Murder, Motherhood, and Miraculous Grace

by Debra Moerke

  I was nervous to contact the grandparents. I knew they were not happy that I had kept Courtney from them for so many years. I left a message on their phone saying that their granddaughter would like to meet them.

  Within hours I received a call from DeAnn. She was calling on behalf of her grandparents. They were all excited to meet with Courtney and me at the Dairy Queen that weekend. When I told Courtney the news, she said she was nervous to meet them. DeAnn had frightened her when she had approached Courtney in the restaurant bathroom. Now that they were both older, maybe they could start over. Maybe they could even have a relationship.

  The biggest hurdles seemed to be over. Courtney had met Ally and Steven at the mall and learned they were biological siblings. She knew the truth about her birth mother and her family. She’d visited Karen at the prison. Now, we were about to walk into the Dairy Queen to meet her oldest sister and the grandparents she had never known.

  Entering the fast-food restaurant, I scanned the tables for the Bowers. DeAnn and a man I thought might be her husband sat next to the grandparents at a large table. Their smiles welcomed us, making us more comfortable.

  “Hi, Courtney,” Grandpa Bower said. “I’m your grandfather, and this is your grandmother. We are so happy to meet you.”

  Courtney responded with a shy, “Hi.”

  “I’m DeAnn, and this is my husband, Trey. We’re happy you came.”

  We all ordered ice cream, and each of us found a little security in the comfort of food before us. Light talk about trivial things filled our short time together.

  “I understand you are on the girls’ hockey team. We would love to come and watch you sometime,” DeAnn said. “When are your games?”

  Talk of hockey and game schedules ended when our ice cream was eaten, signaling a unanimous end to the visit. I stood back as each family member hugged Courtney, wanting them to have their special time with her. I wanted her to take in all the attention from them that she deserved.

  Grandpa Bower broke away from the small group and walked toward me. I wasn’t sure what was about to happen and stiffened a little.

  He stretched out his arms, then wrapped them around me. With soft sobs, he said, “Thank you. She is wonderful. Thank you.”

  Chapter 29Only God

  AFTER THEIR FIRST VISIT, Karen wrote to Courtney a few times and sent her little gifts she made in prison. Courtney wrote back. One of her biggest questions for Karen was, Who is my biological father? Courtney had already asked me, and I’d told her, as Karen had told me, that Karen didn’t know. She hadn’t even known if Courtney would be born white, part Hispanic, or part African American, and even after she was born with very fair skin, Karen still couldn’t be sure who the father was. When Karen was unable to identify the father, Courtney understandably felt disappointed. It can be a hard thing for anyone to learn that some of life’s big questions must remain unanswered, but perhaps hardest of all for a young adopted adolescent.

  After several months, Courtney decided to stop writing Karen and didn’t want to go with me to see her. When I would visit, she simply asked how Karen was doing. That seemed to satisfy Courtney’s need for connection with Karen throughout the rest of her final middle-school year. Her interest in her halfsister DeAnn, however, began to grow during this same period. DeAnn and her husband reached out to Courtney with invitations to their home for dinner with them and their children. Courtney eagerly accepted.

  After a number of visits, I began to see a change in Courtney’s attitude toward Karen. Courtney had many questions, and DeAnn remembered a disturbing history with her mother. As the oldest of all the siblings, she had witnessed more of their mother’s choices and their negative consequences on all of her siblings.

  Al and I began to be concerned about a subtle shift in Courtney’s spirits. She seemed a bit more withdrawn than usual and her energy lower than normal. We did our best to remain available and close, but ever so slowly a distance was creeping in between Courtney and us, and an undercurrent of anger and resentment toward Karen was beginning to grow in her.

  When Courtney entered high school, I hoped she would excel as she had in middle school. She was smart and had potential to do well. But her wounded heart seemed to quench her motivation. Her anger was beginning to surface more and spill out not only in her attitude toward Karen, but in her overall demeanor. This had been one of the things I had feared in exposing Courtney to her story and birth family, but there was no going back now. By the time she turned fifteen she was struggling in school and was choosing to hang out with some friends who were less than ideal in terms of their influence on her. Her attitude became rebellious and unkind. She had lost interest in ice hockey and decided to quit. At times, I found her being sneaky and dishonest. Al and I continued our efforts for healthy conversations with her, but it felt like she’d stopped communicating.

  I wondered how much of her pervasive negative mood had to do with adjustments to being fifteen and how much might have to do with her feelings surrounding the circumstances of her adoption. So one day, I asked if she would like to speak to a counselor about all the information she had discovered concerning her biological family. She agreed, and I set up an appointment with a counselor. She and Courtney connected, and after a handful of visits, Courtney seemed to be doing better and felt she didn’t need to see the counselor anymore.

  In spite of the counseling, however, going to church as a family of three only seemed to push our daughter into more rebellion. She would slump down in the seat with her arms folded or want to put her head on my lap and sleep. I constantly nudged her to sit up, and Al let her know she was to be respectful and not to rest her head on my lap in church. I worried over her apparent disinterest in her spiritual life. Eventually, I had to realize I’d hit another point of surrender. Courtney would need to grow into her own personal relationship with the Lord—I couldn’t make it happen. Instead, I needed to trust the Holy Spirit to do his work in the heart of my precious daughter.

