Both of Us in Need of a Miracle

Our present marriage relationship looks to be well admired by those around us, particular among other Christians. Over the past twelve months I was approached by two grooms for advice just prior to their nuptials. And I gave advice or guidance to one or two others since. I for one, would not hesitate to admit that the strength of our marriage comes from the grace of God. I have always been convinced that our time of meeting, our compatibility and even our age difference were not by chance nor by accident but by the foreknowledge and perfect plan of God.

Three daughters were born of our union. It was the firstborn who really changed my life. How much I loved and adored her! It wasn't long before she accompanied me wherever I went, that is of course, except to work. And during the morning small hours, whenever our child awoke and cried, it was always I who got out of bed to meet her needs, allowing my wife to sleep on uninterrupted. I became quite an expert in diaper change, bathing, and sometimes feeding as well. The latter more so whenever my firstborn accompanied me wherever I went, that is, except to work. The times I took her downtown, even on several train trips to Reading, and even on a day trip to London - just the two of us. How could I ever forget that afternoon when I took her to where I attended college on a weekly day-release some 36 years earlier, and watched her running freely in the gardens fronting the building located in East London, the same gardens I was familiar with as a student throughout the late sixties. These father/daughter outings came about mainly after our second daughter was born three years after our first. The general idea why I took my firstborn out was to give my wife some relief from raising both our daughters whilst I was at work. 

And there were times we went out all together as a family. Seaside day trips to Brighton were common, along with family trips to London and Reading. There was a time we took a catamaran for a week's camping holiday in Jersey, another time when we spent a week at a hotel in Penzance, yet another when we spent a week at a caravan at Par Sands, east from the Cornish town of St. Austell and also next to the magnificent shoreline of Polperro Heritage Coast. Another Cornish trip included the beautiful and rather quaint port of Mevagissey, on the Roseland Heritage Coast. And I just remembered a week at the Isle of Wight. Then not to forget our firstborn's first birthday when we spent the day at London Zoo. We have always believed that we did our best for our daughters, fed and clothed them well, took them to beautiful places, but most important of all, showered them with as much love and affection as we were able.

Mevagissey, Cornwall.

Indeed, as we love each other to this day, indeed, we still love our daughters to bits, as any parents in their right minds would regardless of circumstance.

However, it was later discovered that we both have mild autism, or Asperger's syndrome, a faulty wiring of our brains since gestation. But before then we were mystified on why the health visitor had concerns about the way we exhibited our character and parenting skills. In the course of time we found ourselves on the Child Protection Register for the duration of four months from November 2004 to February 2005, and looked upon as the worst time period in my entire life. I say these things now, after thirteen years, but not until after a decade later, because being on the CPR, I felt like a criminal. I was too embarrassed to share any of these things before 2014 or -15.

For convenience sake I'll refer to our social worker as Wendy. At first, I thought Wendy could be a help for us. We showed our hospitality by offering her refreshments such as tea or coffee. But she refused every offer. Whether this was her own choice or keeping with her job regulations, I couldn't tell. But it did not take long at all for her to reveal her true character, despite our first willingness to submit to her. For example, being on the CPR, Alex in particular was not allowed to be alone with our daughters whilst I was out at work, or out of the house in general. Wendy was quite strict on this, and can be prone to nastiness and impatience. What hurt me most of all was how Wendy treated Alex - like as if she was an imbecile - and together with her surprise that I happen to own a mobile phone, I found her to be insulting. To be truthful, I did leave Alex alone in the house with our daughters from time to time, knowing perfectly well that no harm will come to anyone. This was especially when I had to go out in the evening to meet some work responsibilities, for example, to collect window cleaning fees from customers who were out during the day - these fees when combined makes up our weekly income. It was when she discovered this "breach of the rules" that tensions between Wendy and myself grew to greater intensity.

Wendy, who back then was in her late twenties or early thirties, was a self-confessed atheist with a very short temper who looked down on us as social inferiors, probably gotten through her time at university, where she read on the works and research from well-known past psychiatrists and psychologists, some of them having had occult connections. A patriotic with a strong support for social class and Darwinism, she made sure that we knew of her superiority, even with her salary. A heated argument between Wendy and myself during February 2005 led to our two daughters taken from us when the Police and another social worker entered our home at three in the morning to take our daughters away for fostering. Leaving Alex screaming and prone to self-injury, our girls had never set foot in our house again. Neither was there any sympathy or compassion within Wendy's heart for us after our daughters were taken. Instead she spitted out hatred and anger. Not without reason. Her boss had given her several weeks notice to clear her desk.

