A Heart for Adoption, Part III

This piece of the story, while similarly important to those before it, will be told with less detail for one simple reason.  Unlike the posts before it, the subjects of this post are people who are still living.  Out of respect for their privacy, some details will be left out, and I will be using initials or relationships to refer to them rather than actual names.  This does not mean, however, that this post will be any less truthful than those before it.  These are my thoughts and emotions, bare as I feel them, uncensored... and this is the next piece of my puzzle.

I mentioned in a previous post how I used to volunteer in the nursery at our church with my friend Angie.  This was something I loved doing, and I did it every Sunday after Confirmation, unless I went to Bible Study with my mom.  I wound up being at church for something like 4 hours most Sundays - 8:30 am early service, 9:30 am Confirmation class, 11:00 nursery or Sunday School with Mom.

One of those days, sometime in March, my mom met up with me after her class and I was in the nursery and told me I should've come to class with her today.  I asked her why, and she told me there had been the most adorable little girl in her Sunday School class - one of the women's granddaughter.  I replied that there were adorable children in the nursery too.  She then told me a little bit about the woman in her Sunday school class and the circumstances she'd explained that caused her grandchild to be with her that day.  Their family was hurting - and if there's one thing I always had, it was a soft spot for children who were hurting.

A couple of times I went to Sunday School with my mom, hoping to meet this child she said was just too cute, and so well behaved.  I met her grandmother, I enjoyed being in the adult class and was treated like a member, but the little girl hadn't been back... until one day in April.  I was in the nursery, but things were slow, so I changed my mind and went downstairs to my mom's class.  When I came in the door, I saw the little girl sitting there next to her grandma, and I smiled at her.  She ducked her head under the edge of the table, but before she did, I could see the hint of a smile on her face.

The little girl spent the whole class coloring and rolling her crayons on the table.  When the adults weren't looking, she and I played a version of peek-a-boo that involved ducking under and over the table.  By the end of the class she was grinning at me.  After class, my mom introduced me to the little girl, M.  M was three, but almost four, and she was having her birthday at Chuck E. Cheese!  (This was told to me with much enthusiasm).  M was quiet, shy, but I'd managed to charm her out of her shell.  I told her grandmother that I worked in the nursery and that if she ever didn't want to bring M to class with her, she could drop her off, that I would be there.  She told me that M didn't like to stay with people, that she'd tried the nursery before and M had fussed.  I promised her I'd take care of M.

Can you say foreshadowing?

After a couple months, M started coming to the nursery.  She would only stay with me.  She would come in crying often, she was a sensitive child and one thing or another would set her off... and then she would insist on spending the first half hour of the service on my lap, budging only for cheerios and crayons.  The second half hour, I would try to engage her in play with the other children, but stay close by.  After a while she started playing with them... and after a while I didn't even have to be right next to her the whole time.  Over time I got to know M and her grandmother very well.  They didn't have it easy, but they loved each other so much.

In the next few years, a series of things happened.  M started school.  M's grandma, who she lived with (as well as possibly her mom - I didn't know much about those early years) fell ill and had to be placed in a retirement home.  We visited her there and she told us how M was behind in school and how she missed her. In the summers when I taught VBS, I offered to pick M up so she could participate.  I'd pick her up at the house she shared with her mom and her great grandmother, take her to VBS, take her out for ice cream, and then take her home.  M would tell me animated stories in the car.  In between summers, I missed seeing her at church.  Those days truly proved that absence does indeed make the heart grow fonder.

When I was 15, having only seen M for VBS one week out of the past year, I continued to volunteer in the nursery with other children.  They weren't as needy as M was, so I never felt them quite as close to my heart. They never faced the opposition in their lives that M faced at such a young age.  They didn't need my protection.

Until one day in the summer, the middle of July, a harried woman came to the door with a one-year-old little girl in her arms.  Mousy brown hair, uncertain expression, big brown eyes... she reminded me of a tiny version of M.  The woman introduced the child as A, and herself as A's grandmother.  She told us she was needed in the service and wasn't sure if A would stay with us, but was going to give it a try.  I promised to take care of A.  A started to cry as soon as she was placed into my arms.  I repeated my promise, and then tried my unfailing childcare technique at the time:  bribe them with cheerios.  At first, A didn't seem to want the cheerios.  She wouldn't stick her hand in the cup and pick them out.  She was about 15 months old at the time and I expected her to have this skill.  As I sat with her in the rocking chair, I tried picking one out myself and feeding it to her.  That did the trick.  A had now discovered that I had FOOD.  She stopped fussing.  She sat on my lap and ate cheerios the whole time.  I loved every minute of it.

A was close to my heart from the start because she reminded me of M.  I missed little M so much at that time, and I worried about her with her beloved grandma in the retirement home.  Now each time little A came back to the nursery, I took her under my wing.  She never cried at drop-off again.  At first, she'd cry if I put her down, or if there were no cheerios in sight.  Then, as she got used to sitting on the floor with me and playing with toys, she'd cry if I picked her up... unless I had cheerios.  The funny thing about little A was that she could walk... but she didn't know it.  While she was playing, she'd walk along just fine for a few steps, then realize it and plop right back on her little diapered bottom.  I'd laugh, and tell her, silly girl, you can walk!

A only came to the nursery sometimes - when she was with her grandmother, I took it, as I'd never met her mom.  But when she did, she was my little cutie, and we'd play together the whole hour long.  A turned two, and grew more confident in her walking, but she still never said a word.  Point to the cheerios, cry when picked up (even by me), and hide when she had a dirty diaper... but no words.  One day, A's grandma came to the nursery to pick her up and pulled me aside.  She said she knew I babysat outside church, and wondered if I'd be interested in watching A sometimes.  She told me that some unfortunate events had occurred in the lives of their family and that A and her mom were now living with her, and they needed someone to keep her when their work schedules conflicted.  The words were barely out of her mouth before I said "Yes".  She asked what I charged.  I gave her my usual answer:  "Whatever you can pay me."

It was a while before I heard from her.  Then, another Sunday, she asked if I could watch A the following week.  I agreed, and she told me what time to be at her house.  The first day I watched A was a Wednesday.  Funny, the details you remember.  I was 16 by then and driving.  I went straight to their house after school.

A was asleep in an upstairs room when I arrived.  When she woke up, after performing The Most Challenging Diaper Change I Have Ever Done (children can hide... places 16-year-olds can't fit...), I resorted to my usual method of bringing A over to my side.  I offered her food.  This seemed to cheer her up and then we played with blocks, me stacking them up, her knocking them down.  Then we went for a walk - where I will never forget the absolute joy on her face climbing up the curb in the small subdivision... and hopping down onto the street, all the while holding my hand.  We did this over and over.  We had a blast.  Knowing that A had recently been through trying times, I enjoyed giving her time just to be a kid.  When I left I was asked what time I got off school the next day.  I told them, and they asked me to come back after school the next day - so I did.  And the next day.  And the next week.

