Goodness and Mercy Shall Follow

We Wish You a Merry Christmas . . .

2011-12-25T20:45:00.000-08:00

The following is our annual Christmas letter. I'm posting it a bit late because an infection that started in my hand last week turned into something serious. I spiked a high fever and Brad made me go to the ER Friday night. Silly me thought I'd be fine with an Airbourne and a good night's sleep, never connecting the dots that the problem with my hand was causing my fever.

I'm very grateful for my persistent husband because they said if the infection had gone another 24 hours I might have lost my hand! (Oh my!) I guess the moral of the story is: Never think you are too busy to go to the doctor and, if you have a degree in English, you're not really qualified to make major medical decisions.

I spent Christmas Eve in tears because it looked like I was going to miss Christmas with my family. The ER doctor said it might take 2 days of IV meds to get my white cell blood count back to normal. But by Saturday night, I was doing so much better that the doctor on that shift had mercy on me and let me go home with a goodie bag of some mega antibiotics. I was so grateful to spend Christmas morning in my own home with my sweet family. We had such fun watching Victoria enjoy her first Christmas and loved every minute being together as a family.

I haven't gotten approval from the family to post Christmas pics so I'm just using the ones above and below that we had taken earlier. There will be an upcoming new year's post looking back at our crazy year and I promise to post more then.

Merry Christmas to you all! I hope you had a blessed day celebrating the birth of our Savior.

With Much Love,
Kathie and Family

Dear Family and Friends,

Happy holidays from the old woman who lives in a shoe (she had so many children . . . you know the rest.) I was tempted to skip the whole Christmas card/letter this year, but I’m proud of the fact that I have managed to keep all five children alive and kind of wanted to prove it.

This time last year we were still trying to process the news that I was pregnant again at the biblically equivalent age of Abraham’s wife when she had Isaac. On June 6 we were blessed with Victoria Kate. It was not how we had ever dreamed we would spend our 19-year wedding anniversary, but I must say it was the best anniversary gift I’ve ever gotten. (Nothing says romance like ice chips in a hospital gown.)

We are still celebrating this sweet addition to our family. Thanks to you all for your love and prayers with her arrival. (Our photos were taken by our friend at http://www.kylevalencia.com/ . He apparently has expertise in Photoshopping dark circles and drool.)

If I have learned one thing in life, it’s been to give thanks for unexpected gifts. At times I’ve been like a typical kid at Christmastime with a thoughtfully drafted wish-list for God. My kids usually forego an itemized list, but I do get some well-meaning hints. Not wanting to act greedy, they mention a particular item then end with a disclaimer--“if it doesn’t cost too much” or “if I get this I’ll never ask for another thing . . . promise.” I’m ashamed to admit that my prayers have included some of those very same words.

There have been years that I’ve received some gifts from God I didn‘t ask for. At the time they didn’t look like gifts at all because they were packaged as sickness, need, loss, pain. I looked up at my Heavenly Father, with the same face that my kids would give me if I gave them a present of socks and underwear or coal and switches, and like a child exclaimed, “Are you kidding me? This isn’t what I asked for! There must be some mistake.” It often took years to see that this was something I could give thanks for--that He chose what I needed over what I wanted and wrapped it with His grace.

And then there have been years of opening fabulous gifts . . . extravagant gifts--gifts that I didn’t ask for, gifts that I didn’t think I needed, gifts that I certainly didn’t deserve. One such gift is the baby I’m holding in my arms this year. Another such gift is the baby Mary held in hers more than 2,000 years ago.

It was the most unexpected gift. Instead of a prince born to royalty, He came as a baby born to poor homeless parents. Instead of a King on a throne, He was a Savior on a cross. It’s this time of year that I’m convicted that I’ve been looking at the wrong wish-list.

Much of the past 12 months is a beautiful blur, but perhaps the one word that sums up how I feel this year is GRATEFUL. Although this is where I usually share the highlights of the past year, somehow all the “what we’ve done” seems so trite compared to the list of “what we’ve been given.”

The other day I read a quote that got me thinking. “What if you woke up tomorrow with only the things you thanked God for today?” My list is long, but it would start with: “Thank you, God, for my five precious children granted to me by birth and by adoption. Thank you for my dear husband and partner that you’ve given me for this crazy adventure. Thank you for our wonderful family and friends, who humble us year after year with their love and support. Thank you for the gift of a Baby in a manger and a Savior on a cross. Thank you for the blessing of unexpected gifts. ”

If I wake up tomorrow with only those things, it is more than enough.

Merry Christmas and Blessed New Year from the Williams Family

Happy Thanksgiving!

2011-11-24T22:52:00.000-08:00

Well, there's about an hour left of Thanksgiving day and the rest of the world has moved full-speed ahead toward Christmas. And then there's me.

Yes, I've got big plans to do some shopping and decorating tomorrow like everyone else, but tonight I just want to hold on to Thanksgiving a bit longer. Today was such a sweet time with our extended families that I want to wrap up every memory and dine on the leftovers for the next few weeks.

Today I'm grateful for my precious family (most of these photos are from a visit a few weeks ago to a pumpkin patch, a couple are from today) . . .

For my amazing husband . . .

For my sweet boys . . .

And my sweet girls . . .

Especially the one celebrating her first Thanksgiving today.

Thank you, God, for all five pumpkins in my pumpkin patch. I'm so very grateful for your faithfulness in my life!

Happy Thanksgiving from the Williams family!

Much Love,
Kathie

Land of the Free . . . Home of the Brave

2011-11-11T05:12:00.000-08:00

I'm feeling so grateful today. For little things like tiny hands with dimpled fingers, giggles around the breakfast table, and for a few minutes this morning to write about God's goodness in my life.

And I'm grateful for some big things. For men and women who sacrifice their lives each day to serve our country, for the blessing of waking up each morning in the land of the free, and for a son who at only 9 years old truly understands what a gift it is to be an American.

For years I've celebrated National Adoption Month as a proud adoptive mother. Many more years I've celebrated Veterans Day as a grateful American. This year those celebrations are beautifully intertwined.

My kids attend a wonderful Christian school and every November they have an amazing Veterans Day assembly. Each year they have the students write essays and make posters thanking Veterans for their service. It's a great way to make the kids really ponder the sacrifice made for our freedom.

A couple weeks ago, I asked Daniel if he wanted to write an essay in preparation for the upcoming celebration. He responded with, "I don't have much to say. I've only been an American for two years." I reminded him that he has a perspective that many don't have. That starting out in another country will give him an appreciation that many Americans will never understand.

He grabbed a few sheets of notebook paper and a pencil, went to his room and closed the door. About an hour later he returned with the following words written in his best penmanship. As he read it aloud, the tears streamed down my face. He has given me permission to share it here. I corrected his spelling and grammar--but this was all his work . . . an outpouring from his heart.

Grateful for My Country
By Daniel Williams

I am 9 years old, but I have only been an American for almost 2 years. Back in Guatemala, I was so scared sometimes that I would put furniture up against the door so no one could break in. One night I heard guns shooting and often I couldn’t sleep because I was scared. I wished I lived in a country where I was safe.

I saw kids so poor that they would make shoes out of soft drink cans and make shelter with old boxes. I saw people taking guns when they would go to the bank because they were afraid of being robbed. I saw even small children begging for food. I have never seen these things in America.

December 24, 2009 is when I knew that my life had changed. I remember when I got off of the plane when I was adopted by my family and I saw the American flag. I knew then that I would be safe, I would have a home, I would not have to worry about putting things against the door, I would have plenty of food, and I would have a family.

Thank you, Veterans, for serving our country. Thank you for being away from your families and risking your lives for us. You make our country a safe and happy country. I think the difference between Guatemala and the United States is freedom.

(Photo of Daniel and siblings on his first 4th of July as an American.)

Here's a photo taken as we were in a hurry to get out the door this morning--of Ava with the poster she made, Daniel with his essay, and Brady barely awake. (He doesn't have school on Friday and is wondering why his crazy mom is taking his pic.) The school had their beautiful celebration yesterday--such a sweet time of honoring those who serve our country.

When Daniel got home yesterday he said, "I think some day I'd like to be an Army guy and fight to protect our country." Oh, that would make this mama so proud.

Happy Veterans Day to all the brave men and women who serve our country. I'm grateful for my grandfather, my dad, and my mother-in-law's husband Bob--who passed away last April--for their service to our country and sacrifice for our freedom. Thank you, Veterans, that a little boy named Daniel is grateful to be an American because he lives in a "safe and happy country."

God Bless America!

With Gratitude,

Kathie

Drinking from the Saucer

2011-11-03T19:12:00.000-07:00

Oh how I've missed you! Sorry for the extended "maternity leave." All is well. I've just been busy adjusting to having a newborn and being a mommy to five. I haven't given up blogging--oh how I love my fellowship with like-minded bloggy friends. The other day I reread the precious comments posted when Victoria was born. Thanks for the blessing you have all been to me.

My days have been reduced to survival mode moments in which I must decide between taking a shower or having lunch, getting an hour of sleep or folding a pile of laundry. I have learned to feed/diaper/soothe a newborn in the carpool line and at the grocery check-out, at a soccer/baseball/ballet practice or a parent/teacher conference, while making a phone call or preparing dinner.

Our first weeks with Victoria were hard. We were so worried about making sure she was eating enough and maintaining her body temp. She would have episodes of reflux followed by gasps for air that made this veteran mom feel like a newcomer to the job. Then she finally had an appetite but her little body just wasn't able to digest it well. She had several colicky weeks but she has finally turned the corner and is now even sleeping well at night. Praise God!

Honestly, now that Baby V is no longer crying through the afternoons/evenings, she's the easiest one of the bunch. She doesn't play a sport, doesn't need to be driven somewhere, and can't question my judgement (at least not verbally). She's too little to take ballet, be invited to a birthday party, need help with her homework, surprise me with a last-minute project, get her feelings hurt, or have friends come over. She eats everything I serve her like it's the best thing she's ever had and she never complains about her clothing. (I know those days are numbered.)

Here she is with her expression that says, "Really?!" We see this face a lot.

I've never been so tired, yet I honestly don't think I've ever been this happy. I feel like Lucy in the episode of "I Love Lucy" where she and her pal Ethel are working in a chocolate factory. At first the candies come down the conveyor belt at a manageable pace. They wrap each chocolate then put it back on the assembly line. They are doing so well that the boss increases the speed of the conveyor belt. They aren't able to keep up so they start tossing unwrapped chocolates in their tops and hiding them under their hats.

And that's what I've been doing the past 4 months--stuffing figurative chocolates in my blouse and laughing at the windfall of goodness that has been showered over this crazy lady who loves children.

It reminds me of a poem I came across many years ago called "Drinking from the Saucer." Here it is in case you've never read it.

Drinking From The Saucer
by John Paul Moore

I've never made a fortune,
And I'll never make one now
But it really doesn't matter
'Cause I'm happy anyhow

As I go along my journey
I'm reaping better than I've sowed
I'm drinking from the saucer
'Cause my cup has overflowed

I don't have a lot of riches,
And sometimes the going's tough
But with kin and friends to love me
I think I'm rich enough

I thank God for the blessings
That His mercy has bestowed
I'm drinking from the saucer
'Cause my cup has overflowed

He gives me strength and courage
When the way grows steep and rough
I'll not ask for other blessings for
I'm already blessed enough

May we never be too busy
To help bear another's load
Then we'll all be drinking from the saucer
When our cups have overflowed

The words made me smile then, but even more so now that I have moved beyond "goodness and mercy shall follow" and have entered a season of "my cup overflows."

I look at my 5 blessings--age 4 months to 14 years, all given to us by the grace of God--and my sleep-deprived eyes well up with happy tears. I'm just so very grateful for each one of them.

Grateful for Olivia--our daughter with big brown eyes and a big heart for others; the patient oldest sister to one crazy crew; our first gift from God after years of praying for a child; proof that children grow up too fast.

