Please forgive this note from someone you just met and were only briefly introduced to, but I think I would regret not telling you this.

You mentioned in your conversation with your friend Rachel today that you just turned 18 and that you had a baby when you were 16. You said you had given up your baby for adoption. You were surprisingly honest about the reasons behind your decision, among them not being prepared to care for a baby. And how you’re not close with your parents anymore because they didn’t want you to go through with the pregnancy.

Being on the fringe of the conversation anyway, I had to turn away as I was close to tears. About 7 years ago after a seemingly unending ride on the fertility doctor merry-go-round, I was coming to grips with the possibility that being a Dad may not be God’s plan for me. It was very hard.

On September 25, 2000 at the point of being physically, emotionally and financially drained we got a phone call from a stranger in Spokane, Washington. She knew my wife’s sister. She called to say she heard about a woman in her area who was pregnant with twins and was going to give them up for adoption.

It was such an impossible pipe dream that I got angry. We had a license to have a dog. But nothing that said we could foster parent, let alone be adoptive parents. Yet with a “we have no chance but I’ll write one anyway”, I emailed a biography to the family. In closing, I said, “Bottom line, we want these babies to be where God wants them to be. If it’s with us, we will be thrilled and humbled.”

On October 4th we met with a social work agency who agreed with us. There’s no way we’d have these babies because everyone else who wants them will already be certified to adopt. So we took an information packet and settled on the fact that it would take at least a year to get through the process.

Three days later on October 7th we got a call saying that the birth Mom had picked us. Seven couples wanted the babies. All of them were certified to adopt but us.

The babies’ due date was December 8th. Not much time but at least a couple months to try and get ready. Ten days after the call to say they picked us, I was sitting at a Sonic drive-thru waiting for my Cherry Flurry when my cell phone rang with a bizarre area code. It was the birth Mom’s sister. In a chipper voice she said, “Just wanted you to know my sister’s water broke. The babies will be born tonight. Can you get here?”

In the history of freakdom, no one has freaked out more than me in that moment. Six hours later we had my wife on a plane to Spokane. The babies were born the next morning. They were preemies, born seven and a half weeks early. Annie Quinn was 3 pounds 9 ounces and Emma Elizabeth was 3 pounds 14 ounces.

We went from zero kids to 2 kids in 23 days.

The entire experience has been like riding a wild tiger. You can’t steer and you can’t get off. It’s been the wildest adventure and only God could put it all together.

I share this with you because you need to know and understand as best you can that you, Allie, are a hero. You had a choice to make and you chose life. And even at your young age you made an extremely difficult and wise decision. You will never comprehend this side of heaven the difference you have made in the lives of countless people you will never meet.

Every person who is touched by your daughter’s life; by her smile, her laugh, her talents, her caring, her acts of kindness, and later the fruits of her labor in her chosen field; every person whose life is better because of your daughter….is better because you chose life.

There are no words to describe the joy and delight that my children bring to me. That I have the privilege of being their Dad, the privilege of watching them grow, is because their birth Mom chose life. My life is changed forever because of Annie and Emma. There are no words to describe the depth of that emotion, either.

I wanted you to know that in my mind you are ten feet tall. A hero. I am terribly proud of you. Thanks for making an incredibly wise decision. Even if you didn’t understand the consequences at the time, you have blessed the world by what you did.

Please accept these thoughts with my deepest respect.

God’s biggest blessings on your life -

Todd Thompson 

“For you (God) created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, and my soul knows full well. My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place. When I was woven together in the depths of the earth, your eyes saw my unformed body. All the days ordained for me were written down in your book before one of them came to be.” – Psalm 139:13-16 

Of all the delightful kids who come to Aqua-Tots for swim lessons each week, Megan is my favorite. The joy she expresses in the water is unbridled and genuine.

Beautiful. Smart. Strong. Stubborn. Expressive.

Megan is all of these.

She’s also a prisoner. Trapped in her own body. She can’t walk on her own. Nor can she talk. The best she can do is make noises. She relies on a wheelchair and a digital communicator to interface with the world around her.

According to her Dad and the medical team in California that saved her life at birth, Megan is a miracle kid. Severe complications during her delivery have left her with a form of cerebral palsy. The most hopeful prediction was that she would live her life in a vegetative state.

Her Dad says to me, “Megan knows exactly what’s going on around her. She sees the other kids her age and knows what she should be able to do. She wants to be running with them.” He says it with a brave face and an optimistic smile that can’t hide the pain he feels for his daughter.

When it’s time for Megan’s lesson, we look for each other. Not because she needs me. Because I need her. Her smiles make my week. When we see each other Megan always leans out of her chair, excited, arms open to give me a hug. I don’t know why. They say you can’t fool kids and dogs. I’d like to think it’s because she knows that I really love her.

Inevitably, it seems, she arrives for her lesson just after I’ve gotten off the phone with a parent who hasn’t gotten the memo that the world doesn’t revolve around them. In the world of customer service I make them feel as if it does and when I hang up the phone wonder if a reality check wouldn’t have been more honest than reinforcing their belief that they are the center of the universe.

One day I was kneeling in front of Megan in her wheelchair as she was waiting for her swim lesson to start. We were face to face but she was looking past me, over my shoulder to the gymnasts who were practicing their tumbling runs. A sprint, a handspring, launching themselves up and over, twisting and flying into the foam rubber pit.

She knows.

She knows that’s what she should be doing. I could see it in her expression. The sadness and the longing. The “why not me?” in her eyes.

Selfishly, I wanted to distract her from reality.

“Megan, it’s great to see you today! How are you?”

She brought her attention back to me with an extra large smile. She awkwardly tried to bring her hands together. With her thumbs and index fingers she made a triangle.

“Megan, you’re a lot smarter than I am. I don’t know sign language.”

She leaned forward and extended her hands toward my face, as if to make the sign more visible.

Her Dad said, “You asked her how she is.”

“So what’s she saying?”

“She’s telling you she’s perfect.”

I felt like someone dropped a Steinway on my chest.

Ask me how I am and my healthy, mobile, verbose body will give you a half-hearted and sometimes discontented, “I’m fine”.

Ask Megan how she is and she’ll tell you she’s perfect.

And she is.

She so is.

Perspective comes to us in many ways. The best way is when the life lesson takes us outside ourselves, far away from our selfish, self-absorbed lives. In 43 years I’ve received many doses of perspective. None more powerful or life-impacting than Megan’s sign.

We all have challenges. Megan’s challenges are off the chart. The difference between Megan and me is I can discuss my challenges. I can give voice to my complaints. I can whine and grumble about how I’ve been inconvenienced or hurt or slighted. I can get up and walk or run away from situations where I am angry or frustrated or overwhelmed.

In short, I have freedom to move through life fully ambulatory and fully vocal about every blessing I think I deserve but don’t have. And every injustice I have suffered but didn’t deserve. All the while oblivious that my whining and griping and walking away is made possible by a body… that works.

God must appalled by my chutzpah.

Megan, my friend, I owe you more than you will ever know. You are a continual source of inspiration and perspective for me. God will be pleased if I can someday attain the maturity of attitude you possess.

You come to Aqua-Tots each week for a lesson. Thanks for coming.

You’re a great teacher.

“O Lord, who lends me life, lend me a heart replete with thankfulness.” – William Shakespeare