The next week I asked permission to take A with me to an after-school event, Spanish club.  Her grandmother granted it willingly, and as I had a break between the end of my school day and the afterschool activities, I went to A's house after school, got her up from her nap, got her dressed, brushed her hair, packed a bag full of diapers, crayola color wonder markers and paper, and animal crackers.  I put her in a car seat I had bought myself (secondhand - which is bad - but I didn't know it, oops on me), and took her to my school.  I carried her inside and held her on my lap.  A behaved perfectly the whole meeting, and was much beloved by my classmates (most of whom asked "Is she yours?").  So thus began a comfortable routine - on the days when I wanted to attend clubs and meetings, I'd get A ready beforehand, and bring her with me.  The only difficulty we ever faced was the lack of a changing table in the high school bathrooms.  Go figure.

One day, not too long after this routine was established, A and her grandfather followed me out to my car to say goodbye to me.  As soon as we were outside, A toddled around to the door next to her car seat and pointed to the door handle.  She wanted to go too.  I said, "Oh, sweetie, I would take you with me but I think your Mommy and Grandma and Grandpa might miss you!  I'll be back tomorrow."  A shook her head and pointed firmly at the door.  I gave her a hug and told her I wished I could take her with me but I couldn't, that I had to go.  At this point, A attempted to climb me.  Her grandfather had to pry her off me as I got into my car, and I'll never forget her precious little face, sobbing for me as I drove away.  I sobbed too... all the way home.

A and I continued our routine through Christmas.  Her attachment to me grew.  She stopped running away when it was diaper changing or hair brushing time!  I bought her Christmas presents.  I took her to special events, even on my days off, just because I wanted to.  Her family appreciated the break.  I read about speech delays and tried my hardest to get her to talk... to no avail.

Come January, our routine was comfortable as ever, and then I got a phone call - another Wednesday.  It was M's grandmother, whom I had left a poinsettia for at the retirement home a few weeks earlier, with a note and my phone number.  She was frantic.  It was around 2:30 pm.  She told me that M's mom had to go to work at 4:30, and the person who used to watch M, who was 6 now, had suddenly become unavailable - could I take her?

I couldn't say yes fast enough.  I couldn't wait to see M again!  I didn't have A that day so I was home, and M's mom brought her over.  She was shy at first - she hadn't seen me in a while - but she warmed up.  We worked on her homework together.  We read a book.  We played.  I told her about how I used to take care of her in the nursery when she was little.  She ate dinner with us, at a place at the table my father had painfully vacated years earlier.  She tried to eat the whole chicken bone - she had never had chicken with a bone in it before.  We had a blast.  When M's mom picked her up and asked if she'd been good, I told her she was a joy and that I'd watch her anytime.  She thanked me and told me she'd see me tomorrow.

M's grandma hadn't at first mentioned that they would need childcare every day now, but now that her mom said that, I realized it should have been obvious.  What else were they going to do with her on short notice?  I was ecstatic that I would get to see M every day - every weekday, anyways.  It was at that time I faced the opposition that I spoke of in another post.  People told me - the hours are too long - you already babysit every day - you can't take on another child.  When are you going to do your homework?  What are you going to do when you have both of them?  Don't you want to 'be a teenager'?

The first two I had answers for.  The last one made my eyes cross.  I was 16.  I went to high school.  If not 'being a teenager', then what on earth was I doing for the last three years??  Apparently, people felt that I needed to 'be with friends' and 'be a kid' and 'enjoy life' - and surely I couldn't do those things with two little girls attached to my hip.  I told them just the contrary.  I wouldn't have enjoyed life without them.  And though obstacles marred our path at times, I knew I was right, I kept my head up, and a new routine began - one in which I picked A up after school, brought her to whatever clubs or meetings I had, then back to my house where we waited for M.  Then we'd eat dinner together and play until both girls were picked up.  I was lucky.  A was comfortable enough with me by then that going to my house barely phased her.  She knew M from church, when a few times someone brought M and her grandmother with them.  In fact, their grandmothers knew each other!  I'd finish my homework in study hall, between classes, at lunch, or in class (much to the chagrin of my teachers).  Anything I had left, I incorporated the kids into.  I vividly remember reading poetry aloud to A out of my English book.  She didn't have a clue what I was reading, but I was reading to her, so she was happy.  When I sat down with M while she did her math homework, I did my own math homework. We found our way, and sometimes it was exhausting, but it was the way that worked for us.

Over the following years, the girls, if possible, made their way even deeper into my life and my heart.  A started spending the occasional night with me when everyone worked late.  I'd drop her off before school.  M opened up like she never had before... playing and animatedly telling stories.  In those early years... this is what I said yes to, that everyone thought was so crazy:

A, Summer 2006, Age 3

A, Fall 2006, playing at COSI

M, on her 7th birthday, excited to have a cake with her name on it.  She's carefully removing the candles to lick them.

M, Winter 2006.  Christmas present.  "I'm cute, let's put me in charge."  

Now, was I supposed to say no to those little faces in the name of "Being a teenager"?  What did that mean, anyways?  Was it this?

From "The Secret Life of the American Teenager"

Or was it this?

London Evening Standard (2008).  "Teenage Girl Smoking".

No... why would I choose that life, when I had this?

All of us, Summer 2007.  Me squinting.  I'm not photogenic.

Yup.  Through my last two high school years, I had at least one 'tagalong' everywhere I went.  I became known as "The girl with the baby" or "The girl who comes in here every day after school with a kid in a stroller".  And yes, the rumor circulated that one or both of them were mine (simple mathematics people, come on... I'm only ten years older than M!)... but I didn't care.  We were making memories and smiles that would last forever.  

And my dear little A, my nonverbal A?  At a Spanish club meeting in my Senior year, at 3 years old, she said "Unodostres".  It was her newest trick, props to Dora.  After that, she started saying more words, until eventually... she never STOPPED talking!  And precious M, who was so shy... I enrolled her in gymnastics (with permission) and saw her literally grow in leaps and bounds!  

I kept getting criticism.  A few people were supportive.  My wonderful mom - thankfully - was one of the supportive ones.  In fact, I'm pretty sure they had a hold on her heart similar to the one they had on mine.  But others... were indifferent at best, and downright hurtful at worst.  Among other things, I was asked "What are you going to do when you go to college?"  Sometimes that question was followed with "You've got these kids all attached to you and now you're just going to leave them!"  Another person pointedly informed me "You need to stop playing 'house' with these kids.  They're real children, with lives and feelings, and they're going to be hurt when you leave them."  

