The Dream

Part One: A dream and the move to Virginia

The sun sets upon a foreign Saharan-like desert while my wife and I are barreling down a dirt road in a dusty and worn out Jeep at the climax of a long and difficult mission. Sitting alongside us is the blonde-hair, blue-eyed little girl we set out on this long journey to find and bring home—our daughter. This was the ending to a dream I had back in 2019 shortly after my wife and I found out we were pregnant with our third child. At the time, we didn’t even know that we were having a girl, and this dream made as much sense to me then as I’m sure it does to you right now. I had assumed it was my daughter, because she looked just like my wife did at this age, but I did not know why she looked to be about the age of 5 or why my wife and I were in a foreign place looking only for our daughter. By the end of this story, I am sure you will see in this dream what I now see.

This is the story of how what was supposed to be an adventurous move halfway across the country to establish ourselves turned into a fight to keep our family together. This series will detail the medical complexity of our daughter’s first year of life, and the eventual fallout that occurred once CPS stepped in and removed her from our care. Outside of close friends and family who endured the nearly 5 year long fight alongside us, I have only told a handful of others about what was undoubtedly the most hellish time we have experienced in our almost decade of marriage. In this series of articles you will read about the mistakes of medical doctors, the deceitfulness of a social worker, the manipulations of a prosecutor, and the betrayal my family has felt from those we trusted most. In short, you will read about the ultimate test of faith that my family has underwent, the raw pain of loss and adjustment, the mental and emotional toil such allegations brought, and the lengthy battles we fought in court. In many ways it is a modern rendition of the story of Joseph and Job; a story wrought with loss and pain, but resolved to be ordered by divine providence ensuring that what man meant for evil, God would turn to our good. Every good story begins with the established peace and tranquility from which the forthcoming dangers are contrasted, and so that is where I will begin.

I was born and raised in Russellville, Arkansas by an entire village of my extended family. Most notably, I was raised primarily by my great-grandparents, Bill and Mildred Davidson. It is to them that I owe much gratitude for who I have become. Living with and being raised by those of a generation at the cusp of passing away instilled in me old and now seemingly ancient traditions and manners which are not common in my own generation, and are seemingly foreign to those who have come after me. Often I think about how they would have reacted to what would transpire just a few years after their deaths. I can imagine my great-grandfather being filled with a quiet and righteous indignation, wishing that those who were persecuting his family were as close to him as the guns under his bed. I can see my great-grandmother’s eyes filling with tears, her heart being both burdened and simultaneously being relieved as she cast her cares upon the feet of her Savior, trusting in His providence and that the King of Justice would reign supreme over the machinations of man.

It was in Russellville that I met my wife, and where we would begin to raise our growing family. Calvin, our oldest, was born in September of 2016, with his brother Elias following not too far behind in December of 2018. We were attempting to space our next child through the use of Natural Family Planning, but that was thwarted when we realized that my wife’s temperature readings were off base because she was already pregnant with our third. I remember the morning we found out very clearly. We were laying in bed, and my wife had taken a pregnancy test. It was neither her nor I who first discovered that a new life was growing in my wife’s womb. It was Calvin who had picked up the test, not knowing what it was, that brought it to us and broke the news. We did not know then that this child would be our first daughter, but I knew from the moment we were given her expected due date—February 25th, the birthday of my great-grandmother. It was then that I had decided on our daughter’s middle name, Lucille. She would share my great-grandmother’s middle name.

At that time, I was working a dead-end job at a hotel, which had begun after I spent a year slaving away at a local print shop with promises of increased pay and responsibility; neither of which transpired. As we announced to friends and family about the expectation of our third child, a friend of mine whom I had never met in person but knew only through online group chats, offered me and my family to drive out to Virginia for a weekend and visit. He was working for a member of his Church, the same denomination we were in, as the CFO for his general contracting company. Business was doing well and they were looking to expand, and if we were interested in moving, there would be a job for me. So in July of 2019 we packed up our tiny Nissan Versa and drove through the night across Tennessee, and arrived the next day to meet our friends.

It was funny then, and still is, that we were looking to move from the River Valley to the New River Valley. Both Radford and Russellville were local university towns, which made the eventual move easy to assimilate to. That first day visiting Virginia was filled with walking through the local trail, which dumped out into the local park located right on the New River. We were captivated by the natural beauty of Virginia, and especially the quaint atmosphere of Radford. The next day, we went with our friends to visit what would become our new church. Redeemer Church, part of the Associate Reformed Presbyterian Church, made us feel very much at home. It was larger than our church back in Arkansas, but gave off a very similar atmosphere and was incredibly welcoming. I remember sitting, listening to the sermon on Psalm 110, wrestling internally on whether we should make the move or not. It was then, almost as if spoken from Heaven itself, that I was instructed to “Come.” It was completely irrelevant to the sermon itself, but the notion that we were being called to Virginia reverberated throughout my whole being. This was the first confirmation that would solidify our later decision to move.

