Murder, Motherhood, and Miraculous Grace

by Debra Moerke

  “Oh! I need to go. Court is at ten. I can’t be late.” I gathered my keys, hugged Maureen again, and with the stone in hand, ran out the door.

  “Don’t you have a coat or sweater?” Maureen yelled out to me. “It’s supposed to snow today.”

  I had asked friends and family to intercede for me during the hearing. As I drove toward the downtown business area, I asked God to stir their spirits to start praying.

  I arrived at the courthouse forty minutes early. I hoped my attorney would be there on time to meet me before I had to enter the judge’s chambers.

  Holding tightly to my dress this time, I jumped down from the Skunk Truck. I nearly stumbled out of a shoe as I quickly climbed the steps to the old municipal courthouse. As always, I admired the brass door handles, cement statues, and marble floors of the historic structure built in the early 1900s. My black pumps echoed down the cathedral-like hall as I walked briskly to the courtrooms next to the judge’s chambers, passing men and women in suits waiting outside courtroom doors and a couple quietly arguing next to a water fountain. The smell of cedar wood and leather briefcases filled the air as I quickly made my way to the judge’s chambers. I did not open the door but looked for a quiet, secluded place to sit and wait for my attorney.

  The hallway’s walls were lined with framed portraits of judges, past and present. Some looked very distinguished. Some a little creepy. Honorable this, and Honorable that. I didn’t recognize any of them. Why would I? I hadn’t been to court for anything before. One retired judge’s name stood out, though. He was the judge who had ordered the five Bower children home. Home without a plan. No warning. No reason. No preparation. Then, leaving many questions unanswered, he retired.

  Seeing the judge’s picture, my heart began to pound. I nervously twisted my ring. Would today’s judge listen to all sides? What would he decide?

  I glanced at my watch: 9:50. Where was my attorney? Time was running out to be briefed.

  I hope she’s not late, I thought, as I twisted my ring a few more times.

  Hearing voices and footsteps, I saw two DFS caseworkers I recognized heading toward me. Accompanying them was a man I hadn’t seen before. He was tall, had a receding hairline, and was wearing thick, dark-framed glasses. His starched white dress shirt and argyle knitted vest didn’t seem to be an attorney’s attire. At least not in my experience. Is he an attorney? Or is he someone with DFS?

  The three didn’t seem to notice me, before disappearing behind the door of room 305.

  As I was about to panic, my attorney appeared out of the stairwell a few yards away. Approaching quickly and out of breath, she asked, “Have you spoken to anyone?”

  “No. I’ve been waiting for you.” My hands were wet with sweat, and my mouth felt dry and pasty. I desperately wanted a drink of water, but there was no time.

  “Follow me,” she said. We entered room 305 and a legal assistant led us to the judge’s chambers.

  Inside, diplomas, group pictures of judges, and a huge watercolor mural of the city of Casper from the early 1900s hung on the paneled walls. A rich, dark wood conference table with a dozen high-back swivel chairs filled the room. At the end of the long table, an oversized black leather chair, with a cushioned headrest and armrests signified that someone of great responsibility and power would be sitting there.

  I followed my attorney’s lead as we entered the room and chose chairs directly across from the DFS caseworkers and the mysterious man.

  I squeezed the stone I still held in my sweaty hand. I would do what was written on it. BE NOT AFRAID . . . ONLY BELIEVE!

  I will believe!

  I was reminded of the armor God gives those who love and choose to put their trust in him. To the others sitting across from me, my black suit-dress and black pumps were not intimidating. But if they knew, really knew, the God I served, they would be nervous. Armored up, I knew prayer for this very hour had me well covered.

  Cupping my fingers around the stone, I looked across the massive table toward the judge’s empty chair. A peaceful strength came over me.

  My attorney leaned toward me and whispered, “What is in your hand?”

  Still looking forward, I unfurled my fingers, revealing the stone and the Scripture, then slowly closed them back around it.

