"Table For Nine" Excerpts

On this Saturday Night in my apartment I am overwhelmed and encouraged as I sit and read.  I will never ever forget hearing the story of a mighty woman named Heather Elyse last year!  She has adopted several children as a single lady! She works as a champion for adoption in Haiti!  I love her heart!  Check out her blog: http://invadinghaiti.blogspot.ca/  Here are a couple of excerpts from her blog written from the perspective of two of her beauties:

The Night I Met My Father

by Mackenzie Elyse and family

I will never forget the first day with my adoptive family. My mother told us she was taking us to a fancy restaurant for a “family night.” I remember walking into this classy restaurant and hearing her say, "A table for nine, please.” I was a bit confused, because I counted, and there were only seven adopted kids, plus one single momma. I had heard my new mom was a bit eccentric, so I just thought this was one of her moments. Shouldn't we have gotten a table for eight? I thought to myself. I counted one more time, and was simply confused. 

As we all sat down, my mom saved a place for someone right next to her. I began looking around, wondering who in the world was meeting us for dinner. Who was joining us for our “family night?" At the time, I was too scared to even talk, so I just sat there curiously, wondering what was going on and expecting someone to join us for dinner. My mother ordered the food, smiling and carrying on as if nothing was wrong. She began to seriously get on my nerves, and then I couldn't take it anymore. I had to find out who she was saving the seat for. I will never forget the words that came out of her mouth. "Kids, I want to introduce you to your Father. I have invited Him to have dinner with us tonight, and would like to tell you all about Him." 

I was shocked. I thought my new mother was single! I quickly glanced back at the door, expecting a man to walk in. I was stunned as my mother began to talk about a man who would never leave or forsake us. She talked about His heart and His character. She began to describe how He had saved her life, and continued telling us all about Him. She said she would like to introduce Him to us. I will never forget that moment. The tears just fell from my eyes. I had become so numb, and this was the first time I could feel again. 

As she began to describe who He was, I felt as if I had already met Him. It was a familiar feeling. I can’t describe it, but there were many (and I mean many) nights when I lay bleeding and in pain, and yet felt His presence. I had wanted so much to just die, so that the pain would stop. When I say “pain,” I mean severe pain. My body was used as a cutting board. I not only felt physical pain, as my biological parents would do horrors to me, but I felt such deep heart pain. There were many nights when I felt as if someone was carrying me, keeping me warm, and whispering words of hope into my ear. I then realized, as my mother began to describe this person she had saved a seat for, this man she claimed to be my father, was the same person who had held me, wiped my tears, and mended my open wounds. 

That night, in a restaurant in Tulsa, Oklahoma, I met a Man who has forever changed my life. He has truly healed me. He is my Father and my Doctor. With tears I accepted Jesus into my heart that night. I will never forget the evening when God came to dinner with us and I officially met Him. I will never forget the prayer and tears streaming down my newly adoptive mother's face as she introduced us to the Man who had once healed her as well. I will never forget the embrace I received from my mother – I didn’t want to

let her go. I didn't just feel her arms around me, but God's arms. When she prayed and cried over me, I promise you this, I saw my Father God in her eyes. I didn’t just get adopted by a new family – I got adopted by a Father who knows how many hairs are upon my head. To think that I was once the abused child whose story was plastered all over national television.


I will never forget the day my caseworker told my mom not to adopt me because I was too old, too much work, and too sick. I will never forget turning on the news and hearing the reporter say I had one of the most severe cases of sexual abuse, in which the child actually survived, that she had ever heard of. I remember listening to my teacher as she told my mom that I was considered mentally retarded because I couldn’t read or write at age eleven. I remember listening to my foster parents whisper about how “homely” looking I was, and how messed up my body and teeth were. I remember when my peers at school would tell me they weren’t allowed to play with me because they were afraid to catch a disease or that I would hurt them. 

I write this to say that God still performs signs, wonders, and miracles. I am now a daughter of the King. I was once lost, but now I am found. I was ashes turned into beauty. I was once damaged and broken, and now am restored and whole. God is reaching His hands out to you today. He has seen your tears, He has cried with you. Let him heal and restore you. 

I will never forget the day when my mom said the words, “A table for nine, please.” 

Here is Victoria's Story ...

