Couple's letters to God made theirs a match from heaven

Things weren't going so well in the man department for Sally Hadley.

Twice divorced, Hadley did just fine at her career as an occupational specialist and owner of Circle C Ranch, a preschool and afterschool program that brings the country to the city with horses and other farm animals. She ran a busy household with two teen girls and a 4-year-old boy of her own, and served as a foster parent. But when it came to the opposite sex, it just wasn't happening.

So she turned to the one she trusted most and asked for help. She wrote a letter to God.

"Please send me a man who is not intimidated by my bossiness," she wrote. "Someone with an absolute love for children. Someone who will never come between me and my father. And I love a nice round belly."

Little did she know that a man named Bob Harris was out there somewhere, writing his own letter to God.

He, too, was divorced. A retired executive for IBM and a father of four sons, he sought divine intervention in finding the right woman. Like Sally, he wanted a "forever" marriage this time around with a partner who shared his values.

She'll have to be someone who isn't intimidated by my power, someone who understands my intense love for my boys, he wrote. And long legs would be nice.

They both tucked away their letters and prayed the Big Man Upstairs was listening.

* * * * *

Sally and Bob met at a pig roast in Wimauma.

She was already on a date. It was his 50th birthday, and he was spending it square dancing with all the elderly people in need of a partner.

What a nice guy, Sally thought. They chatted briefly at some point, and found out they grew up in the same part of town. He was a 1959 graduate of Plant High School, and she graduated from Plant in 1968. When they parted, she thought that would be the end of it.

Not in Bob's mind. He contacted the mutual friend who hosted the shindig and asked for Sally's phone number. They went on their first date on Dec. 2, 1991.

They learned a lot about each other in the next few weeks. With all their commitments at work and with children, most of their "dates" were long phone conversations. They found they shared a strong Christian faith and that family came first.

They had different personalities: She was an extrovert, spontaneous with a cheerful demeanor. He was quiet, a former Marine with an engineering background that kept him from doing anything without a detailed plan. Despite those differences, they felt like kindred spirits right from the get-go.

Twenty days into the courtship, Bob did something very un-Bob-like.

"What does it take to get married in this state?" he asked while they were driving in his car. Sally said she really didn't know.

They were passing the courthouse in Oldsmar. Bob suddenly veered into the parking lot, and asked Sally to come with him inside. After inquiring at the front desk, a clerk said all that was required was a driver's license and another form of ID, like a credit card. He opened his wallet and pulled it out.

Then he looked right at Sally. No proposal, no nothing. Just looked at her.

"If you can be crazy, so can I," Sally thought. She pulled out her IDs. Within minutes, they were legally wed.

Understandably, the reaction at home didn't go well at first. The kids on both sides thought they had taken leave of their senses.

Then, right after Christmas, Bob's clan joined Sally's for their annual ski trip to Montana. Turns out, everyone got along. The foundation for a blended family was forged

* * * * *

They really didn't plan on adding to the already crowded clan. But Sally and Bob, great believers in "there are no coincidences," felt when God placed baby Megan in their care, he did it for a reason.

By then, they were seven years into their marriage. Before Bob, Sally had always been a foster parent. Her mantra: "If you have an extra bed in your home, shame on you if you don't share it with a child in need." Bob embraced that enthusiasm. They preferred the hard-to-place kids – the older ones or those with special needs. Babies, not so much.

When Megan's aunt stopped by Circle C – where Sally was now working fulltime – she asked if the Harrises would help care for her 6-week-old infant niece while she found a licensed babysitter. The baby cried all the time and the aunt didn't know how to handle her. Her son had attended Circle C, though, and she knew what good foster parents they were.

It was out of their comfort zone, but Sally and Bob agreed. After all, it was just temporary.

The Harrises found out soon enough they had a challenge on their hands. The baby had special needs. They wondered: If she went into the system, would she get the right attention? They agreed to foster her. In two years, they took the final step and adopted Megan, now 14.

A few years ago, they realized Megan needed a sister. They found Sarah, another special-needs child who needed a forever home. Also 14, she's now an official Harris. Angel, 13, arrived two years ago as a foster placement. They began the paperwork to adopt her as well.

They also were licensed as a respite home, taking in foster children whose caretakers need a break or have an emergency. Several years ago, the couple bought an old farmhouse on 11 acres in Inverness to give kids in their care a country experience on the weekends. They trailer horses from Circle C so the kids can ride and be a part of nature – something many have never experienced.

"When it comes to adoptive and foster parents, they are the absolute model," says Jamila Tippit, a case manager with Camelot Community Care, a foster care licensing agency. "Their level of dedication, sincerity and commitment are just what we look for. And they don't just talk about making a difference in kids' lives – they go out and do it with a passion."

Besides, Tippit says, the home is "just plain fun." It's a family-loving environment where everyone feels welcomed.

At age 61 and 69 respectively, Sally and Bob may have been more suited as grandparents. For that reason, a few years ago they reluctantly gave up a toddler boy they had fostered since infancy so he would have a home with younger parents.

"The truth is, I'm still doing things I never would be doing if not for the kids. I ride horses, camp, canoe, ski, ride four-wheelers. Most people my age wouldn't think of such things," Sally says with a laugh. But the best part is what the children give.

"With every child who has come through our house, we've learned a lesson or become better people. You may only have that child for a brief time, but something will come of it, if you're open," she says. One asked for picnics; now the clan does it regularly. Another asked for sit-down family dinners; that's also routine in the household now.

* * * * *

And then, on Feb. 1, everything changed again. After lunch at Panera Bread in St. Petersburg, Bob Harris had a massive heart attack as he was leaving the restaurant.

A stranger caught him as he crumpled to the ground. He was taken to Northside Hospital, where he was pronounced dead at 3:54 p.m.

Sally was at home, waiting for two foster sisters, ages 15 and 16, who were coming to stay with the family for emergency respite care. When she got the call that her husband had died, her first thought was: Those poor girls have had enough trauma. How do I reach the caseworker to make sure they don't come here and see what we're going through?

She was able to divert them. After that, everything – the trip to the hospital with her pastor, John DeBevoise from Palma Ceia Presbyterian Church, the assembling of the spread-out family, the funeral arrangements – was done in shock and on autopilot.

Sally used to get yellow roses every Valentine's Day from her sweetheart. She depended on him to turn off all the lights at night in their home. She frets about who will handle all the endless chores at Circle C, where students and faculty affectionately called him "Mr. Bob." And she wonders where her place will be now in the close-knit marriage enrichment group she and Bob helped lead for so many couples.

Life is going to be different, that much Sally knows.

She says when she goes into that dark place, she will draw upon her deep faith and the extended family she and Bob created. She has her work, the children, the horses and a strong network of friends. Sally doesn't know what's coming in the next chapter of her life.

She only knows that she is grateful that two people wrote letters to God, asking for a little help in finding the right mate.

"I wouldn't recommend everyone do what Sally and Bob did," says DeBevoise of their hasty union. "Most of those stories don't have happy endings. But in their case, it's a beautiful love story. They followed God's call in their lives and look at all the good they accomplished."

Lance Harris, Bob's second-born son, was one of those doubters when his father and Sally tied the knot so impetuously 20 years ago. He's a believer now, saying they "took each other to places the other wouldn't go."

"Their love was the farthest thing from simple, the farthest thing from typical," he says. "But they made each other better people."

mbearden@tampatrib.com

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