Grateful for Ava--our daughter who loves with her whole heart; the one who keeps us laughing and makes every day feel like a party; the one always there to offer encouragement and a hug; proof that children are just sunshine packaged in human form.

Grateful for Daniel--our son born of our hearts through the miracle of adoption; the one with a smile that can light up a room and melt your heart; a little boy made up of equal parts of humor and sensitivity; proof that God can heal what has been broken and that families are made with love.

Grateful for Brady--our son given to us after the pain of losing his brother; the one who is so gentle and caring that he as the youngest has become an example to the older ones; the sweetest snuggler in the bunch; and proof that God will not leave us in the valley of the shadow of death . . . that goodness and mercy always follow.

Grateful for Victoria--our daughter given to us by surprise and by God's grace; the one who is keeping us young and reminds us each day to cherish every sweet minute;

Our little princess who is remarkably tolerant of the crazy family she's been born into; proof that God's plan is always so much better than ours.

Thank you, Heavenly Father, for all five blessings. All so special and so loved.

It's been a long time since I've posted a "Sunday Dinner" with a scripture and a song. The past four months can be summed up with these verses:

"Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen."

Ephesians 3:20-21, NIV

The song that is currently first on my playlist says what I'm feeling. It is "Your Love is Extravagant" by Casting Crowns. Yes, His love certainly is!

So Grateful,
Kathie

Finally Home!

2011-06-19T20:12:00.000-07:00

Well, today is Father's Day, but for me every day feels like Mother's Day.

Forgive me for not posting since Victoria's birth. All is well, I just haven't had much time to update. I spent most of the past two weeks at our hospital's NICU(neonatal intensive care unit) until they finally let out baby girl come home last Wednesday. Since then I've been living in Eastern Standard Newborn Time and I'm cherishing every exhausting minute having a baby in the house again.

She spent the first 9 days of her life in the NICU until they felt she was ready to come home. They kicked me out of the hospital a week ago Friday, but--being the stalker mommy that I am--I hung out in the NICU from 8 a.m. till 5 p.m. so I could feed her myself and not miss too much of these precious newborn days.

A week ago Saturday, they thought she might be ready to come home and let me "room in" with her. I was thrilled to be able to have a sleepover with my tiny girl in this room that they have just off the NICU. Well, I'm embarrassed to admit that I was done in by a person the size of a sub sandwich. This trial run proved she wasn't quite ready and needed a few more days in the hospital.

Her biggest issue has been her inability to get enough in each feeding. For several days she was fed with the assistance of a feeding tube in her nose. She just didn't have the stamina to nurse or take a bottle for more than a few minutes. Her other problem was not being able to maintain a good body temp. Because she is so thin, she burns a lot of calories trying to keep herself warm. We have her dressed for an Arctic blizzard yet sometimes her temp goes dangerously low. Although she was delivered at 36 weeks, she was more like a baby born at 33 to 34 weeks, but we can already tell she's going to catch up quickly.

Since coming home on Wednesday, she has eaten well and her temp has been stable. Wooo hoooo! We took her to the pediatrician Friday and we were thrilled to hear that she's back to her birth weight of 5 pounds. She is certainly the miniature princess of the house and we are so grateful for the precious gift of this special girl.

I've got a little time before the next feeding to finally post some pics.

This is the first time I was able to see my baby girl. I'll never forget feeling her breath on my cheek as Brad held her up to my face. The tears were flowing in Operating Room number 1!

This was a quick photo with me and Brad before they took her to the NICU and while they were sewing me up.

I'm still so grateful for the wisdom of my doctors to go ahead and deliver via c-section. We know now that the reason she wasn't the size she should have been is because of issues with the cord.

The recovery has been a bit harder than with a regular delivery, but it granted me some additional days in the hospital. That extra time in the hospital was a blessing because it was so hard to leave her behind when they sent me home.

Here we are hanging out in the NICU.

This is Olivia meeting her baby sister for the first time. It's hard to believe that I have one daughter starting high school and another just starting out in life, but it's actually a lot of fun having such a range of ages.

Can you tell how excited Ava is to have a baby sister? She's been praying for one for several years and is overjoyed that Victoria is here.

Daniel was so precious the first time he met Victoria. It has been so special to experience this with him and see his pride in having a new little sister.

Brady is perhaps the proudest sibling of them all. He is already very protective of her and instructs all visitors to wash their hands and not touch her head. I know Brady and Victoria will have a very sweet bond that will grow over the years. He still doesn't have the confidence to hold her, but he sits by her bassinet and chats with her. It's very sweet.

Here's Victoria spending some time under the tanning bed while in the NICU because of jaundice. She's fine now and she and Daniel have the best summer tans in the family.

Here are some pics taken with my phone. They didn't appreciate flash photography in the NICU so I had to sneak these when I got a chance.

We were so happy when she was moved from the warming bed to this hospital bassinet. We knew it was one step closer to her coming home.

Who says babies can't smile? This was taken when she was 3 days old. We can't wait till she's able to smile all the time.

Here she is in her fleece Halo sleep sack. Even though the temps are in the 90's outside, our girl almost always has this on to keep her warm.

This was a sweet moment holding her in the NICU. I still have those "pinch me" moments of not believing that this little treasure is mine.

Finally the feeding tube is out! She hated it and was always pulling it out and frustrating the nurses. She didn't like the monitors' wires either. Ava sang the song "I've Got No Strings" from Pinocchio when they took it all off.

This is her at home dancing in her bed.

Oh, gotta run. Time for a feeding. Here's one more photo with her celebrating her first Father's Day with her dad and siblings.

I'm so grateful for my husband, my father and father-in-law, and my Heavenly Father. It was a special day indeed.

Much Love,

Kathie

She's Here!!!

2011-06-06T19:43:00.000-07:00

This evening God blessed us with the gift of another precious daughter.

Victoria Kate arrived weighing 5 pounds and is 17 and a half inches long.

The c-section went beautifully but as she was being delivered, my doctor and midwife couldn't believe what they found. She had the cord wrapped 4 times around her neck and it was kinked in two places. They said she probably would not have survived a long labor and regular delivery.

She looks absolutely perfect, but we won't know for 48 hours if she will have any long-term medical needs. Victoria gave us a fabulous cry when she was delivered and really nothing else mattered after that. She's in the NICU now but I got a glimpse of her just after delivery and was able to see her a few minutes tonight.

A year ago I would have never believed that we would spent our 19 year wedding anniversary having a baby, but I must admit that it was a pretty special way to celebrate our marriage and God's goodness and mercy in our lives.

So Grateful,
Kathie

Ready

2011-06-06T12:06:00.001-07:00

Well, it looks like our tiny baby/anniversary gift is coming tonight!

I think I have two male readers (you are brave), so I'll try not to cross the line of too much information, but . . . read at your own risk.

I had my appointment with my high risk doc at 9:30 this morning fully expecting to be told to wait another week. He was thrilled to see that she was head down but there were still some concerns about her being small for her gestational age (which could indicate a problem with the cord or placenta) and wanted to move quickly to deliver since she was finally in the right position. He consulted with my regular docs and they were in agreement to induce as soon as possible.

So I went straight to Labor and Delivery at the hospital and they immediately started the drugs to induce. Well, a couple hours later my doc came to check on me and, after an external exam, seemed worried. They did another ultrasound and discovered she had turned again. She's now sideways and the cord is again over my cervix which can be fatal for the baby if my water breaks and makes it not possible to deliver her the old fashioned way. When he called my high risk doc and told him she had moved, it was funny. There was a very loud, "You've got to be kidding me" on the other end. Apparently she wins the prize for the most active baby they have seen.

He wanted to do a C-section immediately, but Brad had just brought me a romantic anniversary lunch from Chick-fil-a and they have to wait till the food is out of my system. So we have a scheduled C-section at 8:00 p.m. I have about 4 hours till I get to meet my baby girl! I'm sitting here in my hospital gown with a mix of nerves and excitement.

The most frequently asked question these past few week was, "Are you ready?" It's a simple question and since I haven't been able to cough, laugh, or sneeze without wetting my pants for some time now, my first response is always yes. But to be honest, I haven't been completely ready.

Yes, I'm so ready to hold her, to feed her, to study her sweet face and marvel at her tiny hands. I'm ready to bring her home and love on her and watch her siblings adore her. But as my pregnancy has progressed I've had to ask myself harder questions. Losing a child at 36 weeks
has changed the meaning of the question, "Are you ready?"

I've been asking myself, "Are you ready to deliver a baby who might not make it?" With recent concerns about possible birth defects, I've had to ask myself, "Are you ready to hold her and be told she has physical or developmental needs?"

My nurse just gave me the rundown on what would happen during the C-section and with it a whole new list of concerns. That I might not be able to hold her or see her after she is born. That she may have to spend some time in the NICU because she is 3 and a half weeks premature and may not even be 5 pounds. That this is major surgery and I might have complications of my own.

This kind of reminds me of how many were feeling a couple weeks ago when that man was predicting that the Rapture was going to happen. There were many reasons that kept me from believing it was true, and yet it made me ask myself "Are you ready?"

And again my first answer would be yes. Yes, I'm ready to see my Savior's face; ready to worship at His throne; ready to be reunited with my mother, my grandmother, my children who I will get to meet in heaven, and many other loved ones.

But then I felt conviction that I didn't do more. I spent much of my life surrounded by fellow believers and gave myself few opportunities to share my faith. I've had a lifelong passion to care for orphans, but only gave one a family. I have to admit when that Saturday came and went, I found myself with a renewed commitment to live radically for God.

So I sit here in a hospital room, waiting for the hours to play out with an ending that only my Heavenly Father knows. There's nothing but the sound of her heartbeat on the monitor as I give thanks for this precious little life and ask myself, "Are you ready?"

And you know what? I am.

Thanks for your continued love and prayers.

Surrendered to His Plan,
Kathie

Contractions

2011-06-04T21:12:00.000-07:00

Made it through another week. A great week in many ways. A stressful week in many others.

The week before last my doctors appointments went well. The baby looked healthy, no signs of distress, no issues with the cord placement, and my amniotic fluid was within a more normal range.

This week showed some new concerns. The baby is fine but continues to do her Cirque du Soleil performances in utero. She prefers to be sideways or breech which is not popular with my healthcare providers this late in the pregnancy. My fluid is again in excess and, because of where the cord is, now I'm at great risk for cord prolapse and because of her continued movement there is concern about another cord accident.

Last Thursday my regular doctor treated me like I was a walking time bomb--asking me how quickly I could get to the hospital if my water broke and making me promise that if it did I wouldn't take a precious minute to call or even grab my suitcase. He said that if we can catch her head down at any time with the cord in a safe placement, they will go ahead and induce.

My next scheduled appointment is Monday morning with the specialist and then in the afternoon with my regular doctor. Monday is our 19 year wedding anniversary, so having our new baby girl in our arms would sure be a sweet gift. (Brad, you are off the hook on a romantic dinner out. Ice chips and an epidural will be fine.) But I know the docs at my specialist's office really want me to go another full week if there are no signs of her in distress (so I'd be 38 weeks), so I won't be surprised or disappointed if they send me home to let her cook a bit longer.

One thing they track often with my fetal non-stress tests is contractions. I have lots of them and have since I was 28 weeks. Just false labor that is a pain in the abdomen.

I've done this with all my pregnancies. When I was expecting Ava, I started having regular contractions at 30 weeks. They were every 4 minutes apart and strong. My doctors were sure it was the real thing and admitted me to the hospital and put me on all kinds of drugs. When they finally sent me home I was on strict bedrest, lots of meds, and drank enough water on a daily basis to fill a swimming pool. At 37 weeks they took me off the meds fully expecting her to be born within hours and . . . she ended up arriving three weeks later on her due date.

And so with subsequent pregnancies, I've kind of just ignored them. It's just my body crying wolf, every 4 to 5 minutes. (Apparently there's a correlation between my excess of fluid and the frequency/strength of the contractions.) My husband will see me holding my belly in obvious pain and ask if we need to go to the hospital and I will simply answer, "No, but I could use a hot fudge sundae and a foot massage." (Hey, I'm going to milk this for all it's worth.)

