Is This Your Baby?

Our second son, Micah, is our catch-up boy.

While he was still in the hospital after he was born, the doctors and nurses tried to skip newborn care with us. After all, we have a five-year-old son named Isaiah. The refrain we kept hearing was, "But you know about this already."

And we kept saying, "No, treat us like first time parents because we really are."

Their confusion was easy to understand. When Isaiah was placed with us, he was already four months old. We missed those months with him and so we had no idea what to expect with Micah. The doctors and nurses, while a bit surprised, took it in stride and went over it all, step by step.

While a lot of what we knew from Isaiah's first days with us translated very well, there are still areas where Micah is our catch-up boy. Part of that is dealing with our suddenly "conspicuous family."

In some ways, we should have experienced this already. Isaiah has a very diverse ethnic heritage. He is Korean, Caucasian, African American, and Japanese. And yet many people have commented that Isaiah bears a strong resemblance to me. We're not sure how that happened, exactly, but when our family went out, no one gave us a second look.

Now, though, we're playing catch up with Micah. Micah's birthparents are African immigrants. The first time Jill, my wife, took him out grocery shopping, a little old lady saw the car seat on the cart and went around to see the baby. Jill says that when the woman saw Micah, she froze, her eyes went wide, and she (very rudely) asked Jill, "Is this your baby?"

Jill's response was probably the best: "Yes, he is. And we love him very much."

Me, I would have gone with: "No, he's not. Shhhhh! Don't tell anyone." I'm sure the cops would have found it hilarious, too.

We're probably going to have more experiences like that one in the future, but we're okay with that, because what Jill said is true. Micah is our son and we love him very much. More than that, we know that Micah is God's child and He loves him very much, too.

In some ways, our family has become a microcosm of God's family of faith, the Church. God also has a "conspicuous family!" As St. Paul wrote, "In Christ Jesus you are all sons of God, through faith. For as many of you as were baptized into Christ have put on Christ. There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither slave nor free, there is no male and female, for you are all one in Christ." (Galatians 3:26-28, ESV)

So we've learned our lesson: when people ask us if Micah is ours, we'll always respond with a positive and joyful, "Yes!" just as God says "Yes!" to us through His Son, Jesus Christ. May He bless all our families with His rich grace.

Otte family photo by Sydnee Bickett

The Second Amazing Half of an Adoption Story

Christine Lindsay writes historical inspirational novels that have strong love stories, and she doesn’t shy away from difficult topics. Her debut novel SHADOWED IN SILK is set in India during a traumatic era. Christine’s long-time fascination with the British Raj was seeded from stories of her ancestors who served in the British Cavalry in India. SHADOWED IN SILK won the 2009 ACFW Genesis for Historical under the title Unveiled.


COINCIDENCE—NO WAY!!!


Is it because I’m a romantic, or are there times when God writes on our lives with a big bold pen? When quixotic occurrences take place—like Mary, the Lord’s mother—I store those moments away in my heart.


Because He’s done it again in my life. And quite frankly taken my breath away.


This past spring I didn’t think He could bless me more than He already had when He arranged for my birth-daughter to be the model on the front cover of my debut novel. My birth-daughter Sarah is the child I relinquished to adoption when she was 3 days old, and was reunited with 20 years later.


The road of adoption relinquishment and reunion is not an easy one. After the reunion as I relived the original loss of Sarah, the Lord encouraged me to write out my emotional pain. Like a lot of writers, my loss became my muse.


Years later when my publisher, WhiteFire, was looking for just the right model for the front cover of Shadowed in Silk, I noticed that Sarah had let her hair return to its natural color. It struck me that she would make a pretty good “Abby”, the main character in my book. On a whim I suggested Sarah as the model to WhiteFire. They agreed she’d be perfect. And to my added shock, Sarah agreed to be our model.


So I had fun watching my daughter wear the turquoise sari I had bought in India the previous year, being that the setting for Shadowed in Silk is India 1919.