  “What is that for?” she whispered.

  “I am holding on to it, asking God to show grace and favor through the judge this morning,” I whispered.

  “And what if the judge doesn’t show this grace you talk about?”

  “Then I will stone him,” I said with a wink and a slight grin.

  Chapter 18The Ruling

  THE DOOR OF THE JUDGE’S chambers opened abruptly, and the court assistant entered. Walking briskly around the huge conference table, she firmly instructed, “All rise!”

  The judge, clad in a black flowing robe, glided past the assistant. He was distinguished looking, maybe in his early fifties, with black hair and a little graying at the temples.

  A lingering hush hovered over the room as he drew his chair to the table. Opening a thick brown file folder, he handed a single document to his assistant seated at his right. A moment or two passed, and then, looking up, with a friendly but sober welcome, he announced, “Good morning!”

  Soft murmurs of collective good mornings floated around the table.

  “We are here this morning to consider temporary guardianship of an infant whose name is . . .” he paused and shuffled through his papers, “Courtney Faith Bower.” The judge glanced at those at the table, confirming everyone was there for the right hearing.

  “Would legal counsel in the room please identify yourself and provide an opening statement of who you are and who you represent? Let’s start with those of you on my right.” The judge’s eyes fixed on the man wearing the argyle vest. He appeared to recognize him.

  “Your Honor, my name is Dan Sims. I am an attorney representing the Department of Family Services. I have with me Mr. Mark Schmitt, a supervisor for the Department, and Ms. Jill Clark, a caseworker, who also works for the Department.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Sims.”

  I smiled awkwardly at the two DFS staff members whom I knew well. They avoided acknowledging me, staring at the table, then looking round the room. A rush of emotion slipped from my control, and my bottom lip began to quiver. I would fight tears at all cost. I could not let this wave of sorrow and disappointment overtake me. The devastating loss of Hannah, and now, feelings of betrayal, especially by these caseworkers, engulfed me. Hurt and rage threatened their way into my heart. I wouldn’t allow it. I needed to focus. I needed to speak God’s will today. I could not let my emotions preempt my words.

  Looking up from his paperwork, the judge addressed my attorney and me. “Ladies?”

  “Your Honor, my name is Cheryl Pryor. I am an attorney representing Mr. and Mrs. Moerke, who are seeking temporary guardianship of the infant.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Pryor.” The judge flipped through the papers in his file. Stopping to study one, he looked up quickly and addressed Mr. Sims. “Let’s begin with the Department of Family Services. Counselor, would you like to start?”

  “Thank you, your Honor. As I am sure you can see in your file, the infant we are here to discuss this morning is under the Department of Family Service’s legal custody. She was born yesterday morning. The infant’s mother, Ms. Karen Bower, has been in prison awaiting trial for the fatal beating of one of her children. She was pregnant when picked up and arrested by the police four months ago. Five of her children have been placed in foster care since then. One is being raised by family members. The Department believes the infant should be placed in DFS custody, in an unknown protective foster home, to ensure the child’s safety and care. The Department is aware that this is a high-profile case, and the protection of the Bower children is our first concern. We believe this infant could be in jeopardy if the wrong people could get access to her.”

  “Isn’t Mrs. Moerke a foster parent with the Departmen
t of Family Services?” The judge’s hands, now folded, rested on top of the file. “In fact, doesn’t she have a few foster children in her home right now?”

  “Yes . . . yes, your Honor,” the attorney stammered.

  The judge wrinkled his brow, appearing puzzled. “Why wouldn’t Mrs. Moerke be considered as a foster parent for the infant since she is also seeking temporary guardianship?”

  “The Department is aware that Mrs. Moerke has built a relationship with Karen Bower, the infant’s birth mother. She visits her in prison and at our local detention center when she is transported here for hearings. We are concerned that, in this case, Mrs. Moerke’s decision-making may be compromised.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Sims. Do you have any documentation for your concerns?”

