If you missed parts 1 and 2 of Asa’s story, read them here.
The next nine months were a blur of tears and pain. I watched my sister become a shell of herself—depressed, alone, wondering if God had forgotten about her desperate and heartfelt prayers. Emptiness throbbed through her soul every time she saw a mother with a baby in her arms. Things came to a breaking point in mid-April as we planned and threw a baby shower for my sister-in-law Stevi—who was pregnant with her third baby. Alisa was happy for Stevi—truly—but the pain that day was unbearable. It was Alisa’s breaking point. On the morning of April 27th, 2012 as we celebrated Stevi’s pregnancy, Alisa felt her soul telling her that she simply couldn’t wait anymore. She tearfully let it go. She handed it to God. And resigned herself to the fact that she wasn’t going to have any more babies.
But God knew about Asa—and as we sat arranging flowers, baking scones and wrapping presents for Stevi’s shower, God was orchestrating an incredible and totally unexpected miracle.
Two hundred miles away, a brave, young women walked into the hospital—in labor with a baby that she knew she couldn’t raise. A baby who she had hidden from her family, friends and even doctors for nine months because she knew she wasn’t equipped to parent him. A baby whose fragile health condition was still unrealized, a baby who would be born into a world of pain and loneliness. But also into a world of hope. Because God had been planning for his arrival for a long, long time.
That little boy was born with his entire intestinal tract outside of his body—a condition called Gastroschisis that warrants an early delivery when detected in pregnancy to prevent damage to the unprotected digestive tract. But since his mother hadn’t had any prenatal care, no one knew of his condition in time to help him. So he was delivered at term, putting his exposed intestines at risk. As he arrived in the world, doctors struggled to start his lungs—eventually having to intubate him in order to stabilize him so that he could be transported to a better-equipped hospital. Meanwhile, the brave woman who had carried him for nine months had mere moments to say goodbye to her son before he was whisked away in an air life helicopter wearing only a bracelet that identified him as “Baby Boy Doe”.
When Baby Boy Doe arrived at the NICU, the nurses and doctors and social workers rallied around him. Nurses stroked tiny fingers as doctors probed at his broken body, working to stabilize him. Doctors made the best decisions they could for his care. Social workers made call after desperate call trying to find a family that would say, ‘Yes! I choose him.’ But no one did. Yet. Because God had a plan for Baby Boy Doe.
And finally, it was time. Time to restore Alisa’s faith and my hope. Time to unveil the plan that God had even as our entire family had cried, waited, wondered and suffered—the plan that was so much better than any of us had ever dreamed to ask for.