Chapter 27

Looking for Mom

    There might be some new people joining us here in my testimony.  I have included a web link from some adoption related home pages so that they may share in this most wonderful experience that I have had, finding my real (birth) mother. To those of you who are joining us I have been relating the miracles surrounding my life and the marvelous work that our Lord Jesus Christ has done in my life.  This portion you are now reading is but a small part of the story, the Footsteps of a son of God.

    About 1990, while I was still living in Idaho - well before the accident in Africa -  I dug out some of my old adoption papers and made an attempt to find my real mother. I had gone in to have a flight physical and the doctor said that I had some blood sugar problems. He said that I could possibly have a diabetic problem and wondered if it ran in my family. When I told him that I had been adopted when I was three days old he suggested that I see if I couldn’t find out any health information about my real parents. That prompted me to get in touch with social services in the state of California to find out about my real parents. They were totally unhelpful and it became quickly obvious that I would have to get a lawyer involved to get any information. Not having the money I let the matter drop. All I knew from my adoption papers was that my mother’s name was Elizabeth Stewart Hall and my name, according to the papers, was "Baby Boy" Hall.

    Shortly after I started working in 1995, after my accident and recuperation,  I received a package from Mary Cook, my dad Walt’s sister-in-law. After my dad died in 1994, shortly before I went to Zimbabwe, she and I had talked about some of the things that my dad had that I would like to keep. I had forgotten about our conversation because of all of the turmoil with the kids, my accident, my recovery and finding a job.

    I got home one afternoon in the late spring of 1995 and found Linda and Carin all excited. In the package that Aunt Mary sent  were a number of items,  including my grandfather’s Bible, a diary that my dad had kept while he was on a top secret mission during WW2, and significantly, three Christmas cards and one graduation announcement. The cards were addressed to John & Walter Low in care of my dad’s old address. The postmarks were from the late seventies and early eighties. They were from an Elizabeth Stewart with a return address in Long Beach, California. Linda put it together that this Elizabeth Stewart was the Elizabeth Stewart Hall from my adoption papers. Needless to say,  we were all excited.

    I called directory assistance in Long Beach, California and tried to get the phone number from the operator. The reason I say tried becomes apparent later in this chapter. I told her that I needed a number for Elizabeth Stewart at XXXX Olive street in Long Beach. She said that she could not give out address information but there was an E. Stewart on Olive street and she gave me the number.

    Nervously, I called the number and a lady answered that, because of her accent,  was obviously black. I told her who I was and my reason for calling and asked if her name was Elizabeth Stewart. She said, "No,   I'm Elizabeth’s room mate and Elizabeth is at work".  We chatted for a while because I was curious about any information regarding my mom. Because of the accent of this lady's voice I asked her if my mom was also black. She said, Yes, and when I told her that I was white she said that Elizabeth was very light complected,   as were all of her children.

    I asked her if she knew of Elizabeth giving up any children for adoption in the early 1950’s and she said that she didn’t know. I thanked her and gave her my name and phone number and asked her to have Elizabeth call me just as soon as possible. I told some of the people at church and boy did I get teased about my mom. One of our black brothers joked and said that’s how come I got along so well with the people in Zimbabwe, because I had black blood in me. I went home and looked in the mirror and I didn’t have of the physical characteristics that I would normally associate with blacks, but Hey! who cares? I waited impatiently.

    After about three days I could contain myself no longer and again called the number. A different lady answered this time and she sounded drunk, or stoned. I told her who I was and asked if this was Elizabeth and she said she was. I told her who I was and told her about receiving the cards and that I had reason to believe that she was my real mother. I asked her if she had given any children up for adoption in the 1950s. The answer I got was a bunch of mumbled talking that I had difficulty understanding. She would go off on a tangent about something about her kids and never really answered my question. When I again asked her she told me that she had just gotten out of the hospital from a heart attack and that her dad had to get her some medicine -  she would call me after she had taken her medication. I again gave her my phone number and waiting impatiently, to no avail.

    Over the weekend I prayed much about this.   When I didn’t get a return call by the following Monday, I again called,   and to my horror,  the phone had been disconnected! Oh, so many thoughts rushed through my mind. Did my calling her upset her so much that she had the phone disconnected so as to not talk to me? Did she have another heart attack and was she back in the hospital? Had she died? Needless to say,  I spent a very troubled week. I wrote a letter to my mom pleading with her to call me and talk to me..

