Answers in Abundance: A Miraculous Adoption Journey as Told from a Father's Heart (Morgan James Faith)
by: Elliott Anderson (Author)
Publisher:Morgan James Faith
Publication Date: 21 Jun. 2007
Language:English
Print Length:256 pages
ISBN-10:1600372325
ISBN-13:9781600372322
Book Description
Answers in Abundance will primarily reach Christian women between the ages of 25 and 50 who have either been through a similar experience, know somebody who has or is currently involved in the painful process; or who simply enjoy human interest stories that can be referred to friends and family. The story transcends the spiritual ingredients, however, and could be read by a larger audience than just evangelical Christians. There are, conservatively estimating, over two million infertile couples in the United States. Infertile Christian married couples in America often keep their plight a secret for years. If and when they finally begin to talk openly with their close friends, it's nearly always the woman who bears the responsibility for investigating various options. It is also usually the female who carries the guilt through this entire process.
About the Author
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. Answers in AbundanceA Miraculous Adoption Journey as Told from a Fathers HeartBy Elliott J. AndersonMorgan James PublishingCopyright © 2007 Elliott J. AndersonAll rights reserved.ISBN: 978-1-60037-232-2ContentsAcknowledgements and Preface, I. THE PROBLEM AND THE PRAYER, Chapter 1 Metra Messenger, Chapter 2 Dream Denied, Chapter 3 Fortune Cookie, II. EXPLORING ADOPTION, Chapter 4 Confirmations, Chapter 5 "Open" Education, Chapter 6 Disclosure Profile, III. THE ADOPTION ANSWER, Chapter 7 Selection Monday, Chapter 8 Meet the Birthparents!, Chapter 9 Another Mother-in-Law?, Chapter 10 The Waiting Game, Chapter 11 Placement Day?, Chapter 12 Twelve Days of Darkness, Chapter 13 Placement Day!, Chapter 14 Two for the Show, IV. THE BIOLOGICAL SURPRISE, Chapter 15 Labor Day, Chapter 16 Check-up and Check-in, Chapter 17 Too Soon, But just in Time, Chapter 18 Three to Get Ready, Chapter 19 Tougher Than Triplets, V. THE ADDITIONAL BLESSINGS, Chapter 20 Again, Lord?, Chapter 21 Four to Go, Chapter 22 Unreleased Anxiety, Chapter 23 Another Paige in the Story, Chapter 24 Answers in Abundance, Chapter 25 Answering His Call, Epilogue, CHAPTER 1Metra MessengerIt was a ripped and dirty seat in the last car of the ice-cold Metra commuter train, but it was the only one that was without another passenger in it, so I sat down and shivered. I quickly placed my backpack and my bag next to me to discourage any other last-minute riders from joining me. I held on to my shiny new plaque that announced my induction into my high school athletic hall-of-fame, and as the train pulled and jerked into motion, spontaneous tears began to slide down my cheeks.They weren't tears of pride or happiness. Instead they were another uncontrollable and sudden release of my soul's sadness and emptiness due to the inability of my wife and me to conceive children for almost a decade. I leaned my head back on the uncomfortable metal bar that doubled as a headrest and dozed in and out of prayer and self-pity.I don't know how long I was in that state, but I do know what woke me up. WHACK! Out of nowhere, I was hit in the back of the head with something that felt like a blunt weapon. Before I could stumble to consciousness it happened again, WHACK! I lurched forward and shot a quick glance over my shoulder as I raised my arms over my head in fear and confusion, sure that I was being mugged by some street hoodlums or gang bangers.To my utter astonishment, the hostile attacker was a toothless, gum-smiling, middle-aged bag woman with about six sweaters on. A tattered old ball cap rested loosely on tangled and unwashed wavy, brown hair. Her right hand held a tightly rolled-up Chicago Sun-Times. She saw my look of horror and amazement and happily countered with, "How ya doing, honey?" Before I responded, I looked around to gain some context and composure and noticed that several other passengers were looking on with shock and amusement. "Howya doing, honey?" she repeated again, as if her head-smacking greeting was a normal form of introduction."Fine, until you hit me on the head twice," I offered nervously. "Why did you do that?" I asked."I just wanted to see how you were doing," she replied, sitting down in the seat behind me where I assume she'd been for the duration of the trip from Chicago's Union Station.I sat back down in my seat, but this time faced her direction, still a bit unsure of my surroundings and her motives. "I'm OK, I guess," I stammered, hoping this would end the conversation and I could go back to sulking. No such luck."What do you have there?" she asked, looking at my Hall-of Fame plaque."An award from high school." I retorted a