Anna's Story
February 6, 2025
Birth To Twenty-One
The social worker called us about “Brianna” the same week our 19-month twins were returned to their mom. She was just shy of three years old and needed someone to adopt her. Her parents, Missy and Gerry, had just declared they would no longer work to get her back if they had to give up drinking. Then they disappeared.
“I’ve never met anyone so resilient,” Karen, her second foster mom, said of Brianna as she introduced her to us. She told us how Missy and Gerry had strapped 14-month-old Brianna into their car at a bar in Middleton, then gone in to drink for several hours before someone discovered her and called the police. That’s when social services stepped in.
Brianna was reported under-nourished as she entered the foster care system. She showed signs of both neglect and Fetal Alcohol Effect (now called Fetal Alcohol Spectrum Disorder), but was bright and beautiful. Karen worked hard for a year to help Brianna learn attachment and basic life skills. This was challenging because of frequent visitations (including overnight stays) with Missy and Gerry as they worked half-heartedly toward re-unification.
(Anna later remembered, during a prayer journey with Cross Counsel in Madison, going to Missy’s bedside and asking for food. Missy had yelled at her, turned over and gone back to sleep. Anna would have been one or two at the time.)
When Karen brought Brianna to meet us, I arranged a platter of graham crackers for everyone to enjoy together. None of us adults cared to eat, but Brianna polished off the entire platter. She then spent an hour demonstrating her love for dolls and bossing people around.
We decided to keep her.
She was so articulate. It was great fun to hear grown-up language for 2-year-old thoughts. Quotes like these had us frequently in stitches:
“Uh! These stairs are so heavy!”
(as she walked up our steep farmhouse stairs).
“I Anna. I like boys a LOT,”
(as an introduction to herself).
“I’ve got a sneeze in my throat,”
(as she cleared her throat).
The adoption process seemed long and arduous. While Kerry and I were being examined and home studied, our communicative little treasure discovered she could get extra attention by embellished tattling. Creative twists on our discipline methods brought scrutiny for possible abuse. Finally the air was cleared and everything moved ahead. The hearing was set and publicized … and that’s when Patrick discovered she existed. When he read the notice in the paper about her upcoming adoption, he came up from Colorado, proved he
was her biological father (not Gerry) and fought for her custody. Eventually, the social workers convinced him he wasn’t in a position to provide the stability she needed, and he stepped back with the request that we keep him updated with pictures. This we did until until they started coming back in the mail without a forwarding address
During the season leading up to her adoption, Brianna would introduce herself, “I Anna!”
so on her adoption day she became “Anna Rose Hauge.” What a happy event!
But little warning signs here and there signaled all might not be well. Certain trails of thinking that were natural for other kids just didn’t seem to connect for her. Of biggest concern was that she didn’t know how to tell when her stomach was full, and had to be told at every meal when to stop eating. But in the busyness of life, we prayed for her and trusted it would all work out in the end. She seemed so light-hearted and happy-go-lucky. And she knew how to turn to God for help.
When she was 10, Kerry tore the meniscus in his knee and was laid up for several months. I was busy caring for kids and running the wedding business, so Anna ran the pond shop. With Kerry laid out on the couch in the background but close enough to mentor her, she learned how to sell products, explain pond eco-systems and algae control, describe which plants would thrive where, catch fish, run the credit machine and make small talk with customers. Everyone was so impressed with this smart little business woman.
Anna always had a special sensitivity to the spirit realm. It began with strong senses of safety or fear at varying times, which she later came to recognize as evidence of angels and demons. These she began seeing and describing as she entered her teenage years. (Though I would bet she had seen and felt them through her early childhood neglect as well.)
She was also gifted prophetically from the beginning. When she was three, she picked our friend Vickie out of a crowd we were hosting and gave her a tour of Paradise Park. As they stepped onto our 40-foot pole bridge and Vickie expressed fear that they might fall, Anna piped up in her bright little voice, “Don’t worry! God will not let us fall through the cracks!”
Our friend David recently sent me this: “We often reminisce of the morning you gave Cheryl a note of Anna’s giving a word from the Lord. Words Cheryl had uttered the night before. No prophetic person in Madison, Tulsa or Kansas City ever gave us such a clear word.”