This is one of life's great mysteries. How on Earth did someone such as Wendy land a job as a children's Social Worker? It was even admitted that her own office colleagues disliked her, just as our daughter's nursery school teachers disliked her as well. Her quick-tempered, impatient choleric temperament was definitely unsuited for the children's team. I even recall her at the Family Court after our daughters were taken from us for temporary fostering. She was accompanied by her supervisor, an older and a far more amenable woman. Also when Wendy visited our home for the very last time, after the children were taken, she arrived escorted by her supervisor. It all seem to confirm what I have overheard at our initial Conference back in November. Apparently the last family she dealt with fled to Scotland to escape her clutches. We were her last chance to prove herself, and sure enough, she failed. She had to go. But not before destroying our family. 

At the Isle of Wight with my firstborn.

Which led me to be offered a platform by the Berkshire Adoption Agency whose office was in Windsor. Here in my home town of Bracknell I was escorted to an empty office, quite likely the very room Wendy formerly occupied, and I became a key representative of the Berkshire Father's Group, a group of Dads across Berkshire who had all lost their children against their will for adoption. Why was I not surprised that all the Dads whom I met in that group were from a working class background? Not one middle-class father in sight. I was then interviewed by the agent. Here I explained that going by my experiences with Wendy, my opinion was that she was never suited for the job as Children's Social Worker. I also explained that whilst at the Family Court, I managed to take a peek at Wendy's CV lying unattended on a desk whilst she was momentary absent, perhaps talking to an official. She emphasised her attendance at a posh girl's school before attending university. She listed all her qualifications on her CV, school and college alike with much detail.

And there is the rub. Wendy, who was employed by an agency rather than directly by the Council, was hired because of her educational qualifications and her degree in humanistic studies, and not because she had an empathy towards families, whether parents or children alike. Or to put it another way, she wanted a job where she can be in control. I also blamed her employers for "bowing the knee" - so to speak - at her academic qualifications without taking into consideration that her character and personality remains incompatible with the job at hand. I then said that her employers must realise that such an occupation involves supporting people - people with lives to lead, with responsibilities, and with free will, thoughts and emotions, and not as mere factory-made products.

The agent was taking down notes. Did I make an effort to shake the whole local Social Service Department down to its foundations? I really hope that I did. I campaigned and pressed hard that such hiring of unsuitable candidates will never happen again. Social work is about empathy, not academic qualifications. So I said at that interview.

Over the years, to live in a deafeningly silent house took some taking used to. Fortunately, the use of both Hi-Fi and television, and later the introduction of the laptop proved to be immensely beneficial. However for months even years following our daughter's adoption, I experienced fits of intense rage. I had visions of the perfect murder! But there was nothing I could ever do. After her dismissal, Wendy disappeared completely, apparently out of our area entirely, for she was never seen again. Not only was I enraged at Wendy for destroying our family, but with the whole of England and with the English, because Wendy was the personification of England and its culture. She was a State official, representing the State. Her supreme boss was sitting as a member of the Cabinet at 10 Downing Street, home of Her Majesty's Government.

Then some three years after our first two daughters were adopted, Alex gave birth to our third daughter. The Social Services were then around us like bees around honey (informed by our GP). But this time, at the Conference to re-enter our names on the Child Protection Register, my wife and I both agree to give our daughter away for adoption, as long as we remain off the Register. It was agreed. The reason for this was not just for our welfare. Equally important, it was for our daughter's wellbeing as well. If being on the CPR means a repeat of Wendy-like experiences, then our daughter would have grown up in a very unhappy environment. She would have suffered mentally, emotionally, then later physically as well. Far better to give her away on a voluntarily basis to a couple who would provide her with a happy home and a safe environment. Fortunately, her adoptive parents are committed Christians.

Over the intervening years to the present, our marriage grew stronger as we learn to support each other. Much of this came by recognising the sovereignty of God, to give my wife all the love, support and comfort as she grieves over her loss. Also her mental state may be connected with her encroaching disability until, after spending four months in hospital during the Autumn of 2013, she now gets about in a motorised wheelchair I bought for her. However, I have committed all three of our daughters to God's care, and my prayer being that he will touch their hearts, just as he did ours. To hear that all three have trusted Jesus Christ as Saviour would be the best news we could ever hear.