    The following Friday I came home exhausted and lay down to take a nap. I had been thinking about how nice it would be to have dinner with some friends of ours, Jeff and Chris Nygaard. I no more than closed my eyes and Sis. Chris calls and wants to know if we want to have dinner? I say sure and when we get there I am telling them the story of my mom,  much as I have told it here. Sis. Chris gets this funny, blank look on her face and asks, "And of course you’re going to California to try to find your mom?  Linda and I both knew that something remarkable had just happened and afterwards, as we walked out of the restaurant, we looked at each other and I said, "Well,  it looks like I’m supposed to go to California to find my mom."

    She said, "Sure looks that way to me."

    Sometimes I seem so dense spiritually,   but this was a leading even I could see. The following morning I packed up some clothes and hit the road for California. It is about a six hour trip and the tension mounted every mile of the way. Would I find her? What if she didn’t want to see me? The myriad thoughts raced through my mind. (remember the little magnet on the refrigerator, "Why worry when you can pray") I arrived in Long Beach shortly after noon and immediately bought a street map to find Olive street. I found it and this street had to be at least 20 miles long. After a fair amount of searching I finally found the address listed on the cards I had received. With a great deal of trepidation,  I got up the courage to walk up to the front door.

    As I approach I see the front door is open and there is a heavy security screen door on it. I knock on the door and a short, rather rotund white lady comes to the door.  I introduce myself and ask if she is Elizabeth Stewart.

    She said, "No, Elizabeth doesn’t live there anymore."

    Probably because of the built-up tension, at that moment it felt to me like this lady was putting me off and was trying to get me to go away without seeing my mom.

    I said, "Look, I was adopted with I was three days and I have never seen my real mother. I have just driven 6 hours to see her. Won’t you please help?"

    She opened the screen and put her hand on my arm and said, "No, really, we bought the house from Elizabeth about one and a half years ago. I think she moved to Westminster  [California.]"

    I asked if she had a return address or a phone number for her and she went to look. While I waited I had the unpleasant experience of having her husband inspecting me through the door, probably trying to figure out who this character is. When she returned she had a business card with Elizabeth’s name written on it. The card said she was a lawyer for some employment compensation firm. That made sense because the announcement card I had received was a graduation announcement for her from law school, but this was from the late seventies.

    We chatted for a few minutes and quickly determined that whoever I had been talking to on the phone, it sure wasn’t anyone from this address. Elizabeth was white and so,  whichever Elizabeth Stewart I had talked to on the phone, it sure wasn’t the Elizabeth that I was looking for. An even scarier thought came to mind. If I did find her, she would have had no forewarning that I was looking for her. I would be dropping in out of the blue! Oh, boy!

    I thanked the lady and gave her my name and address and asked if she found any other information to please give me a call, collect. She agreed and she said, "Good Luck" as I departed.

    As I walked to my car I noticed a postman and stopped him to ask if Elizabeth had left a forwarding address. He said he didn’t know and they normally don’t give out that kind of information. He said he would try to locate it for me and so I gave him my card. I got in my car and drove around the block to a grocery store and parked in the parking lot. I tried one number after another from Elizabeth’s business card and they all had been disconnected. I was so up tight, nervous and frustrated that I just started crying.

    After I composed myself I started praying. I said, "Lord, I believe that you have brought me here to find my mom. I have reached a dead end and I don’t know which way to turn. I have been in these situations before and you have always guided in the direction I need to go. Please won’t you do it now?" After I finished I started dialing the cellular phone so that I could call Linda and Carin, who I knew were at home sitting on pins and needles waiting for some news.

    I no more than dialed the number and I heard Carin say," Dad?"

    I said, "Carin?" Because the phone never rang. She had been calling me at the exact moment that I had been trying to call her.

    She was all excited because,  after I had left the lady's house,  she had come across a Christmas card envelope - not the card,  just the envelope - with Elizabeth’s new address. Carin told me the address was such and such "Tri street" but it was spelled Teri. I said that that didn’t make sense but I was just around the corner so I would go back to the ladies house.

    When the lady saw me drive up she ran out of the door and handed me the envelope. She was bouncing up and down and I don’t know who was more excited, her or I. I thanked her and off I went to Westminster, about 30 minutes away.