I was downright insulted by those insinuations.  My response - "I love them as though they were my own flesh and blood, I will NEVER leave them," was met with just as much criticism.  "But they're not yours."  "You can't promise that."  "You need to live your life."  "Don't you want your own kids?"

Do I look like I care?

The date is wrong on this one:  It was Fall 2008.  The girls are 9 and 5.

Little did everyone know, I had an experience in the summer of 2006 (which is for another post, another day) that showed me that I was not meant to leave home for college.  I chose a small school close to home and commuted for four years.  I got a job at a daycare center, where the occasional presence of one of the girls was not minded, and I even enrolled A over the summer for two years.  

Many of you are likely wondering now, what was the relationship of these children to me that I was this intimately involved in their lives?  It certainly doesn't seem to follow the traditional babysitter-child lines.  And you would be right.  This is the part that remains undisclosed for the protection of those involved.  Suffice to say, we became like family.  

In October 2009, another little one joined our patchwork little non-family family.  A's mother gave birth to a beautiful baby boy, whom we'll call AJ.  

Myself and A visiting with the baby.  He's only days old here.

I started watching AJ when his mom went back to work in late December.  Along with the joy of having a baby around, came enormous obstacles, ones that I was once again assured that I could not possibly overcome.  After one too many sleepless nights, I fell asleep in one of my college classes.  I was sternly chided by the professor not to let the children infringe on my education.  I thought to myself - don't let your education infringe on the children.  Sure, college was important to me, but it was a means to an end, a way of achieving a desired quality of life so that I could continue to do good in the world around me.  Even my advisor at school told me, when I told her I was trying to schedule my classes in blocks two days a week so I could be home with the kids the other three, that she "didn't see how" I was going to graduate in four years, work 20 hours a week at the daycare, and take care of three kids.  

(Imagine a picture of my diploma here.  I don't have one, and I didn't go to commencement.)

Yup, I did it.  In four years.  After changing my major halfway through my sophomore year.  Taking one quarter of overload, for which I temporarily took an incomplete due to the surgery described here.  Taking two independent studies.  Adding a minor.  Magna Cum Laude.

Take THAT, naysayers.

Oh, what's that you say?  Surely the children were neglected because of my studies?  

Do they look neglected to you?

So - you ask - what does all this have to do with my adoption story?  Well, as much as I taught the kids... colors, first words, long division... compassion, honesty, kindness... They taught me even more.  

They taught me that family isn't defined by whose blood runs through your veins.

They taught me that a person isn't defined by their limitations.

They taught me that when everyone says you can't do something - it's even more of a reason to do it.

They taught me that hard work reaps great rewards.

They taught me to ignore the people who said I was wrong, when I knew I was right.

They taught me that I will always be glad... to set another place at the table.  

'My' three little cuties... M, A, and AJ... they are now 12, 8, and 2... and I couldn't be prouder of them.  They are blossoming into beautiful, wonderful, young people, and I am blessed to have them in my life.  They bring joy to my every moment.  They are a huge part of my adoption story, because they taught me the lessons I needed to learn to begin my journey to adopt.  And I hope they'll be proud honorary 'uncles and aunts', when I bring my children home.  

Why yes, that's me in skull footie pajamas, at 22 years old.  Jealous?  And look how big my little M got!

Probably my favorite picture of me and A.

And probably my favorite picture of me and AJ.

For anything I've done for them, they've done tenfold for me.

To M, A, and AJ - my little patchwork non-family family - I love you forever.

Words.

My last post, titled No Words, while I intend to leave it up due to my desire to be completely honest about my feelings and emotions along this journey, came across in a way which I did not intend it.  For this I am sorry.  I made an attempt in a comment to explain, but today I came across a much better explanation of what I was trying to get at, than I could have ever written myself.  Here is an excerpt that speaks to me loudly:

"Lots of people will say that we should just give up because we can’t save the world.  That would be the easy way out.  We CAN change the world, one life at a time.  It’s not easy, but every single one of us can play a role in helping orphans, some way, some how.

Adopt.  Help another family adopt.  Sponsor an orphan.  Sponsor an orphanage.  Pray for orphans to find forever families and to be lovingly cared for and provided for until then.  Start an orphan ministry at your church.  Educate others about the orphan crisis.  Become a foster parent.  Volunteer with children in your community who are at shelters or have aged out of the foster system.  Contact a Christian foster care agency and ask how you can help if you aren’t able to become a foster parent.  Go on a mission trip to visit orphans and serve at an orphanage.  Advocate for orphans.  Support orphan care.  Volunteer to help a family who has adopted.  Spread the word.  Ask God to open your eyes, to break your heart for what breaks His, to show you the role He wants you to take in living out James 1:27."

The above is taken from All Are Precious In His Sight (click the name to be taken to the blog), with gratitude to Lorraine, who speaks my mind better than I ever could.

Also, in case you, like me, don't have the scripture memorized and had to look up James 1:27, it is this:

"Pure and lasting religion in the sight of God our Father means that we must care for orphans and widows in their troubles and refuse to let the world corrupt us."  

 Taken from the Holy Bible, New Living Translation, Slimline Edition.  

This Bible was given to me by my grandparents at my confirmation, age 14.

So, read this mother's words.  Read God's words.  And go out and do good for "the least of these", in whatever way you feel called.  Do anything - except nothing.

No words.

There are truly no words for the story pictures can tell.

http://www.hiskidstoo.org/wpg2?g2_itemId=28014

Go on, bury your head in the sand like everyone else.  Pretend you never saw this link.  Go about your usual consumeristic western way of life.  Fix yourself a meal - throw away what you can't eat.  Sort through dozens of outfits for just the right one for today.  Fall asleep warm in your bed with a full stomach.

But if every person in this country lifted their head out of the sand, and gave, just a little bit... a glance, a diaper, a dollar... a prayer, an hour, a day... a hand... a heart... or a home...

Then there would be no sad pictures to look at.

Go on, bury your head in the sand.  But in doing so, you perpetuate the situation you're consciously ignoring as much as those who created it.

A Heart for Adoption, Part II

In my previous post, I wrote of my grandparents, Anthony and Adeline, and their son, 'Little Tony'.  Incidentally, the day I began to write this post, January 16, happens to be my grandma Adeline's birthday.  Happy birthday, Grandma - and thank you for being one of the very first pieces to my puzzle.  Thank you for bringing my uncle Tony home and loving him, even though the doctors said he was 'defective', even though no one believed in him.  You did, and that changed more lives than I think you could have ever imagined at the time.

But all that happened long before adoption was even on my radar.  In fact, the next piece of the puzzle begins at that time as well, when I still planned a 'traditional' family.  In the beginning this story may seem to have little to do with my adoption story, but it concerns someone who is very dear to me, and I feel every bit of it is important, so please bear with me as we walk this path.

