I had a granddaughter from my daughter, April, who was adopted at birth in February 2001. It was the last time I saw Ashton's tiny face. Two years later Ashton's biological sister was about to be born when April and little Heaven were murdered by the babies' father, Jerry Stuart. I felt as if my whole life had been swept into the valley of Gehenna.
For years I prayed for the remaining adopted granddaughter and her adoptive parents. For twelve years I sent anonymous gifts and cards through the adoption agency. I hoped someday Ashton would be able to meet me. After my daughter's murder, I set my sights on a 16-year solitary journey of hope until she came of age and I could seek her out.
In my waiting, I wondered if Ashton even knew she was adopted. I wondered if her parents had considered the circumstances of her biological mother's death and chose to say nothing. If she turned 18 and chose not to see me, would I be crushed once again by circumstances outside my control?
Last weekend Ashton turned twelve years of age. I had sent her another anonymous card for Valentine's and a pair of earrings. Last Saturday I went to check my mailbox and opened a letter from the adoption agency. Inside was a red envelope with my first name printed on the outside. Inside was a Valentine from Ashton, a long note about her life now, how she was sad she wouldn't meet her birth mother in this life, and a picture of herself.
Guess what I did? Yeah, I wept. My whole world swirled into a new orbit with the opening of a red envelope with sugar on top and sweeter than I ever imagined. I have written my first letter, addressed it to the adoption agency, and christened it with my first name.
Lord you are able.
Blessings and Agape,
Dr. Linda B. Greer