bit coldly, trying to communicate my displeasure at her intrusion.She went on unabated. "Where are you going?" "I'm going back home," I said, purposely void of city or destination."Where's home?" she responded, completely unphased by my verbal and non-verbal attempts to control the conversation.I sighed and gave in, letting my guard down against my better judgment. "I live in Elgin," I told her. "I was at my parents' home in Cincinnati, Ohio, and I'm going back to Elgin where I live.""I used to live in Elgin," she replied, and I couldn't help but wonder if she had spent significant time in the well-known Elgin Mental Health Center that was only a short distance from my current residence."Where do you live now?" I asked her, returning the intrusive manner of our dialogue. I thought I could at least turn the interrogation her way to avoid further disclosure — a standard counselor's trick for clients without boundaries."I live at the zoo," she said seriously"You do?" I said in amusement, and I couldn't stop a reactive smile."Yes, honey. I used to work in the circus and now I live at the zoo because I am comfortable with animals and can speak to them and play with them and they protect me," she declared with confidence.By this point, a majority of the other passengers were leaning toward us in vicarious anticipation of the remainder of this comedic interaction.I continued, now almost enjoying the attention and harmless banter. "What is your name?" I asked playfully."Mary," she happily volunteered."What's yours?" she countered fairly."Elliott."The conversation went on for about fifteen more minutes, and we covered topics such as our family histories, our careers, and our distaste for the blustery winter wind that is so common in Chicago and its suburbs. Our voices had lowered and my defensive posture had relaxed, and to the disappointment of most of the other passengers, there was no further display of violence. Then just when I thought I had her in a comfortable realm, she surprised me again."Do you believe in God?" she asked softly."I sure do," I said proudly, and in one of those moments you pray for, I began to share the Gospel with her in a simple and direct manner. Pleased with my effort, I waited for her overwhelming conversion experience."I already believe all of that stuff, honey," she grinned with a twinkle in her eye. "But thanks for sharing. I have to get off at the next stop. Do you have $20?" she probed without hesitation.Now it made sense. This was her routine. She had worked me all along waiting for the moment I let her in so she could then ask for money with a much higher probability of success. Whether an act or not, I don't know, but it was successful. I reached into my backpack, found my wallet, and looked in the billfold. Sure enough, all I had was a $20 bill. I pulled it out and handed it to her with an affectionate "God bless you" along with it. She beamed with contentment and then caught me off guard yet again."Can I pray for you?" she asked sincerely."S-s-s-s-ure," I stammered, now embarrassed by the once-again public nature of this conversation and the intimate gesture on her part. Before I could even bow my head or shut my eyes, she grabbed my hand, covered it with her own, and launched into one of the most holy and beautiful prayers I have ever heard in my life. After getting over my natural reaction to rip my hand out of her grasp and back away to a more appropriate distance, I shut my eyes, bowed my head, allowed the moment to be what it was, and relaxed into a spirit of prayer.The content of the prayer included issues and insights from my life that no stranger, and certainly no bag lady, should have known or been able to discern in a 20-minute conversation. I don't recall all of the specifics of the prayer or where we were exactly on the route to Elgin when this incident happened, but I'll always remember Mary, and I'll never forget the last line of her charismatic, flavored prayer on my behalf."And Lord, bless Elliott, bless his wife, and may all of his dreams come true. Amen." She gripped my hand tighter and looked me dead in the eyes, penetrating my soul; and held that stare of love and compassion until I looked away for fear of an emotional reaction. Then, as quickly as the whole ordeal began, it was over. She let go of my hand, slid into the aisle, seemed to float to the back of the train and disappeared into the night without so much as a wave or a good-bye glance.I sat dumbfounded the rest of the trip. Was Mary an angel sent by God to give me hope? A hallucination? A vision? I decided I better ask one of the other passengers whether or not he had seen her. To my relief he had. I couldn't help but feel uplifted.In fact, I had difficulty thinking about anything else that night, even though I had to coach my college basketball team against our arch rivals just an