I was 13 years old when I started Confirmation class at my Methodist church.  Most children went through Confirmation in sixth grade, but I hadn't attended church regularly until late in 7th grade, so I went to Confirmation late.  As such, I often felt alienated by the other students, who were two years younger than me.  There was one person, though, who didn't make me feel that way, and her name was Angie, and little did I know then that she would become my best friend, and would teach me more about life, love, and hope than anyone I ever knew.

Angie and I were fast friends, as we both had a goofy sense of humor and a love for children.  After confirmation, we worked together in the church nursery, and in the summer teaching Vacation Bible School.  When I went to high school we started to drift apart, only for life to bring us back together two short years later.

I was sixteen, and a Junior in high school, when Angie was a freshman.  I was excited to finally go to the same school as her.  We would wave in the hallways, sometimes chat before class... then, sometime in November, I stopped seeing Angie around so much.  I went to writer's club after school one day, and I'll never ever forget the details of this day...  the girl who told me had blue hair.  We sat, with our desks in a circle, reading poems and deciding which ones would go into the school literary magazine.  We read one poem and then the girl with blue hair spoke up (for the life of me I don't remember what her name was, maybe I never knew).  She said "I just want to ask everybody to pray for Angie, she just got diagnosed with cancer".  I stopped.  I looked at her.  I said, "Angie?  Angie Sayers?  She has cancer?"  The girl with blue hair nodded.

My world stopped spinning.

In that moment, I was overcome with so many emotions.  Fear, at what this might mean.  Regret, that I had allowed us to drift apart.  Concern, for what my friend was going through.  Anger, for WHY, God, WHY would you do this to Angie of all people?  I had a friend in high school who used to punch walls when she was angry.  That day was the first time I understood that impulse.

I sat in the hallway and sobbed.  This couldn't be happening.  Cancer.  People die from cancer.  Sure, lots of people survive, certainly Angie would be okay, she was young, she was healthy!  But... cancer.  And what to do now?  We'd drifted apart - how could I call her and say "I know we haven't talked in a while, but hey, I heard you had cancer, what's up"?  I didn't want to be that person who just turned up again because something 'interesting' happened.  Instead, I was a person who realized that I had made a mistake by letting a dear friend drift away - and the harsh realities of cancer made it necessary for me to realize and rectify that mistake.  On Angie's birthday, while I was babysitting, I called her.  I hated calling people, it terrified me.  I didn't know what to say.  But I knew I couldn't *not* call her.  She told me that she was doing pretty well, that she had started chemo and had just started to lose her hair.  She told me that she would have an operation soon to amputate her right leg.  Later I would learn more about the type of cancer Angie had, and why it was so aggressive.

After that first hard phone conversation, I saw Angie at church a couple of times.  We made a video for her at Christmas, saying, if she couldn't come to church, we'd bring church to her.  I started attending a Bible Study and we invited Angie to come anytime she felt like it.  One night when we were in the church basement painting decorations for Vacation Bible School, Angie turned up with her friend Lauren, who I also knew from a while back.  That night I remember Angie making a joke about having one leg - I can't recall exactly what it was, something about socks or something - and I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.  It wasn't long before I would learn the answer - LAUGH.

Yes, laugh.  Even when it seemed there was nothing to laugh about.

Angie had osteosarcoma (and don't let that cute pinky purpley picture fool you, it's a nasty, nasty disease).  But it wasn't just that she had cancer, it was that her cancer was caused by a genetic defect called Li Fraumeni Syndrome.  The cancer and the syndrome combined created an aggressive situation which had necessitated the removal or her right leg, above the knee.  LFS meant that Angie lacked a gene that suppressed the growth of tumors - so now that she had cancer, she was even more at risk for relapse.  Nevertheless, in June 2005, Lauren and I triumphantly carried a banner stating "Happy Done Chemo-Ness" and a cake into the hospital.

Angie did relapse.  Many times.  But in between, we lived.  We attended Bible Study together every week.  If it was cancelled, or even cut short, we loved to go out for ice cream.  Sometimes after Bible Study, we'd go into Giant Eagle late at night for donuts, enjoying the use of the motorized carts (legitimately used... although I'm sure employees would've frowned on us hitchhiking rides on the back of them...).  We laughed, and loved, and made memories that would last forever.  Angie brought light to everyone who met her - even though we meant to be the ones who were strong for her.

After I graduated high school and was diagnosed with endometriosis (more about that in my next blog post... or the one after that?  Hey, I'm not writing these things, I'm just the one sitting behind the keyboard.  They write themselves...), Angie and I got to discussing more serious things.  Her LFS meant that if she were even able to have biological children after all the surgeries and chemo she went through, she would risk passing the gene on to them, which would increase their risk for cancer.  At a young age, an age at which the most serious decision most people face is whether to date the hot guy on the football team or the funny nerd in the chess club, she made the decision not to have biological children, but to adopt.  My best friend Angie had a heart to adopt.  And though life forced her to make that decision, she had always been, whether she knew it or not, the type of person who could have a heart to adopt - ever since those early years we bonded over providing childcare in the church nursery.

Earlier in my life, even through the first years of high school, I planned a 'traditional' family.  I just couldn't wait to get married, get pregnant and have children of my own.  (I now realize I have effectively scared off any single males who might have stumbled upon this blog... bye guys!)  Then at 18 years old I faced a diagnosis of a fertility disorder.  Suddenly I began to look at other options.  I decided I'd like to become a foster parent, maybe even adopt from foster care.  When Angie and I chatted, I began to mention my thought of adopting from foster care.  She had always wanted to adopt twin boys, so we developed an idealistic plan in which I would provide foster care, and then some day, when twin boys crossed my doorstep and needed adopting, I'd call her, or better, just walk over (as we wanted to live side by side and raise our kids together) and she could adopt them.  O for the naivety I held when we made those plans.  Nevertheless, we held onto hope.  Hope that she'd beat the cancer once and for all, and we could move on with our plans of adopting and raising our families together.

But just as our conversations got gradually more serious, so did Angie's condition.  By Summer 2010 the cancer had metastasized to her lungs, necessitating many surgeries and more chemo (through which we visited her in the hospital and did silly things like taking pictures of the bathroom and laughing about random gross medical stuff... many times we laughed, "only us")... and finally in August a tumor in Angie's left lung threatened her heart and required the removal of the entire lung.  I took off work the day before her surgery - a surgery which was incredibly risky, and we honestly all worried about whether she would make it through - and spent the day with her, swimming, eating snacks, talking about anything except the scary possibilities of the following day.