As she entered her teenage years, Anna decided she’d had enough of being everyone’s everything. She wanted to find herself and a little peace and quiet. But these were hard to come by in our house.
At night she would lay awake and worry about Missy. “Is she OK? Is she dead? Why did she give me up? Why was drinking more important than her own baby? If she didn’t want a kid, why didn’t she abort me in the first place?”
(This has led to Anna’s intense stand against abortion.)
Anna didn’t have the most understanding adoptive mom either. I would hear her fret over Missy and feel my own rejection pangs. Why wasn’t I
enough? This led to angst between us, with Anna wanting to seek her own identity while I ached to make her my clone. What I intended as motivation only brought distance. This is how Anna describes it now:
“Since I felt I couldn’t measure up to ‘the golden child’ you were, then why try? And I was afraid of becoming Missy. I didn’t recognize it at the time, but I was trying to become the complete opposite of both of you.”
Needless to say, this led to confusion on all fronts.
It wasn’t all negative. Mixed into the growing darkness were plenty of happy times. When she turned 13, I took Anna away for a weekend to celebrate. We enjoyed a fancy meal together, then hung out in a hotel room reading, reminiscing, and playing a board game called “Careers.” In this game, each person is given 60 points that they divide among their pursuits of fame, fortune and charity. Anna put all 60 in charity, and that’s when it because clear that helping people is her heart cry. About that time, she decided she would run an orphanage when she grew up.
One of my favorite memories of Anna from this time period was her fearlessness with animals. One day she and I were dis-assembling our flower pillars at the bridge garden. Under the fourth layer of stone we came upon a four-foot orange, black and white striped snake. While I was deciding whether to panic, Anna grabbed it by the tail and held it up to admire it. “I saw them do it on a nature show,” she explained. (It proved to be a milk snake, not the rattler I had suspected.)
BED became front and center in our lives as we decided to fight it with all the best in discipline techniques. Logical consequences dictated ever-increasing supervision, calorie counting and exercise. All food in the house was kept under lock and key, garbage was disposed of immediately, and Anna seldom went anywhere without us.
Through these years and tangled into the BED, Anna’s pent-up overwhelm demanded relief, and she didn’t know where to find it. Thoughts of suicide began plaguing her. She so wanted all her problems to be over and not have to deal with them anymore. But fear over her siblings or us finding her dead kept her from acting on it.
Eventually, she discovered that cutting herself brought momentary relief to the thoughts of suicide. It also seemed to fill the felt need to be punished in the midst of the shame that blanketed her. I never set out to inflict shame on her, but my frequent corrections contributed.
Finding evidence of the cutting cut through Kerry’s and my hearts. Hurt and angry ourselves, we panicked and tried everything. We scared her with warnings of an eternity without God. I argued with her a lot. We sought several forms of counseling and intervention, but found mostly closed doors and limited results.
I pulled back on academics in her 8th Grade homeschooling, doing what I could to connect her with skills through which she could find herself in Christ. Piano, guitar and singing became pursuits, along with prayer journaling, drawing and photography. Reading assignments focused on solutions to her problems, and writing assignments asked her to record and pray about what she was experiencing. Here’s one sample of her writing:
“I was angry, and I couldn’t say no,”
Anna says now. “The donuts were all busted up and dry, and there was no logic to it. But it’s like I was on the Interstate driving really fast, and the thought of crossing through lanes of traffic to take the exit ramp was just too much work. I didn’t know how to get off.”
I had the same thing going as a mom. I had my parenting techniques, and I kept telling myself, “Just stay steady. Stay steady. Be consistent with the consequences, and eventually she’ll catch on.” I couldn’t get off my interstate either.
When Anna didn’t come right back with the shovel that morning, I followed to check on her. Seeing that empty donut box lying beside the road and realizing what had happened, I threw up my hands in despair. That’s when the Holy Spirit spoke to me in as clear a voice as I’ve ever heard:
“You can’t control this thing.”
Th-wunk. It hit the bottom of my heart and sent out ripples that have affected the rest of my life.