As I have these contractions, I can't help but see how much they mirror the contractions of life.

Real contractions can be scary the first time you experience them. I remember the first time I felt those muscles tighten like a boa constrictor around my waist. It was something I'd never felt before and frankly it freaked me out. As my pregnancy progressed I realized that the contractions only got stronger and lasted longer. By the end I realized these early contractions were nothing compared to the ones that left me breathless and speechless and doubled over in pain. And it's these contractions that precede the birth of something amazing.

In the same way, I've had a lifetime of different kinds of emotional and spiritual "contractions." Small trials, disappointments, detours in life. At the time I thought they were the real thing. I thought the pain couldn't get any worse. I thought it was too much to bear. But soon I realized that this was just practice labor. That my broken heart could mend. That the sun would rise the next day. That the world didn't come to an end.

It's hard to watch my children experience "contractions." Last week my kids finished school. Our sweet Christian school only goes through 8th grade and Olivia will be starting over next year in high school. She hurts leaving her dear friends and teachers and school that has been home for so long. She's feeling contractions as she faces the unknowns of what is ahead. While I know these contractions are so small compared to what she will deal with later in life, I know they are very real right now, very uncomfortable, and very scary.

Daniel also experienced contractions last week. He came home on the last day of school and wept all over his lunch. It hit him all of a sudden that his precious teacher wouldn't be going to 3rd grade with him next year. He doesn't think his teacher or group of classmates will ever be as wonderful as it was this year and he is grieving. It was such a sweet year in his life that I wish I could rewind it and play it over for him, especially after him having so many years that I wish I could erase. He has already had to deal with contractions far worse, yet this pain is very real to him as well.

When my children experience these contractions and they tell me how much it hurts and they cry in my arms, all I can do is remind them that God is good and He has a wonderful plan for their lives. This is big talk from a woman who is having contractions--literally and figuratively. I don't like the pain of uncertainty. I have moments of worry that this baby might not be okay. I have doubts as I wonder if I can be a good mom to five children.

In my mind I know that the most painful contractions of all are the ones that strengthened my faith and poured out such blessings in my life. I remember that as horrible as it was to watch my mother battle cancer, because of her faith through that trial she left a legacy that will continue for generations. I remember that as heartbreaking as it was to lose our first son, that tragedy truly changed the course of our lives and such goodness and mercy has come from it that we would not have otherwise experienced.

And yet, I still want to walk through life with an epidural. I want to be exempt from hard times and I want my family to be as well. And that's when I have to remember God's faithfulness and remind myself that "God is good and He has a wonderful plan for my life." I surrender to that truth as I face the uncertainty of the week ahead.

It's almost Sunday here in Georgia, so I'm going to go ahead a post a "Sunday Dinner" for the week. My favorite scripture about contractions is:

"Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds,
because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. . . .

Blessed is the man who perseveres under trial, because when he has stood the test, he will receive the crown of life that God has promised to those who love him. " James 1:2-3, 12, NIV

The "dessert" of song is one of my favorites right now. It's "Blessings" by Laura Story--she's one of my all-time favorite artists and sings at the church that is part of our children's school. Her lyrics so beautifully sum up what God has been trying to teach me for many years.

May you remember God's faithfulness and goodness during your own times of trials and "contractions."

Much Love,

Kathie

P.S. I'm having trouble posting comments on other blogs! For a couple weeks, when I log in to leave a comment it lists me as anonymous, then when I try to leave the comment it disappears. It seems to be a problem with Blogger. If anyone knows how to fix it let me know. Thanks!

Safe

2011-05-19T18:41:00.000-07:00

Thanks so much to so many of you for your prayers for us this week. My appointment with the specialist went well Monday. There are still no problems with the cord, however my amniotic fluid continues to increase and the baby continues to do her acrobatic routine which makes us all a bit nervous.

My doctor at the specialist's office was much kinder at this appointment. Not a mention of words like "defect" or "problem." That was a good move on his part because I didn't have time to print out Psalm 139 and this hormonally challenged mama knows all 24 verses, was armed with a Sharpie, and spent an hour staring at a bare wall needing embellishment. (Yes, these days I'm one insensitive comment away from destruction of private property.)

I got to take Daniel and Brady with me Monday morning because the younger grades at our school had a teacher work day. They loved seeing their baby sister on the big screen. They kept saying "that's so cool" as red and blue lights illuminated the flow of blood to the baby and "oh, she's so cute" when we'd get a glimpse of her face. (I never realized my insides could provide such entertainment.) It was really a sweet time with them and was a comfort to me to hear them talk about her with such love and excitement.

I had another ultrasound today at my regular doctor. There was a bit of concern because the cord is again around her neck, but this time it's loose and not wrapped multiple times. There were no signs today of distress and my doctors felt it safe to go home.

Safe.

The definition of the word "safe" has changed for me considerably over the years. It was a word I never gave much thought to until I became a mom--then suddenly I was obsessed with keeping my children safe. Safety seats, safety locks, safety seals, safety helmets, safety precautions. I realized about 15 minutes after becoming a mother--as I watched Olivia sleep out of fear that she might stop breathing--that keeping your child safe can become a full-time job if you let it.

So when we lost a baby at 36 weeks, my first thought was that I hadn't kept him safe. That somehow I should have known he was in trouble. That I had failed him as his mother. But then I remembered something that happened just hours before he died. Some day I will try to share it, but all you really need to know is that it taught me that there are no accidents. God knew the number of our son's days. He knew that January 9, 2004, his earthly heart would stop beating and this wasn't something that was supposed to have been prevented. And He also knew this mother's heart would be broken. He knew this because thousands of years before, Christ carried my sorrow to the cross. Knowing that this was His plan released me from guilt and freed me from fear.

But here I am again, wanting to keep this baby safe. And often I fall back into my old thinking. I'll wake up at 3:00 a.m. in a cold sweat and lay there till I feel a reassuring kick. And I'll think, "She's safer outside of my body, than within it."

That's when conviction pours over me and I remember God's faithfulness. That's when I surrender that the absolute safest place this baby could be is out of my reach and completely in His hands.

I know once she is born, my tendency to want to bubble wrap her through life will continue. I will have to fight it on a daily basis.

I had proof of this last Sunday as I put my 14 year old Olivia on a bus headed to Washington D.C. for their 8th grade trip. I wished I had been able to go as one of the chaperones, not just so I could enjoy this experience with her but also so I could keep her safe.

As the bus pulled away, I'm ashamed to admit that I said a prayer for her safety out of fear of the "what-ifs"--not out of surrender to God's sovereignty. In about 30 seconds I was able to come up with a hundred reasons why I shouldn't let her go. It wasn't until I actually thought about running after the bus, 8 months pregnant, and demanding that they let her off did I realize my foolishness. And once again, I realized that the absolute safest place she could be is completely in His hands.

I will go to bed tonight with complete peace that I don't need to count kicks or go back to the hospital to be monitored. It's simply because I know God loves this baby even more than I do and has a perfect plan for her life.

Much Love,

Kathie

Fearfully and Wonderfully Made

2011-05-15T22:12:00.000-07:00

Most women seem to do pregnancy well. They glow. They blossom like a spring flower. They look fashionable in their maternity attire.

They dance through 40 weeks of impending motherhood with grace. They are able to pee in a cup without getting it on their hand. They don't throw up during the gestational diabetes test. They don't pass out when giving a blood sample.

They gain just the right amount of weight. They don't get stretch marks or varicose veins. Their labors are short and easy. Their babies are born looking like they are ready to model for Pampers.

And then there's me.

Nothing about my pregnancies has ever been easy. My medical chart reads like the section in What to Expect When You're Expecting under the heading "When Something Goes Wrong."

I've had 1st trimester and 3rd trimester loss. Preterm labor, placenta previa, pre-eclampsia, high blood pressure, prolonged labor, postpartum hemorrhaging. Thus after we had Brady, I mentally put my uterus in retirement. All done. I was very much at peace with this even though I still longed for more children. But God provided a beautiful way for us to add to our family through adoption and we felt called to adopt older and special needs children.

And then on the morning of November 1 we discovered that I--at 40 years old--was pregnant! Although I was so incredibly grateful that God would bless us with another child, I wondered why in the world He had granted us the miracle of another biological child when we were so passionate about the miracle of adoption. I felt terribly undeserving of such a gift when many of my precious friends have never been able to get pregnant. But I have learned that God's plan is always so much better than anything I could ever dream up. I have learned to say thank you when I'm given a gift so extravagant, so unexpected, so undeserved.

To be honest, this pregnancy has been perhaps the easiest of all of them. Yes, I was sick those first 15 weeks and I've been so exhausted the entire 34 weeks, but really it hasn't been that bad. I can give a urine sample without peeing on my hand, I passed the gestational diabetes test the first time, my blood pressure has been low and my weight on target. I think I have finally moved from amateur to professional.

But just as I was beginning to get a little cocky about having a worry-free pregnancy, we hit a little turbulence last week.

Thursday I had one of my very frequent doctor's appointments. You see with my age and my history, I have VIP status at my OB/GYN. I get to drop in a lot. And when I do, I get to stay a long time. I might just forward my mail for the next few weeks.

One of the things I get to do as a VIP patient is fetal non-stress tests (NSTs). This is basically where they strap a couple monitors to my big belly. One tracks kicks and contractions. The other tracks the baby's heartbeat.

Well, last Thursday I was there for my NST and my precious midwife came in to check on me. She asked if I'd like something sweet to drink and I said, "Sure. And could I have a mani/pedi while I here, too?" (No, not really. Would be a total waste of money at this point because I can't see my feet.)

She informed me that the baby wasn't moving much and a sweet drink might get her going. Well, one Sprite later, Baby Girl was still not feeling like dancing for the doctors. And her heart rate was showing some signs of distress.

They moved me to the next room for an ultrasound. I was thrilled to see her cute little self
seemed okay. The dear lady who does the sonograms there quickly announced that she looked great and was even sporting a little hairdo. My heart rejoiced.

Then she left to talk with my midwife and doctors. For a long time. And my midwife returned to say that the baby looked great, but she was breech and the cord was wrapped around her neck. She reminded me that this is very common but with my history of loss due to a cord accident (Luke's story is here), she wanted to play it safe. They wanted me to see a specialist with ultrasound equipment that could determine if there was any problem with the blood flow through the cord.

I picked my boys up at school and headed home to fix them lunch and wait for the specialist's office to schedule an appointment. As soon as I walked in the door, the phone rang. They asked me to come as soon as possible. I had just enough time to call my husband who was having lunch with some friends from church and I sent a quick e-mail to my prayer group of moms from our children's school. I wasn't sure what was ahead, but wanted to enlist prayer support just in case.

As I waited in the reception area, I counted the baby's kicks and was grateful for each one. I was told that if she was in danger, they might do an emergency c-section. I couldn't believe that I might actually get to hold her so soon. But I also couldn't believe I was back on the same journey that 7 years ago ended in so much pain.

As their sonographer was doing the ultrasound, she was completely quiet. She certainly didn't have the bedside manner that the sweet sonographer had at my doctor's office. I wondered if everything was okay and finally asked. I got a quick, "Fine." I made my own uneducated assessment of the baby I could see on this high tech screen. She looked perfect.

The sonographer left to consult with the doctor. Brad and I sat in the dark room. I was still on the examining table with my belly covered in cold goo. We waited over an hour to hear if she was okay. We spent much of that time praying. By this time, word had traveled fast and many others were praying as well.

The doctor came in with a face that said, "I've got good news and bad news." He shared that the baby was no longer in danger. She had flipped and was head down and the cord was no longer around her neck. Praise God! I envision God unwrapping that cord just as so many were praying on her behalf.