It wasn’t until after the photo-shoot that I realized God had bracketed the conception of my fictional career and its debut with my beautiful muse. I couldn’t thank Him enough.


But He wasn’t finished yet. He was writing another chapter to our story.


During the design of my front cover, Sarah and her husband were in the midst of applying to various missions. As ER nurses, they both felt called to full-time missionary work.


Several months after my novel was released, Sarah announced they were going to serve with Global Aid Network—GAIN. One of the bigger projects they will oversee is the Ramabai Mukti Mission, an organization that has been in existence in India for over 100 years. The Mukti mission cares for women and orphans—especially the disabled and those rescued from sexual slavery.

I couldn’t believe my ears. This particular mission has strummed a chord in my heart for several decades, and so has its founder, Pandita Ramabai—a former Hindu widow who came to Christ in the early part of the last century and who started up her mission to rescue women and children.


There is an integral character in my novel Shadowed in Silk. Her name is Miriam. Some reviewers described my Miriam as a Mother Teresa figure, but in fact she is based on Ramabai who had died in 1922.


My birth-daughter, Sarah, had no way of knowing this. Only God knew.


So why India? Sarah and Mark had considered all sorts of missions all around the world. Why this particular organization in India? There are so many projects around the globe. Why bless this birth mother's heart in such a way?


As I look back on the road of adoption relinquishment and reunion—and my writing—I am amazed at the boldness of God’s pen strokes in my life.


It’s no wonder I write. I desperately scrabble to get down on paper a trace of His exquisite tenderness and kindness, the artistry of what He can do with a surrendered life . . . a surrendered child.




SHADOWED IN SILK


She was invisible to those who should have loved her.


After the Great War, Abby Fraser returns to India with her small son, where her husband is stationed with the British army. She has longed to go home to the land of glittering palaces and veiled women . . . but Nick has become a cruel stranger. It will take more than her American pluck to survive.


Major Geoff Richards, broken over the loss of so many of his men in the trenches of France, returns to his cavalry post in Amritsar. But his faith does little to help him understand the ruthlessness of his British peers toward the India people he loves. Nor does it explain how he is to protect Abby Fraser and her child from the husband who mistreats them.


Amid political unrest, inhospitable deserts, and Russian spies, tensions rise in India as the people cry for the freedom espoused by Gandhi. Caught between their own ideals and duty, Geoff and Abby stumble into sinister secrets . . . secrets that will thrust them out of the shadows and straight

Another sister is coming to visit!

I can hardly wait! My sister Pam is coming with her husband, Phil, in October. We're already planning what to do, where to go. I have a writers conference, the ACFW conference, to go to in September, which will help me get through that month.


I still bless God for giving me this blessing of sisters. We're so much alike, I still stand in awe of it. How can you love someone you've only spent a short time with? And yet I love my sisters. I guess it's built into our DNA. Or maybe our spirits. We're sisters in the Lord, too.


Rejoice with me, friends!


And spread the word about Adoption Share. I'd love to share your story!

I Look Like My Daddy

Anita Agers-Brooks is on a mission to find her biological father. On her journey, she shares God’s message as a Communications Specialist, Certified Personality Trainer, public speaker, and writer. Anita lives in Missouri with her husband Ricky. Contact her via website or email.

I Look Like My Daddy


I am illegitimate, but I am not an accident. And no matter how you came to exist, neither are you.


I was forty-six years old, when through a dramatic series of events, I found out Dad, the man who raised me, isn’t my biological father. My identity is surrounded by mystery, but I know exactly who I am.


In the grief-drenched days, after I received DNA results confirming Dad isn’t my birth-father, I went to the Bible for comfort. My tears stained the pages when I read, “Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I set you apart” (Jeremiah 1:5). I sobbed over God’s promise to be, “A father to the fatherless” (Psalm 68:5).


A dear friend said in response to my story. “God sure must have wanted you. He went to a lot of trouble to create you especially who you are.”