So the reason for writing such a blog as this one? Over an incident which took place a few evenings ago. I told Alex that I have forgiven Wendy and her associates for what she had done. In actual fact, I have forgiven her a few years ago. Not for her sake but for my sake, and to allow God to have his will fulfilled in my life. Therefore when I made a passing statement to Alex that I have forgiven Wendy, she went into hysteria. Shedding buckets of tears, she asked how could I possibly do such a thing? What kind of a husband am I? They are our children. She then went unconscious, and because such emotions causes her breathing muscles to tighten, I had to enable her to breathe properly by manipulating her chest. I was that close to panic and the need to call an ambulance.

She eventually came to, but there was a coldness towards me. Instead of petting and affectionate talk, as was the norm, she told me to go to my computer because she just wants to sleep. I tried to persuade her that I'm no traitor. It was no intention to show her betrayal. Feeling lonely on the computer, I played a video on You-Tube, Cold As Christmas by Elton John. Has our marriage came to an end? The coldness remained for the rest of the next day. Only now our marriage is restoring itself to normality.

Alex is unable to forgive Wendy. To her, she destroyed our family and therefore cannot be forgiven for it. That may be the reason for her present disability. It is a viscous circle she remains locked into. As Jesus himself said,

Without me ye can do nothing - John 15:5.

Alex cannot forgive Wendy in her own strength. Only the Spirit of God could soften her heart to the extent in changing her mind. In other words, she needs a miracle. As a matter of fact, we both need a miracle. A miracle to reveal the power of God in our lives that would forever change us for the better. 

  

Battle Lost, War Won.

Nearly all of my blogs on this page covers a range of subjects including various current affairs approached from a spiritual angle. Generally I enjoy writing about my opinion on such topics as remaining or leaving the European Union, Nationalism, Cultural Issues, the behaviour of celebrities or of men and women of high standing, a Creationist's view of Darwinism, different religions and their fruits, even on church life, and so on. Sometimes I involve Bible study to a greater or lesser degree. But I prefer to stick with contemporary issues rather than just dig into Bible study - there are enough blog authors on this website who writes on serious chapter-and-verse topics, and I myself have been edified by reading such posts. Where I might be more personal is often to do with travel, a subject I enjoy indulging in, or my own experience in various situations. But seldom do I relate much about myself on a personal level, or that of my wife and our three daughters.

So a special agreement was made between my wife and myself before commencing on this week's blog, which I hope will sufficiently demonstrate how much of having faith in God means to both of us, and to inspire hope to anyone reading who is at present in need of some encouragement. However, I feel it's better not to mention the names of either of my three daughters here.

Before I married at a mature age of 47 years, I generally enjoyed life as a single person living alone at a bachelor's apartment. Not only was I enthusiastic for the Bible but also for church life - despite the latter often being geared more for families rather than single people, although to be fair, around 1980, the "Singles Group" was formerly held on a weekly basis at the home of the Pastor after the main evening church service, until the Pastor himself, his patience exhausted, threw them all out of his house almost violently, due to their lack of serious commitment. Luckily for me, that was the one night I wasn't in the mood to attend, but instead went straight home from the evening service, therefore missing out on the drama! - I also spent a lot of my spare time reading books written by authors whose intent was to broaden my understanding of the Bible. I always loved "the bigger picture" - that is, the completed jigsaw picture the Holy Scriptures represent rather than putting too much emphasis on one or two single pieces and using those pieces for devotional purposes or for debating. Not that any of that is wrong in itself, but I have found that too much of this form of study tend to lead in forgetting - or never realising - what the whole Bible is trying to tell us. 

A classic example of this "single piece" debate which I was dragged into, was centred on Hebrews 6:4-6, about whether salvation can be lost or not, while forgetting or not even realising that the whole book was written to the Jews, as the title itself implies, explaining to them that the Death, Burial, and Resurrection of Jesus Christ had ushered in a New Covenant which is far better than the Old, and therefore making the Old obsolete. The snag was that many of the Jews had rejected the Gospel after examining and even partaking in its benefits, and reverted back to the Old Covenant. Maybe if the whole letter was taken seriously, such debates would not have needed to have arisen in the first place, as we will see, this subject holds a hugely important place in our faith.

Aside from spiritual matters, travel was my passion, having rejected package holidays for independent backpacking, which I did mainly on my own. Hosteling was the preferred form of accommodation, necessitating on buying the ingredients and preparing my own meals, which along with meeting other backpackers and making new friends in the member's kitchen, also creating a huge saving on the budget. 

