1986
    A Special Baby, a Dream Fulfilled
    Footnotes
    Theme

    “A Special Baby, a Dream Fulfilled,” Ensign, Sept. 1986, 39–40

    A Special Baby, a Dream Fulfilled

    One morning, early, my husband, Dennis, and I awoke to find that we had both experienced the same profoundly revealing dream.

    We seemed to be together in a hospital delivery room, and I was involved in the intense stages of labor. Dennis was comforting me, and although the setting was familiar the circumstances were very different. Our previous four children had been born by cesarean section; this time we seemed to feel that the baby wasn’t going to be delivered in a surgical unit. As the dream continued, a baby girl was born to us, smaller than any of our first children.

    Then the dream ended abruptly for both Dennis and me, and we awakened simultaneously. We began to discuss the new baby as naturally as if I had just truly given birth to her. I recall being concerned about her tiny size, but we both were impressed with what a pretty and sweet baby she was.

    Why had this happened to us? Was this a spiritual experience to prepare us for the opportunity to share together the natural birth of an infant? Or was there more to the dream than we recognized?

    We continued in the glow of the moment until some of our “little people” began to invade our space. The pace of the day picked up rather rapidly, and routine soon pushed any more thought about the dream to the back of our minds.

    On a Saturday morning about nine days after the dream, I was doing my breakfast dishes when the phone rang. Dennis was in the backyard with the children, mowing the lawn and tidying the yard.

    After introducing herself, the caller said, “I’m calling on behalf of the Social Services Department. I know that it’s rather unusual to bother our foster families on a weekend, but we have an emergency situation and need some help.” She spoke guardedly.

    “Can you tell me more specifically what we are being asked to do?” was my only response.

    “Well, we have a baby that has to be moved from a hospital nursery this morning. She’s rather ill, quite small, and as a matter of fact she’s been under observation for the last week or so. However, she’s no longer considered to be at intense risk. I should mention, though, that I’ve been informed she cries a lot and isn’t thriving. Basically, we require a home that can observe her for a week or so before we place her for adoption,” she replied.

    At this point I asked, “How old is this baby?”

    “Oh, I’m sorry, I haven’t noticed. Let’s see. … She’s about nine days old.”

    My heart leapt within me and tears swelled in my eyes. Trying to stay calm, I replied, “What time would you like to drop the baby off?” After I hung up, I ran to the back door and got Dennis’s attention. Still crying, I told him about the baby.

    A young woman brought the baby to the door after lunch and reaffirmed that they’d take her off our hands in a week or so when they found the right adoptive home for her. I found myself listening to her words and playing the usual role, all the while waiting for them to hand her to me and knowing there had to be more to our future together than a few days. The baby’s name was Stacey, and she was exactly as I’d remembered her in the dream.

    I could, but won’t, explain in detail how we discovered her health problems—heroin drug addiction, double hernias, a heart murmur, brain seizures, milk allergy, and even the doctor’s presentiment that she could be retarded due to the combination of her health problems. Needless to say, as time and information revealed these tidbits, her adoptability level decreased and she stayed with us longer and longer.

    Attending education week at BYU a year later was a boost to our spirits, because one of the faculty members took time to bear testimony to us about his family’s special problems in adoption and how they’d been overcome. We took heed and began to move toward adopting Stacey, prayerfully overcoming every obstacle put in our way. She was about 2 1/2 years old when her final adoption papers were signed in our living room, and shortly thereafter we went to the Alberta Temple for the sealing ceremony.

    She’s now six years old, and believe me, she’s not retarded. She’s bright and inquisitive and a delightful test to our patience. We always felt she was meant for our family, and our Heavenly Father blessed us abundantly in bringing our dream to fulfillment.