My Spiritual Autobiography - Part IX

In the time between the miscarriage of John Nicholas and the "rest of the story", Mel Gibson's movie "The Passion of the Christ" was released. I recall being struck most by the scene of Mary Magdalen, as she watches Jesus carrying the cross, reflecting in her mind on the the earlier event in her life of Jesus saving her from those who were about to stone her. The sequence is filmed in slow motion for dramatic effect and I remember really connecting with it in the following way: The movie shows Mary Magdalen face down on the ground reaching for the foot of Jesus, as we see in the distance the men who were about to stone her dropping their stones and walking away. Jesus then turns to her, grasps her by the hand the lifts her up while looking intently into her eyes. This is the experience that I feel I had at the time of my conversion - Christ stared down the "demons" of my vices that were seeking to kill me, turned to me and put me on my feet. For some reason the phrase "Be who I created you to be" came into my head as I watched the movie. At the time, this wasn't any sort of consolation - I was struck by how "far away" my conversion seemed from where I was then. I wrote at the time that in the light of Theresa's death, my conversion seemed to be a worthless sham. I'm not saying it was, but that's how if felt. After we saw the movie we attended a discussion session where there were a lot of people we knew and many we didn't. One young woman came to ask for our prayers for a friend of hers who was contemplating an abortion (I seem to recall she was drawing a thematic connection between us unwillingly losing a child versus this mother contemplating willingly losing a child). I looked at my wife and read her face. I said "Tell the woman we would be willing to adopt her baby".

Adoption had been a touchy issue for us. We were afraid. We had heard stories of children being placed with families and then the placements falling through when birth mothers change their mind. We were leery to risk this - the thought of "losing" another child was a place we weren't ready to go. But in the face of abortion we were willing to go beyond our fears.

Nothing came of that first encounter (I'm happy to report the baby was born), but a door was opened. Later in that year, that door lead to a young woman who really was looking to place a child for adoption and by then, we were ready. The details are private (of course) but there is one that must be shared. My daughter (I'll call her "Boo" - her nickname) was born at United Hospital which is the building next to Children's Hospital where Theresa died. I very much wanted the birth experienc to be about the new baby and to this end, I was careful to steer clear of Children's Hospital - I even went so far as to walk to the far entrance to United when I came in to avoid the association. But, as we left the Hospital, something unexpected happened. The state-mandated protocol, for a domestic adoption, is that when it is time for the baby to leave the hospital, the birth mother is taken to the door in a wheelchair by a nurse (representing the hospital), the baby is on her lap, the licensed social worker representing the adoption agency then receives the baby from the birth mother, turns around and presents her to the adoptive parents. Some papers are signed and everyone leaves the hospital at the same time. It is a poignant moment to say the least. In our case, "Boo's" birthmother, not having the association with Theresa, had parked in the ramp for Children's Hospital since it was closest to the Labor & Maternity door for United. Thus, we followed her out that way. My heart was racing with all that was going on. The common lobby between United and Children's in that location was unusually busy that day and it didn't seem appropriate to have such a solemn event in what was bascially a bustling hallway. So the birth mother suggested that we move to a quieter part of the lobby. There is no way she realized that she had pointed to a spot near the door of the emergency room for Children's Hospital - the exact door we had come through in a panic when Theresa was having her stroke - a place I will never feel "neutral" about. We followed her there in a sort of emotional fog and when the time came, I dropped to one knee and received the baby from the birth mother directly. One word came to my mind powerfully: "BEHOLD!". A statement had been made.

My wife and I recall the remainder of the episode with a chuckle - we smiled and said goodbye, and walked a few steps where we couldn't be seen. I turned to her and said "I'm not going to be able to drive the car for a few minutes" and we both collapsed into tears. The day of prosperity had returned.