I’ve learned she is right. I am not an accident.


There are six powerful things I discovered while the mystery unraveled:


1. I belong to God, no matter how I was conceived.
2. I exist to glorify Him by becoming the person I was meant to be.
3. I can go to His Word, and His people, to get more information.
4. I found my life’s purpose by asking Him to reveal my unique destiny.
5. I decided in a single moment never to give up.
6. I started by taking one step. Then one more. And another, and then another.


God knitted me together on purpose, with purpose, to fulfill a purpose. My unique DNA combination makes me especially qualified to do the work He planned for me before I was even born. I am wanted, because my Daddy-God adopted me. I am beautiful, because I look like my Daddy-God. I am the daughter of the King of Kings, which makes me a princess. I am secure in my identity, which is found in Christ alone.


But my story isn’t all about me. My story is also about you.


No matter how you started, or where you are today, you are meant for abundant life. You can live the dream God planted in your heart when He set you in the soil of your mother’s womb. You are not an accident. You know who you are. You look like your Daddy.

When God makes a family

This family could only be designed by God. My four children have three different mothers, three different fathers, four half-siblings (who we’ve never met), and countless biological ties we’ve not been able to follow. You see, our story began nineteen years ago, when my husband and I first heard those dreaded words…”you have less than five percent chance of becoming pregnant.” Carrying a child to term held less hope.


But we were determined. For those of you who travelled this road, you know that itch that spreads to obsession. The baby itch. It directs your path toward the baby section in every department store, it fixes your stare on every distended belly, it whispers in your ear to rent the two-bedroom apartment. I had that itch. Bad.


But no matter what we did, which hormones I took, or how many shots we endured, pregnancy stayed out of reach. Two days before a surgical procedure, the doctor ordered a pregnancy test…just in case. Like any woman who has lived through too many negative results received in a doctor’s office, I took an at-home test the day before. Why not, I’d purchased the Costco-sized box full of them. That way there would be no surprises. I’d know the negative results before that sweet woman’s face announced it to the waiting room.


But this time it was positive.


Positive! Nine months later our little miracle met the world with a hearty scream and the biggest blue eyes you’ve ever seen.


But I wanted more. I wanted a big family. One sounded so lonely. So back to the doctors we went. Surely if we had one, we could have more. However, the doctor called it secondary infertility. My chances dropped. So did my hope. Not the baby itch, that came back with a fury.


That’s when our journey to adoption began. We headed for a Christian adoption agency and placed ourselves firmly on the waiting list to get on the waiting list. Yup, you read that correctly. The social worker told us we had a six to seven-year wait before we saw a likely placement because we already had one child—a birth child at that. Birth moms chose childless homes or homes where their children would be among other adoptees, not homes like ours.


The next day, my friend called. A woman sat in her father-in-law’s law firm discussing a real estate deal, but the matter of her impending birth swung the discussion around to private adoption matters. Did he know anyone who would be interested in adopting her child? Yes. I jumped around the living room until my heart nearly flopped out of my chest. Yes, we were interested, I screamed into the receiver (poor girl, I’m not sure she ever fully recovered her hearing).


Four months later, our first son joined our growing family.


Again the itch returned, but the adoption funds did not. This time, my husband and I turned to the agency we initially contacted and offered our home for pre-adoptive foster care. Many years ago, Wisconsin adoptive laws required a birth mom to place her child in what I considered a middle ground or safe place. A home not tied to the birth mom or to the adoptive family. The length of stay depended on the court system, but usually lasted eight to twelve weeks. So we picked up the newborns from the hospital and placed them in the hands of their new adoptive family or back with their birth parents when the process completed. Oh the stories we could tell, but that is for another time.


This story is about the one that stuck. The other foster moms said it happened and they each had children to prove it, but I was unconvinced. We’d signed papers stating we would not adopt any child we fostered, so the agency could place them with waiting families. Surely, we wouldn’t be so lucky as to have one of them “stick.”