But it was the day I married Alex that had a massive impact on life. My career as a long-haul, far-flung backpacking days were over, and I rather grudgingly accepted the reality of package holidays, at least with the honeymoon itself, a flight-and-hotel package at the Mediterranean island of Rhodes, which was suitable for couples. But I guess my real travel bug wouldn't fully rest, with a backpacking trip to the Holy Land to celebrate our first anniversary, by then Alex being 18-20 weeks pregnant with our first daughter. This was her first and only trip to Israel so far, but my fourth trip, after visiting in 1976, 1993, and a year later as a volunteer at a Christian Conference Centre in 1994. Later in our marriage, we managed a package trip to Lanzarote in the Canary Islands, a second trip to Rhodes to celebrate our tenth anniversary, a trip to Kos, another to Malta - all packages, and an independent trip to Sicily to mark our seventh anniversary. By then, any feelings of grumpiness faded away to be replaced with thanksgiving to God for allowing us to go on these trips as a couple. They were exhilarating to her as much as to myself. However, since our wedding day, I had never set foot in a dormitory of a backpacker's hostel. Alex would have none of it. The thought of sharing a room with sleeping females had no appeal to her.

Our First Anniversary in Israel

How could I forget the day my first daughter was born? Delivered by elective caesarian due to her breach position at the time of delivery, I spent the next hour with the baby sleeping in my arms while her mother was wheeled to a recovery chamber before admitted into the maternity ward. As I watched her tiny chest rise and fall in her natural breathing, I had a mental vision of the whole of my life passing by, from my school-days through to a dogsbody at work, to my conversion to Jesus Christ as Saviour, to backpacking, to getting married.

My second daughter was born just over three years later, the two birthdays being just two weeks apart. Unlike with the birth of the first, the second was a fully natural birth. But it was the first-born I adored. Except for work and the weekly trip to the sauna, the first-born accompanied me wherever I went. Much of this was that I wanted her by my side as much as possible, while at the same time giving my wife some relief. How I enjoyed taking her out whenever I had to go out to buy something, and to take her into town, patiently spoon-feeding her at a cafeteria, and changing her diaper. Also train trips to Reading and even a day trip to London, just the two of us, allowing her to run around the garden fronting what used to be the college I attended between the years 1968-1971. And the times I took the family to the coast for the day, and even enjoyed short holidays, mainly in Cornwall.

But for some reason, unknown to us at the time, we were struggling. Struggling to raise our children as normally as we could. To cut a long story short, the time came, much to our shame and detriment, when we had a Social Worker assigned to us, a slim and quite a pretty woman. I believe her, at the time, to be in her late twenties or early thirties. Yet there couldn't have been a worse person to have been assigned for such a role. Not very long out of university, she made sure of our awareness of her superiority in her nationality, her high level of education, her social class, her income, and her authority. A self-confessed atheist, she had a short fuse, quickly angered, she was proud, arrogant, and quite patriotic. How such a person could qualify as a social worker for the care of children beats me! One thing I was aware of: the last family under her assignment fled their home and were found in Scotland. She was given one more chance in her assignment over us.

We were not the only ones who feared and hated her. The school teachers of our first-born kept well clear of her. Her own colleagues at the office stayed out of her way as well. She was disliked by all other Social Workers at her department. Really, she was using us as pawns in a desperate attempt to save her career. And I'm not exaggerating. So not very surprising, our own anger was roused at last - my wife growled at her and I ordered her out of our house. Her authority challenged, she meekly walked out of the door, which I slammed shut behind her.

And that spelled the end of us as a family. A couple of days later, at three in the morning, two or three police officers entered our home, accompanied by a couple of females I had not seen before. They went straight into both our daughter's bedrooms and ran out of the house with our semi-awake girls. It was actually a dawn raid, leaving my wife screaming and screaming.

A few weeks later, our Social Worker, who applied to the County Court for permission to have our daughters taken from us, finally cleared her desk. Her contract annulled, she disappeared - and she was never seen again. And that was more than a decade ago. But what had brought all this on in the first place? Why were we initially struggling? According to the Social Worker, we were rebels with a large proportion of stupidity, and both of us too thick to raise children. However, the Psychologist who we both spent several hours with during the assessments came up with something else - we both suffer from Asperger's Syndrome, something I had not heard of until the diagnosis was made. Nowadays its seen as the milder side of the Autism Spectrum, affecting mostly boys with a higher intelligence quotient. And true to form, the mental ability test I had to go through at the Psychiatrist's office revealed a higher-than-average intelligence, a ray of sunshine amidst storm-clouds of constant criticism, judgements, and negative analysis as parents.