Dear Mom,

I came to you from an Institution. You told me I was family.

I told you I hated you. You chose to adopt me.

I refused to walk, so I crawled. You bought me knee pads.

I killed animals. You Forgave me.

I broke your valuables. You told me I was more important.

I carved all over your walls. You placed a frame over them and called it “artwork.”

I screamed at you and stomped up the stairs. You hollered back....”I love you.”

I burned down your kitchen. You bought a grill.

I smeared feces on your walls. You told me no big deal, and bought more bleach and removed the bathroom door.

I refused to shower. You bought a blow up pool, and told me to go swimming.

I refused to let you hold me. You grabbed my sock and said...”fine I will hold this.”

I pushed you. You held me tighter.

I tried not to let you in. You kept knocking at my heart.

I ripped up any papers you had- just to hurt you. You printed more.

I tried to run away. You quickly packed me a lunch and handed me emergency numbers.

I screamed at you, hoping you would scream back. You just sat there smiling and singing "oh happy day."

I destroyed my room. You said it needed to be remodeled anyways.

I was depressed. So you jumped on my bed in the morning- and blasted Worship music.

I told you I couldn’t get up in the mornings. You told me to crawl out of bed and you would help me brush my teeth.

I told you I wanted to die. You told me you couldn’t afford a funeral, so why not change the world instead- and die as a Martyr.

I told you I hated men. You cut them out of all my books and magazines.

I told you I wasn’t normal. You said....”Perfect I am only raising up extraordinarydifferent Children.”

~I told you I would never heal.~

You told me you would Hold Me until the pain is gone.

You promised to continue to hold me even when this pain did leave.

The Pain has left.

I am still being held.

Thank you.

Love, Victoria

From the mouth of Victoria:
You sat me down in the middle of our living room floor. You handed me boxes of matches and tons of paper and said, “I am not sure why you destroy everything you touch, but let’s get it out of your system.” So you sat there and started lighting match after match. You started ripping up paper into small pieces, and I sat there cold hearted and just stared at you. I was angry. I am not quite sure why I was angry. Anger was normal for me. I remember you started to pray out loud. I can’t remember the exact words, but the prayer went something like this:

“Dear God, I ask you to walk into this living room right now, and sit down beside our daughter Victoria. You told me to adopt her, I obeyed. She is mine.  She is yours and we love her. You also promised that I wouldn’t have to raise her alone. So it’s your turn God. You are her father! She needs daddy time right now! I need you to show yourself real to her. Take her heart and replace it with yours.    Take my tears and pour them on her open wounds. Let her FEEL again. Hold her like a father holds his brand new baby girl. Pick her up and swing her around. Let her climb on your feet and hold onto your legs... and dance with her! Put her on your lap and sing to her while you caress her hair. May she feel your presence and even smell your sweet fragrance. May she be so close to you that she knows when her daddy God has entered the room. Whisper those precious daddy words ... I love you to her heart. Tell her how much you adore her, and how beautiful she is to you. Tell her that she was birthed from my heart and came from you.  I am certain she has your eyes God. I see you in her. Let her heart beat again. You have seen every tear that she has cried. I happen to know you cried with her. Your word says in Psalm 56:4 that you catch our tears and put them into a bottle, and number our wanderings.  Oh Dear God you have numbered our daughter's wanderings.  Take that bottle filled with her tears, and pour it back out on her like a rush of healing waves.  Go to the deepest parts of her heart and restore."

From the mouth of Victoria:
After you prayed, I began to rip the paper up with you.  With every rip the tears began to fall.  I could feel again.  As I sat there ripping up the papers and lighting the matches, I could feel God rip inside of me, and begin to destroy all the hurt and pain I have experienced.  I couldn't control my sobbing.  I felt these arms that you claimed to be my father surround me.  I thought you were crazy for praying to an imaginary God that you called my father.  That is I thought you were crazy until I felt him.  You kept telling God that I was His and yours.  You always said "Our" daughter when you prayed.  I sat there completely broken and for the first time I did feel my feet on top of God's.  I imagined my hands around his legs, and He danced with me.  Yes God danced with me as I sobbed.  I could feel him lift my broken body onto his lap.  I felt my hair being caressed and I could even smell this fragrance you spoke about.