"What Have I Done to My Baby?"

[When drugs caused congenital defects, getting high gave no escape from guilt. Blaming God & anger didn't help. Alone in his trailer, father finds lasting relief from distress.]

"Come on, Mitzi, take another deep breath," I coached. "Now blow it out -- slowly. You're doing fine. We're almost there."

"It's coming," the doctor smiled. "Looks good. Can't tell yet if it's a boy or a girl."

Suddenly his tone changed. "We're going to have to make a survey of all drugs taken before and during pregnancy," he said soberly.

"What's wrong with my baby?" Mitzi screamed, sitting up and yanking out her IV. "What's wrong? Tell me! I want to know what's wrong with my baby!"

The doctor quickly administered an intravenous sedative. Mitzi laid back on the table as the medication veiled her awareness.

My heart pounded and my eyes strained to learn what was happening. There was a strange numbness inside my head. I took a slow, deep breath and tried to assess the situation.

For several years I had been heavily involved in the drug scene. I had tripped on acid (known to cause genetic defects) many times. Now, "We're going to have to take a survey of all drugs taken before and during pregnancy."

"It's a little girl. She's fine," the doctor was saying, as he continued to examine the baby. "She just doesn't have a left hand."

Mitzi was barely awake now. The doctor placed the baby in my arms. Tears spilled from my eyes, and my throat ached as I looked at her left arm. Oh, what have I done? I lamented.

It had started simply enough. I had been raised in a Christian home. I went to church regularly as a young person.

When I was in the eighth grade, I began having epileptic seizures. I was afraid this would set me apart as abnormal. In order to insure my acceptance, I joined the drug scene.

At first I took pot and alcohol, but that soon led to barbiturates, liquid Demerol, heroin, and many other narcotics. By the time I was a senior in high school, I had tripped on acid several times. All these things aggravated the very problem I was trying to minimize -- my seizures.

By the time I was twenty, the habit was costing me half of my salary. I knew my life was in a mess.

Then I met Mitzi. It wasn't long until we were dating steadily. For her sake I'll change, I purposed. But I often swallowed pills behind her back.

In a few months we were married. We moved into a trailer home in Arkansas. Instead of changing myself, I began pulling Mitzi into the drug activity with me. We had beenmarried less than five months when Mitzi wrapped her arms around my neck one day and said,"The tests were positive, Dale! We're going to be parents! Can you believe that?"

"No," I answered, trying to paste a smile over my horror. The drugs...

Now my brother drove me home from the hospital a few hours after our daughter was born. I kept seeing that tiny arm with only the rudiments of a little finger that had started to form where the left hand should have been. I caused her to be born that way! I brooded.

When we arrived at my trailer, I went in and stared at the drug cabinet. No, that's not what I want, I decided. There's no escape from this. I went back outside, climbed into my truck, and drove to the house of a friend.

"Hey, Dale! Whacha got? Boy or girl?" He and his wife greeted me with anticipation.

Their smiles faded as I began to cry. I shared with them what had happened.

"Do you want to get high, Dale?" he asked, handing me a joint. "Let's just all get high and forget the whole thing!"

We began smoking pot, but I didn't get off. Sometimes when you've had a traumatic experience, you're unable to get high on pot. That's what happened to me. This isn't the answer! I reasoned.

I went back to my trailer. "God, if you're punishing me for my sin, why didn't You take my arm?" I cried. I jerked back the covers and crawled into bed. "Why did you take it out on her?"

But blaming God didn't help. Is there no relief from this guilt? I began sobbing violently.

God loves me! He doesn't enjoy seeing me and my baby hurt. The devil is the one who enjoys this. And he's the one I've been serving all these years. But Jesus loves me. He'll help me! -- The answer came swiftly as a spring breeze. I found myself sliding out of bed to my knees.

"God, I can't control my life anymore. I've made a mess of it. Please take this guilt from me. Please forgive me, and come into my life and take over from here." As I continued to weep, my tears turned to joy because I knew God had heard me. I knew because my guilt was gone.

