romance, deserts, Russian spies, guns… One day my publisher sent me photographs of models for the front cover. On a whim, I sent Sarah’s picture to my publisher. They thought she was perfect.

I can’t explain how wonderful it was to see birth daughter’s face on my novel when it was the pain of losing her that inspired me to write.

The book came out, and Sarah and her husband came to tell us they had decided to be missionaries, providing medical care to third-world women and orphans. One of the missions they would be working with most would be the Ramabai Mukti Mission in India.

I nearly fell off my chair.

I’d never told Sarah, but the true-life Ramabai was the Indian Christian woman who was the inspiration behind one of my main characters in Shadowed in Silk.

Only a tender-hearted Heavenly Father could do this.  He had given me that unique relationship with my birthdaughter that I’d asked for all those years ago.

 Sarah on the Mission Field

Christine in India

Christine Lindsay is the Award-winning author of Shadowed in Silk which was released in 2011. She lives on the west coast of Canada about 200 miles north of Seattle. Like a lot of writers, her cat is her chief editor. 

 Available on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and all other online locations.

Click here to read Chapter One  or check out the book trailer http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EV3YX94ntSI