But he continued sharing that they saw some concerns. I have an excess of amniotic fluid which can increase the risk of cord accidents. (This was the case with all my pregnancies.) He also shared that the baby was much smaller than she should be at almost 34 weeks, especially since my other babies have been over 8 pounds at delivery. He said that could indicate a birth defect. There were also some measurements that can indicate a chromosomal problem like Down Syndrome. He saw on my chart that we had chosen not to do any invasive testing for birth defects and he couldn't understand why at my age we didn't. We tried to explain that we didn't want to do the amnio because of my history of miscarriage when it wouldn't change the outcome. We would carry this baby to term regardless of any problems.

We left that office relieved and rejoicing that the baby was no longer in danger. We honestly are not concerned that our child might have special needs--we know that she is a Masterpiece of God. We felt led to adopt a child with special needs and Down Syndrome was one of the needs that we seriously considered. But still, I was troubled by the appointment.

You see, this baby is being knit together inside me by the Lord God Almighty. Just as Psalm 139 so beautifully describes "my frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place."

Every time we have an ultrasound, we get a peek into this secret, sacred place. We should behold this miracle in progress with awe and reverence. So for this doctor to use words like "defect" . . . well, I was offended. Don't get me wrong. I am so very grateful for the technology that can determine problems, prepare parents medically and emotionally for challenges ahead, and potentially save a baby's life. It was just the way that he flippantly assessed our baby that bothered me. Who is he to find fault with the handiwork of the Almighty God?

I go back to the specialist tomorrow to be monitored again. This week I'll divide my mornings between the two offices on my VIP tour. I am so very tempted to print out a copy of Psalm 139, stick it in a frame, and hang it in the sonographer's examining room.

We would appreciate any prayers for the safety of this little life God's has blessed us with--this little girl, perfectly made in His image.

I haven't posted a "Sunday Dinner" in a long time, but today I have two scriptures that are dear to me this week.

One is a declaration of God's majesty as the Creator:

13 "For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb. "
14 "I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well."

15 "My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place. When I was woven together in the depths of the earth,"

16 "your eyes saw my unformed body. All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be."

Psalm 139:13-16, NIV

The other is a scripture that I claimed last Thursday and will continue to claim this week:

"You are my hiding place; you will protect me from trouble and surround me with songs of deliverance."

Psalm 32:7, NIV

This week's dessert of song is based on that scripture--"You Are My Hiding Place" by Selah. They do such an amazing job with this beautiful song that my mom used to sing to me as a child.

May you find refuge and deliverance in Him this week.

Much Love,

Kathie

The Goodness and Mercy of Motherhood

2011-05-08T19:09:00.000-07:00

Forgive me for my unplanned bloggy sabbatical. All is well here. We've just been busy with life and my 40+ pregnant body has just enough energy to accomplish the basics . . . if even that. At the end of each day I have plans to write about what's going on in our lives, yet can't seem to keep my eyes open. But I have missed you all TREMENDOUSLY!

I have months of catching up to do--posting of birthday photos, Easter celebrations, poetry and ballet recitals, and everyday happenings in our crazy family. God has been so good to us these past few months. Not only is He weaving this new life inside me, He's weaving a beautiful story in our family. Perhaps the day I am the most grateful for His goodness and mercy in my life is Mother's Day.

I'll never forget 15 years ago sitting in church as they recognized the mothers in attendance. It had been a tough year. I had had three miscarriages, one after the other. A never-ending roller coaster of hope followed by grief.

The pastor asked all the mothers to stand and a round of applause followed. I remained seated--fighting back tears. Although I felt alone in my pain, I knew there were others who had a mother's heart but no children. Others who had lost children, those who were battling infertility, those who were still waiting to find a spouse so they could start a family.

I prayed for goodness and mercy to follow, in my life and in the lives of those who remained seated but ached to be standing. God answered my prayer and the following Mother's Day I held Olivia, just a few weeks old, in my arms.

Now 15 years later, I celebrate and marvel and laugh at how God has blessed us with biological and adopted children. I'm so grateful to have the gifts of my two daughters, my two sons, and this baby girl who will be born in a few weeks. I rejoice in knowing God isn't finished with us yet. And I pray for those who are still waiting for God's goodness and mercy.

This morning I sat in church, surrounded by my precious assortment of children in small, medium, and large with a fifth one doing a tap dance on my bladder during the praise and worship music. And I was grateful.

I was grateful for the children I have the privilege to parent on earth and grateful for the four blessings that I will some day meet in heaven. Grateful for the ridiculous number of handmade cards I received today and for the love that made them.

(This is my favorite because they worked on it together.)

I'm grateful for my amazing mother. Although she died 7 years ago, she still inspires and encourages me. I'm grateful for my grandmothers whose legacy of faith has been passed down from generation to generation. And I'm grateful for all the precious mothers in my life now--mothers by marriage and mothers through friendship. What a blessing you all are to me.

I hope you also had a very special Mother's Day. May you see His goodness and mercy in your life--today and every day.

Much Love,
Kathie

Confessions of a Special Needs Mom

2011-02-25T19:12:00.000-08:00

It seems that God has answered our prayers in regards to what to do with our pending adoption. I'm writing that post now and will try to share soon.

But for now, I thought I'd share about what I've learned about myself during this process.

We spent many weeks compiling a list of "special needs" we would consider. And then when we found the child we felt was ours, we spent many hours researching and talking with doctors about what kind of long-term care she would need and how we could improve her quality of life.

And here's what I discovered. There was no "special need" on any listing that outdid my own "special needs." I felt that it would only be fair for any prospective adoptive child to be given the same information on this possible mother with full disclosure of all imperfections.

My file would read something like this:

She goes by the name "Kathie." She is considered an "older parent" (over the age of 40) although there are no grants available. Should you choose her, it is with the understanding that by the time you are in high school, others will think she is your grandmother.

She will need reading glasses to read you a bedtime story and may not be able to stand upright after sitting Indian style at a tea party.

She has many well-meaning behaviors that may cause extreme irritation. For example, she will take millions of photos of you but has no actual photography skills. You will have to put up with the auto-flashing and shutter-clicking, but you'll only have out-of-focus pics with your eyes closed to show for your patience.

Small toys not put away will mysteriously disappear. She can't stand "happy meal" items that didn't make anyone happy and you should note that these items are quickly donated or discarded.

She will sing you lullabies in spite of the fact that she is completely tone deaf.

She will want to dress you until you go to college. This may not be an issue in the early years, but by the time you are a teen, you will be wondering if you can escape through the air-conditioning vents of the dressing room during a shopping trip gone bad.

She will occasionally go freaky with the food she serves--going gluten-free, low-sugar, wholly whole wheat, and completely organic. You may try to trade up lunch items at school but no one will want a protein bar that tastes like cardboard in exchange for their Little Debbie snack cake. And then there are moments that she passes a Krispy Kreme establishment and the "hot donuts" sign is on. You should not call her a hypocrite if you'd like to partake of the white-flour, sugar-glazed manna that she is about to inhale.

She will often seem completely unfair. There will be movies and music and TV shows that everyone is allowed to see and hear, and you will be the ONLY one not watching/listening. If you ask why, she will simply respond with "Not Philippians 4:8 standards." ("Whatever things are good, pure, lovely, think on these things. . . .")

When you need clean socks you will be directed to a laundry basket solely dedicated to socks who have no partner. It is your job to play matchmaker and find two that are somewhat the same size and color. Good luck.

You will be fine if you need this mom to provide help in proofing papers, annotating poetry, and diagramming sentences, but you will up a creek without a scientific calculator if you need math help past the 6th grade. The Pythagorean Theorem makes her break out in hives, any attempt to find the area of a complex polygon will reduce her to her lowest common denominator, and she would rather poke her eyes out with a protractor than check your math homework.

She is a strong advocate for enjoying God's creation. She will pull over on the side of the road to behold a sunset, a rainbow, or wildflowers growing among asphalt. She will make everyone stop what they are doing to hear the birds singing outside and make you watch butterflies instead of TV. She will insist that you run outside at night to marvel at the stars and require that everyone pose for a picture with the first flower of springtime (which will no doubt capture you not smiling and cut off part of your head).

Although she cooks with love, she also cooks using whatever she has in the pantry and with the fewest number of ingredients possible. All her recipes are named something that ends in the word "surprise" (some surprises are better than others) and it's a safe bet that these culinary creations will never be featured on Food Network.

She absolutely can not handle whining or pouting. If there are words/sounds/looks that even hint at ungratefulness, you will be forced to select an item from her "consequence jar." On this little slip of paper, you will read your consequence (for example, wiping down baseboards and window blinds) for attempting to voice your concern. It's her sick way of teaching you a lesson while having you do a chore that she hates to do herself.

She suffers from Broken Record Syndrome. For example, you will hear phrases such as "good behavior equals privileges, bad behavior equals consequences" repeated till you think your ears are going to be permanently damaged.

She is a cryer. She will cry at your classroom doorway on the first day of school and at your ballet recital or soccer game. She will weep the first time you get your hair cut, swim without floaties, and ride a bike without training wheels. She will wail at birthday parties, graduations, and your wedding day. (Note: We are not talking delicate tears caught in monogrammed handkerchiefs. We are talking big ugly sobbing, sometimes snorting, pass-that-woman-a-box-of-tissues kinds of boo-hooing.) She is also a hugger and a kiss blower. You've been warned.

She might have attachment issues. Every single time another child is added to the family, she worries and wonders how she can possibly love the new one as much as the others. (But she, thus far, has had no trouble attaching to the ones God has given her.)

No matter how hard she tries, she will never understand what it feels like to be taken from your home country, to lose the only family and friends you have ever known, to have to learn a new language, adapt to a new culture, and acquire a taste for new food.

She will often feel overwhelmed in caring for your physical and emotional needs and wonder if she will ever be the mother you deserve. She won't understand that some days you need special care and other days you just want to be treated like everyone else.

Sometimes she gets tired, sometimes she feels stress, sometimes she loses her patience, sometimes she says things that she wishes she could take back.

She is a sinner, in need of a Savior, living in a fallen world, raising children who are sinners, in need of a Savior, living in a fallen world. And this means that she is flawed, that she will make mistakes, that she will need forgiveness.

And this is why she often feels so unworthy to be the mother of those precious children God has already entrusted her with and why she is so grateful for every child He brings to their family.

Hoping Someone Chooses My File,
Kathie

We're Having a . . .

2011-02-14T19:12:00.000-08:00

After weeks of wondering . . .

the envelope please.

Our Valentine's gift is . . .

a little GIRL!

Thank you, God, for the blessing of this precious life!

Happy Valentine's Day!

2011-02-14T14:24:00.000-08:00

I mentioned in my last post that we'd be finding out the gender of our surprise blessing on Valentine's Day. And thus far today I've had MANY people call, text, and stop me in the carpool line wondering if we are having a boy or a girl. I figured that by the time you have your 5th, people stop caring what gender you are having so it's sweet that so many have asked.

So if any of you bloggy friends are wondering if we'll be adding pink or blue this June, this is a pre-post. We haven't opened the envelope yet because Ava has early morning play practices and she and dad leave before the others wake up. We decided we could wait a few more hours and find out what we're having after dinner. Unless my computer crashes (which is very possible), I will announce later tonight what kind of little one God has graciously blessed our family with.

Anyone want to guess if it's a boy or a girl?

In the meantime, I thought I'd share a story below that I posted last year about Valentine's Day. It reminds me to thank God for the dear people that bless my life.

Much love you all!
Kathie

I have a love-hate relationship with Valentine’s Day. And considering this is a day set aside for expressing love, I’m sorry to admit that many years have been heavy on the hate.

Maybe it’s because of society-imposed expectations of what this day represents and how it should be celebrated. In a world that often seems divided into the Haves and Have-nots, on February 14 it can seem these categories have been renamed Loved and Unloved. But I was lucky to learn an important Valentine’s lesson early in life.

I must preface my story by letting you know that as a ninth grader I was two feet taller than any boy in my class and weighed less than a small domestic dog--and most of those pounds belonged to my hair. (It was the 80’s and I grew up in a city known for its humidity--you do the math.) I had taken terms like “awkward phase,” “really bad perm,” and “self-esteem issues” to new levels. That was the year someone suggested that by spray-painting myself green, I could trick-or-treat as a stalk of broccoli. But it wasn’t until that fateful February day that I felt like a character from a Judy Blume novel.