Greek Island of Kos, our 12th Weeding Anniversary.

And what of over the years to follow? At first we made as much effort to live as normal lives as a childless couple. Our girls were adopted permanently. For the first few years we were allowed to spend ninety minutes a year of heavily supervised contact at a neutral area - well away from both our home and of the adoptive parents. It was during this period that we flew out to Lanzarote, to Sicily, to Rhodes, to Kos, and to Malta, nearly all to celebrate our wedding anniversary. But the shock of our loss caused me to have daily paroxysms of rage, mainly in the mornings downstairs with Alex still upstairs in bed, and therefore out of the way as I prepare to set off to work. This must have lasted for up to two years, maybe even longer. Fortunately, through prayer and meditation, I was eventually set free from such mental and emotional torture.

Then the annual contacts stopped, most likely due to the strong affection remaining between the first-born and myself, ending in prolonged hugs which irritated their adoptive guardians. It was this when my dearest began to lose the ability to walk normally, and became confined to a wheelchair. Despite all efforts from the NHS, which involved four months as a hospital in-patient, no cure could be found, except a lifelong daily dose of antidepressants and other vital medicine.

If anything could challenge my faith in God, it is to wheel my beloved out of the house in a specially-made chair. No longer able to nip out to the shops to buy a pint of milk, she is not able to power the wheelchair on her own - she needs me to push her wherever we go. I look back and remember how we both cycled together, to go out on long walks together, especially abroad. As we looked forward to see our daughters again in the Summer, there was always a simmer of hope which kept us going. But at present, as I look back on better times when a quick decision to book a flight meant a week or two in a foreign land - with a wheelchair that is no longer the case. I recall the times we strolled along the beach arm in arm, both during the day and into the night, gazing at the clear starry sky. The evening we sat at an outdoor restaurant in Kos, with the sea lapping at the wall we sat next to. Strolling along the harbour, watching the moored boats gently bobbing by wave action. Enjoying the ancient Greek and Roman ruins with pungently fragrant herbs thriving around them. Such lovely experiences which took our minds off the loss of our daughters.

But now pushing a wheelchair with my dearest sitting helpless within. Crushingly sorrowful. Sometimes feeling lonely and helpless, as there are even Christian believers around lacking empathy, not understanding what we have been through, what we missing, and what we are going through now. There are times I feel despair. After all, watching the very one I love more than anyone in the world in such a helpless condition...haunted by memories...

That's when there is still hope. Faith in God. Knowing that he is with us and knows what we are going through. And our belief in Once Saved Always Saved, as mentioned earlier. Did you know that this very concept is the strong bulwark of our faith? The very thought of us needing to hold faith or be forever lost would have caused us to crumble under the weight of the stress. Rather, after being assured of knowing that all things work for the good for those who are called according to his purpose, we are given the promise that neither death nor life, neither angels or demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus (Romans 8:28, 38). Eternal Security is vital for our daily situation and ongoing circumstances.

On top of this, not long after our daughters were taken from our home, I felt God speaking to me while reading from the prophet Jeremiah. In it I came across these words:

A voice is heard at Ramah, mourning and great weeping, Rachel weeping for her children and refusing to be comforted, because her children are no more.
This is what the LORD says:
Restrain your voice from weeping and your eyes from tears,
for your work shall be rewarded, 
declares the Lord.
They will return from the land of the enemy.
So there's hope for the future,
declares the Lord.
Your children will return to their own land.
Jeremiah 31:15-17.

Our third daughter was born, again by natural means, three years after our two daughters were taken. Just prior to her birth, a conference was called among the Social Services Department on the future decision for the unborn child. I was present at the conference. There I was offered two plans. Plan A was for us to keep the child but to have our names on the Child Protection Register, as before. That means a steady stream of professionals coming and going through our door for the next eighteen years. Or Plan B, which is to voluntarily give our daughter away for adoption. We chose Plan B without hesitation. No way would we ever want a repeat of what happened before. Not for our sakes only, but for our unborn's sake as well. We know perfectly well that if we are unhappy, so will the child be as well. Far better for her to grow up in a happy environment under adoptive parents who will give her the best she could possibly have.

At present everything looks gloomy, hopeless, defeated. We had lost the battle. But God in whom we trust, has already won the victory for us through the Death, Burial, and Resurrection of his Son Jesus Christ.

And eventually we shall win the war. Hope will never be entirely lost.