Christmas 1994

The kids were quiet as we drove North on Route 50 through Creedmoor. A few minutes before Travis had been a giant bug devouring all the bad bugs. Rachel was some sort of Power Ranger assisting him as they rid our car and their toys of all the baddies. Sarah wanted whatever Rachel had. A couple of hours before, Sarah had insisted that she also have what her big sister and brother had ordered -- only I told her that she had gotten purple lemonade instead of pink. She giggled and said, "You're joking with me." Sarah was 4 years old, Rachel was 5, and Travis had just turned 7. The year was 1994.

As we drove back from the mountains the day before it was also quiet. We were all silent then as we feared that the battery would completely fail. It was raining and we had already stopped 4 times to scrape wires and jiggle connections, pulling under an overpass, in a bank drive-thru, and under a convenience store canopy -- trying to coax a few more miles out of a borrowed church van that was not recharging its battery. We had found one mechanic in Greensboro who clamped test leads on the battery and pronounced the vehicle fit to get us home -- but I know his concern was getting himself home since it was past quitting time on New Year's Eve. There was not enough electrical power for the lights, the windshield wipers and the heater motor. We were forced to turn off the heat and open the window to keep the windshield clear of fog. We were bundled in our seatbelts with our stomachs tied in knots. As darkness set in we were still 40 miles from home and the headlights so dim that we could not see the white lines on the edge of the road. The silence in the van was broken by Sarah's delicate little voice singing, "Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so."

I really hadn't seen the children very much from their baptisms until the past November. My wife saw them regularly in the Sunday School Nursery, in the church's preschool and in Vacation Bible School. In November, I saw them briefly in the Federal Courtroom before their father was sentenced to life in prison and their mother was sent away for six and a half years -- neither eligible for parole under federal drug trafficking laws. I was in the courtroom because my wife and I had asked to be allowed to keep the children. Their mother felt that the sympathy of the court might allow her to remain with the children through Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year's before reporting to begin serving her sentence. After all she had remained with the children for over a year since she and her husband were arrested; and the prosecutor had even offered to go lightly if she'd cooperate. But the court upheld the law.

Travis, Rachel, and Sarah's mother and father were both led from the courtroom without saying good-bye to their children. The children were taken to an orphanage. We took the children to see their mother on Christmas Eve. Their father had been moved a few days earlier and was enroute to the Atlanta Penitentiary. The children looked at their mother through inch thick bulletproof glass and spoke to her through a telephone handset. Her Christmas presents to them were candy bars from a vending machine. On Christmas morning the children received many gifts from their church, from our church, from families that knew of their situation, and from our family. But all those gifts were not as good as having a single hug from their Mommy. Travis dealt with it by occasionally just tuning out the world and standing with a glazed look in his eyes. Rachel stood it as long as she could and finally broke down with uncontrollable cries during Christmas dinner saying, "I miss my Mommy." Sarah went to sleep on my chest on Christmas day sobbing, "I want my Mommy."  Little ones to Him belong.

We pulled in as the children from the "baby" cottage were lining up to go to dinner. Travis was immediately off in a chase of the squirrels. Rachel clung to my neck and didn't want to let go -- her tears dropped on my cheeks as we both cried. Sarah, with eyes red from crying, squeezed my wife and begged, "Don't leave me here." They are weak but He is strong.

My wife and I cried all the way home. New Year's Day 1995 ended with Travis, Rachel, and Sarah in an orphanage. We knew that they were getting good care. We know that they were getting love. But we know that they were in a cottage with over 20 other children all needing individual love and attention. Travis, Rachel and Sarah are members of our family, the family of God. It was not right that they were in an orphanage.