Time was the enemy. I learned how to pray in the car and on my feet. A young twenty-something Kathy's life hung in the balance. I needed help with a family crisis and didn't have time for small talk.

The next day after I was at the hospital, Northside Baptist church was on my radar. I drove to meet the pastor who I'd never met until that day. I dove from my car and darted into the church.

I introduced myself as a having moved back to Syracuse a few months ago with a need for my family to find a church home. Then I came at him like a wrecking ball with words. "Besides, I met this desperate and dying girl in the hospital through a contact at work. She has two children, a boy, and a girl. Her husband is trying to keep it all together, but he's also sick." I took a deep breath. "They both have AIDS. But the children have tested negative."

You should have seen his jaw drop. Here was this plump pastor with a patch of hair on his shiny bald head. But I credit him with quick action. After he took it all in, he didn't give it another thought. He bounded from his desk, and we jumped in his car for the hospital. It turned out he had a big heart too.

He assured me the church would marshal together a means of shelter, food, and all the prayers and support needed. As we talked and learned more about each other, I knew then that this church would also become my church family.

Kathy recovered enough to get around. Everyone who met her could tell she was too thin. A sharp- boned woman who might shatter on impact. But her sparkling blue eyes defied the death sentence. As a church we all guided her through securing a place for her family to live, and the pastor even conducted an official wedding ceremony for her and Chris the father of her children. They finally tied the knot with their children Stormy and Tyler beside them. They publicly professed their faith and were baptized. My wife and Kathy became close as sisters. It seemed as if nothing should go wrong.

When it came to Kathy, we prayed for her health and believed in miracles. She was hanging on to live for her children. She wanted to be there for them, to watch them grow. We spent time with her and the kids, and our kids were about the same age. They loved coming over to our place. We were a natural fit to be together. There was no doubt, God's providence was at work in those days. Sometimes his providence can be like a rip current, if you fight it and swim against it, you might drown. Let it take you along to another shore.

It wasn't many weeks into summer when the subject of who would raise her children came up. Kathy would breach the subject with my wife and confide in her. One particular day, across from the kitchen table, she confessed to my wife. "Mary," She said, "I reckon you know the Pastor and his wife want to adopt our kids. There even pushing papers on Chris and myself to sign."

Mary must have looked stunned when she spoke. "It seems they are getting ahead of the curve here."

Kathy chimed in. "I just don't know if it's a good fit, I mean you and Tom are much younger, and your kids are around the same age."

"I'm going to talk to Tom. I know they've done plenty for you. But don't feel obligated. You don't owe them your kids because of it."

When I got word of it, I wasn't surprised. Pastor Bradford had been doing more than dropping hints. If I were to agree with Kathy and my wife there would be a tug of war over those kids. We had just got comfortable with our new church family, and I wasn't into sparring with the pastor. I asked my wife to be low-key and assured Kathy and Chris that things would work out if we all prayed and stayed close.
What I knew about Chris the father made everything unpredictable. We suspected he was still using drugs. And I knew he wasn't about to hand over his kids to anyone unless he had both feet in the grave.

Before summer ended, our pastor made an announcement. He and his family were leaving the church for greener pastures. I wasn't aware that there had been deep divisions and concerns in the church. Afterall we were new on the scene. The pastor insisted that Chris, Kathy, and the kids follow them to their new church calling. It was a big fat no.

As it all unfolded, Chris and Kathy opted to head back home to Oklahoma. Before the summer was over everything had changed. The Pastor abandoned the church. The sick family left for their original home. I suspected it was where Kathy wanted to spend her last days. It wasn't that I didn't believe in miracles. I had been a witness to plenty of them in my own life.

As the remaining days of the year unfolded in 1992, we voted in a new pastor. My wife built a friendship over the phone with the grandmother of the Glover children, knowing if both Chris and Kathy passed away she might help us take custody of those kids. It was a simple and powerful promise my wife made to a dying mother.

Then the day came when Mary got the dreaded call. Kathy had passed away at a hospital in Oklahoma. My wife was told that as Kathy lay in the hospital bed dying, she blamed Chris for everything: the drugs, the sickness, everything. As it was told to wife and relayed back to me, she cried out, My babies! My babies! You killed me and took my babies!" Then she died.

Chris, the young widower had his kids and there was no telling where they would go next. We held hope that one day we would see them again. Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, then another year gone.

But one day, there was a knock on the door.