  A short sigh. “No, your Honor.”

  “Mr. Schmitt and Ms. Clark, do you have documented concerns for this infant if placed in the care of Mrs. Moerke and her family?”

  The two looked at each other, then to their attorney. Mr. Sims shifted in his seat. “Well, your Honor, sir, ah, we do have our concerns since Mrs. Moerke does visit Ms. Bower at the prison. That is what we have documented.”

  I sat expressionless and studied the two caseworkers I had known for years. These were people I had worked side by side with for the benefit of children who had been neglected or abused. I had suffered alongside them over sad cases of innocent children harmed emotionally, psychologically, and physically. I had rejoiced with them when children were returned to parents who loved them and simply needed parental training. Al and I had consistently made the special needs of our foster children a priority in our lives. When new foster parents asked what made us so successful with the children placed in our home, I would tell them our secret. “We offer lots of love, structure, and prayer.” Some would smile, thinking there had to be much more to our techniques. I knew the truth. Strategies with love go a long way with a child. I knew prayer went even further.

  I understood that the two caseworkers were under pressure and in a difficult position. I shouldn’t blame them for what they had to do and say in order to protect the Department as well as their own reputations. I believed they didn’t want to speak against my family or me. They were under authority to do what they were doing. I was a big believer in the principle of authority. I knew we all have the capacity to rebel against it, even though it is intended for our protection. DFS wanted to protect themselves. We wanted to protect Courtney.

  The judge looked down at his file as he reclined in his tall leather chair, then took a moment to study the three professionals he had questioned. Smiling at each one, he thanked them. The caseworkers and their attorney all relaxed.

  Have they won? Is that all the judge is going to ask them? Can it be that simple? Has the judge taken their side even before the hearing has begun? I sat paralyzed, squeezing the stone in the palm of my hand. Surrender, Deb, surrender, I reminded myself.

  I had prayed that God would show me the right decision for Courtney’s future through the judge’s decision. Al and I had felt led by the Lord to move forward in guardianship proceedings with the plan to adopt. But I knew that God gives us direction, yet he doesn’t necessarily tell us what the outcome will be. I hoped that the outcome would be for me to bring the baby home. And yet, I believed God might want me to go through this process for some other reason. Maybe he had a different plan for the child. Was I willing to surrender to his will and embrace the outcome, no matter what?

  I’d chosen to surrender to God’s prompting by extending his love to Karen even though she had committed a brutal crime against an innocent child. A child I loved. As painful and difficult as it had been, in my heart I knew I’d followed God’s leading. Was I correctly discerning his leading concerning guardianship and adoption? I believed I was. But now I readied myself for the judge’s ruling to reveal God’s will in the matter. Would I now allow the Holy Spirit to dictate my actions—to trust God no matter what—or would I choose to fear or even resent the outcome?

  Surrender. It all came down to my willingness to surrender to God’s will.

  I again thought of King Solomon judging the case of the two women who argued over one child, still alive, and the child who had died. How would this judge rule? Wasn’t it God who gave Solomon his wisdom? If so, he could give this judge wisdom to make the best decision.

  DFS had not visited Karen in prison, placed their hands on her belly, and prayed over her infant. They hadn’t prayed for Karen’s health and protection as she carried the child in her womb.

  The warmth of the smooth, round stone in my fist distracted me from my rising anxiety. Be not afraid . . . Only believe. Even if it meant the baby would remain in DFS custody, I would choose to trust God.

  The judge looked at me but directed his next question to my attorney. “Ms. Pryor, did you have a statement you wanted to make on behalf of your client?”

  “Yes, your Honor. My client has been a foster parent for sixteen years with the Department of Family Services. She and her husband have fostered well over a hundred children in addition to having five children of their own. Mr. and Mrs. Moerke are not only interested in temporary guardianship at this time, but wish to take steps to move forward seeking full adoption. They are serious about their commitment to the infant and would do nothing to put her in harm’s way. We are asking that the court rule in favor of Mr. and Mrs. Moerke, for temporary guardianship, your Honor.”