hour after I arrived home. Later, I had an even harder time sleeping as I replayed the Mary Mystery for my wife and then over and over again in my head.Do you believe that God still speaks through dreams? Do you believe that God uses angels to deliver words of encouragement or hope? I do believe that Mary was an angel and I do believe that the Lord sent her to assure me of His plan for my future family.CHAPTER 2Dream DeniedMy wife and I were married in the summer of 1989. I had just graduated from Judson College in Elgin, Illinois, and my wife, Angie, was teaching first grade in nearby Carpentersville. The unspoken, yet pre-determined plan for the next five years was for me to take two years to get an MA in counseling psychology, and then find a job counseling families with wild boys. After that, we would settle in and begin looking for a house. Finally, Angie would stop working so she could get pregnant, and we would start a family.Does this sound familiar? Yes. It's a normal variation of the American dream. Get married, find jobs, buy a house, and start a family. It's as easy as one, two, three.But then rarely does anyone anticipate fertility problems. At least nobody does out loud. Even if there is a family history of difficulty with conception or pregnancies, infertility is rarely a topic of conversation, even among close friends. It's just never discussed prior to it being an issue, partly for fear that by speaking of it, it might actually come to pass.We never talked about it. Ironically, when we did decide to try and get pregnant, I made the poor choice of announcing it in our family Christmas letter of 1992. That anticipated Christmas blessing ended up on back order for the rest of the decade!I grew up in a strong Christian family. It was a very stable, loving, social, and extremely active, even boisterous, environment. With a professor father and librarian mother, few topics were off-limits; but I can't remember ever hearing about a couple who had problems having children.This is despite the fact that my neighborhood best friend and his sister were both adopted, yet I still don't remember ever discussing it with him, his family, or my family even once in our entire childhood relationship. It wasn't a scary issue or a forbidden topic. It was deeper than that. It was as if the adoption didn't exist at all. It was a closed adoption all the way around.This was in the early 1970's and nearly all adoptions were still closed at that time. A closed adoption means that an adoptive couple is not permitted to know the identity of the biological parents. At that time in the process, adoption agencies were not allowed to legally release confidential files, and adopted children and the adoptive parents had no access to this information.In my opinion, more often than not, this practice of closed adoption wreaked havoc in many homes. I saw this first hand when another friend, during her late teens, wrestled with her identity and adoptive child status. I remember the agony her mom went through as her daughter desired to locate her birthmother, or, in her words, her real mom.I don't blame anyone for the impression all of this had on me; I just know that it was mostly negative. The result was that I viewed adoption as a secretive, risky, and difficult endeavor that would likely bring pain and confusion to the whole family. I think most of the kids I grew up with felt the same way — even the ones who had been adopted!As a result of this perception, I used to tease my sister that she, too, was adopted. Looking back, I realize my intent was to project onto her exactly what I assumed adoptive kids always felt. I wanted her to feel fear about her place in the family and about her heritage and genetic link to the Anderson name. I hoped she'd feel insecure and uncertain regarding our family system. How cruel!It's interesting that even as a young boy I was aware of the stigma associated with adoption and was trying to use it to my advantage. My sister and I laugh about it now, but how many other siblings in America have done something similar? I don't think my family's perception of adoption was much different from that of most people.Well, the American dream for my wife and me was not completely missed, because I did get my master's degree in the regular two-year period, and shortly later began my first job as a crisis family therapist at Wheaton Youth Outreach in Wheaton, Illinois, primarily counseling wild boys.One of my responsibilities as a crisis intervention therapist was to advocate for troubled teens. I worked with a program called the Minors Requiring Authoritative Intervention program of Illinois (MRAI). A disproportionate number of these families, at least on my case load, happened to be adoptive families. This simply confirmed my notion of the risks and turmoil associated with adoption.A decade