My sister's old Bible -- it's around here somewhere! I began to search the trailer. When I'd found it, I shuffled the pages and it fell open to the ninth chapter of John. I read:

I read it again. I knew this was God's answer for me. My daughter was not handicapped to punish me. She was handicapped that the works of God might be known.

On the way to the hospital the next morning, I prayed, "Lord, you've freed me of guilt. I know Mitzi is devastated by this also. Please give me the words to tell her what I've found and how I was forgiven."

When I walked into Mitzi's room her expression was lifeless. I took her hand. "Mitzi, it's going to be alright."

Her voice was almost a whisper. "What do you mean? How can this be alright?" she questioned, shaking her head in disbelief.

"Mitzi, I've got Jesus in my life now. He has forgiven me."

Life began to return to her face as I continued to tell her about the experience I'd had the night before. She saw a glimpse of hope in Jesus.

Soon after we brought our new daughter, Jennifer, home, I was baptized. Mitzi (who was already a church member) joined a local church with me.

Friends from the partying crowd continued to drop by the house and urge, "Come on Dale, let's go...." Often I went. I never took drugs after Jennifer was born. Her handicap and my experience with God had cured me of that, but I still used pot and alcohol.

Months passed. Eighteen months later our second daughter, Beverly, was born, with no handicaps. I continued to go to church on Sundays, and to party with my friends during the week.

One day I knelt by my bedside and said, "Lord, either give me the ability to tell my friends what you've done for me, or move me from this place."

Two days later a passing acquaintance from a distant town called the store where I worked. He wanted to know if I could direct him to a certain street there. It was about time for me to get off work, so I offered to go with him.

I never told him about my desire to relocate. Yet by the time he brought me back to my car, he had offered me a job as manager of a store in his hometown. I accepted.

Soon after we moved, we were delighted when God led us to visit a church where we were promptly welcomed by a man whose left arm was missing right below the elbow. We joined this church, and we got involved in a Bible course through the Navigators.

I began memorizing Scripture and applying it to my life. Through these Scriptures, I found strength to turn from my old lifestyle.

A few months after we moved, Mitzi realized she had never really accepted Christ into her life. She did this while we were there.

We stayed in there a few more months, then God moved us to yet town. About a year later, I began to feel that God wanted me to go into the ministry.

I had to pass up many opportunities to preach because my job took me out of town on weekends often. I knew God wanted me to give up my job so I would be free to preach. That was one of the hardest things the God has ever asked me to do. My job was my only source of income for my family.

Had it not been for the strength I had gained through memorizing the Scriptures, I wouldn't have been able to cope with that. Yet during those months, God provided everything we needed through gifts from friends and offerings from churches where I preached.

About three months after I quit my job, a salaried position became available in my own church. I was offered the position of Associate Pastor, and I accepted.

God continues to work in our lives. He assured me he would enable Jennifer to do everything she needs to do when she tied her shoes by herself a couple of years ago at four years of age. That's a feat many four-year-olds cannot accomplish with two hands!

If Jennifer hadn't been handicapped, where would I be today? What kind of lifestyle would I be raising her in? When kids tease Jennifer about having only one hand, I share with her what Jesus did for us through her tragedy. We know its worth it.

-- A true story by Dale Perry, who has been pastor of Friendly Baptist Church in Tyler, Texas since 1992.

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Editor's Note: Jennifer and Beverly are both grown now. Jennifer's handicap has not held her back. If anything it has spurred her on. This family continues to thank God for the decision that Dale made many years ago. His decision to trust God made a difference in their lives.

This God who made such a difference in Dale's life can change your life too! To learn more about God and to invite him into your life, click here.

If you feel angry at God, as Dale did, you may be wondering "Why did God make a world like this?" Click this link for answers.

If you would like to read more stories of how God made a difference in real peoples's lives, see TheGoodNews.org's Personal Stories page.