Angie made it through that surgery, and true to her spirit, she even attended classes at a local University that fall!  Realizing the seriousness of the situation we were in, we made even more of an effort than ever to spend time together - whether it was just sitting together and playing Sims, chatting on AIM, watching movies, playing games, going to the accessible playground... we made so many memories.  Then in November even worse news was handed down.  The cancer had returned, in her remaining lung - and it was inoperable.  An obscure drug that had worked in one other case similar to hers seemed to be the only hope.  It was expensive and difficult to obtain, but in the way that only God can, He opened doors for her to obtain that treatment.  Regardless, we were concerned that it was only a matter of time.  Her family went on what we referred to as a 'Grand Adventure', traveling across several states to see family and enjoy the sights.  I received postcards and souvenirs from places like Seattle and Hawaii.  And while Angie didn't want to know how much 'time' the doctors said she had left, I learned during that time that they'd given her 2-3 months from the day in November that they found the new lung tumors.  She was traveling for nearly all of December, so when she came home in January, we took every opportunity to spend time together.

Throughout the month of January, Angie started to get horrible migranes.  She tried for so long to grin and bear it, to pretend to be okay, because we were all afraid of what news would be handed down next... but the bad turned to worse and Angie went to the hospital in unbearable pain.  At that time they found multiple malignant tumors.  This time there was no mincing words.  The doctors said she would die within 2-3 weeks.

During this time, a number of people and organizations extended their kindness to Angie, and for this I will always be thankful.  One of her dreams, to have a book published, was realized on February 15, 2011, when Illuminations was released.  Another desire she'd had for a long time, to get a cat, finally happened in early March, while I was in the hospital having surgery.  We'd spend days and weekends off in those times just hanging out at Angie's house.  Sometimes her many medications made her doze off in the middle of a thought. That was okay - we dozed with her.

As we always used to say, even the best medical science couldn't predict the will of God, and Angie lived until July 15, 2011, when she finally went home, her pain finally gone for good.  






It has now been six months and two days that she's been gone.  What Angie left with me cannot be put into words.  She left me with the memory of her bright, sunny spirit, always looking for a positive way to spin things, always making the best out of the worst.  In the months before she died I made a sunshine ornament and hung it from the rearview mirror of my car, to remind me that Angie was always a reason to smile.  She left me with so many blissful memories of friends, fun, and innocence.  When I say I can't put it into words - and then I try - I find myself feeling woefully inept, because the words to describe what Angie left with me just don't exist.  She saved my life.  She picked me up on my darkest days, dusted me off, and made me smile - even when I was the one supposed to be supporting her.  The day she died, we found a letter on her computer, left for us in a true Angie nature.  I want to take an excerpt directly from that letter, for her words were always better than mine.

 I don’t want you to cry forever. I want you to turn around when you’re ready and seize life with all you’ve got. I want you to remember, if anything, for my sake, that life goes on and you’re a precious part of it. I take comfort in the fact that even though I’m gone, each of you are not, and that I will always continue to live in your memories and in your hearts, because I will never have truly left you.

Oh Angie.  Tears stain my cheeks again writing this.  No, you have not left me.  Not one bit.  Angie, you are in my heart.  My heart for adoption could not have been prepared if not for you.  I promise you now, as I promised you countless times up to the day before you died, I will live on.  And I'll do all the things we always said we'd do together.  It will hurt not to be able to reach out and touch you during those times, not to have your house for my kids to run over to and play, but they will know, I will know, that we have an angel... sitting up there, danging her legs off a cloud.

Dearest Angie, thank you, for instilling in me a surefire desire to adopt, for giving me somebody to talk to about it while everyone else was planning their 'traditional' families, for supporting me every single inch of the way.  Thank you, for still being in my heart - my heart for adoption.  Please ask God for me, and please peek down over the edge of that cloud, at the thousands of children waiting for adoption today, and hold them in your heart.  Please don't forget to check up on me... because someday I'll bring my children home, and I'll tell them all about the special best friend I had for nine precious years who helped prepare me to be their mama.

Your mark will never... fade away.

A Heart for Adoption, Part I

Anyone in the adoption community, either domestic or international, already knows that not everyone has a heart for adoption.  The rest of you, giving this some thought, I'm sure will arrive at the same conclusion.  It is a special thing - to be able to take in the orphan and love him as your own, to care for his special needs, though many would say you "didn't have to take on that burden".  A heart for adoption, sees the adopted child simply as a child, no different from one which is hers biologically.  I may go even further as to say that the Christian heart for adoption sees all her children as God's children, His children which she has been so blessed as to parent on this earth.  

In any case, some people simply don't feel the call to adopt, for one reason or another.  Maybe they simply never considered it, being able to have children naturally and biologically.  Maybe they feel the cost or the requirements are too prohibitive.  Maybe they doubt their ability to parent the orphan.  Maybe they simply choose to value other things in their lives over the call to adopt.  Some even actively campaign against adoption, a thing I simply do not understand.  Recently my attention was called to this video.  Here you can see what was once a flourishing orphanage in Latin America, finding homes for hundreds of children who would have otherwise lived out their days in the institution - but because of people who don't have hearts for adoption, because of restrictions that aim to further a political agenda rather than help the children, these children will now grow up in an institution.  They will turn 18 and go out into the world, never having a mother or father to come back to, truly having no family to call their own.  There is a man in this video who states "The children have dignity".  What kind of dignity, I ask you, is growing up in an institution?  This, my friends, is clearly not the work of God.  At other times, I have seen people who do not have hearts for adoption disparaging adoptive parents - and yes, even other adoptive parents - disparaging adoptive parents - for one reason or another.  Again, clearly not the work of God, because He only does good work.  

All this has made me wonder... how has God prepared my heart for adoption?  And here it is important to understand a small, special group of people who had a huge impact on my life, people who, had they not existed, been loved, lived their lives, I would not be here, the person I am today.

The first group are family.  Fifty years ago, yes, fifty, there was a woman.  The story of how God prepared my heart for adoption can probably be traced back further, but my human limitations prevent me from delving into those details.  Returning to my prior thought, fifty years ago, my grandmother, Adeline, was pregnant with a little boy, a little boy who she likely did not know, given the medical technology of that era, would have Down Syndrome.  

Here is my Grandma Adeline, with me (around age 7) and my brother (around 2).

And then there was my grandfather, Anthony, for whom that little boy would be named.  

Here he is, with my mom, just a few short years ago.

That yellow shirt.  Always with a stain on it, in the days I knew him.  He loved that shirt.  I don't know why, but he loved it.  In earlier days he also loved telling me silly jokes, pushing me around on old riding toys, showing me their rose garden, getting out the little box of trucks and army men that I made a beeline for every time I went to my grandparents' house.  

