A Gift from Above…
That morning was grey and heavy with looming clouds crawling across the sky. You could just make out the distant rumble of thunder somewhere far off. A storm was comingthe first of the spring.
Winter had finally loosened its grip, but spring was taking her time. It was still biting cold, winds whipped around the old leaves, swirling last years memories along the pavement. Little blades of grass struggled bravely through the stubborn, clodded earth, and the trees buds were still keeping their secrets.
Nature seemed to be holding its breath, waiting for rain. The past winter had been bitter and dry, with barely any snow, and the land had not had its rest, hadnt soaked up enough moisture, hadnt slept properly beneath its cold blanket. Like a parched throat, the ground longed for the rain the storm promised.
That rain would cleanse her, drench her, wash away dust and weariness, and rouse everything back to life. After that, real spring would finally arrive, generous and blooming like a young woman full of hope. Then the earth would dress herself in thick green grass, patches of wildflowers, trembling leaves, and fruit blossoming on the branch. The birds would burst into song and begin patching up their old nests among the apple blossoms. Life, after all, carries on.
Alex, breakfasts ready! Jane called from the kitchen. The coffees getting cold.
The fragrant scent of eggs and coffee drifted into the bedroom. I knew I ought to get up, though after yesterdays heavy conversation, Janes sobs, the fitful night, and endless tossing, getting out of bed was the last thing I wanted. But I had tolife doesnt wait.
Jane looked as worn as I felt. Her eyes were swollen, with dark circles underneath. She offered her pale cheek for a kiss and gave me a weak smile.
Good morning, love. Looks like were in for a storm. Oh, wouldnt a bit of rain be marvellous? When will real spring finally come? Listen, these lines just popped into my head:
I wait for spring to rescue me
From cold and lonely winter nights,
I long for spring, for clarity,
To untangle all lifes tangled plights.
It seems to me when spring arrives,
All will soon be bright and clear.
It seems to me that she alone,
Can set things straight this year
More honestly,
More simply,
With hope and faith anew.
Oh, where are you, spring? Come through!
I wrapped my arms around her narrow shoulders and kissed her bowed head. Her hair smelled of wildflowers and open country. My heart ached with pity. My poor, lovely girlwhy must God test us so? For years we had lived off hope.
Yesterday, though, the famous specialistour last flicker of hopeput an end to that.
Im very sorry, but children of your own arent possible, he had said. Alex, your time spent in the forces near Windscale did its damage. Medicine can do no more here. I wish I could say otherwise.
Jane wiped her wet eyes, gave her hair a shake, and squared her shoulders. Alex, Ive been thinking all night. We should adopt. There are so many little ones in homes without families. Lets take in a boy, raise him as our own, have a son at last. Will you? Weve waited so long. Tears streamed down her face. I held her tight and let my own tears come.
Of course, love! Dont cry, please dont cry.
Suddenly, thunder crashed overhead so loudly the whole house seemed to shake. And then it camea downpour hammering the streets, drowning out every other sound. It was as if the heavens themselves had opened at last. God had heard us.
The rain crashed down as if poured from buckets. The sky went so dark it was almost night again. Thunder rattled on, lightening flashing right over the rooftops. Jane and I stood by the window, arms around each other, letting the cold, sweet-smelling air and stray raindrops come through the open window. It felt as though all the shadows and heaviness, all that recent sorrow, melted away in that first spring rainlifes symbol of hope and renewal.
A few days later, Jane and I stood outside the doors of the childrens home, nervous and hopeful. Today was the day wed meet our sonfinally, at last, a son, Thomas, Tom, Tommy. We loved him already, having spent all these years saving up our affection for a child to raise, to teach.
Our hearts thudded as we pressed the bell. The door swung openthey were expecting us.
We were ushered straight in, since our conversation with the headmistress, Mrs. Heatherstone, had been a few days ago. Now, we would meet the children who might become our son. As we were led through the first room, I caught sight of a little girl, sitting damp and listless on a torn mat. Her dress was grimy, her nose crusted, but her enormous blue eyes followed every adult who passed with the saddest stare. She radiated neglect and abandonment. I felt a sharp pang. This was a real childrens homewhere the forgotten gathered.
In the next room, cots were lined up, babies lying or sitting. The sister showed us the children, giving their detailsclean, freshly dressed. She lifted them out, turning them gently, as if we were at a market. I almost laughedwere we buyers, and these children stock to be weighed and priced?
Alex, shall we go back to see that little girl? Jane whispered urgently. I squeezed her shoulder. Sister, could we see the blue-eyed girl from before?
