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The Lord gave; and the Lord has taken away." I thought of Job's words as I sat through my mother's funeral service. I couldn't add the next phrase, "May the name of the Lord be praised." My heart was not in praise mode.

I reflected on my mother's life. My dad loved alcohol more than his family. He died in his forties, which made no difference to our family life, except to bring an end to my parents' screaming arguments.

From earliest childhood I felt inferior and scared of people. I kept to myself in school. After graduating, I got an office job. I liked it, even though I still was uneasy around people.

That's when Kit, my first boyfriend, came into my life. He treated me with courtesy and respect. I'd never had anybody treat me that way before.

	I knew adoption was best for my daughter. I never second-guessed that decision.

After we'd dated for six months, I gave in to Kit's desire and the consequences were inevitable. The doctor confirmed I was pregnant. Mom was angry when I told her, but she stood by me. Not Kit! After a few angry discussions, we broke off our relationship.

My daughter arrived, a perfect 20-inch, six-pound baby. I snuck down to the nursery to admire her, tucking away a picture I could carry in my heart. I never held her in my arms. I knew adoption was best for her. I never second-guessed that decision.

A year later, I moved and got a job in a hospital. I often cried myself to sleep thinking about my baby. I prayed every day for my child's well-being, whispering the names I had chosen.

At work, I met a nurse, Janine, who talked to me about Jesus. For the first time, I realized God actually loved me. I thanked the Lord Jesus Christ for dying for my sins and invited him into my life to be my Savior and Lord.

I started attending church regularly with Janine. By now I was past the stage of crying when I saw parents with their babies. My own little girl had probably started school by the time I came to the Lord.

A stranger revealed
Now, here I was—twenty-seven years later—mourning another loss. As I got up to read the Scripture at the service for my mother, in the rear of the chapel, a young woman was scribbling a note to me. The funeral director thrust the note into my hand just as the procession started to the cemetery. Another condolence card, I thought as I slipped it—unread—into my pocket.

Later, at home, I opened the note. It began with a birth name, birth date, and phone number. "If these details mean anything to you," the note read, "please call me." It was my daughter's name and my daughter's birth date!

I didn't hesitate; I called that night. My daughter explained how she had played detective to find me.

That night, on the phone, when I learned how God had guided my daughter to me, I marveled at his sovereign grace. It was a miracle.

Next day we spent hours getting to know each other. She had been adopted by Christians who named her Deborah. She had become a Christian in her mid-teens.

One of four adopted children, Deborah expressed a vibrant walk with the Lord. She thanked God for her parents' love and told me her mother would like to meet me, too.

I was overloaded emotionally. We got together three times right after the funeral and made plans for future visits. Already, we've discovered we share many similar characteristics and tastes.

God's love found us and brought us together in Christ.

"The Lord takes away … "; yes, I miss my mother. "The Lord giveth … "; a precious new relationship has begun. "May the name of the Lord be praised."

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