The student government at my high school had an annual fundraiser. They would take orders for carnations in white, pink, and red and on V-day deliver them to the fortunate recipients during morning classes. I didn’t think much of it when the first flowers arrived and ignored the giggles of the girls reading the attached construction paper cards from their prince charmings and “best buds 4 ever.” But soon I realized that I was the only girl in the class who hadn’t gotten a flower. (Even some boys had gotten them!)

Like listening to kernels of popcorn in a microwave, I knew that as the flurry of flower delivery slowed down they had almost finished distribution. In ten minutes the bell would ring and I would have to navigate the halls of flower laden girls empty-handed.

But then the classroom door opened and a delivery girl walked in. It seemed she was coming toward me, although I wasn’t sure because--thanks to the hair--I had very little peripheral vision. My heart raced as inside I was praying, “Please, God, let it be for me.”

And then . . . prayers were answered, angels sang, and all was right with the world as she tapped my shoulder and handed me the most beautiful pink carnation a dollar ever bought. I slowly looked down at the attached card--dying to know who had sent it--yet not wanting to look like I cared. And then I read simple words that I’ve carried with me for the rest of my life: “Thanks for being my little sister. I love you.”

It was quite a shock, because the sentiment usually coming from my sister’s mouth was along the lines of, “Get out of my room!”

She was a senior that year and perhaps she remembered what it was like to be a freshman of my make and model. But I doubt when she wrote that card she knew how much those words would make me feel valued or how “I love you” could erase insecurity.

It wasn’t because I had joined the ranks of those who had flowers, but because I had joined the ranks of those she loved. And I must say that my dear big sis is one of God's greatest blessings in my life today.

So what’s the moral of the story? That flowers have always been overpriced or that a woman nearing 40 should really let go of things that happened in high school?

Although, yes, these are valid answers, I think the real lesson is that sweethearts come in a number of varieties and that Valentine’s Day not only celebrates love between lovers, but also love between friends.

Over the years I’ve tasted a Whitman’s Sampler of Valentine’s Days. Thanks to my husband, I’ve had my share of candlelit dinners, sweet-smelling bouquets, and love letters that make me forget I was ever in the ninth grade. And, thanks to my children, I’ve gotten handmade cards, sticky hugs and kisses, and living examples of unconditional love.

But, thanks to family and friends, I’ve learned that the love of a friend can get you through the semi-sweet years and make the good years even sweeter. So this year if you find yourself the “older sister” to a little girl with big hair, send a card, make a phone call, or give a hug and say, “Thanks for being my . . . sister, brother, mother, father, grandchild, daughter, son, neighbor, friend. I love you.”

Because on Valentine’s Day there should be only one category of people. And that is Loved.

Pregnancy Update

2011-01-28T17:02:00.000-08:00

I'm almost halfway there and finally starting to feel human again. I know Brad is happy to see me without a plastic "just in case" garbage can next to the bed at night.

Thanks so much for your prayers and support. Our biggest struggle with this pregnancy hasn't been the physical aspect but the emotional one. I simply didn't realize how hard it would be to go down the same path that has many times ended with such pain. I guess I thought all wounds had healed once Brady was born, but I'm seeing now that there's still much healing to do.

I'm ashamed to admit that I've been guarded in my excitement with this new life. Fear of what might happen is stealing from the joy of what is. But at my 12-week appointment, I realized exactly how attached I had grown to this little person.

They tried to pick up the heartbeat on their doppler thing and couldn't find it. I remained emotionless on the outside, but inside I was worried and praying that everything was okay. After several minutes of not being able to find it, they took me to the ultrasound room. Soon we were relieved to see a beating heart and a baby doing water ballet, but those moments in between made me realize that no matter how much I thought I was guarding my heart, I had already fully given it to this little life.

We recently had another ultrasound and little peanut is still growing right on target and already looks precious. Nothing else proves that there is an Almighty Creator more beautifully than watching Him knit new life in the womb.

My bloggy friend Lisa asked if we were going to find out the gender of the baby. The answer is yes. At my last appointment we had the sonographer write it down and seal it in an envelope. We are going to open it on Valentine's Day and I'll let you all know if it's a boy or a girl then.

We did this with all of our children. We opened Olivia's envelope on Christmas Eve, Ava's on Thanksgiving Day, Luke's (the son we lost near the end of our pregnancy) we opened on my dad's birthday.

We never opened Brady's envelope. Because we had lost Luke just months prior, I was concerned that if we found out it was a girl, others might feel sad for us that we didn't have another boy. While we certainly hoped that God would some day grant us another son, we knew that if we delivered a healthy baby it simply wouldn't matter if she was in pink instead of blue. I think by keeping it a surprise we felt surrendered to whatever God's plan was for our family and our baby. But Brady would not be short-changed of his holiday announcement because he was born on New Year's Day.

When we told the kids that we were waiting till Valentine's Day to find out the gender, I reminded them of all our holiday announcements. As I spoke, I looked at my sensitive Daniel and knew the thoughts playing behind his big brown eyes. "I didn't have an ultrasound photo, or a special envelope, or squeals of delight announcing that I was a boy."

But I looked over at him and asked, "Daniel, do you know what day we found out about you?" He shook his head no. "It was Daddy's 40th birthday. That was the first time we saw your photo, the day we knew that God was blessing us with another son, and the day we announced that you were ours."

His smile reached from one ear to the other.

The other day I overheard him explaining to someone why we were waiting to find out on Valentine's Day. He proudly shared the part about his special day being Daddy's birthday. (I've also shared the story of Daniel's "ultrasound" photo in this post. At the time I wrote this he was still living in Guatemala and was known as Danilo.)

We had no idea then how important this would be to him now. God is so good to provide the perfect timing with every detail.

Much Love,
Kathie

In With the New

2011-01-13T11:12:00.000-08:00

Thanks for your patience with me as a bloggy friend and for your words of encouragement over the past few weeks. I'm now 17 weeks pregnant and reading "What to Expect When You Never Dreamed You'd Be Expecting Again" (40 year old edition).

I'm definitely starting to show a bit more than just a "muffin top" out of control and finally surrendered to wearing maternity pants. I NEVER again thought I'd be in the market for pants with an elastic front panel and was doubled over laughing in the dressing room trying them on. But with each day, I'm more and more grateful for this surprise blessing.

I've missed sharing about so much because I've been so sick, but over the past few weeks we celebrated Daniel's 1st Gotcha Day, celebrated the birth of our Savior, celebrated our sweet Brady's 6th birthday, traveled to Orlando and spent a few days at Disney World, and now we are home enjoying some days off from school due to a rare snow and ice storm in Georgia.

When we left for our trip to Florida it was still December--Christmas tunes were on our local radio stations, decorations and lights were still adorning homes and businesses. When we returned, it was after the new year. As we drove through our familiar streets, the kids in the backseat observed with sadness that all evidence of Christmas was gone. The radio was playing the regular old songs, the lights no longer glowing, the decorations had disappeared.

It's funny how God wires all of us differently. Some people are ready to yank down and pack up every bit of Christmas the minute the last gift is opened. They are ready to usher in whatever comes next and can't wait to get moving. Then there are the folks who hang on to the remnants of the holiday season for dear life. They keep their decorations up as long as possible trying to somehow justify them as Valentine's decorations. Some of us fall somewhere between the two extremes.

My husband and Olivia seem fine to move on soon after Dec. 25. I'm a bit more sentimental and leave everything up till New Year's Day. But my three youngest kiddos are still trying to find a way to make the Christmas season last till the 4th of July.

I was pondering this the other day--the whole "out with the old, in with the new" struggle within some of us. And I realized that it's the "out with the old" part that is so difficult for me. I don't really mind the new. Bring on the new year, new season, new resolutions, new plans for the future.

But I like the old. It's comfortable like well-worn blue jeans. It's safe and predictable and familiar. And so in my effort to treasure what is old, I am sometimes resistant to what is new.

I'll never forget how Daniel was when he first came home. He wanted to eat the same meal over and over, wear the same clothes each day, and never wanted to leave the house. I made him a daily schedule and tried to stick with it as closely as possible, because I could see it brought such security in knowing what was coming next.

We spent one day at the Magic Kingdom a year ago because the girls' cheer competition had us in Orlando soon after Daniel arrived home. We were concerned it would be too overwhelming for him so we planned on going to the park just one day and kept our expectations realistic. He actually loved it but the way he approached everything was interesting.

His first ride was the Buzz Lightyear ride. It took all the courage he had to get on. When we exited, he announced that was the ONLY ride he wanted to do--"to infinity and beyond." He didn't want to do anything else. Nothing could possibly top it. We tried to convince him that there were other rides he would certainly enjoy. He wasn't buying it.

So we took him over to the race cars for him to watch for a bit. He finally got on and, of course, thought it was the coolest ride ever. He then announced that he would only go on Buzz and the race cars. This exhausting routine went on all day, but he did try just about everything.

When we were driving down to Orlando this year, I reminded him of how particular he was about the rides. He laughed at how he had acted. I rejoiced in how far he had come. (There was no hesitation this year.)

In my "lesson from mommy" voice, I talked with my kiddos about how sometimes we miss out on some great things God has planned for us because we're scared to try something new. Afraid of the unknown. Paralyzed by our limited view of what's ahead.

And then, as usual, my words came back and hit me between the eyes like a boomerang in a cartoon. I realized that I've been bargaining with God on what I'm capable of doing. Trying to convince Him that it's best for me to just stay on the nice, safe ride that I'm already on. And then I feel conviction that I'm not trusting the One whose plan is so much better. I feel regret knowing I'm missing out on the great things God has planned because of my fear.

These past several weeks we have been diligently praying for direction in many areas. Our practical thinking is battling our emotional leading. Discerning God's will has never been so difficult and accepting His answer is proving even harder.

And so my prayer has become, "Dear Heavenly Father, help me to surrender the old--the safe and secure--and help me to be faithfully obedient to the new--the unknown and uncertain." I have a feeling this will be my prayer for 2011.

Much Love from Muffin-Top Mommy,
Kathie

A Belated Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year

2010-12-28T09:17:00.000-08:00

We are on our way to Orlando, Florida, because the girls have a cheer competition this week. We're going to take a couple days to visit Mickey Mouse while we're there and the kids are so excited. I don't have much time to upload the thousands of photos taken over the past week, but this is one of my favorites of them ready to come downstairs Christmas morning.

We had such a special Christmas just being together. Even though I'm still feeling pretty crummy, I just enjoyed watching the beauty of the season through my children's eyes. We even had a white Christmas in Georgia. It hasn't snowed on Christmas day in Georgia in about 100 years, so this was quite a treat for us.

Below is our "official 2010 Christmas letter" going out late this year. Most of this you guys already know, but it's my way of documenting God's goodness this past year.

Thanks so much for the blessing you all have been to me this past year! I hope you had a wonderful Christmas and may you have a blessed new year!

Much Love,

Kathie

Dear Family and Friends,

The bar is set so low these days that I no longer strive to have the Christmas card postmarked by December 23--my goal is that it isn’t delivered by a postman wearing shorts and flip-flops in July. This was one of those years that getting ours out before Christmas just wasn’t going to happen. And I promise we have a really good excuse. Not as good as last years’ excuse, but pretty close.

Last year, the card never made it out at all. I was living in a hotel in Guatemala from Thanksgiving till mid-December trying to get our adopted son home. We had one delay after another, including our family court judge having a stroke and having to wait two weeks for a provisional one to be assigned. I finally came home and Brad took my place with Daniel with the hope of being able to bring him home by Christmas.

As late as December 22 it looked like Brad and Daniel would both be spending Christmas in a hotel room in Guatemala. We were sad at the thought of our family being separated during the holidays and even sadder that a boy who had waited 8 years to spend Christmas with a family would have to wait some more. But, with a lot of pleading with government officials and even more prayer, Daniel got the last VISA before Christmas and he walked off a plane into the arms of his new family last Christmas Eve. It was certainly one of the best Christmas gifts we’ve ever been granted.

