My husband Maurice and I had been married five years when the ache of childlessness settled into our hearts. Yet we tried not to make our sorrow the center of our lives. Instead, we spent those years alongside friends living with mental disability—we had known the Fede e Luce community for some time by then.
It was then that we began thinking about adoption and gathering information about the process. Around that time, we attended a conference by Jean and Lucette Alingrin, part of a series organized by the Christian Office for the Handicapped. Their testimony struck me like a lightning bolt. Here were two people who had placed everything in faith in Jesus Christ. Their willingness to follow His voice had allowed them to welcome, adopt, and care for children born with disabilities and rejected by their own families.
I felt the force of their witness—it was both a call to love and something extraordinary. But I told myself it could not be for me. When I spoke to Maurice about it, I realized that while he felt ready to welcome a child with a disability, I did not. Maurice accepted my fear, my hesitation, my no.
Then, slowly, over a year, something shifted. One day I found myself able to say yes—a full, free, loving yes—a yes I placed in Mary's hands. A few months later, we met Jean and Lucette again and began the paperwork. Today we can say with certainty: joy and peace dwell in us now. They are our foundation, the proof of Christ's words: "My grace is enough for you," and "Do not be afraid."
During those months of waiting, we learned what it means to lean on the Lord and lack nothing. We felt carried, sustained—not only by our own prayers but by the prayers of families and friends who surrounded us. The paperwork moved with startling speed.
After just six weeks, a phone call from Lucette changed everything. A baby girl, eight days old, was waiting for us. I cannot find words for the joy of holding that child in my arms—this gift that became ours in that single moment.
For the first year, Blandine gave us no health scares. Though she has Down syndrome, she had no heart or lung complications. We knew how much these could torment a parent, and we felt deeply blessed.
Slowly we discovered a cheerful, lively child. She developed without too much difficulty and spread joy wherever she went—her smile, her delight in living, were infectious.
But around her first birthday, progress in movement and speech began to slow. A simple ear infection or bronchitis would halt her development; sometimes she even lost ground. At nineteen months, we enrolled her in a center for children with Down syndrome. I brought her twice a week. During the three-quarter-hour therapy sessions, I watched and learned. Blandine responded to this new structure immediately, making quick progress. Soon I began doing the exercises with her at home. Around age two, we noticed moments of aggression and distress. The staff caring for her suggested a possibility: that her abandonment at birth might be surfacing. It is terrible to watch a child suffer from a wound she did nothing to cause and cannot heal alone.
«Slowly we discovered a cheerful, lively child. She developed without too much difficulty and spread joy wherever she went»
«Slowly we discovered a cheerful, lively child. She developed without too much difficulty and spread joy wherever she went»We had to admit we were unprepared for this. We knew we needed to speak to her about her first days, but we knew nothing of her past. We searched for the simplest words we could find—phrases to tell her that for reasons beyond anyone's control, her birth parents could not keep her, and that Maurice and I had become her father and mother. That we needed her as much as she needed us. That we loved her completely. We watched her listen carefully to every word. Something in what we said touched her, calmed her.
One thing we learned mattered more than anything else: when we explain something to Blandine, we must take all the time she needs and ask for her full attention. Then she understands perfectly.
We have also made prayer together central to her days—morning and evening. We want her to grow in that quality of attention, of listening.
Of course, daily life still held its struggles. Blandine would throw toys and objects everywhere. At meals, teaching her to feed herself took patience and perseverance beyond measure. How many times did we pick her plate up from the floor, fighting off discouragement and frustration in our exhaustion? But strength comes from being two. It comes from being able to lean on each other when things are hard.
Through Blandine we discover with wonder how much greater the forces of life and love are than those of death
Through Blandine we discover with wonder how much greater the forces of life and love are than those of deathBlandine is now thirty-three months old. Just days ago, she took her first steps. She is a happy child and the joy of our lives. Her tenderness toward us knows no bounds. And her knowledge of our love allows her to grow and flourish. Through her, we have learned—with wonder and gratitude—that the forces of life and love are far greater than those of death.
- Maurice and Michèle Antoine, 1989