later, and thanks to some perception-shattering experiences, I believe adoption is one of the most wonderful and God-honoring processes a couple could ever experience. How did I change my opinion so drastically?CHAPTER 3Fortune CookieSometime around 1997, after five years of unsuccessful conception efforts, we accepted the obvious, and began a quest for children through infertility treatments. Along the way we had tears of pain, sadness, relief, and joy, but no pregnancy. Three different gynecologists told Angie that she was one of the healthiest women they had ever examined. I don't know if that made us more frustrated with, or more reliant upon, God's will. Probably both.We took the basic tests and followed all the procedures and never felt totally hopeless or defeated, partly because the doctors kept telling us we were fine, but there were sure seasons of high frustration! For a while we used Chlomed, one of the drugs known for stimulating egg production. We destressed our lives. I started wearing boxer shorts more regularly, and we improved our eating and exercise regime. In addition, my sperm count was tested twice. Both times it was fine.The first time I had a sample tested was a rare humorous moment in this ordeal. On the way to the hospital lab, I made a quick turn at an intersection, and the jar and the bag that was holding it rolled off the passenger seat and onto the floor. All of the contents spilled inside the brown bag. For some reason, when I arrived at the hospital, the lab worker didn't want to handle the bag, so he had ME walk it back to the lab! I could tell by their smiles and stifled laughter that I had just provided them a great "what happened at the office today" story.The process of infertility testing itself, however, is anything but funny. After seeing and feeling the repeated blank stares from doctors, I couldn't decide who was more bothered by our failure to conceive — them or us. Though doctors desire to help, their focus on the end result can lead to aggressive and insensitive interactions. On top of all the other disappointments, we felt that we had disappointed our doctors, too. And that energy didn't help. It's a very emotional process for all parties involved. We're talking about creating life!We did, of course, try all the suggested positions, timings, temperatures, and magical sexual conception strategies. This makes the entire sexual arena take on an intense level of importance. Spontaneity and passion are often lost since the desire for a child can outweigh the physical desire for your spouse. An attempt at conception becomes an event on the calendar, and sexual intimacy, as a result, often suffers.I think we did fairly well in this battle, however, mainly because our commitment to the marriage was already established, and it held a higher priority than our determination to become parents. This took a lot of self-examination and willingness to be vulnerable with one another, and that was beneficial to our relationship; but we certainly would have traded that growth opportunity for an easy conception.By the spring of 1998, I was beginning to get very restless. I was tired of losing a game we knew we didn't hold the power to win through our own efforts. I wanted to parent, even if it meant raising exotic gerbils or hairless hamsters. Angie didn't feel the same urgency, which really surprised me because she was entering her mid-thirties. This is normally a difficult age for barren women as they realize they might never bear children biologically. More than once from 1997 – 1999, this difference in perspective led us to some late night (or all night) heated discussions, and one of the reoccurring issues that left us in turmoil was the question of adoption.Within a period of about six months, I had dramatically changed my thoughts on adoption. And to be honest, initially, it probably had more to do with trying to fill the void than it did with actually choosing a path. Regardless of the motivation, by the time I had done some research and talked with a few adoptive parents, I was sold. So despite my irritation with her hesitancy, I didn't blame Angie for being cautious or apprehensive.Our marriage survived and grew stronger because of this crisis. However, I can see why infertility is one of the leading causes of divorce. The tension and pain are excruciating and the need to place blame can be deadly. I'm not sure if it was an act of strength or surrender, but after many difficult nights, we quit focusing on pregnancy all together. We focused our energy into other directions. If it happened, it happened; if it didn't, it didn't! (Continues...)Excerpted from Answers in Abundance by Elliott J. Anderson. Copyright © 2007 Elliott J. Anderson. Excerpted by permission of Morgan James Publishing. All rights reserved. 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