I’ll never forget Daniel walking into our home for the first time. Our front door was decorated with a sign and balloons from our neighbors welcoming him home. He saw our Christmas tree and dropped to his knees with tears in his eyes exclaiming, “There are presents here with my name on them!”

We’ve had many of these moments throughout the year, like on Daniel’s first birthday home. When he blew out the candles on his cake, his siblings asked what he wished for and his response was, “I have everything I’ve ever wanted. There’s nothing left to wish for.” Then there was the day at Target that I bought him some Crocs and new tennis shoes. He questioned me repeatedly, “Are you sure you can buy me TWO pairs of shoes?” I assured him that I could and he just stood there with his mouth open in disbelief. As we walked out of the store, he grabbed my hand and exclaimed, “I love my life.”

It has truly been a year full of wonderful, yet it has also been a hard one. Daniel has a lot of healing to do and he’s still learning what it means to be part of a family. The transformation we’ve seen in him in just one year is evidence of God’s mercy. The transformation we’ve seen in our family is evidence of God’s goodness.

Many days I feel like Brad and I are the conductors of a small band of oddly different instruments. Here’s a glimpse of the tune that we hear on a daily basis. (Note: I don’t actually play any of the instruments mentioned, so bear with me with my ignorant attempt at this analogy.)

Olivia turned 13 last April. Oh my, officially a teenager! She’s in the 8th grade at Perimeter Christian School. She continues to love school and enjoys being part of the theater program--this fall she was a Lady in Waiting in “Once Upon a Mattress.” She has also had some wonderful opportunities to sing with her chorus and even sang a duet in the school’s Veteran’s Day program. We are so proud to see our shy girl step out of her comfort zone. She’s also enjoyed another year of doing competition cheerleading with Ava and we are on our way to Orlando for their national competition. She is the violin in our crazy band--a difficult instrument when you don’t know the correct way to hold the bow or position your fingers, but we often hear beautiful music coming from her section of the orchestra pit. She has been a very patient big sis to a crazy assortment of younger siblings and we are so blessed to have her in our family.

Ava turned 10 this past March. She’s in the 5th grade at Perimeter and also loves school. She is still involved with ballet, has such fun with the cheerleading program, and has a part in the spring play. She is the piccolo in our band--definitely a winded instrument with her non-stop talking, singing, and laughing. She truly makes every day seem like a party, is the official creator of all our nicknames, and is our hugger extraordinaire. We don’t underestimate the importance that her tune adds to our family, for when she’s not here, things just aren’t the same. As she ages we can see her turning into a flute, same sweet melody but showing more of her wisdom and sensitivity. We are so blessed to have her in our family.

Daniel turned 8 this April. I home schooled him last January to last spring, but he was doing so well we had him tested at Perimeter to see if he’d be ready to attend this fall. We were delighted that he was accepted and he is doing very well in the 2nd grade. What a blessing his teacher and classmates have been as he’s is loving his first experience in an American school. He also played soccer this fall. What a joy to cheer for him from the sidelines and celebrate as he scored his first goal. He’s also a gifted artist and loves to spend his afternoons outside sketching. Like Ava, he is also a winded instrument. Perhaps the saxophone would best describe the way he expresses his love and fear and joy and pain. He bellows his feelings in such a way that you feel his triumphs and his moments of the blues. He has a distinct sound that is all his own and we love having this amazing boy with such potential in our family.

Brady turned 5 last January 1st and is about to celebrate another birthday. He is attending school for the first time and loves being in Kindergarten at Perimeter. It has been such a blessing to watch all four kiddos walk into school together arm-in-arm. He played baseball this fall and loved it so much that he still wears his uniform around the house. He is such a sweet and thoughtful little boy who loves with his whole heart. I saw him wrapping a present to put under the tree and asked what it was. He said, “I want to give Daniel something special so I’m giving him my baseball trophy.” It is his most treasured possession, yet he was willing to give it to his big brother. We’ve seen such sweet moments between all our kids. I used to think Brady was our little drummer boy, but as he’s grown I see him as much more than just percussion. He’s the guy in the background strumming a guitar--just a simple arrangement of cords, but such a sweet sound coming our youngest instrument. Just when we forget he’s in the back of the car or sitting at the dinner table, he says something so funny that gets us all laughing.

Our big news is that we will be adding at least one more instrument to our band next year. It all started with something Ava said last Christmas.

We had had a perfect first Christmas with Daniel home. There’s truly something amazing about watching an 8 year old boy celebrate his first Christmas with a family. We had tucked everyone in bed and mentally recorded the day as one of our best Christmases ever. But Ava came downstairs in tears. My first thought was, “Oh no. Here comes the jealousy with all the attention that Daniel has gotten. Or perhaps she’s upset that we had a smaller Christmas due to all we had spent trying to get Daniel home.”

But as she spoke, she unwrapped the best gift I got last year. She said, “Mom, I had my radio on and they played Steven Curtis Chapman’s song ‘All I Really Want for Christmas’ about the orphan who wants a family.”

She continued with, “Daniel is just like that boy. All he wanted was a family.”

I couldn’t understand why she was sobbing. I said, “Ava, I know. But we’re happy now that he’ll never spend another Christmas without a family. Why are you so sad?”

She responded, “Because there are so many children out there who still need a family. Mom, we can do more! We need to adopt more!”

I had been so worried that we would “mess up” our lives by adopting an older child, I never realized what a blessing it would be to see them fully comprehend the brokenness and need of others.

So last August we started another adoption. This time looking for a special needs child in China. And we found a precious 4 year old girl with spina bifida who had been waiting a long time for a home. We had her file on hold and were talking with doctors about what kind of medical care she would need when we learned some surprising news.

In November we found out that I’m pregnant. It was certainly not what we had planned or expected (I celebrated my 40th birthday last June), but we certainly love God’s sense of humor and are thrilled to be granted yet another new life. We have temporarily put our adoption plans on hold as we pray about what is best for the little girl in China and what is best for our family.

Our new baby is due in June and thus far everything is going well. (Except I’ve been so exhausted that I’m barely functioning, which is the main reason this letter is so late.)

If you ever stop by our house, you’ll hear the music of four children, a couple of parents, and an assortment of pets. Most days it sounds like an orchestra pit tuning their instruments and warming up. But once in a while, we all come together to make a beautiful melody. Those are the days that we remember that the Almighty Composer has written a masterpiece and all we need to do is follow the notes. We can’t wait to see where His sheet music takes us in the days ahead.

We are so grateful to be together this year as a family, so grateful for the blessing of friends and family who pray for us and encourage us through life’s journeys, and are so grateful for the abundance of God’s goodness and mercy in our lives.

We hope you had a wonderful Christmas and have a blessed new year.

With Much Love,
Brad, Kathie, Olivia, Ava, Daniel, Brady, and Baby Williams

Snow Globes and Special News

2010-12-21T07:02:00.000-08:00

Okay. It's time for me to spill the beans. I've had much to share for a while but haven't had the words or the energy to do so.

I'll preface this news by letting you know that a few years ago I started collecting snow globes. I've loved them since I was a little girl. I remember having one of those plastic ones that could fit in the palm of my hand. I'd shake it and then watch the snow fall around the tiny scene held inside. For this little Georgia girl who rarely saw snow, I loved being able to make it a miniature winter wonderland whenever I wanted.

As much as I love watching the snow fall in these little globes, I prefer to have my own little world sit safely on a shelf. A few months ago I delighted in the fact that our life was finally stable, that we were securely sedentary after years of being shaken.

But several weeks ago, I started not feeling well. (Little shake of my snow globe.) I ignored some things for a couple weeks then finally called my general doctor and spoke with a nurse. As I explained my symptoms, I realized this was the same nurse that took a gallon of blood for my adoption physical. After drilling me with questions she asked, "Could you be pregnant?"

I laughed and explained that it wasn't possible. Years ago we had decided we were done adding biological children to our family, that I am well into my fortieth year, and we have almost finished our paperwork for our second adoption. I explained that I was probably starting to go through "the change" (or perhaps my body was still holding a grudge from the gallon of blood she recently took). I reminded her once more that I am well into my fortieth year just in case she didn't catch that the first time. She said that she'd make an appointment but I could take a home pregnancy test if I wanted to rule that out before coming in.

Since my bathroom cabinets are stocked with anti-wrinkle cream--not early pregnancy tests--I headed to the drug store. I grabbed a generic one. I wasn't going to spend more than I had to just because some crazy nurse needed proof that I wasn't pregnant. The teen check-out clerk gave me a look that said, "Umm. Not an item I see many middle-aged women buy."

The next hour was spent alone in my bathroom. I have been there before many times--sitting with a pregnancy test in hand, too nervous about the results to actually do it. All the other times, what my heart wanted more than anything was for it to be positive. Many times I sat on the bathroom floor and cried because it wasn't.

The last time I took one of those tests was almost 7 years ago. Three months earlier, we had lost a baby boy at 35 weeks that died due to an umbilical cord knot (Luke's story is here). As much as I dreaded being pregnant again, we needed a new life to give us hope. I needed to deliver a baby that would cry, that I could hold in my arms, that I could parent till I'm old. My girls needed to come to the hospital--not to say good-bye to their new sibling, but to proudly bring him home. My husband needed to see his family heal and our family needed to see God's goodness and mercy in our lives. And God was so gracious to give us Brady, due exactly one year after we had lost his brother.

But once he was born, we knew that we were done adding to our family biologically. It was just too physically and emotionally difficult. We had always known God had called us to adopt and felt peace that this is how God wanted us to complete our family.

And so on the morning of November 1, I sat on the cold tile floor working up the courage to take the test. I knew that if the outcome was positive, I would once again have to go down a path that at times ended in overwhelming joy and other times ended in overwhelming pain. (I've had three first trimester miscarriages in addition to our full-term loss.) As much as I would love a house full of little people, I wanted the door marked "Pregnancy" to remain closed.

I finally took the test.

Within seconds that second line appeared telling me that I was pregnant.

Shake, shake, shake of my world.

I was truly so stunned that I couldn't process it. Sometimes my computer freezes up when it gets overloaded with stuff I'm trying to do. I just turn it off and re-boot it later. That's just what I wanted to do. Shut down and re-boot at a time that I'm able to handle it.

But since I don't have a Control-Alt-Delete feature, I just sat on the floor and wept. I wept out of fear of what might be ahead. But, most of all, I wept out of gratitude that God would entrust us with yet another little life. Humbled that, in spite of what I assumed was His plan for our life, His plan was always so much better.

My husband didn't believe me when I called him at work to share the news. Neither has anyone else. The typical response is: "Yea right. Are you kidding? You're not kidding? Wow!" Sometimes instead of the "wow" there's hysterical laughing.

Our four children were excited from the minute we told them. They were shocked, yet overjoyed. But their first question was, "Can we still adopt?" We had already chosen a little girl in China and for months had talked about her like she was already part of the family. We are still trying to decide what to do and I'll share more about her in the coming days.

And so here we are. I've reached 14 weeks so I'm finally able to feel excitement that this baby will be okay. This pregnancy is the reason I've been such a pitiful blogger and bloggy friend. The past three months have completely wiped me out physically and all I'm able to do is the day-to-day caring for my family, but I should start to get my energy back soon.

We are still diligently seeking God's will regarding the little girl we were about to adopt. Please pray for us to have wisdom and clarity with this situation.

We are learning that it doesn't matter how much you are shaken if your footing is firmly anchored in the One who sustains us. And we are grateful for the breathtaking snowfall of goodness and mercy that God has brought into our lives.

Much Love,
Kathie

The Beauty of Imperfection

2010-12-10T14:40:00.000-08:00

We were doing some cleaning out of old toys and I found something that made me laugh.

Yes, it's the game Perfection with only one remaining piece. That pretty much sums up my life.

