by Nancy Wickersheim

Created on: September 28, 2008   Last Updated: October 31, 2008

Seven years before Sarah was born, I began praying for a child. At night, my dreams were full of images of a beautiful little girl. On April 3, 1986, God told me our daughter was coming. While watching a Christian broadcast, I heard this word of knowledge: "A woman has been praying for a child for seven years. You will receive this child within or by the end of this year." I thanked God for answering my prayers. I wrote the date and the message on the inside of a notebook, and started writing letters to our daughter.

During the next two months, God asked me to surrender everything about this promised child to Him. What she would like, when and how she would come to us and even her physical makeup. Whatever God's will was for this child, I knew He would give us all that we would need to raise her. In July, relatives called, asking if we would be willing to adopt their unborn child. Medical tests revealed severe brain damage and they did not feel emotionally equipped to raise such a child. Of course, we said yes! Praise the Lord, Sarah would be home soon.

A month later, Sarah's birth father called to say his wife had gone into labor. She was having a hard time, and the baby was not expected to live through the delivery. Immediately we put then on the prayer chain at our church. Later we learned many churches in our area were praying for them. The baby lived and because of a low body temperature, was kept in a in an incubator for a few days. Later in the week, I called to see when we would be able to bring the baby home. The wife told me her husband had changed his mind and wanted to keep the baby. I was devastated.

All the joy and happiness that had surrounded me all that week left in an instant. How could this be, was not this the child God had promised us? I started to cry. For three days, I walked around in a fog of self-pity, forgetting my Father had a plan, forgetting His promise. The Holy Spirit kept reminding me I had surrendered everything about this child to the Father. I tired not to listen. It hurt too much. Finally, I gave into the Holy Spirit's gentle, loving prodding and asked my Father to forgive me. If this was to be His will, I knew I must accept it. I prayed for protection for little Dana, that was the name given her now. I asked God to give her parents strength, wisdom, and patience in their efforts to raise her. On September 4, we heard from Dana's parents again; were we still willing to adopt her. That afternoon our baby girl came home.

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