These two people, my grandparents, whom I only had the priviledge of knowing for 10 and 18 years respectively, years earlier gave birth to a little boy with Down Syndrome.  They named him Anthony.  The doctors told them he would most likely have to be institutionalized.  They told him he would not live a year, he would not walk, he would not talk.  But they brought him home anyways.  That was 1962, an era in which our own country was embroiled in the same misguided philosophy that remains in many countries across the globe today; that a person who is disabled, cannot have a normal life, that they are defective.  It was more than accepted to place a child born with disabilities in an institution, where they would grow up much the way children in orphanages abroad grow up today.  But my grandparents, Adeline and Anthony, they didn't put their new baby Anthony in a home for 'retarded' children.  They brought him home and loved him as a member of their family.  He was the baby.  He was doted on by all seven of his older brothers and sisters. 

My Uncle Anthony lived ten years before passing away due to cardiac complications of Down Syndrome, which today can often be surgically corrected, but at the time were often a death sentence.  In that time, he surpassed all expectations.  He learned how to walk, and talk.  He loved his mommy and daddy, his brothers and sisters.  And when the time came, he knew he was going home to be with God.  He told my mom, my uncles and aunts, my grandparents, that he was going to die.  On December 28, 1972, my Uncle Tony met God.  

Here he is, only months before his passing.  Please forgive the photo of an old photo.

Look at him.  All dressed up in a suit, smiling for the camera, beloved by his mom and dad, his brothers and sisters.  My Uncle Tony was a beloved son and brother, and though I only know him through my mother's photos and stories, my beloved uncle.  

My mother told me stories of my Uncle Tony from an early age.  My childhood friends can recount for you how hurt I would become when someone used the word "retard" as an insult.  I used to solemnly tell them that someone I loved died of Down Syndrome, and to please not use that word around me again.  By middle school, against my better judgement, I'd taken to slapping or kicking anyone who dared to use the "R" word around me.  I remember a particular instance in Washington D.C.  There was this girl - her name was either Ashley or Nicole, she couldn't seem to decide.  So I just generally referred to her as AshleyNicole.  We were at a dinner theater, a dress-up event (which we were underdressed for due to a snafu with the planning of the trip) and one on which we were expected to be on our best behavior.  Then AshleyNicole used the R word, and when I told why it hurt me, she said "Too bad".  So I slapped her.  Now, growing up, I was the literal definition of teacher's pet.  You'd sooner find me eating worms than breaking a rule, particularly an important rule.  And, being 14, AshleyNicole of course went straight to the teacher chaperoning our group and informed her that I'd just slapped her.  When the teacher asked why, she told her the truth.  I'll not forget the way that teacher handled that situation.  She sternly chastised the girl for misusing the word, then turned to me and said something along the lines of "Perhaps hitting people isn't the best way to get your point across that you're hurt by their words".  I nodded.  AshleyNicole fumed with the injustice that I hadn't immediately been kicked off the trip and sent home.  I stopped hitting people for saying the R word.  I didn't stop speaking up.  Children with Down Syndrome always held a special place in my heart because of the stories my mom told me about Uncle Tony.  About how happy he was, how he didn't pick up on any of the social pressures the rest of us deal with, he was just concerned with his suitcase, his rope, and his Umma Ummas.  And he never met a stranger.  

Fifty years ago.  God began to prepare my yet unborn heart for special needs adoption fifty years ago... with a little boy named Anthony, who happened to have Down Syndrome.  

I love you, Uncle Tony.  Please give my love to my best friend Angie - who is the next piece of my story - and who has been there in heaven with you six months today.

The Worst - and Best - Year of My Life.

2011... what to say, what to say!  Never in my life has a year been packed with so many life-changing events.  Seldom before has my view of the world, or my plan for myself shifted so drastically in such a short time.  Finally, never, in a year, have I experienced so much utter pain, on every level:  Physical, psychological, emotional.  And yet, a few days ago, in a room with some of my best friends in the world, I officially survived it!

A week or so ago, I was poised to write a post titled "Where I Was" - which was intended to explain the place I was in my life before everything changed for me.  I scrapped it, because it came out sounding like a laundry list of bad things that had happened to me.  But it's another important piece of the puzzle... because in order to understand where I am now - you must understand where I was then.  So, instead of attempting to recall the original post (which I failed to save), I would like to post this more as a 'year in review'.  I will warn you that it is long, as are most of my posts (I have a writer inside me struggling to get out!).  I have tried to shorten it several times but I feel like that cheapens it - takes away from the picture I'm trying to convey - so it remains as is.  Further, it has always been my desire to be completely honest through this blog (although some things will not be shared for privacy reasons) - I will not sugar-coat the truth here.  If you have time and so desire, read.  If you don't - that's just fine too.  As always, many more thoughts are floating around my head - blog posts for days to come - but this one, for today.  Without further adieu...

January
In January I began my second-to-last quarter of College with a heavy heart.  As excited as I was about graduating, my best friend Angie had recently been diagnosed as terminal with the cancer she'd been fighting for over  five years.  They gave her 2-3 months to live - in November.  I felt as though nothing I did, aside from spending time with her, mattered in the least.  My best friend was dying.  Any day, she could be gone.  How could I care about alternative fuel sources or historic Spanish literature at such a time?  In addition, I was dealing with chronic, debilitating physical pain of my own and scheduled surgery for my endometriosis for March 2.  The month found my Dear Borrowed Kids living in a hotel, then with me, then with their grandmother.  Then at the end of the month, the doctors found multiple tumors in Angie's brain.  They said 2-3 weeks.  It seemed like every situation in my life was worse than ever before.  The only light I had... were those special days I spent with my best friend, enjoying each other's company, laughing over nothing, while we still had time.

February
If you'd asked me in January, I could've scarcely believed that February could be worse... but it was.  The frustrations of January continued, and grew, and multiplied.  Late in the month, it became apparent that my beloved cat Buckeye, nearing 17 years old, whom I'd had since I was five years old, was not simply 'slowing down in his old age' - he was dying.  After what was essentially a heartwrenching emergency vet appointment on a Friday night, I was told he was in end stage renal failure.  I asked if he was in pain, through my sobs.  They told me that he could be, and that he was certainly uncomfortable.  We were given medications to make him more comfortable.  I didn't want euthenasia.  I never believed that it was the right of man to decide who lived or died - human or animal.  I took my baby home and spent the weekend with him... but by Sunday night, I knew.  It wasn't fair to put him through this anymore.  He was dying.  It was going to happen, and soon.  I held him close to me one last time on Sunday night, all night... I went to class and pretended to care... and then I came home and took pictures and snuggled him some more.  Then we went to the vet, and I watched them put my baby to sleep on February 28, 2011.  The liquid was orange.  I'll never forget a single detail about that day.  I took him home, wrapped him in one of my favorite sweatshirts, and buried my precious Buckeye.

In Memoriam

Doing his favorite thing... exploring the great outdoors.

