Facebook's Not All Bad

How Social Media Helped a Christian, a Catholic and an Agnostic Give Way to a Miracle

When I met Shaq at an open mic night in Tampa, I had no idea how our lives would intersect nearly fifteen years later. It proved to me once again that there exists a force greater than I am and it knows exactly what I need and how to provide it. If I pay attention.

I only saw her in person that one time. She was a good friend of an acquaintance and we exchanged a handful of words over loud music and the din of bar conversation. A consummate networker, I friended her on Facebook the next day.

Her honest and often irreverent posts revolved around her life as a fat, black, party hearty lesbian looking for love. They often made me laugh out loud. Although I appreciated her authenticity and humor, I felt a deeper connection that made no sense. I am white. Twenty years older. A homebody who doesn’t drink. Maybe it was because I’m fat too.

Seven years later, I moved home to Pittsburgh and the following year, Shaq moved to Atlanta. We were both creating new lives, but I seemed to be struggling more than she. While Shaq was going to the club, I was supporting my mom with serious health challenges and trying to find work. Although I was “home,” I’d been gone twenty-five years. I had no friends. I was lonely. Isolated. Facebook made me feel connected.

Within a year, Shaq posted about starting therapy and her commitment to breaking cycles of dysfunction that had led to poor choices and their consequences. This was something I’d been working on for years, and we frequently had virtual conversations about the challenges and rewards of the process. I had a kindred spirit on the journey.  

For the next couple of years Shaq’s posts reflected the positive changes that resulted from better choices. She decided to leave the freelance world after realizing she felt more stable with a steady paycheck. She bought a house. And she began to date women who honored her the way she was learning to honor herself.

In the summer of 2017, Shaq posted about her niece staying with her. I was curious but chose just to enjoy her entertaining posts about being responsible for an 8-year old and the impact it had on her social life. Despite the inconveniences, Shaq had grown to love the little girl more than she could’ve imagined and was devastated when she returned to Michigan to start school. 

Her latest posts hinted at the fact that the girl was staying with family because her mother wasn’t in a place to take care of her. Within a few months, she announced she’d decided to adopt not only her, but her brother, who was a baby. There were months of paperwork, background checks and bureaucracy before she finally headed to Michigan in the middle of winter to take the final step.

Facebook helped me keep up on the weeks of delays, and the moment Shaq finally had her moment in court. Impressed with her commitment to becoming a mother, the judge told Shaq she could take the children back to Georgia before the final adoption decree was entered.

In the midst of a blizzard, she rented a van, loaded up the kids and embarked on a 700-mile trip with her new family. Twelve hours of frequent stops for bathroom breaks and diaper changes was a brutal introduction to motherhood, but when they arrived, Shaq’s friends rallied around her.

They found furniture and clothes for the kids, helped to assemble a crib, painted bedrooms and offered advice, babysitting services and lots of love. She detailed on Facebook how foreign this all felt to her but insisted she wouldn’t have it any other way.

In Pittsburgh, my mother’s health was improving. While I was thrilled she needed me less, after years of it being my primary focus, I felt untethered and lost. I was also dealing with my own health challenges and struggled to accept them. Staying connected to people, both in real life and on social media, had again become an anchor while I navigated what life had become.

One day Shaq posted that her daughter’s school was threatening to expel her and the daycare she’d chosen for her son refused to admit him – all because of a bureaucratic snafu. The children’s medical records and proof of immunizations from Michigan were on incorrect letterhead and she was told that until it was changed, she couldn’t get the official Georgia documents.

Numerous phone calls to the state of Michigan proved fruitless and Georgia’s government hadn’t yet approved the kids for Medicaid. Shaq had already spent hundreds she didn’t have to see doctors who told her they couldn’t help. She was out of time, energy and money to fight the system. As I read of her despair on Facebook, my first thought was, “Who do I know in Atlanta?”

My friend Donal popped into my head. A tall Irishman and brilliant musician, I met him when I judged a national karaoke competition in Tampa. I fell in love with his easy brogue and fabulous sense of humor. The music minister at a local church, we became friends and not long after I left Tampa, he moved to Atlanta to be the music director at a Catholic church.

We stayed in touch through Facebook, and although he didn’t post as much as Shaq, I knew he had a new partner and had founded the Atlanta Homeward Choir. Composed of homeless men and women in the city, they performed all over town and had been invited to sing at the White House Christmas concert.

I messaged him on Facebook and asked if he knew any doctors in town that could help. Within a day, he sent me contact information for a member of his parish who was a doctor. She was twenty-five miles from Shaq, but she was willing to try almost anything at this point.  

Within one appointment, the paperwork was transferred to the proper forms, the kids received a check-up, and Donal’s friend made copies of everything so Shaq could easily share it with a doctor closer to home once Medicaid was approved. All of this was done for a nominal fee with kindness and respect. Shaq’s daughter stayed in school. Her son was able to attend daycare. And Shaq returned to work full-time, knowing her children were taken care of during the day.

The joy I felt for being a link in the chain of such a meaningful experience filled me in a way that made me feel the God I’m not sure I believe in. It was the spark I needed to commit to my writing career in a new way, which has led to more joy.

The kids continue to grow and prosper, even though they never let Shaq have a moment’s peace – especially when she’s in the bathroom. Because a force greater than I connected the three of us – first in real life and then through social media – two more children, who are loved beyond imagination, are on solid ground and poised to break the links in a chain of dysfunction. It was a miracle planned years ago, even though none of us knew it.