But you wanted a boy! That little girl isnt for showing.
We’d like to see her again, please.
The sister hesitated, then nodded and led us back in silence. I’ll fetch Mrs. Heatherstone. Please, wait here. She pointed us to some chairs.
Jane clung to my arm. Alex, lets take her. My heart ached when I saw that child.
Mine too. Shes so much like youthe eyes, the hairso lonely.
Mrs. Heatherstone arrived, anxious. You wont want that child. She simply isnt suitable.
But why not? We like her, shes the very image of Jane! I insisted as we walked back to her cot.
Someone had cleaned her up, changed her into dry clothes, wiped down the mat, and her face seemed brighter, her eyes more hopeful. When she realised we had stopped by her bedside, she smileda dimpled, hopeful smilereached out and tried to stand. Jane grabbed my hand. The little girl’s feet were twisted backward.
Before I had time to hesitate, I scooped her up. She clung to my face with her damp little nose and went still. I felt tears sting my eyes as Jane burst into sobs on my shoulder. Mrs. Heatherstone turned discreetly away, dabbing at her eyes.
Come to my office. Sister, bring Lily. We followed, hand in hand.
Lily had come from a struggling, crowded family up north. She was born with clubbed feet and, unwanted, had been left at the hospital. Her father never looked back. He said he couldnt afford surgery, nor did he want another burden; there were already too many mouths to feed at home.
And so Lily had ended up in the home.
Now, its your choice, Mrs. Heatherstone said kindly. She has a future, but only with a great deal of patience, strength, and love. The operations are many, and they wont be easy. Take your time, speak with her doctorIll give you his address. Theres a month to decide. Please, dont come back unless youre sure; these children get attached so easily, especially the ones whove already suffered.
That same night, Jane and I knew: we would take Lily. The doctor in London said the surgeries, though many, could fix her legsshed look like any other girl, run and play like them, too. I did the sums. If we sold my new car and the house-in-progress, wed just afford it. For now, a small flat would doit was worth it for our little girls health.
We counted the days. Then we returned nervously to the home, flowers and gifts in hand. Mrs. Heatherstone, choked up, welcomed us. It was rarea lost child about to find a family.
All together, we went to see Lily. Shed grown in those weeksher hair curling, cheeks rosy, a new toothy smile lighting up her face. She giggled as I lifted her; she wrapped her little arms round my neck with all her might, then reached for Jane. We both fought back tears.
We spent the whole day at the home, learning every detail about Lilys care and feeding. But there was still the formal process ahead. To protect Lily, Mrs. Heatherstone advised us to secure her parents legal renunciation via the courts so they couldnt change their minds. The ruling came through, and at last, Lily was ours.
Jane left her job, charting her days by our daughter’s needs. The first surgery took us to a London hospital for a month. When I visited, Lily showed off how she could eat with a spoon, meow like a kitten, and butt heads with Grannys goat. Her little legs were hard to look at, so we kept her in long trousers outside, where she waddled side to side like a duckling. Yet she was lively, bright, talking early, greeting everyone by name.
Most of all, she loved me. I was DaddyJane now called me by that, too. My sunshine in the window. My whole heart.
The next year brought more operations and countless trips to London. Lily endured more suffering than many do in a lifetime. Jane spent sleepless nights at her hospital cot, but finally, a triumphLilys legs, straight and strong as any girls. She could run and skip and dance.
At five, Lily started nursery. The teachers noticed she was gifted at drawing, and by six, she was enrolled in a fine arts programme. Her colourful landscapes, cheerful scenes, and keen eye for detail began to win attention at children’s exhibitions. People were astonished to learn her ageher talent was undeniable.
At seven, Lily started school. From her first day she was a leadersociable, clever, a star pupil, bright and lively. Still painting, now dancing too, always surrounded by friends and laughter. Jane and I beamed at parents meetingsthere was never a bad word about our daughter. No one guessed at the journey it had takenfor her, and for us, who loved and raised her, though we never saw her into the world.
After Lily came to us, good fortune never seemed to leave our home. My struggling business strengthened, growing into something reliable. We managed to move to London, bought a lovely flat, and Lily went to a sought-after school. Now, shes in Year Sixtop of her class, still painting, still shining. Her long fair plaits frame bright blue eyes; shes everyones favourite, gentle and dearly loved.
A gift from aboveso we call her. Sometimes lifes blessings come in the most unexpected wrapping. All it takes, Ive learned, is to keep one’s heart openrain or shine.