Kerry and I began releasing control, little by little. We put a canister of rolled oats on the kitchen windowsill that she could eat from as often as she wanted. Then a basket of fruit. Soon we had removed all the locks and were purposeful to look the other way when it came to her eating. This began a very long season of both relief and fear in her and in us. It was far from instant success, and the BED continued.
Kerry and I finally got brave enough to tell friends and pull in a small army of prayer support. No one knew what to say, and words of advice usually hurt more than helped, but bringing it out into the open was a part of our survival.
For herself, Anna had a growing sense of isolation and loneliness that overwhelmed her. When she would share her struggles with a friend, she usually faced rejection. In addition, the change in her once-sunny countenance now turned people away. She felt she didn’t fit anywhere, and that’s when she developed an irrational fear that anyone she became friends with would reject her. This grew into other irrational fears that introduced her to the world of anxiety attacks.
It was her 16th birthday that Anna now credits as the beginnings of her turn-around.
We invited about a dozen lady friends from our church (Springs of Hope Fellowship) to her Sweet 16 Party, along with her sisters and cousin. All were encouraged to dress up for a banquet, bring a note of encouragement to read out loud, and be ready to pray. They rose to the occasion. Anna was surrounded with love by those who knew her at her worst and didn’t judge her for it. They warred in prayer over her. They reminded her of her beauty and her giftedness. And we laughed together over shared stories of her childhood.
Laughter is one of those special gifts God blessed Anna with. Somehow in the thick of battle, Anna was always able to find moments of hilarity that would cut her loose from the stress and give her enough strength to go on. This survival technique cannot be over-rated.
When asked what else helped her survive the tough times she answered, “When I was in extreme pain, I needed some way to release it. I didn’t need people’s advice. I needed someone to sit, listen and be a shoulder to cry on. Other things that helped were ‘legal’ ways of experiencing pain, like boxing or lifting weights. There was no easy fix; it was trial and error to find what worked. It always helps to know you are not alone in what you are experiencing, to talk with someone else who is going through what you are. Don’t be misled when people pretend they want to be left alone in their pain.”
One quote she holds onto is by Jay Shetty: “Sometimes you think you want to disappear, but all you really want is to be found.”
You’ll see if you look at the scars on her arms now that her cutting started out as little nicks low on her wrist. As time progressed, they went up higher on her arm and got deeper. But there is a clear path steering around the veins. We are so grateful her life was spared.
As healing has progressed, she has gone from always wearing long sleeves, to half sleeves, to a tattoo that blends with the scars and tells her story. “It’s a picture of lightning ripping the sky open; a dark time that God has redeemed,”
she says. “You can’t find your light without going in the darkness. You can’t appreciate the good times if you haven’t experienced the bad. Getting to the point where you can be comfortable enough to openly show scars because you conquered your enemy is a huge part of the healing process. A story for others to know that they can too. There is no shame to hide behind any longer.”
Anna still battles enemies like depression and anxiety, though not nearly as intensely as before. They are no longer crippling.
On March 1, Anna heads south to live with her biological dad and brother in New Mexico. She met them online a year or so ago, and in person over Thanksgiving. They clicked, and her heart is drawn to a new season in life as she explores her roots in greater depth. “I feel like I’ve been in intermission long enough,”
she says. “I’m excited to see what’s next, and stoked that I can hop in my car and head across the country without fear or the heavy weight of past issues.”
There have been times recently when I’ve been sitting with Anna, mindlessly eating cookie after cookie while she sips her coffee. Revelation dawns as we meet eyes, and laugh until we cry. God has brought her so far. And it's only the beginning!