And yet, through all this, guess who continued to hang on?  Guess who was there for me as I cried the night I buried my kitty?  My best friend Angie, of course.  Facing a terminal diagnosis herself, she never once passed up an opportunity to help a friend.  By the grace of God, we made memories that month, memories that I will never, ever forget.

March

March just did not start off on the right foot.  Having just lost my lifetime feline companion, my heart was shattered. I was heading into surgery not knowing whether or not my best friend would still be alive when I came home.  I was scared, to put it mildly.  The night before my surgery, Angie and I were visiting an animal rescue - she and I were both intending to adopt kittens - and a stupid, silly little misunderstanding sent me into the hysterical sobs I'd been holding back for 24 hours.  Once again - guess who was there to give me a hug, and tell me she was there for me?  Oh, Angie, how much you did for everyone else, even as your own time drew to a close.  

Then my surgery went bad.  Two more surgeries, one of which was markedly more invasive than those prior, had to be performed simply to keep me alive.  I was bleeding internally and my blood pressure had dropped to a dangerous level.  I had to receive a blood transfusion while in surgery.  All I remember is signing the consent form, and hearing them yell things like "Clear the OR" and "We need to get her some blood"... and looking up at my doctor as they were putting me under and croaking "Save me."  I was so scared.  There are large blocks of time about which I remember nothing at all.  A simple outpatient procedure, turned so bad.  I spent a week in the hospital.  There were fears of infection and other complications.  I was miserable - and I wasn't home where I could spend time with Angie while I still could.  I could barely text her with all the medication constantly dripping into my IV.  My texts came out garbled and hard to read.  I didn't want her to visit because it could make her sick.  Things didn't get much better when I went home.  I was in a lot of pain for a long time.  I had to take an incomplete on all my winter classes.  As if all of this wasn't enough, things went bad with my two younger Dear Borrowed Kids, causing them to be abruptly withdrawn from my life - and loving them as though they were my own, this was a blow.  

The end of March, however, found things looking up.  My dear Angie was still fighting the good fight, we'd both adopted precious kittens.  I had high hopes for things to come.  

Introducing Boo, the adorable kitten.

April

Being my birth month, I had high hopes for this one, despite still reeling from the effects of a terrible March.  The falling-out with the family of my two younger DBKs was hard, but I felt differently about it than I'd expected.  I felt as though I'd made a choice that was in all of our best interests, and that the current situation was only temporary - so I was at peace.  I was in the process of seeking an internship to complete my BA in Public Health, and hoping for something I'd really enjoy.  As it so happened, I landed an absolutely perfect internship with the injury prevention department at the local health department, with whom I'd been volunteering at car seat checks for years.  A few weeks into the internship, they offered to pay me - well.  A couple weeks later, they told me they wanted to hire me when I graduated.  It was like a dream come true!  I never could have imagined things working out so well.  Best of all, the end of the month came, and Angie and I were still playing games and laughing together, just like always.  Even the best of the medical community cannot predict the will of God.  

May

Like April, May brought good news.  It certainly wasn't without its difficulties, but it was overall positive.   I went to a fabulous conference both for my job/internship and for myself, in the process seeing a dear friend whom I hadn't seen in nearly a year, and in the same breath the parents of my missing DBKs called seeking to mend fences.  I spent 30+ hours a week doing a job I loved, and my free time with the people I loved.  Toward the end of the month, Angie started gearing up for her final Relay for Life - and we couldn't wait to cheer her on.  She was getting sicker... but still smiling, still blessing us just by being her radiant self.  May was good.

June

In June, the hard times started to come back.  I was driving a car nearly as old as I was, and while I was thankful for it, I knew its days were coming to an end.  It needed repairs I couldn't afford, and I didn't see any point in trying to afford them when I'd just be in the same place in a few months anyways.  Finally, the brakes completely gave out and I made the decision to sell it and buy a new car.  It was a little earlier than I'd hoped (I'd hoped to buy a car after graduation - Clyde (that was the car's name) apparently was a couple weeks off on that timetable), but it was what I wanted and what I felt was right for me and for the precious little ones I needed to transport safely!  Have you ever watched the crash test for a 1990 model year vehicle?  No?  Okay, don't.  Especially not if you drive one.  Only by the grace of God was I saved - when I hit the brakes and they failed, I stopped literally inches from the bumper of the car in front of me.  I puttered off to a safe place to call AAA.  I could've hit that car in front of me... and become that crash test.

Well, finding a new car wasn't as easy as I'd hoped.  I'd done extensive research into it over the past years, anticipating a post-graduation purchase and I was ready to go - but not only did I hit a snag, the situation kicked up some pretty devastating family drama.  All this came to a point just as I was driving home from Relay for Life - watching my dear best friend make her final 'Survivor's Lap'.  I was left feeling heartbroken, alone and as though no one had faith in me.  What should have been a happy time of my graduation was instead painful.  

Finally, towards the very end of the month, I was able to get a new car, with the help of my mom, who has been my rock throughout my entire life.  I was excited and things seemed to be looking up heading into July.

July

There are no words for July.  Loss.  Heartbreak.  Pain.  Sadness.  Mourning.  None of these even begin to cover what we all felt when dear Angie died on July 15, 2011.  No matter how hard I might try, I'll never forget the days leading up to that day... just... indescribable.  Angie would've blushed and told me to stop flattering her, but she was my hero - not because she had cancer, but because she had cancer and she didn't let it stop her.  Sure, she had her down moments, everyone does, but she just kept on going.  She told me once "I didn't really have any other choice".  Oh, dear Angie, how many times I've said those same words.  My wonderful best friend is deserving of a blog post of her own, but that is for later.  For now... a photo of the two of us:

I miss you every day, dear Angie.  You are a huge part of who I've become.

August

They say "When it rains, it pours".  This statement, I've found to be so true.  August began with the struggles of July, then more struggles with my two younger DBKs.  August delivered some bad medical news for me, which got me quite down for a while.  My hours as a temporary employee at the job I loved were running out and the future of my employment still not cemented.  Finally, at the end of the month, tensions which had been rising for a long time between myself and the family of my two younger DBKs came to a head, resulting in me losing them again.  Further, my physical pain was slowly but steadily coming back, and I was wondering why, if I'd been through all this surgery just months earlier, was I in pain again?  The end of the month came only with uncertainty.

September

This was a month which I spent largely at home, alone, which in retrospect was very bad for me.  My heart was broken again by more bad medical news, even as it lay shattered with the loss of my best friend and pain for my DBKs.  I worked periodically, rationing my last few hours, waiting for the day I could finally come back to work for good.  Finances started to become difficult, but I chose not to get another job, because I was certain I'd be returning to my 'real' job soon.  My physical pain had nearly reached pre-surgery levels and I started to look into other medical options, not excluding further surgery.  More than anything, I was lonely.  I spent so much of my time alone that even periodic gatherings of friends or family did little to ease the pain once I went back home.  September ended with even more uncertainty than August.

