When God’s divine plan comes full circle.

by Stephen Becker as told to Shirley Mozena

I found her! My heart beat rapidly, my stomach a mess. I took a deep breath and dialed the phone number.

A woman answered. “I’m looking for Judi Bolson,” I said. “Does she live here?”

“Just a moment,” she said. I heard voices in the background, then another woman came on the line. “Hello?”

“I’m looking for Judi Bolson.”

“It was my name at one time. . . .”

“My name is Stephen Becker. I was born on September 20, 1965, at Sutter Memorial Hospital and was given up for adoption at birth. Does this mean anything to you?”

“Oh, yes it does. . . .” She hesitated a moment. “Give me a little time to take this in. I have a roomful of people looking at me right now. Could l call you in about an hour?”

“Of course.”

Anxious waiting

Did she really want to talk to me? I paced the room, waiting for the phone to ring. Would she call me back?

The woman who had given birth to me wouldn’t have to call back, but I was hoping and praying she would want to connect with me.

Understanding the puzzle

Until I was twenty-four, I had no desire to know about my “other” parents. Perhaps it was because now I was finally an adult, completing my education, thinking about marriage, and wanting to know the complete puzzle of my life.

My adoptive parents loved and provided well for me. German by blood and citizens of Ukraine, they had experienced a harrowing trip from that country into war-torn Europe, grateful for their freedom from Communism. They eventually immigrated to America in the early fifties.

Determined to be American through and through, my mother, Meta, rarely left her apartment until she could speak understandable English. Nicknamed Red for his shock of bright red hair, my father, Heinrich, never lost his thick accent. A painting contractor, he always worked hard to support his family.

Long search

My search took many months, with phone calls and countless visits to the Social Service offices. Adoptees wanting to meet their biological parents were tutored on how to accomplish their search.

California is a closed-adoption state, so information was difficult to find. I petitioned the county through the Freedom of Information Act and received some information.

Missing piece

Most of the many pages were redacted. Pertinent names were blacked out, but they didn’t black out all of the information. At last, I found my birth mother.

Named Judi Bolson, she had relocated from my hometown of Sacramento to Portland, Oregon. Now here I was, a year later, waiting for her to return my call.

An agonizing sixty minutes later, she called back. We talked for an hour or more and made arrangements to meet face-to-face a few weeks later.

First meeting

As the aircraft made its final approach over the Columbia River that cold winter day, I wondered how our meeting would go. I nervously unbuckled my seat belt and made my way through the skyway to meet my birth mother for the first time.

There she stood — less than five feet tall, with dark blonde hair and blue eyes. She threw her arms around me. “I’m sooooo glad to see you! We have so much to talk about! Let’s get going!”

She introduced me to her husband, J. C., and to my sister, Carla. “It’s a miracle!” Judi exclaimed. “I’ve dreamed what you might look like for all of your twenty-five years.”

New connections

The day was full. They took me to see the sights in Portland and introduced me to extended family members, pointing out landmarks along the way. Soon we arrived at their Victorian-built home.

“Is it all right if I call you Mom?” I asked hesitantly.

“I’d be honored.” Judi’s voice broke. “Oh, Stephen, if you only know the agony I went through giving you away. It was the hardest thing I ever had to do.”

Beginning of life

Judi brushed away tears and told me about my beginning.

She was a single mom, trying to raise Carla while living with her parents. She became involved with the man who would be my father. “I guess you could say I was hungry for love, and when I found out I was pregnant, I honestly didn’t know what to do.”

She looked down. “I knew better than to get intimate with a man before marriage, but my desperation for love overcame my best self.”

Family background

“Why didn’t my father marry you?” I asked.

“Well, basically, he told me, ‘You know we can’t get married. We come from two different religions. It won’t work. Besides, you’re divorced.’ I couldn’t bear the smirks and whispers behind my back in the small town, so I left.

“I determined to begin relationships with the other part of my family — my mother and half brothers and sisters. My parents had been divorced for years, and I’d always lived with my dad and stepmom. I packed up Carla and my few belongings and purchased a one-way train ticket to Sacramento.”

Chance to live

My mother continued her story. “As the train pulled out of my hometown, I finally felt some hope with my little girl. That’s how I got to California and why you were born there. I knew I was carrying life.

“Words I memorized during Sunday school burned into my consciousness: For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I couldn’t snuff out my baby’s life. This little one, who was you, needed a chance to live.”

She told me how she specified that her baby be adopted by a Christian family and be of German ancestry. “I reasoned maybe they’d look a little like me, plus have my same religious beliefs.”

New friends, new life

A few months later, Judi and my adoptive mother met for the first time. They became fast friends and always connected whenever Judi came to town.

I got married and started a family. We had twins — a boy and a girl.

Call to ministry

After my adoptive dad died, I did a lot of thinking about my future. I wanted to help others and minister as a pastor. I needed to take care of my family, so I continued my job as an IT professional in the grocery business while taking classes at seminary. It would take longer, but there would also be no debt.

After seven years, I was ordained. By this time, both my adoptive parents were deceased, so Judi proudly attended the ordination ceremony.

Years later, after J. C. died, Judi married a man named Roger. I was honored to perform their wedding ceremony.

Gratitude

I’m grateful for those German parents, Meta and Heinrich, who adopted me. They loved and provided for me, giving me opportunity to be raised in a Christian home and complete my education. Confident in our relationship, they supported me when I decided to try to find my birth mother.

I’m so grateful to my birth mother, Judi, for her selfless love by giving me — a child she carried for nine months — to someone else. I’m reminded what the Bible tells us, that those who believe in Jesus are God’s adopted sons and daughters. Adoption is a picture of our relationship with God.

I am doubly blessed because I found my birth mother. My mom will always be Meta. But the one who sacrificed her own comfort by giving me up for someone else to raise is my mother, Judi.

Working for good

Judi once told me she comforted herself with words from the Bible: “All things work together for good.” She often said, “I hoped my baby boy would grow into a God-loving man. I dreamed I would one day meet him. My prayers have been answered. God did work it together for good.”

At Judi’s memorial service last October, I shared my adoption story — how all things had worked together for good. Only God could do that!

Shirley Mozena is an author, a speaker, blogger, and retired teacher. She has authored two books, Second Chances At Life and Love and Beyond Second Chances: Heartbreak to Joy — finalists in the Oregon Christian Writers Cascade Awards. Shirley has also published her writing in LIVE and The Columbian newspaper. She and her husband, Jim, facilitate a grief group at their church for those grieving the loss of loved ones. They live in Vancouver, WA. Visit her website: https://shirleymozena.com/.