  Our frustration grew as Courtney continued to withdraw from school, us, and church. She even acted jealous of our older children. One day during a visit to see Karen, I shared with her, mother to mother, my concerns.

  “It’s really all my fault,” Karen said. “Because of me, she has so many unanswered questions. And the answers she does get are not the ones she wants to hear.” Karen was sincere in her concern. She told me that a few of her other children had written to her over the past few years, asking her questions as well. They, too, struggled, even though the families who adopted and raised them were loving Christian families. I could see that she had been maturing as a mother even though she had not been able to parent her children since they were young.

  I knew from my own experience that there are wounds that no person can heal. Only God can bring real healing to a torn heart and a confused spirit. Knowing the devil is the father of confusion, I could only pray that God would intervene and bring truth and healing to our daughter. More surrender.

  One evening, just before I was about to turn off my light and go to sleep, there was a soft knocking on my bedroom door. Slowly, the door opened and Courtney whispered through the crack, “Are you going to sleep, Mom?”

  “I was about to. Do you need something?”

  “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

  “Sure. Come in.”

  She crawled onto my bed and reached for Al’s pillow. He was watching the late news downstairs and wouldn’t be up for some time. Watching Courtney hug the pillow, I could see our talk wouldn’t be short. I scooted upright and fluffed my pillow behind me. “What’s up?”

  Courtney tried to conjure up a hint of a smile, then looked down at the bedcovers. I waited. Whatever it was, I sensed I needed to brace myself. Over many years, I had learned to be still and ready for whatever the Lord was going to allow into my life, but now fear slowly began to rise in my chest as I folded my hands and rested them in my lap, readying myself for what was about to come.

  “I�
��m pregnant.” Courtney began to cry.

  I didn’t move. I couldn’t. I could barely breathe. This was not something I was ready for. As Courtney sobbed, all I knew to do was to hold her. I said nothing. I gave myself an internal slap and told myself to toughen up. Use your head, Deb, not your heart. I couldn’t speak from my heart; it was breaking all over again.

  In a state of shock I asked, “Who is the father?” I was not surprised at the answer. I had warned Courtney, and I had set rules and guidelines that the two of them were not to be alone at our home. But, like many of us, she didn’t heed the warnings or follow the rules. And now she was expecting a baby.

  How much more, Lord? How much more is there before there is no more heartache in our family? My silent prayer reached toward heaven in desperation. Would I ever be able to say “I’m done”?

  And in an instant I knew the answer.

  No.

  Life this side of heaven continues on with its challenges and ups and downs whether we feel ready for them or not. Surrender isn’t a lesson learned all at once. It is a choice to be practiced time and time again until it becomes our automatic response—and that may take a lifetime of practice. We don’t graduate from life’s trials, nor do we retire from spiritual growth. I knew that this wasn’t because God was heartless or cruel—just the opposite. God was still about the business of conforming me to the image of his Son. As God’s Word says in Philippians 1:6, “being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.”

  God is still committed to completing his work in me—a work he will not complete until I step into eternity. Continually calling me to surrender my will to his will is his plan for the rest of my life. The choice to do so willingly, not begrudgingly, with thanks in my heart, is the opportunity to watch his grace at work in breathtaking ways.

  The question to ask was not, How much, Lord? The only question to ask was which direction we should look to find the help we need to face our challenges. I knew that answer already. There was nowhere else to look but to my Lord. So in this new challenge with Courtney, Al and I would ask God what to do, surrender to his leading, and leave it in his hands. I knew it wouldn’t be easy, but it was the only way forward.

  I let Courtney cry until she stopped long enough to look at me. She kept saying, “I’m sorry, Mom. I’m so sorry.”

  “I know.” It was all I could say.

  “I asked God to forgive me. Can you forgive me?” she said through her tears.

  “I know God will forgive you. And yes, I do as well.”

  But forgiveness doesn’t eliminate consequences. And I knew that my daughter now had life consequences to face. This meant consequences for Al and me as well. And soon! A few questions to Courtney revealed that this baby was likely to be born in only about two months! Courtney had hidden her growing belly from us well by wearing her oversized baggy hoodies. My spirit felt heavy. It was late. We were both tired, and the next morning was a school day. We agreed to get some sleep and talk to Dad the next evening.

  The news crushed Al when Courtney told him. I cried when I saw the expression on his face. We’d had such hope for our daughter. We’d done everything in our power to raise her right, raise her with love, support, and the knowledge of God who loves her and has a plan for her life. I had told my children as they were growing up not to put all their faith in us as their parents. We would fail them. We wouldn’t want to, but we would. Instead, I urged them to put their faith in Jesus. He would never fail them. Did we fail Courtney?

  Isn’t that the first thing parents think? What did we do wrong?