October

I knew all along that October would be hard, I just didn't know how hard.  You see, since my little DBK, A, was two years old, she has trick-or-treated with me.  This year, I knew we wouldn't be together.  It stung.  My work hours completely ran out and pay essentially stopped but for a trickle of mileage checks.  Still, I chose not to get another job, because surely I'd just have to quit in a couple of weeks anyways.  October went the way of September.

November

Though not the month I hit rock bottom, November was a steady downward slide.  I don't kid you when I say I'm lucky to have made it through alive.  Pain levels were back to where they were before my March surgery, sometimes even as bad as the post-op pain.  I was dependent on medication to even get through a day.  I was depressed and heartbroken over the state of my life.  My wonderful friends had noticed the change in me before I had and expressed concern, unfortunately leading to a turn of events which put us at odds and left me feeling even more alone than ever.  My work hours and income were gone, but I'd finally interviewed for my position about a week and a half before Thanksgiving, so I felt that there was a light at the end of the tunnel, I'd at least be back to work and out of the house soon.  However, the end of November came too soon, with the same uncertainty as the months before it - still no job, still no money, and now behind on bills and planning to schedule another surgery.  It felt bleaker than bleak.

December

What can I say?  December 2011.  Probably the most transformative month of my life.  Here is where this post gets divided into two parts - a 'before,' and an 'after'.  

December did not come quietly into my life.  On the very first day, it came with confirmation that I would have surgery - a good thing for my pain, but still scary, particularly at that time, having become more real and concrete in my mind.  In the same day, I learned that I'd been passed over for the job I thought was mine since April.  As it turns out, the effects of this economy are further reaching than any of us could have imagined, and circumstances precluded my superiors from being able to hire me.  Some of them, I think, were hurt for me as I was for myself.  I also think they were wrong - I do think I was the best person for that job - but who am I to decide right and wrong?  Ultimately, I feel there was a reason for the way things happened... but at the time, it was a devastating and heartbreaking blow to the very essence of who I am, not to mention further complicating financial matters just before Christmas, when I'd had such high hopes for making a wonderful Christmas for my family this year.  Further, it would be my first Christmas in six years without my little A - and the only Christmas season without AJ since he'd been born.  I was not feeling the spirit of the season, and my faith was more than shaken.  

But good things were slowly starting to happen.  A little at a time, I began mending fences with the friends I'd fought with in the previous months.  I felt as though there was a light at the end of the tunnel with regards to the everyday pain I was experiencing.  I started taking a more active role in making myself happy.  I was starting to heal, but I was still lower than low.  I felt as though everything I'd worked toward thus far, every thing I lived for, was gone.  What to do now?  I had a heart to help... and I'd tried and tried and it seemed like I'd failed.  

This, my friends, all that you have read up until this point, is the 'before'.

Here is the 'after'.

On December 3, 2011, just two days after the devastating news about my job, I saw this picture:  

From http://theblessingofverity.com/ with permission.

Now, if you've not read my blog up until this post, or are not part of the adoption community, you may wonder why on earth a picture of a child in a car seat could turn a 'before' into an 'after'.  Friends, let me tell you why.  That child in the car seat, her name is Katie, and she is nine years old.  She was adopted internationally, so malnourished that she weighed only 10 lbs.  What happened from then on is chronicled in my very first blog post, here.  There were nine days between laying my eyes on this precious child, and hearing God loud and clear in my own life.  Through every single one of those days, I could not get that precious girl - and so many others like her - off my mind, or out of my heart.  Not that I wanted to.  

Friends, I can't begin to tell you how the end of December left me.  Yes, I had surgery again.  More tears were shed.  More pain was had.  More uncertainties were faced.  More frustrations were voiced.  But everything - and I mean everything - had been put into a whole new frame. Where I felt no purpose before, I felt renewed energy and a call from Above that was impossible to ignore.  Every single one of those things that happened this year, and the one before it, and the one before that, on, and on, and on, had been preparing me for something - and doing a good job of it!  (This is a bit I will elaborate on later).  Where my faith was weak before, now it was strong.  Where my joy was small before, it was now huge.  Where my hope dwindled previously, it soared now.  God was using me to do His work - and He knew me only too well - to know just how willing I'd be to do this 'work'.  Purpose.  It was everything.

I will say that my initial reaction to what I saw was an emotional one - akin to when I was a little girl and wanted to give a home to every stray cat.  This is the truth.  But remember, nine days passed between the day I saw that photo, and the day I made the decision to say Yes to God's call.  Over those nine days, I thought of little else.  I read, I learned, I prayed, I researched endlessly, I still do.  The day I started this blog, my words were driven not by a temporary emotion, but by honest, informed determination; and so it has been ever since.  

I am not naive about things to come.  I know the reality.  In one short month I've read and learned so much, watched events unfold.  The road to the place I am today was not an easy one, it was rough and marred by obstacles, one after another.  I expect no less of the road ahead - and I welcome it, because I know, the rewards are great.  Because I know, this is right - and because I have Heaven on my side.  I thought I knew what I was doing, where I was going, and I thought I'd failed, but the truth lies in a quote from one of my favorite movies:  "Maybe God... has a bigger plan for me... than I had for myself."  ~ A Walk To Remember

So, there it was.  2011.  What, for all intents and purposes, should have been the worst year of my life - but for redemption in the Christmas season.  I can't say I'm sorry to bid it farewell, but what I can say, is that I'm excited to see what 2012 brings... and the year after that, and the one after that, and the one after that... on, and on, and on.  

Thanks be to God

Soon I will post the things I have been thinking about for weeks on end.  Soon I will write the words that have been bouncing about my mind for days upon days, hours upon hours... but today, I simply want to give thanks.  Thanks for this.

MY BABIES!  Allow me to introduce you to my dear borrowed kids, M on the left, 12 years old, and A on the right, 8 years old (and already going around telling everyone her birthday is coming up.  It's in May.  Hehe.)

Here's little man!  This is my DBK who is A's little brother, we call him AJ and he is two years old.  And SO BIG!  I can't believe how much they've grown!

My mom playing with little man.  He was giggling hysterically, one of the funniest things I ever saw.  We went to see the kids and their mom and their grandma at grandma's house today, to give them their Christmas gifts... what the kiddos don't know, is that they gave me the best gift... getting to see them.  <3  Four months of frustration and sadness... but 2012 started off on the right foot.  And I spent a blissful two hours with my babies.  I couldn't ask for more.

Finally, I'll leave you with this.  You'll love it, I promise.

Thanks be to God, for these children... and for bringing them back to me again.








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