Trust His Heart

"God is too wise to be mistaken; God is too good to be unkind.
So when you don't understand, When you don't see His plan,
When you can't trace His hand, Trust His heart."

I heard this song for the first time in 1985.

Michael and I were in the process of adopting a baby boy we named Daniel, when he was only three weeks old. His mother, a young woman, who already had a baby ten-months older than Daniel, gladly allowed us to proceed with a private adoption. Daniel was a difficult, suffering cocaine addict from the day he was born, but this beautiful caramel colored little boy, with cocoa brown eyes, owned us, including my mother and our Shannan, completely.

Michael worked night shifts so he and my mom could take care of Daniel days, and I worked days teaching so Shannan and I could be there nights. It truly did take a village to look after our Daniel. This baby endured withdrawal agonies for weeks, and we endured it with him. After a few months, all of his symptoms dissipated, and we began to see the wonderful child under all that pain.

One afternoon, I returned home from my job, and came through the kitchen door to see Michael and my mom ashen faced and hopeless . I asked what had happened, and only Michael could speak. He took me in his arms, and told me Daniel's birth mother had come with a social worker that morning to take her unwanted son back. It turned out that she realized she could be making double the welfare money with two babies.

"Why didn't you call me?" I screamed at him. He just said there was no point. Nothing could be changed. She had all the right papers, and we had nothing. He saw no point in destroying me any sooner than he had to. I went into the deepest depression of my life. I moved through each day like a dead woman. Church was a joke. No God I wanted to know would have allowed our baby to be taken, and He sure wouldn't have allow that woman to take back a child we knew would be neglected.

I hated Daniel's birth mother, and I hated God. No one at church even asked me how I was doing. I assumed they cared, but I guess I've never been able to hide my feelings. I am sure I didn't appear very approachable. Months again went by. I lost weight, and pictured walking off into one of our Maine "glacier like" snow banks, until one night, some of our friends from church and some of my teacher buddies came to our house all dressed as clowns and filled our home with balloons, cookies and laughter. How do you keep from laughing at grown men and women you see every Sunday in their best, now dressed as Bozos wearing make-up on their faces and wig hats on their heads? The healing started whether I liked it or not.

The following Sunday night service, a group of college students from Boston came to our neck of the Maine woods, and sang songs I had heard over and over again for years. I listened halfheartedly until they sang, "Trust His Heart." It all became pretty clear. I wasn't supposed to understand or even agree. I was supposed to trust.

Thought
I have had losses nearly as bad in the years that have passed since losing our Daniel, but never to the point of not trusting the one who made Daniel.