A Blessing from Above…
The morning is overcast; heavy grey clouds trail low across the sky, and a distant rumble of thunder can be heard somewhere far off. A storm is rolling inthe first storm of this English spring.
Winter has finally lost its hold, but spring is in no rush to claim her place. It’s still chilly outside; gusty winds whip through the streets, swirling up last autumns leaves and sending them skittering along the pavement. Tiny blades of grass are just beginning to push their way through hard, compacted earth, and the trees remain stubbornly slow, their buds refusing to show green just yet.
Nature is restless, longing for rain. The winter just past was stingy with snow, wild with wind, and miserably cold. The earth has not rested well, dried out for lack of its snowy blanket, desperate now for the comfort of rain. All wait in anticipation for the coming downpour.
That first rain will bring much-needed moisture, washing away grime, quenching the thirst of fields and gardens alike. Only then, when everything is fresh and clean, will real spring beginlush, blooming, generous, like a young woman full of love and tenderness.
When it comes, the earth will bear green grass and vibrant wildflowers, trembling leaves, and sweet fruit in the apple orchards. Birds will break out in song, building their nests among springtime blossoms. Life will go on.
Alex, come and have some breakfast! calls Victoria. Your coffee is getting cold.
The smell of coffee and frying eggs drifts in from the kitchen. Its time to get up. After yesterdays heavy conversationVictoria crying, a sleepless night, so many anxious thoughtsits tempting just to stay in bed.
But life must go on.
Victoria looks battered too: her eyes are swollen, shadowed underneath. She offers her cheek for a kiss and gives a wan smile.
Good morning, love. Feels like it might storm, doesnt it? Im just longing for proper spring rain. Listen, darling, Ive had some lines of poetry on my mind:
I wait for spring as for deliverance,
An end to winters icy loneliness.
I wait for spring, an explanation clear,
To untangle all lifes confusions here.
It seems shell come and all reveal,
Set everything right and true.
It seems that only she can heal,
Make everything simpler, safer too.
Oh, where are you, spring? Come soon!
Alex wraps his arm around her slender shoulders, pressing a gentle kiss to her pale, fair head. Her hair smells of wild meadows and chamomile. He feels a sharp ache of pity and tenderness. My poor, beloved girl, why is fate so cruel to us? At least we had hope; it kept us going all these years.
But yesterday, the famous specialistonce the guardian of their hopeshad ended their waiting with finality.
Im so very sorry, but you wont be able to have children. Alex, your time in Cumbria during the nuclear disaster was not kind to you. Theres nothing more medicine can do. I wish I could help, truly.
Victoria wipes her wet eyes and tosses her hair with new resolve.
Alex, Ive been thinking and Ive made up my mind. There are so many lost children in orphanages. Lets adopt a little boy, raise him, make him our son. Will you? Weve waited so long for a child, so very long… Tears stream down her cheeks. Alex draws her to him, unable to hold back tears of his own.
Of course I will! Please dont cry, love, dont cry.
Just then, a tremendous clap of thunder shakes the housedeep, majestic. Suddenly, rain pours down in sheets, the heavens opening at last. At long last, it feels like God has heard their prayers!
The long-awaited rain falls in torrents. The day grows almost pitch dark, as if night has arrived early. Lightning flashes, thunder booms right above their roof. Alex and Victoria stand wrapped up in each other, peering out the window, feeling the cold drops blown in through the open sash, soaking in the sharp, fresh scent of a rain-washed world.
The gloom that had weighed so heavily on their hearts begins to melt away, washed clean by this first spring rain. All they want is for the rain to last and last. This sacred rainsymbol of life, of renewal, of hope.
A few days later, they are standing at the door of the local childrens home. Their appointment is today. They have come to meet the boy who might become their long-awaited sonthough already, in their hearts, they love him. Their love has gathered inside them over all these years of hoping. The hope of having a child, raising him, teaching him about the world.
Their hearts pound, excitement and nerves squeezing their chests. Alex rings the bell. The door swings openthey are expected.
Their meeting with the director had taken place a few days before; now, they are simply taken to be introduced to a few possible children. In the first room they pass, Alex notices a small girl, sitting forlornly in a damp vest on a rubber sheet.
Her shirt is grubby, her nose crusted, huge blue eyes looking out sadly at the passing adults. There is such a palpable sense of abandonment, of being unwanted, that Alexs heart twists in pain. So this is a childrens home: a shelter for the neglected and left behind.
In the next room, babies either sit or lie in their cots. Their guide, a nurse, points out each little one, gives their ages, and a brief history of their backgrounds. The children are freshly dressed, lying on clean sheets.
The nurse lifts each one out gently to show them off, as if in a market, Alex thinks, and we are the customers. All thats left is to ask the price per kilogram.
Alex, lets go back to that poor little girl, whispers Victoria. Alex squeezes her shoulder.
Nurse, can we have a look at the blue-eyed girl in the first room, please?
Butyou wanted a boy! That little girl isnt really ready to meet anyone…
Wed like another look at her, please, Victoria insists.
The nurse hesitates, clearly unsure what to say, but then silently leads them back.