I had one of these games myself when I was little and remember how badly I wanted to get every piece in place before the timer ended and the whole platform of pieces popped up in my face. I must admit that as an adult, I have created my own games of Perfection--setting off my own internal stop watch to get things done perfectly and on time. The time of year that I seem to be the guiltiest of this crazy--often unwinable game--is Christmastime.

Last year I missed our church's annual Christmas women's tea and I was supposed to be the speaker. I was living in Guatemala (trying to finish Daniel's adoption) at the time and couldn't attend so I wrote down my thoughts and a sweet friend read it for me.

I've included it below because, right now as the clock is ticking and I'm trying so hard to make Daniel's first Christmas at home special, I need my own little reminder of the beauty of imperfection.

Missing Most of My Pieces,
Kathie

The Ultimate Gift Exchange

My blood pressure begins to rise as soon as the Christmas decorations appear at the mall. I know I should feel joy and peace in celebrating the season, but instead I feel a knot in my stomach. (Or perhaps it’s that Cinnabon I just inhaled.)

Anyway, the stress I’m feeling is simply the worry over not finding the perfect gift for every person on my list. I’ve actually been known to buy a gift, get it home and have gift-buyer’s remorse, and return it for something else. There’s a customer service gal at Target who knows me by name. She recommends gift cards for my affliction.

Can you imagine if the three wise men had been three wise women? They would have agonized over the gifts for the Baby Jesus. I can hear them now.

“We don’t really know his size,” comments Wise Woman One. “What if we get him an outfit and he’s already outgrown it.”

Then Wise Woman Two pipes up: “Remember that he’s been wearing nothing but swaddling clothes. I’m sure anything would be appreciated. If you enclose a gift receipt, they can always exchange it.”

Wise Woman Three expresses her opinion: “I think we should go with something personalized. Maybe something engraved with his name and birth date.”

Wise Woman Two reminds: “But we aren’t really certain of the actual date. Reading the stars can be so unpredictable and apparently Mary hasn’t gotten around to sending out a birth announcement.”

Well, you see how this could have been a disaster. Can you imagine the nativity set with one wise woman holding a gift receipt, another a Target bag, and another with a monogrammed onesie? But if Biblical times are anything like modern day, the gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh were probably bought and wrapped by the wise men’s wives anyway.

These days it’s all about having the perfect holiday, perfect decorations, perfect menu, and perfect gift. It’s easy to fall into the trap that anything less is unworthy. But several years ago, one of my kiddos helped me see gift giving in a different way.

It was when Olivia was about 4 years old and was invited to one of her first birthday parties at a neighbor’s house. We were new to the neighborhood and Abby was her first little buddy. I remember displaying the invitation on the fridge and Olivia counting down the days on the calendar. We went to the store for the sole purpose of finding Abby the perfect gift. I don’t remember exactly what it was but remember it was an odd shape of plastic and cardboard packaging that would be a challenge to wrap.

I tried to talk Olivia into going with a gift bag (in my opinion it’s an invention right up there with electricity). But, no, she had picked out some princess wrapping paper and was determined to wrap it herself.

We got the item home and, as all good obsessive-compulsive disorder mommies would do, I tried to assist her efforts. She looked up with those big brown eyes and said, “Mommy, this is MY gift to Abby. I want to wrap this all by myself.”

She cut with her safety scissors and folded the paper carefully around the corners of the package. She secured that sucker with a thousand pieces of tape to make sure there was no chance of Abby seeing the surprise before it was time. But that was not enough. She searched through our box of stickers and adorned the package with an adhesive assortment of American flags, cartoon kittens, and red and pink hearts. And the final touches were sequins and feathers glued on top. And it looked . . . like it was in pain. Although the attached card read “To Abby, From Olivia” all I could see was “Help Me!”

It sat overnight on our dining room table. (However it’s hard to remember a time in my life that a birthday gift wasn’t bought on the way to a party and wrapped at red lights.) Brad saw the explosion of paper, tape, and feathers and commented: “It’s taking every bit of your will power not to rewrap it--isn't it?”

I blurted out: “Oh, how badly I want to! This is the first gathering with our new neighbors and we show up with THIS. I have beautiful paper and an assortment of curling and wired ribbons and cute little trimmings for the top. I could have done this present in plaid and polka dotted perfection!!!! What if they laugh at Olivia when she brings in her gift? But she is so proud of it, I just can’t rewrap it without breaking her heart.”

Well, we left for the party the next morning. Olivia insisted on carrying the gift. I was relieved because I didn’t want any credit for the gift-wrapped mess. We walked in to see a table of gifts that looked like they were taken from a Hallmark ad. I began to pray, “Oh, please God, don’t let anyone laugh at Olivia.”

Olivia ran to the birthday girl and handed Abby the gift. Liv was beaming ear to ear and said, “This is for you. I picked it out and wrapped it all by myself.” It was the longest pause at a birthday party I can remember (with the exception of a shindig where a tray of red-iced Elmo cupcakes spilled onto new white carpet). But Abby’s response was worth all the goodie bags in the world: “It’s soooooo beautiful!!! I love it!” All the other moms saw what was going on and piped up with “oh, I love the feathers, and, wow, that’s a great use of tape.”

It then occurred to me that the most precious gifts aren’t necessarily the ones that are perfectly packaged. They are the ones that are given with the greatest love. The most beautiful gift of song isn’t necessarily Celine Dion backed with a full orchestra . . . it’s a choir of children praising the Lord off-key. The most precious jewelry isn’t found in a blue box from Tiffany’s . . . it’s a necklace made from macaroni noodles delivered with a sticky kiss. And the most special gift isn’t one of extravagance . . . it’s one of complete sacrifice.

As I long to give myself as an offering to the only One who is perfect, I often feel like Olivia’s odd-shaped package . . . I want so badly to be a perfect reflection of my Creator yet most days I’m a mess of tape and feathers and poorly chosen stickers. I’m broken and flawed . . . how could a King so perfect love a servant so imperfect? What could I possibly give that shows the extent of my love for Him?

And then I remember Romans 5:8. The words move me to tears. “But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” (NIV)

Wow. He loved me as a sinner. Undeserving of grace. An offering of brokenness. Yet His gift to me was the sacrifice of Perfection, beautifully nailed to the cross.

So as you think about what you can give your King . . . give out of love, out of sacrifice, without concern for imperfections, without thought of what others will think of your humble offering. Don’t be a wise woman seeking a perfect gift for a perfect King. Be a living macaroni necklace delivered with a sticky kiss for your Heavenly Father.

Sunday Dinner: Always the Same

2010-12-05T14:15:00.000-08:00

Retailers during the holiday season crack me up. First, they announce the "Biggest Sale of the Season" is before Thanksgiving. Then, they retract that statement with the can't miss After Thanksgiving Sales and Doorbusters. As the season progresses, they again try to convince us that, hold on, stop everything, forget all those other dinky sales because they have yet again slashed prices and NOW is the time to shop.

The actual items for sale can be equally frustrating, especially for the consumer who must have the latest and best. Several years ago, the popular handheld toy was the Gameboy. It was soon replaced by a better Gameboy, which was replaced by the DS, then soon outdone by the DSi, and now the big deal is the DSi XL. I'm so glad we don't have one of these on our Christmas shopping list because I know by next spring there will be another electronic carrot dangling that's even better.

This is the time of year that I just want everything to be the same. The same traditions, the same Christmas carols, the same family and friends to share the holiday with. But we live in a world that's always changing. Loved ones pass away and move away. Kids grow a bit more each year. Sometimes I just ache to have one more Christmas with my mom and grandparents and Brad's grandparents. I want to freeze this time with my children so they will never grow up. All I can do is savor every single minute of right now.

This Christmas I'm especially grateful for the one gift that is always perfect and always the same. A gift that never needs to be exchanged, will never be outgrown, can not become outdated, and will never be outdone. The gift of Jesus Christ.

This week's Sunday Dinner verse is simply:

"Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever."

Hebrews 13:8

There's such comfort, such peace, such freedom knowing He is never-changing and never-failing.

Much Love,

Kathie

A Cup of Thankful Topped with Marshmallows

2010-11-27T20:01:00.000-08:00

I hope you all had a blessed Thanksgiving holiday. Perhaps few enjoyed it more than we did.

It was simply wonderful just being together. This time last year, I left my husband and three kiddos the day after Thanksgiving to try to bring Daniel home. With tears streaming down their faces, I boarded a plane to Guatemala, didn't return till mid-December, and came home without him. Brad took my place till he was able to bring Daniel home Christmas Eve. Having our new son home after two and a half years of waiting was the only gift we wanted for Christmas.

We watched the Peanuts Thanksgiving special the other night. It was the one that had the Peanuts characters telling the story of the pilgrims coming over on the Mayflower in search for a better life and religious freedom. It told of their hardships--that their boat was so badly damaged from the storms they almost had to turn back to England, that sickness took many lives, how the Indians came to their aid and showed them how to live on the land.

Daniel had never heard this story that my other three had grown up knowing about. He kept looking at me with amazement asking, "Mama, is this true? Did this really happen?" Each time I'd answer yes, his pride in being an American seemed to grow.

We've had a pilgrimage of our own this past year. Times of hardship that made us just want to turn around and go back. Struggles that made us want to give up. Kindness and support from others that encouraged us to keep going.

Daniel had the hardest journey of all. A new family, a new country, a new language, a new life. He had to leave all he had ever known and start over. He lived in survival mode for the first few months home because it's the only way he knew to live. Now he lives carefree like any other kid his age. Here he is playing in the leaves for the first time in his life.

So as we sat around our table this Thanksgiving, sharing what we are most grateful for, laughing like he had always been part of our family--the hardships of the past year seemed to evaporate.

In just the past few months of fall, we've had so many moments for which I've been grateful. Like the day I took the boys with me to vote. They were precious as they watched in awe as I cast my ballot in the election. Daniel also attended his first Veteran's Day program at his new school. He left with a new appreciation of the freedom we have and for those who serve our country. He was also very proud of his big sister who sang in the program. Here Olivia is with my dad who is an Army Veteran and was there to hear her sing.

I'm also so grateful to have witnessed Daniel's confidence grow this fall in being part of a soccer team. So grateful that he finally has a daddy (plus mom and siblings) to cheer him on from the sidelines.

This sweet pic is with his best friend who was adopted from the same orphanage by friends of ours at church.

Daniel and Alex played on the same soccer team and a precious young man also from the orphanage, now living here on a student VISA, came to their games to cheer them on.

And Daniel has become such a great big brother cheering his little brother on during Brady's first season of baseball.

Brady has spent a lot of time watching his older siblings at their events and it was fun for him to have his own turn to feel special.

Daniel got to carve his first pumpkin with our family

and dress up for some Trick or Treating on our street.

Thanksgiving Day we spent most of the day at my sister's house. I'm so grateful for another year with those we love so much. That evening we had some of Brad's family over to further celebrate being together this year. As I listened to each person share what they are grateful for, I couldn't help but be overcome with gratitude for God's blessings on us this year.

Yesterday Brad and the boys watched some football, I did some shopping with the girls, and last night we watched a movie by the fire in our PJs. We made the first hot chocolate of the season. Brady says, "Everything is better when it's topped with marshmallows." I piled them high this year, because everything is better this year because we're together.

We started decorating for Christmas today, but I'm not quite done celebrating this season of thanks. My cup runneth over and I think this holiday of gratitude is going to go well into next year.

Grateful for You,
Kathie

Sunday Dinner: Gratitude

2010-11-21T18:52:00.000-08:00

Forgive me. I've been on an unplanned, unannounced bloggy sabbatical. I could blame it on being busy, but honestly I've just been without words.

I'll share more in the coming weeks, but in a nutshell, the snow globe that I live in has had a bit of shaking up. The snowfall is beautiful, but I'm still trying to regain my footing.

The one thing I've learned in my 40 plus years is to be grateful. Grateful for the lean years and the years of blessing. Grateful for brokenness and for healing. Grateful for pain and restoration.

