Gabe’s Story For God’s Glory-Part One

by Jenae Polok

I’d love to write a beautiful fairy tale beginning to this story, but it might be best to steal a few lines from the Fairy Godmother in Cinderella: “If you lost all your faith, I wouldn’t be here, and here I am.” Or her even better line, “Even miracles take a little time.”  This is certainly a story of faith and miracles!  

Once Upon a Time  . . . 

In 2010 I met the craziest, most opinionated, kindest, quirkiest guy. And in the midst of all that, really spiritual, too, meaning a good Baptist boy. Probably can’t call him Prince Charming yet, which is good since I am by no means Cinderella. We had so much fun working on ministry teams together and we just really liked each other, becoming best friends in fact. Just don’t ask if we were dating or “just friends”!  

Of course, eight months into this friendship thing, he proposed at church camp, so I guess we moved past the “just friends” phase. Happily ever after was on its way! It was a miraculous time where everyone in the church got involved with the wedding planning. They probably thought we would be single forever. Aaron had said he would never marry, and I was sure I would be the first Baptist nun! But God did a number on our lives. Oh, it was wedded bliss for sure. Only one problem: Aaron thought he wanted twelve kids. I said, “Let’s just start with one and see how we handle this parenting thing.” 

We would go six years hoping, dreaming and being devastated. At the time, I was a short, round, 35-year-old woman. In addition to the heartache, we were reminded by those close to us that that it was probably a weight issue as to why I couldn’t conceive. But the doctor said it’s really more of an age thing because you are past your prime and few others issues too.

Fat and old, just what every woman wants to hear. I felt like a broken vessel.  

Oh, the conversations I had with God as to why I should be able to have children. I mean, come on, Aaron and I didn’t even kiss during the best friend/dating phase. That wedding kiss was something special now! That much restraint deserves some kind of reward, right? We’ve taken care of everyone else’s kids. Surely we could handle some of our own. Our dream of family seemed to be slipping away.  At 41, it seemed all hope was lost. I really related to Hannah’s story in 1 Samuel. If you heard me praying you would have thought I was as messed up as she was . . . because I was! I truly felt broken, like I was causing Aaron to miss out on something, too. 

The girl who spent her childhood loving baby dolls and dreaming of being a mama now had crushed dreams and a shattered heart.

My aunt and uncle have done foster care for over thirty years and encouraged us to think outside the box. So we went through all the classes and got everything prepared, but ministry life would change. We would go through a move back to our hometown, Aaron would assume a full-time youth pastor job, and remodel a house. My 94-year-old Grandma began the end of life process. Sure glad I didn’t ask what else could change in our lives! We still felt the call to finish getting the house licensed for foster care. Of course, I heard things like, “Now don’t get your hopes up. Nobody in this county ever gets little babies.” Or, “Are you sure you want to do foster care? Those kids are usually pretty messed up?” Thank you, Lord, for helping me hold my tongue and not give dirty looks in those moments. Several months would pass and nothing seemed to work out.

On September 16, 2016, we had just returned from Galena’s big homecoming football game. My cousins from Texas had just walked in the door because Grandma had been taken to a care facility and things were declining rapidly. Then my phone began ringing like crazy. My aunt, the one involved in foster care, calls and says, “I just got a call for a temporary placement for a baby but I didn’t take him, so you call this number.” It was a Wichita number four hours away from us, but I knew the voice on the other end. Sure enough, the man who did all of our foster care training years ago was now living in Wichita and overseeing this case.  

He said, “Now, it’s only a 72-hour placement, but I’ll make sure I get him in your home. Aaron went home to set up a crib while I hugged my Texas family good-bye and hightailed it home. By the time I arrived, Aaron was sitting in the rocking chair singing to a tiny little baby boy. He paused and said, “Jenae, the strangest thing just happened. The police officer that just dropped this baby off goes to our church???” Oh, yes, I knew him and his wife and which pew they sat in. Still, what a weird coincidence?    This little baby was five weeks old and weighed only five pounds, still in newborn clothing and diapers. He was so tiny.    

Seventy-two hours flew by like it was only one night. The caseworker came and picked him up and off to court they went. The week before, he had been exposed to domestic violence, theft, lack of food, and countless other traumatic experiences. Would his family have things back in order to raise this infant in a safe and secure manner and to know and love God? We always prayed for the biological family.  We know they have a backstory and broken hearts, too. But in the end, what will be best for the child?  

We knew we already loved him. Now a judge would decide his fate.  

After court, they usually call and inform the PPC (police protective custody) home and let them know about the court’s decision, but we hadn’t heard anything. So Aaron jumped on the phone and soon discovered he was on his way to another home four hours away. We were on the phone again, tracking this baby down. In this moment, I felt like Cinderella at the stroke of midnight. It had been a beautiful dance, fairytale-like, but now the dream seemed to be slipping away. Just like I had lost my glass slipper. 

But I am a “real deal” kind of girl, not a dreamy princess waiting for my fairytale to unfold. I knew God was writing “some kind of special story.” Just maybe this would be the wakeup call his family needed to get on the right path. Maybe our hopes and dreams would finally come true: This childless couple answers the door to find a baby in a basket just waiting for them. Or would this be another lesson on God’s timing? How many lessons am I going to have to learn? As you can tell, at this point my mind was a bumbling mess . . . Instead of Cinderella, I was going to be Hannah and hit my knees . . . Pray, Jenae, Pray!

(Part Two coming soon)