Ill get Mrs. Smith, she says, indicating chairs for them. Victoria presses herself against Alexs arm.
Alex, lets adopt that little girl. The moment I saw her, my heart skipped a beat.
Mine too. She looks so much like youher hair, her eyes. And so terribly lonely!
The nurse returns with the director, Mrs. Smith, who looks distinctly concerned.
You have chosen a difficult child. She may not be right for you.
Why not? Shes lovely, and honestly, shes the very image of Victoria, Alex says, heading into the room.
The girl has been washed, put in dry clothing, and her cot has been cleaned. Her eyes look a little brighter now; her cheeks are tinted pink. When she sees adults stop by her crib, she smiles, showing off perfect dimples.
She reaches out her arms to them, making an effort to stand… Victoria clutches Alexs arm in panic. The girls tiny feet are twisted backwards. Without thinking, Alex scoops her upshe nestles into his shoulder, pressing her wet nose against his face.
Tears well up in his eyes; Victoria buries her face in his shoulder, sobbing. Mrs. Smith turns away and dabs her eyes with a handkerchief.
Come into my office, please. Nurse, bring Emily. Mrs. Smith leads the way. Alex and Victoria follow, hand in hand.
The girl, Emily, was born to older, already struggling parents in a remote village in the north. She was evidently unwantedborn with deformities, her legs twisted below the knees, her feet malformed.
When shown to her parents, her father flatly refused to take her home. When told she might be saved by surgery, he replied he couldnt afford to pay, and didnt want a disabled child in the househe could barely feed the children he already had.
So Emily ended up in the childrens home.
Now its up to you, Mrs. Smith says kindly. Of course, she does have the chance to live a normal life, but it will be hard work, expensive, and, most of all, will take endless love and patience. Dont rush. You can get advice from a top London consultant; Ill give you his details. Hell explain whats involved. Ill give you a month to think. Please dont visit in the meantime. These children grow attached quicklyespecially the unlucky ones. Better not to give hope, then change your minds… She sighs.
After only a day, Alex and Victoria know for sure: Emily is their daughter. The consultant in London confirms the prognosisshell need several operations, but everything nature has twisted can be repaired. There wont even be scars; one day Emily will run like any healthy child.
Alex double checks whether they can cover everything. Itll be possible if they sell their new car and the half-built house. For now, theyll make do in their small flatso long as their daughter is healthy, thats what matters. The waiting seems endless.
At last, they return to the familiar doorway. Hearts pounding, they enter Mrs. Smiths office. Alex holds a bouquet of pink peonies, Victoria, a large bag of presents for the children. Mrs. Smiths lips tremble, her eyes fill with tears. Another lost child will know family love.
Together, they go to the nursery. Emily is there, hair curling with new health, cheeks pink, first baby teeth showing. She babbles and beams at them. Alex picks her up; Emily hugs his neck, holding on tight as she can.
She goes willingly to Victorias arms too. Everyone is in tears. Alex and Victoria spend the whole day at the home, listening to the nurses advice about feeding and caring for their new daughter. Yet paperwork remains; adoption in England is a serious, official process.
Following Mrs. Smiths advice, the court formally strips Emilys parents of their rightsthere can be no last-minute change of heart.
At last, Emily comes home. Victoria gives up her job, dedicating herself entirely to Emilys care. They begin prepping for her first surgery in London.
A month in hospital passes, and soon Emily is showing her dad how she eats porridge with her own spoon, how she mews like a kitten, headbutts like the familys pet goat. Her legs are still painful to look at, so Emily only goes out hidden by long trousers, and even then, stumbles along awkwardly like a duckling. But shes bright, talks early, remembers everyones name, greets everybody cheerfully.
She adores Alex. My Daddyhes now known as Daddy by all. Victoria even calls him that, and Daddy dotes on Emily. Shes his sunshine, the light of his life.
The next year brings yet more progressadditional surgeries in London. Emily bears it all bravely; her parents are endlessly patient. Victoria spends sleepless nights by her hospital bed. Then at last, triumphEmilys legs are just like any little girls.
She can run, she can jump. At five, she starts nursery, where her talent for drawing is quickly recognised. At six, she begins art school, her pictures already drawing attention at junior exhibitionsjoyful landscapes, cheerful scenes. Visitors marvel at the young age of the artist: surely, a real gift.
At seven, Emily starts school. From the first day, she is a leader: top of her class, lively, popular, always surrounded by friends. She keeps up her drawing, joins the art club, even signs up for ballet.
Where Emily goes, laughter follows. Her parents are proud to attend parent-teacher eveningstheres only praise for their daughter. No one imagines what she and her parents (not those who gave her birth, but those who raise her with such devotion) have been through.
God hasn’t forgotten Alex and Victoria, either. After Emily came into their home, fortune, too, began to smile. Alexs struggling business flourished, which allowed them to fulfil another dreammoving to London.
There, they secured a lovely flat, enrolled Emily at a top school. Now shes in Year Six, still an outstanding student, excelling at art, and always the darling of teachers and classmates alike. A beautiful, blue-eyed girl with a lovely blond plait; gentle, warm, beloved by all.
A blessing from abovethats Emily.