After the service, my wife and I met with many of the families there at Redeemer, and felt like we were already friends with many of them. I vividly remember the Pastor, David Vance, sitting next to me on the floor of the main lobby outside the sanctuary, surrounded by parents and kids. He was very attentive to our conversation, and his genuineness was obvious. It would have been impossible for either of us at that moment to imagine the way our relationship would have turned out just a few years later. We then left Redeemer and returned to the apartment of one of my friends, where my friends and I then set out to walk through the campus of Radford University, looking to speak with those passing by and to evangelize. After spending time talking at great length with a man in front of the 7-Eleven, we returned to the apartment and then went to Redeemer’s evening service. The next morning, we packed up and traversed back to Arkansas left only with the memories we had made, and the burden of making up our mind about moving.

Once back in Arkansas, we began looking into whether or not the move would even be doable. I ran the numbers and saw that it would be very similar, if not cheaper, to live in Virginia than it would be to remain at my hotel job in Russellville. During this time, I was reading through the book of Numbers in my daily bible reading. It was at this point that while I was turning around the ideas and prospects of moving to a new State that I was inundated with the story of the Israelites following after God in the wilderness. When the pillar of cloud and the pillar of fire would move, the Israelites followed; where it rested, they would stop. After reading this I was left with the unwavering feeling that the pillar of fire was getting ready to move across Tennessee and rest in the New River Valley. It was not a question of whether or not the pillar was moving, or if we were being called to Virginia; it was a question of whether I would listen or refuse. This was the second confirmation that we were to move to Virginia.

I remember the day I was officially offered the job at the general contracting company. That morning I met with my pastor, Howard Wheeler, at a local coffee shop to discuss the pros and cons of moving, and to get his advice. It was an emotional meeting for both of us, as we recounted when my family first arrived at Pottsville Associate Reformed Presbyterian Church, the birth and baptism of our first child, and all the friends and memories made along the way. By the end of the conversation, we were both tearful and I recall Howard saying that he wished he had some red flags that he could pull out from the back of his vehicle to keep us from moving, but there were no red flags. I wonder had I known then what I know now, if that would have dissuaded me from making the decision to move. What would life have been like had we not moved? Perhaps had I known what was to come I would have shrunk back. I was a coward then, whether I would have admitted it or not, and I hated confrontation and fights. Only God knows, but what I do know is that it is through the struggle and pain of adversity that we grow. I am thankful for where my family has gotten, and it would not be so had we not gone through such adversity.

After my meeting with Howard, I received a call from Caleb, the owner of the general contracting company. He made me an initial offer, and without hesitation I accepted. At that moment my family began packing up our little apartment and moved all of our belongings into my in-law’s basement. We would have a final send-off party at church on the last Sunday before I would set out to travel to Virginia alone. I would spend the first month in Virginia by myself, living with a friend and his roommate, until I could secure enough money to find a place to move my family in. I missed Calvin’s birthday during this month, being there only through phone calls and photos. But eventually I found a nice house for rent that we could afford. After getting the keys and signing the right paperwork, I would then fly to Arkansas (That trip is a story in it’s own right, and perhaps I’ll tell it another time.) to load up a moving truck with all of our belongings. Once more we traveled across the long State of Tennessee, and set out for our new home.

However, all was not pleasant. Just before I flew back to Arkansas, I had gotten a call from my wife that would mark the start of our daughter’s complex and terrifying medical issues. After doing an ultrasound at the OBGYN’s office, our doctor saw something concerning. Our daughter had one healthy kidney, but where her second kidney was supposed to be, there appeared to be spots that might be indicative of a dead kidney or a cystic mass in it’s place. The months we spent leading up to her birth in February of 2020 were filled with doctor visits, and a concerning OB appointment where we spent almost an hour waiting to hear our daughter’s heartbeat. At the very last minute before we would be transferred to the Hospital for further evaluation, we finally heard her heartbeat. We also had a consultation with a pediatric surgeon who informed us that our daughter very well may need to have surgery after her birth. The imaging was inconclusive at this time, but they hoped to have a better picture once she was born. We were scared, but trusted the doctors to steer us in the right direction in taking care of our daughter’s needs, whatever they may be.

I will pick up the next part with the birth of our daughter, and what her first year of life looked like for her and for my family, but I hope that this part sufficiently set the scene and provide context for what would soon unfold.