  The judge rocked a little in his chair as if each movement helped him process the information. Then, with a sudden halt, he simply said, “Thank you, Counselor.” He folded his hands, leaned back, and stared for a moment at the three sitting across from me. Then, he directed a pensive gaze at me. I had no idea what he could be thinking. I braced myself for the questions about to come. If only Al were here. I could hear the pounding of my own heart throbbing in my ears.

  “Mrs. Moerke.” The judge leaned forward. “I would like to hear from you. Why are you interested in adopting this child? You have five children of your own.”

  I squeezed the stone now sandwiched between both palms. This is where I needed to believe. This is where I needed to be not afraid.

  “Your Honor, my husband and I have cared for many children over many years. We have loved them and brought structure and hope to their lives by welcoming them into our family as people to be cherished, respected, and loved. We are foster parents because we want to help children who are in need. We have been considered a successful foster family because the children in our home, over time, move toward becoming healthy, physically and emotionally. They begin to thrive and do well in school and learn how to function in a family with respect and love for one another. We would do nothing to allow harm to come to any of them while they are under our care. But we can only protect them as far as the laws allow.

  “We could not protect Hannah, the child who died. The courts sent her home, and we had no legal say in her care or welfare. We realize that the only way we can protect this new baby, whom the mother has requested we adopt, is by doing it the right way. We will submit to the laws of our state and make sure that we are given legal rights to protect her. That is why I am here today. My husband and I are appealing to the courts to give us legal guardianship so that we can move forward in making this child our own. We want to adopt her. We ask nothing of the state. We will raise her as our child, taking care of all her needs.”

  I was confident in my statement, even if I was not confident in what way the judge might rule.

  As the judge reflected on my words, I noticed a slight grin before he gently sighed.

  “I have not met you before, Mrs. Moerke,” the judge stated. “But my wife has spoken of you. She has heard you speak on behalf of the crisis pregnancy center. She has heard of you through others who have attended women’s retreats where you have been the keynote speaker. Even my pastor knows you and speaks highly of you. Your family’s reputation as foster parents in our community is well known and respected. I want you
to know I hear your heart. I know, unfortunately, our community questions DFS’s ability to protect the children in their care since this tragic death of the five-year-old sibling of this infant. I believe it is in the best interest of this child . . .” He paused for a moment, and I realized I was holding my breath, “to be placed in your home, giving you temporary guardianship as you move forward with your adoption plans. My assistant will have papers for you to sign. I wish you and your family the best. You can arrange with the Department of Family Services as to how and when you can receive the child today. Thank you all for attending the hearing.”

  The DFS attorney looked down at his papers, shaking his head from side to side. My attorney tugged at my arm, indicating that we needed to stand as the judge rose and left the room.

  I stood, in shock. Is it over? Really? Did God decide and choose our family to be the ones to love and protect this precious new life?

  Tears pooled in my eyes as my attorney and I waited for the other three to leave the room. Then I hugged her. “I so appreciate you being here.”

  She hugged me and said, “I didn’t actually do anything, but you did make me nervous with that stone in your hand. Congratulations. Remember, though, the battle is not over. DFS is not going to back down easily. They are under great pressure from the community and have serious legal issues they have to deal with concerning Hannah’s death. I can be there when you pick up the baby, if you would like. I don’t want you to be alone.”

  Tears ran down my cheeks. I was tingling with excitement over the decision. “I will be fine. God will be with me. I am not worried.” God had demonstrated his love and grace with a few words painted on a small stone. Be not afraid . . . Only believe.

  Hannah would be happy. I am sure she is in heaven clapping her little hands. An image of her sweet, dimpled cheeks and big dark brown eyes flashed in my mind. I could see the shiny black ponytail with a ringlet at the end. Joy filled my heart, reminding me that God will replace ashes with beauty if we will trust in him to do so.