Rocky Mount: The Graham Posts

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Friday, September 29, 1989 Rocky Mount, NC

The phone rang in our hotel room. It was late on a Friday night and we had just finished our last night of a weeklong church revival meeting. I was bushed; completely, exceedingly wiped. I picked up the receiver, puzzled at who might be calling.

“Scott?”

“Jill? Is everything all right?”

“Congratulations, you’re a Dad!”

And there it was. In three stunning words my entire identity changed. I wasn’t just a preacher. I was a Dad. And Sandy wasn’t just married to a paralyzed man, she was a mommy. How beautifully kind of God to write this chapter into our story!

Sandy dropped to the floor. Her mouth flew open, which she covered with a trembling hand, and it stayed there throughout most of the call. We hadn’t expected this news for another three weeks.

What? He’s here? Already?

He?!?

I’m not sure I was hearing everything from that point on. I know I heard something about how smoothly her delivery went, that he was ready, wanted out, needed to see the world, etc. I did catch the part where he was healthy. All ten fingers and toes. A tiny little peanut, he was. 6 pounds, 9 ounces, 19 inches small.

Jill asked when we’ll be arriving. I tell her, “We’ll get there sometime later tomorrow. We need to get a good night’s sleep ‘cause we’re both pretty exhausted (!)….”

Sandy’s waving at me. I frown.

“…Then,” I continue, distracted, “after an early wake up call we’ll hit the road and get to Chattanooga about…” my voice trails off.

By now Sandy has added stomping a foot and waving like a wild woman. What? She’s looking exasperated. Then it dawns on me. Oh.

Oh!

“Ummm, Jill, check that. We’re leaving tonight. (I pause) As soon as we get packed, we’re outta here!”

Sandy signaled with both thumbs high in the air and then proceeded to gleefully whirl about the room. Before disconnecting I told Jill we’d see her around seven a.m. and I hoped she was okay and might get some rest after her long day.

My wife knew I was drained from our six days of nonstop ministry in Tarboro, that I didn’t have it in me to drive, so she insisted on taking over all the driving responsibilities. She was so firm on the matter I knew I had no choice. There was no sense in my pulling the man card and arguing the point; I completely understood she was determined to become a single parent if I did.

I don’t remember the trip. I think all four tires touched the highway at the same time maybe a few times, but the journey from childlessness to prospective parenthood was all a blur and blaze …and then we arrived at Chattanooga’s Erlanger Children’s Hospital just after dawn.

As we neared Jill’s – and our baby’s – room my heart was caught inside my throat and Sandy’s was pounding in her chest. We paused a tick outside her door (which was slightly open) and breathed deeply before entering the room where we would lay eyes on our newborn baby boy for the very first time.

Jill saw us and smiled. The room was arranged so that her newborn was in a crib behind her headboard. She didn’t want to see him, become attached, and change her mind. She was determined this was God’s will.

I don’t think we’ll ever fully understand such a love that lets go to such a degree, but for me it mirrors the way the Father released his Son to the world. Sandy and I admired that wholly spent young girl for such a brave and selfless act.

Our first look at Graham is a fixed snapshot in our memory. His beautiful blue eyes were wide open and alert. He was following sounds and was looking, for all the world, like a veteran at this being outside the womb thing.

Graham was, well, gorgeous. His skin was creamy and soft, his reddish-blond hair, light and wispy. As advertised, he was as small as a peanut.

The next hours were a mist. I remember our dressing him the following morning for the first time. Since hospital protocol didn’t permit the hand-off of a child to its adoptive parents on Erlanger’s grounds, Jill had to hand him to us in the public parking garage nearby.

Oh, the pregnant drama of that moment!

In her shoes, I don’t know how there’s grace for such a thing, only that there is because I was witness to it. As Sandy went to locate our car, I waited with Jill until her family pulled up to the curb. The passenger door opened and as she climbed into the front seat, she still held the baby in her arms. There was no hand off.

I wasn’t sure what to do. Is she changing her mind? I mean, it’s her right to…but…please, God… And just then, as when a dreamlike spell is broken, her eyes blinked.

“Oh,” she said, shaking off her momentary stupor. Handing me the bundle she added haltingly, “I think this is yours…”

The passenger door closed and, without a good bye or word of closure, the car sped off and I was left there, waiting for Sandy, holding our child.

It was done. The all-night drive, the first look at our baby, the hand-off, and now buckled in and free to begin our first drive as a bona fide family. We sighed, we smiled and we giggled. I put the car in drive and lurched forward, pointing the Mitchell wagon home. All was right in our world except for one small detail: as the car pulled away from the curb, the car seat, baby and all, surged and Graham nearly went bottom-up as the seat was not clipped to the back seat!

Our little guy was fine; no harm, no foul, the only thing bruised was our fragile egos! Not until our hearts slowed to a steady rhythm could we nervously laugh it off. Graham seemed oblivious to it all; he never even whimpered. I’m sure in his little baby mind he must’ve been thinking you guys sure you can handle me?

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