Let God Handle The Heavy Stuff
Dear Nieces & Nephews, Images of you have been filling my mind this morning. You’re going through so much. I want to be with you in it. But lives have put physical distance between us, along with the invisible barriers that come with full homes and schedules ... only to be crossed at special events and chance encounters at Costco. I sure do want this to change. Being with each other really is a very big deal. It’s the substance of relationship. Jesus wanted his disciples with him when he was entering his darkest hour. He brought them to Gethsemane with him. When he told them he was overwhelmed with grief and sorrow to the point of death (pretty vulnerable), it’s remarkable that they fell asleep on him. It’s not like He had a victim mentality and talked that way all the time. “I want someone with me in my pain,” is central to the human heart, and I believe mirrors God’s. Yet how often do we sleep through our loved ones’ pain? Or defend ourselves in it? Or analyze it? Or devalue it by trying to rationalize it away? Yesterday was the portion of Resurrection Weekend that experiences Jesus’ pain with him, that watches and prays with him, that doesn’t try to explain anything away or fix anything, but just stays with Him. I'm going to give it another day. What does that MEAN for me today, Lord? What does it LOOK like? Watch and pray f or WHAT? There are no soldiers for me to watch for. Perhaps I am just to watch. ??? Why is this so hard? I want to know what to watch for. And I want to know what to do when I see it. But you haven’t told me that yet. And if I try to prepare for it, I’ll bring along a sword and cut off someone’s ear, or something equally rash. JUST WATCH. AND PRAY. AND BE WITH HIM. Be with Him in His pain. Be with my family members in their pain. Don’t try to fix anything. Don’t defend myself. Don’t analyze it or assign blame. JUST WATCH. AND PRAY. AND BE WITH THEM. And remember. I didn’t prepare for this at all, but I’m going to set up our kitchen island with the closest thing I have to bread and wine, and serve a day-long communion. I'm going to remember what my Savior did for me as I watch and pray, and invite Uncle Kerry and your cousins to do it with me. And I'll be remembering YOU, my nieces and nephews. Maybe I can’t be with you, but I remember you. I am praying for you. And I am watching for any points of reconnection. All my love, Aunt Michelle
Dear Nieces & Nephews, We moms put a lot of thought into making sure our kids know enough. Especially when we’re homeschooling, it can become all-consuming. Everything runs through the filter of, “Do my kids need to know this?” or, “How can I help them understand that?” “Will they survive without knowing that thing they have no interest in?” becomes more prevalent as they get into their upper high school years. We know their bents and their battles and choose carefully. Frankly, we'd all do well to apply the same strategy. Maybe it’s time we slacken the line of fear over all we don’t know, and just embrace what life is teaching us in the moment. Especially the hard things. Go ahead and marinate. It’s a lot more effective than a thousand pings of slight recognition from a text book. Thaddeus and Kieran have taught me more about learning from the nitty gritty of life than anyone else. I used to call them our “Dopternal Twins” (twins through adoption). With just two months separating them, they became a formidable duo that took the world by storm the day they locked eyes in parallel play and discovered that combining forces could triple the noise and excitement. Synergy. For some reason, they decided early-on the same thing Uncle Terry used to tell me growing up: That everything I know is wrong. Until proven right. Or at least interesting. This made for an interesting dynamic in our homeschool. They learned to read standing on their heads off the back of the couch. Every subject was made as tangible as possible, and stories were woven into everything ... along with lots and lots of life. We began each day with FPT (Family Project Time), ran our home businesses together, and hosted streams of people and events. When the boys were in 5th Grade, we discovered the Madison Area Home Schoolers basketball team. The first time I saw them play on a team, I wept tears of relief as I saw the good that could come out of their dynamic synergy. Not only were they quick, intense and skillful, they also had the kind of connection that left onlookers breathless, passing the ball blind to each other with uncanny precision. Now they’re 18. Graduation is right around the corner. Life has taken a lot of turns and they’re on different paths. They are still learning some things academically, but mostly we are amazed at what life is teaching them. It’s slow and hard and painful, but so much more effective than books full of random facts. Whenever we see them embrace life, we rejoice. Three flat tires in a month? Wow, is he getting good at changing tires! A friend taking advantage of him? He's figuring out the balance of boundaries and forgiveness. Two parking tickets for the same infraction? (Turns out City of Madison and UW Madison parking enforcements have overlapping jurisdiction during state basketball tournaments.) A whole load of life going on in this one! You get the idea. Yes, life can be painful but it’s such a good teacher. I wonder what it’s teaching you today? Embrace it! Love, Aunt Michelle
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