Hearing His Voice (Baby Jennifer -part 2)
As I stepped up to the desk at NICU to meet our new foster baby, I tried to look like a pro. I showed my photo ID and was taken into a dimly lit room full of bassinets and nurses who were charting on the computers scattered about.
“Here she is,” the nurse said before hurrying off, “don’t pick her up until I go find her paperwork.”
I looked eagerly into the bassinette and beheld perhaps the ugliest baby I’d ever seen. Bug eyed, skinny, bald.
I guess they can’t all be cute, I thought with a grin, I really can’t wait to hear what Matt will say when he sees her, though. Then I noticed a blue card on the crib, declaring the baby a boy. I was looking into the wrong bed. I turned and found her behind me, much more normal looking. She was small and as bundled as could be in her swaddle and hat with a pacifier taking up most of her face. About all I could make out were her round cheeks and the fact that she was white, a detail we hadn’t known until then.
After an hour of standing there awkwardly, talking to her but not touching her, the nurse informed me that the paperwork hadn’t come through and I needed to leave. The social worker had told them about us and given all of our information, but apparently one paper was lacking. Before I left I was permitted to put her pacifier back in her mouth.
I left feeling strangely empty. There was compassion for this baby, but not the immediate love that I had expected. As I drove home, feeling depressed, my sister Jenny called, so excited to hear about her newest niece, and without knowing where the tears came from, suddenly I was sobbing.
“She doesn’t look like Megan,” I choked out when I could speak. “After court yesterday, when they said that Megan was definitely leaving us, I think I was looking for a replacement…. seeing this new baby there…she’s her own little person…and I realized… that she’s not Megan, that no one will replace ever Megan. I don’t think I can handle them taking my Meggie away…”
And, of course, Jenny was crying, too. Unable to offer words of comfort, but knowing exactly what I was feeling, having been in the same position herself.
For a while I couldn’t speak, then finally managed, “And what if I resent this little baby, after they take Megan away? What if some part of me feels like she’s the consolation prize? And how am I supposed to love her when I can’t even hold her? And, no one in the world loves her… she’s all alone and she needs me and I don’t feel anything!”
That night as we prayed both Matt and Jenny brought up the Bible verses about caring for widows and orphans. If ever a baby qualified as an orphan, this poor nameless abandoned baby in the NICU did. They pointed out that the command to care for them doesn’t say anything about your feelings on the topic. Love would come and we should be patient.
Even if I wasn’t sure of my feelings, I did know that this baby needed a mother and that person was me, at least for now. I don’t tend to do things halfway. I called the hospital every few hours Saturday, but they hadn’t worked out their paperwork glitch. I called the social worker at home on Sunday. She called the hospital again. They wouldn’t budge on the missing paper. They wouldn’t even let me come stand by the bassinet again. The poor baby spent the whole weekend with no one to hold her, no one to cuddle her, no one to even talk to her, all for want of one form.
Monday morning I was back with a vengeance. I sent the social worker off with a list of questions, the most prominent being: Does she have a name, if so, what is it, if not, how do we give her one? I held the baby and read One Thousand Gifts out loud to her because that was what I had in my bag. I told the nurses to give her the shots that they should have given at birth, but hadn’t because, not having a legal guardian, there was no one to sign their forms. I filled out a paper saying that every Tom, Dick and Harry that I knew could come and hold this baby. I stayed well past when I was supposed to be home. It was so hard to lay her back in that bassinet and leave her there all alone again, but I had six other children to care for.
When I got home I put out the S.O.S. to our family and they responded in force, just as I knew they would. The most abandoned baby in the NICU immediately became the most visited. Grandmas and grandpas, aunts and uncles were there at all hours, holding her, talking to her, praying for her. It got to the point where the nurses were annoyed, but after the 2 weeks she’d endured of neglect, I thought they could tolerate a little inconvenience.
On Tuesday morning, I learned that the baby wouldn’t legally have a name until she was adopted. That evening Matt and I went in and held her and prayed with her. If ever a baby needed a name it was her, and it better be good. We had discussed names a lot over the years, but as we held her, one we hadn’t previously discussed came forward, and we just knew that it was right. Jennifer, for my sister Jenny who was a rock for me during this time, a classic name with a multitude of potential nicknames, and Elizabeth for Matt’s mom who covers us and our children in prayer.
I stepped to the whiteboard, erased the words “baby girl” and wrote “Jennifer Elizabeth” in my best cursive, under this I added “Parents: Matt and Rachael.”
On Wednesday, when I went in to hold Jennifer, I felt a surge of affection when I saw her laying there. I was relieved. God was growing a love for her in my heart; it was just taking a little longer than I had planned.
By Saturday morning we had spent a difficult week of prayer and discussion. I had trucked back and forth to the NICU each day, holding her for hours, but felt no clear leading. I wanted to bring Jennifer home, but was it the right thing? Was it fair to my other children and my husband to take on two newborns at the same time? I was thinking that perhaps I acted too hastily. Maybe my tendency to try to do anything sent my way had gotten away from me. I was so uncertain, and she was supposed to be coming home the next day. I went into her room and gazed down at her, preparing to pick her up, even as I began my litany of prayers.
“Lord, please, please, please, guide us to do the right…”
“Rachael.”
“Show me what to do…”
“Rachael.”
“Lord, should we bring her home? Is this what you’re calling us to?”
“Rachael.”
“Please, just make is so clear…”
“Rachael, take care of this baby and love her as your own.”
BAM! That was it. The voice of God speaking directly to me. Well, that doesn’t happen every day, and here I was interrupting him THREE times as I continued my anxious supplication! I reached into that bassinet and picked up our newest daughter. I hugged her close as the tears welled and the anxieties vanished. Grateful prayers of relief poured forth. We were just where God wanted us to be. What more could I possibly need?