But he did. Our youngest son was the smallest of them all. Weighing in at just over five pounds, he came to us with a laundry list of special needs and frightening diagnoses. Despite the many illnesses he contracted over the next few months and his refusal to grow that first year, he shocked us all by plowing through every adoptive family in the agency’s repertoire in less than three months. Not one felt prepared for such a tiny package that carried such a heavy future. (Don’t you just love the hand of God?)


The date of placement loomed ahead and the agency had a choice to make: place him in county care or place him with us—permanently. Easy decision. Our third child thrived after that first year and I shudder to think where he’d be had he thrived any earlier.


Over the years, our three children grew and soothed away that baby itch. Then one day a commercial played as a backdrop to the noisy mayhem that became our household every evening. It was for a medication thought to cause pregnancy. Hah! My husband and I laughed. Medicine didn’t cause pregnancy. We knew better. Much to our surprise, when my doctor placed me on that medication we did indeed become pregnant. (Who knew?) We finished off our family with baby number four. Our unexpected miracle child arrived a mere ten years after the journey through infertility began.

As I look upon our latest family photo, I’m still amazed at the similarities. All four of my children are fair-haired, silly, and pale as any good-northerner is this time of year. They choose when to share their story and when to hold it close, since folks don’t guess we have such an eclectic history. The only glitch lies in the disbelief of teachers and friends who think my children are making up tales when they tell them there’s adoption in our midst.


I love my total lack of control in creating our family. Oh, I didn’t always feel that way. Many days were spent on my knees, tears streaming down my face as I railed like Hannah for God to hear me. Thankfully, He did. Boy, did He ever.

Married for over 20 years, Shellie and her husband have four wonderful kiddos and two goofy greyhounds. After receiving her undergraduate degree in Secondary Education from the University of Wisconsin--Madison, she went on to acquire an early childhood education certificate. Shellie also served in youth, children's, special needs and family ministries for over twenty-two years.


Now she enjoys teaching her teens how to drive and chauffeuring her preteens across the Wisconsin countryside. And once in a while, she loves to read big people books (you know the kind without pictures).


Shellie writes because it keeps her away from her husband's power tools and because every now and then, she doesn't have the choice, it just takes over. Her best inspiration comes from God and the occasional walk along a country road with her greyhounds.Visit Shellie's website/blog.

Another visit to look forward to

It's been a while since I've posted here. My sister Pam and her husband, Phil, are coming in October. I'm looking forward to spending one-on-one time with her. She's so tenderhearted and sweet, and a terrific baker! She and my son Greg will have fin together.


It's been so interesting getting to know my sisters after not even knowing about them for my entire life. I've said it before, but so many things I thought were simply me, or perhaps my environment or upbringing, turn out to be in my DNA. 


When our "baby" sister, Cindy, visited last August, there were a number of times when I did some silly thing and her hubby looked at her and said, "She's so your sister." I laughed but at the same time it thrilled my heart to hear.


When you go a lifetime without sisters then finally get them, it's the greatest gift of God. If you have sisters, give them a hug this week if they live close. If not, be sure you reach out to them. Mine and I have a lifetime to make up for, but we're loving the opportunity.


God's blessings on your sisterhood.

STORY BEHIND THE COVER—By Christine Lindsay

Christine Lindsay writes historical inspirational novels that have strong love stories, and she doesn’t shy away from difficult topics. Her debut novel SHADOWED IN SILK is set in India during a traumatic era. Christine’s long-time fascination with the British Raj was seeded from stories of her ancestors who served in the British Cavalry in India. SHADOWED IN SILK won the 2009 ACFW Genesis for Historical under the title Unveiled.


The Story Behind the Cover


Adoption stories don’t stop at the reunion with violins playing as if that were the end of the movie. Many reunions are idyllic, and others are rocky from the get-go. But I have found God to be more interested in the developing relationships within my adoption triad than some of the members are.