  I praised God later that day when Courtney told us that she’d made the choice early not to abort. I told her I was proud of her that she had decided to choose life and had not made the same mistake I had to abort at the age of seventeen. We agreed that we would discuss parenting or adoption. I felt adoption would be the best choice, but I knew that Courtney needed someone to talk to, other than Al and me, about this critical decision. This was a lifetime decision that only she could make, and I surrendered it to the Lord immediately. The child she carried was her child. I didn’t believe I, or anyone else, could or should make the decision for her. She was the one who would have to live with her choices.

  When we gave our older children the news of the expected child, they had a complex mix of responses—love, disappointment, grief, anger, tenderness, and concern. They were all distressed, and tension and resentment wrapped their ugly selves around the ones we loved. What Courtney would decide about adoption versus parenting would make a huge difference in the relationships with our other children. I found myself shrinking into depression and an intense sense of sorrow and loss. My grief was so severe it was as if Hannah had died all over again. Something within me had died. There was turmoil in my family, and the dreams I had for saving Courtney from a terrible life felt as if they all came crashing down.

  I thought back to when I was a young girl growing up in southern California. I loved spending time at the beach. One day I’d spent hours building a great sand castle when out of nowhere, some mean kids came and kicked it down, laughing as they destroyed my hard work. I felt overpowered and intimidated. Now it felt as though the evil one had kicked down the castle I had worked so hard to build. Not only with Courtney, but with the rest of my family. The family discord broke my heart.

  One very difficult call I had to make was to Terry Winship at True Care crisis pregnancy center, formerly The Caring Center where I had been the executive director. Terry had been a volunteer counselor during my tenure, and now she was the director of the center. During the ten years I had been the director, I had counseled, supported, and loved on many women and teens in our community through a crisis pregnancy. Now, humbly, it was my turn to be the recipient of such support. It was my daughter facing this difficult path. I was so thankful for Terry’s loving encouragement. I made an appointment for Courtney to confirm her pregnancy with a test and ultrasound.

  On the day of the appointment, as I watched the well-developed unborn baby moving around in the womb of my young daughter, the reality of the life in her hit me like an unexpected tidal wave. Courtney looked up at me, reflecting my own devastation. Then, while my young daughter dressed, I was escorted by the counselor toward a waiting room. Though a volcano of emotions wanted to erupt, I remained expressionless. The woman walking alongside me commented, “You are amazingly calm for just finding all of this out.”

  I slowly looked over at her and said, “This is my expression of shock and heartbreak. It is a mask I have created for such times like this. I have had much practice.”

  A few days later, I took off work so Courtney and I could drive an hour and a half across Wyoming to meet with an adoption counselor from Bethany Christian Services. She drove up from Cheyenne to meet with us halfway at a coffee shop. I told Courtney she could meet with the woman alone, and I would wait outside. She needed to ask all the questions she wanted and find out all the information she needed without feeling pressure from me. An hour later, Courtney came out and got into the car. We drove home in silence as tears poured uncontrollably down my cheeks.

  I hated that I couldn’t keep from crying. My internal slap was not working. I couldn’t find the muster to toughen up. I was broken again. I couldn’t fix it, and I had no idea how God would. The dreams of Courtney finishing high school, going on to college, meeting Mr. Wonderful, marrying, and then having precious little children were gone. Was she following in her birth mother’s footsteps? As much as I had come to love Karen, my prayer had always been to remove Courtney as far as possible from the lifestyle of drugs, alcohol, and promiscuity Karen had chosen to live. I grieved and mourned the death of what I had hoped for my daughter.

  I asked a friend of ours if she would visit with Courtney as well. She had relinquished her baby when she was a young teen. She was now married and had three children. I knew Courtney could talk to her about the pros and cons of her de
cision. I drove Courtney to her home, two hours away, and let the two visit for a few hours. When I picked Courtney up to head back to Casper, I could see a new resolve in her eyes, though she didn’t share what she was thinking.

  Weeks passed. Pamphlets arrived in the mail from adoption agencies that were meant to educate Courtney so she could make an informed decision about either adoption or parenting. But I knew. She’d made her decision long before all of the counseling. She wanted to parent her child. Though still a child herself at fifteen, she didn’t want her baby raised by someone other than its mother. I understood. So Al and I accepted Courtney’s choice. We would go through the pregnancy with her and then help her to be the best mother she could be. We surrendered whatever dreams we’d had of soon entering our empty nest years. Parenting our daughter through this critical time in her life became our highest priority.

  As a family, we talked about a plan for future education and work. Courtney would remain in school to the middle of her sophomore year, then leave and get her GED. College classes would come later. She would find part-time work for the short time until the baby was born. After a month off she would go back to work. Since we were still raising her, we’d cover her medical expenses. Now that she would be a mother, the baby’s expenses would be covered by her. Those expenses would be formula, diapers, clothes, and whatever else the baby needed. This would give her the responsibility she needed to take care of her child. She agreed.

  I made a special trip to Lusk to tell Karen about the baby face-to-face. We wept together as Karen expressed how she hoped that Courtney would not make many of the same life choices that she had made. I was touched that Karen asked how my older kids were handling the news, and she was saddened to hear about the tension it was causing, though she understood. Karen told me that she was grateful to God for the love and support we were giving Courtney. In our touching exchange, mother to mother, we comforted each other, and I once again marveled at the growth of the bond the two of us shared.