For example, it’s painful for my daughter’s adoptive mom to even see me 12 years after the reunion. But recently she has moved to my town, and I often bump into her at the mall. I wonder if the Lord is gently nudging us together. Nothing could make me happier. But not that long ago the Lord did something that took my breath away—something to deepen the bond between my birthdaughter and me.


I have to go back 12 years though, to just after our adoption reunion. Seeing that beautiful and fully grown girl brought back the full pain of relinquishing her as a baby. No amount of rational thought on my part could take the emotional pain away. Only God could, and did. As time went by He encouraged me to share the healing that He had given me with others in a fictional format.


Ten years later, this coming May 2011—after writing 3 complete manuscripts—my debut novel about the British Raj in India will be released. That plot has nothing to do with adoption (at least not much). But God had something special in mind for me.


My publisher for SHADOWED IN SILK is WhiteFire. Some would say there are disadvantages to putting your work into the hands of a small and fairly new publishing house. But the Holy Spirit who said to me 32 years ago—trust your child into my hands—is the same Spirit who said to me—trust me with the labor of your heart.


As WhiteFire and I discussed the design of Shadowed’s cover, I suggested the model wear the sari material I had purchased in India. WhiteFire then sent me photographs of the model they felt could fill the role of my character, Abby. When I looked at the pictures I fell in love with the face, until it dawned on me that the model resembled my birthdaughter, Sarah.


On a whim I suggested Sarah for the model and WhiteFire agreed. Sarah was shy at first, but she pitched in on this step of faith, even though she would have to come 300 miles to participate in the photo shoot.


WhiteFire wanted 2 costumes—a western one for 1919 and the sari that my character Abby wears in the novel. A friend loaned me a straw boater hat, and I was sure I had a tan linen skirt up in my closet. But when I went to look . . . it was gone. I’d forgotten that when we moved last year, I’d given the skirt away to a charity. On another whim I drove to the local second hand store to search for something similar.


As I walked across the parking lot I prayed the Lord would help me find the perfect skirt. I was not 5 minutes in the store when I found my very own skirt which I then purchased back for $9.99.
I could go on and on about the details—there is so much more to tell. I had asked the Lord to put His fingerprints all over the cover, and He did.


It wasn’t until later that I realized—that without my ever planning or imagining it—He had not only inspired me to write through the loss of my first child to adoption, but He then blessed the fruition of that faith with the beauty of the very child I had relinquished to Him.


Only our Heavenly Father can do something so intricately tender. He cares for our broken hearts, especially if that adoption didn’t bring the joy that was hoped for at the beginning. Or your reunion wasn’t all you’d prayed for. Or you’re still searching for that lost one. Or worse, that loved one rejected you. Hold on to the Father. He holds your deepest desire in His hands.


The verse I’ve taken for my life is Isaiah 49: 15, 16: “Can a woman forget her nursing child, and have no compassion on the son of her womb? Even these may forget, but I will not forget you. Behold, I have inscribed you on the palms of my hands…”
If you’d like to read more about my journey as a birthmother, drop by my blog. You can also read more about the journey of Book 1 of my Twilight of the British Raj series—SHADOWED IN SILK.

SHADOWED IN SILK


She was invisible to those who should have loved her.


After the Great War, Abby Fraser returns to India with her small son, where her husband is stationed with the British army. She has longed to go home to the land of glittering palaces and veiled women . . . but Nick has become a cruel stranger. It will take more than her American pluck to survive.


Major Geoff Richards, broken over the loss of so many of his men in the trenches of France, returns to his cavalry post in Amritsar. But his faith does little to help him understand the ruthlessness of his British peers toward the India people he loves. Nor does it explain how he is to protect Abby Fraser and her child from the husband who mistreats them.


Amid political unrest, inhospitable deserts, and Russian spies, tensions rise in India as the people cry for the freedom espoused by Gandhi. Caught between their own ideals and duty, Geoff and Abby stumble into sinister secrets . . . secrets that will thrust them out of the shadows and straight into the fire of revolution.