Grateful that this year Daniel will finally spend his first Thanksgiving with our family. Grateful that we've been granted another year with those we love. Grateful that He is the One who directs our steps and lights our paths. Grateful for unexpected gifts and goodness and mercy beyond measure.

The verse for this week is simply:

"Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good; His love endures forever."

Psalm 118:1

The dessert of song for this week is the very first song I posted on my blog over a year ago--"Gratitude" by Nicole Nordeman. The lyrics have never been so true as they are to me today.

During this week of giving thanks, may you remember God's enduring love in all situations.

Much Love,
Kathie

A Sense of Urgency

2010-10-26T11:12:00.000-07:00

It amazes me how much I can learn about my relationship with my Heavenly Father through my relationship with my children. Most of these lessons are convicting and humbling. All make me grateful that I serve a God of goodness and mercy.

For example, my children are off-the-charts delightful human beings yet they have certain behaviors that make my hair stand on end, cause that vein on my forehead to bulge, and make me grit my teeth like someone is trying to remove a bullet from my buttocks with a pocket knife. So, if you catch me looking like the Bride of Frankenstein, most likely one of the following has happened:

A) I have found a lunchbox under my child's bed that has been missing for several weeks . . . and the lunch is still in it.

B) I have found clothing, that I have just washed and folded with love, mixed in with stinky dirty clothes.

C) I have a child who is exhibiting no sense of urgency when we are in a hurry or is not obeying the first time asked.

Although A has happened once (that I know of), and B does on occasion, it is C that seems to be the most frequent thorn in my postpartum flesh.

Often these acts are not willful. An instruction to brush teeth and hop in the bed can be embellished by hugging the cat, smelling a new candle, fogging up a window with their breath then writing their name in it, and doing a few cartwheels on the way. Although I'm a major advocate for "stopping to smell the roses/candles" at the appropriate times, this kind of dawdling conveys a message that they view what they want to do as more important than what we have asked them to do.

Sometimes they move in slow motion simply because they don't want to obey. They can be quite creative in their attempts to delay. Often my second and third request is followed by the dreaded, "In a minute!" or "Okay, okay." Sometimes they admit they were tuning us out with, "I didn't hear you." But every incident shows a lack of respect for our authority. A disregard for others' time. The by-product of that disobedience is that others have to wait on them or they end up missing out something because of the wasted time.

The person in our home who is the guiltiest of not having a sense of urgency . . . is me. Many times my Heavenly Father has asked me to do something and I took my sweet time obeying. I've developed a "spiritual attention deficit" in regards to my relationships, with my finances, with my marriage and parenting, and with my witnessing opportunities. But the primary area that I've shown an utter lack of urgency and shameful disobedience was in regards to adoption.

I've known since I was a little girl that I was called to adopt. Brad and I knew before we were married that this was His plan for our life. Yet it took 15 years of marriage before we actually started the process to adopt. Fifteen years of saying, "Okay, okay" and "In a minute." Fifteen years of being busy with things that had no eternal value. Fifteen years using excuses that our home was too small, or we couldn't afford it, or we had too much going on. Perhaps it wasn't God's time in our early years of marriage for us to adopt, but there was still so much more we could have been doing to care for orphans by helping others pay for their adoptions, through child sponsorship, and through missions giving and trips.

In August of 2007 we found out that a little boy in Guatemala needed a family. We had our mental list of reasons to justify delaying our obedience to answer God's call. But the months prior, we had felt such conviction that we had been viewing James 1:27 as a suggestion, when it clearly is a command. That we were guilty of not obeying the first time and dishonoring God with our lack of urgency. God's instructions are so clear, but we didn't want to hear, didn't want to know, didn't want to be accountable. Had we not felt that conviction three years ago, we would probably still be waiting for "the perfect time" to adopt.

But I don't think we fully understood the depth of our sin in this area until we saw firsthand the crisis of 147 million orphans. Just like my kids like to compare their casual disobedience with other's blatant rebellion ("Mom, at least I'm not doing. . . ."), I had my own self-righteous denial at play--caring for others who were easy to care for, committed to service that required little sacrifice.

The by-product of that disobedience is exactly the same as it is with my children. That others have to wait on me and I miss out on the blessing that God has planned because of the time I wasted.

Once I saw who had been waiting, I was overcome with regret and repentence. I saw infants crying in their cribs with no one to hold them, toddlers and preschoolers calling me mama because I was the only "mom" there to love on them that day, elementary age children who just wanted someone to tell them they were special, and teens that showed me that you're never too old to need a mom and dad. I look at Daniel and think how close we were to missing out on the blessing that he is because adopting an older boy into our family just wasn't "practical."

The other day I read a post called "While We're Waiting" (click on the title to read) that I want to share. It's written by an adoptive mother of 9 named Amy Block and beautifully illustrates who must wait for us when we show no sense of urgency to answer God's call to care for orphans.

I haven't had a chance to post a Sunday Dinner in a while, but my verse for this week is certainly:

"Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world."

James 1:27, NIV

This short to-do list from God may involve different things for different people. We may not all be called to adopt, but every single Christian is instructed to care for orphans and widows. And, folks, we need to obey with urgency.

And here's the funny thing. Once we started to obey God the first time, we saw a significant improvement in how our children obey us.

One of the questions we get a lot as we have started this new adoption is "Why would you want to adopt another child so soon after bringing the last one home?" (Many thought we were nuts with the first adoption, so we must really look crazy now.)

There are many answers. But perhaps the only one that matters is, "God has commanded us to care for orphans and we've finally learned to obey the first time He asks."

With Urgency,
Kathie

P.S. Thanks to all you precious bloggy friends for the comments of support and encouragement with my last post. I love the suggestions to deal with my fear of flying! There's lots going on that I can't share about just yet. I'll keep you posted.

Update on Our Paper Pregnancy

2010-10-16T14:12:00.000-07:00

The adoption process is often called a "paper pregnancy." So I'm guessing that my social worker is my OB/GYN, my local notaries are my lab techs, and our adoption agency is our healthcare provider. I sure hope someone will give me an epidural for the flight home.

You'd think that at this point I'd be able to pee in cup without getting it on my hand, but at my adoption physical . . . no such luck.

Our homestudy is now complete so I'm guessing we just finished our first trimester. Yes, I've been a bit tired, but no morning sickness thus far.

This is our early ultrasound photo.

We don't know yet if it's a boy or a girl, but we do know there's a little person waiting for us in China!

This adoption pregnancy has already been so different from Daniel's. His adoption was an emergency situation. We were shown one photo and given 24 hours to make a decision to adopt a child we had never met. The circumstances surrounding our commitment to adopt him made all the pieces fall into place. We never needed to pick a country or an age range or make a list of special needs. We never searched through photolistings or researched medical conditions. God had already filled in the blanks that our child was Daniel, waiting in Guatemala, ordained to be our son since the beginning of time.

So when Brad gave his blessing last June for us to adopt again (it was my 40th birthday present), the joy of starting another adoption soon turned into an overwhelming list of questions. What country? What age? What gender? What special need? I'd look at photolistings and just weep. There are just too many precious children who need families.

We were so torn regarding what country to adopt from that we ended up finding a local agency to do our homestudy who doesn't have an international program. That enabled us to get started allowing us flexibility to choose an international program later and select an agency that specialized in whatever country we decided on.

If you had asked us in July where we were adopting from, I probably would have answered, "An HIV positive child from the Ukraine." Although we feel a great burden for this special need and many particular children we saw through the amazing ministry called Reece's Rainbow, it became clear that this is not where God is leading us at this particular time. (But if you are feeling led to adopt a special needs child, please take the time to visit their site and see the precious children desperately needing a family!)

So in sharing about our first trimester, I'll just list our most frequently asked questions and give the answers. (Feel free to ask other questions in the comments and I'll answer in a future post.)

Why China?

If Guatemala was not currently closed for new adoptions, we would have gone back there. We love the people of Guatemala and grew very close to many children from Daniel's orphanage--two little girls in particular that we will always love as daughters. (I shared about them here.)

So we looked closely at the adoption programs and needs in the US, China, India, three African countries, the Ukraine and Russia. We kept coming back to China. We actually tried to adopt from China in 1995 before we had any children. We started the paperwork only to be told that we weren't old enough. (At the time, to adopt from China you could not have any other children and must be at least 30 years old.) We are well-qualified in the age criteria now (I don't think there's a minimum age anymore) and very grateful that they now allow those with children to adopt.

But perhaps the seed was planted in my heart for China when I was a little girl. I remember reading books about Hudson Taylor and Gladys Aylward. What a profound impact these missionaries to China had on my life. If you haven't already, I encourage you to read their biographies to your children.

Other factors that kept pointing us to China are that we knew we wanted to adopt child with special needs and there are currently close to 2000 special needs children waiting in China today. It's a list that unfortunately grows each month.

But perhaps the deciding factor was Daniel. Right now it doesn't bother him that he tans better than the rest of his family, but some day it might. We want him to have a sibling that looks a bit like him, with his silky black hair and beautiful dark eyes. When we asked our kids where they wanted us to adopt from, Daniel always leaned toward China. (Actually, they all did.) We could tell he was excited when we announced that's where we were going.

Thus far, the only drawback in adopting from China is its location on the world map. I hate air travel (I would honestly rather travel by unicycle than get on a plane) and China just isn't easy to get to by car. Mapquest wouldn't even give me directions so I knew I was in trouble. God was merciful to have our first adoption in a country that required only a three hour flight. I know He will help me overcome turbulence and the airplane bathroom (I can hold it 3 hours but not 15), but I must admit that God has a great sense of humor in calling this aviation-challenged gal to international adoption.

Have you been matched with a child?

Not yet. With the non-special needs program in China, the Chinese government matches you with a child (and the wait for a healthy infant is now 4 to 5 years). But since we are wanting a child with special needs, there's no wait. We can review files at any time and choose a child who has been waiting more than 3 months. Once our dossier is complete, we are eligible for any child on their shared listing--even those who were recently added.

We will most likely choose a child who has been waiting a while, but thus far haven't asked to look at any files and probably won't for a few more weeks. Primarily because we just don't wait very patiently. As soon as we know who our child is, I'm going to want to hop on my unicycle the very same day and go get him/her. After waiting two and a half years for Daniel to come home, we've taken the "horse before cart/paperwork before referral" approach and it has made this whole process stress and drama free. I haven't stalked a postman, badgered a notary, or cried on my social worker's shoulder . . . yet.

We don't care what gender and have been approved to adopt a child with special needs that range from mild to severe (we filled out a long list of needs we would consider). The only thing we do know about this next child is that he or she will be younger than our 5 year old son. All four of our children have requested a younger sibling and we are thrilled about having a little person in our home again. (Ava has made a special request for a child with chubby cheeks.)

When do you think you will have your child home?

(Insert laughing here.) This is not really a question I can answer with any accuracy considering Daniel's adoption (that was supposed to take nine months to one year to complete) ended up taking two and a half years. With that disclaimer noted, it looks like our second trimester will be pretty quick. We are about to submit our 1-800A. Then we will get our international fingerprinting appointment and wait for our approval. I have already finished our other dossier documents so once we get that "golden ticket" we just have to get all the documents authenticated at the county, state, and Chinese consulate levels and we're done with the paperwork. (I'm thinking this will all take about 6 to 8 weeks.)

Once we are matched with a child and the Chinese government approves us as adoptive parents, the estimated wait to travel is 3 to 6 months. (I guess this would be our third trimester.) So, it's possible that we will get our child this spring, but (with our track record) we'll be thrilled to bring Williams Baby #5 home by next summer.

Thanks for joining us on this journey again. I can't tell you what a blessing it was to be covered with prayer and given encouragement this time last year when we were trying to bring Daniel home. We are so grateful for your love and support as we welcome another gift from God.

Grateful to Be "Expecting" Again,
Kathie

Under a Starry Sky

2010-10-07T20:44:00.000-07:00

Oh how I've missed you guys! I haven't just missed writing posts, but reading so many of yours. I have so much catching up to do.

Where have I been? Well, I've been to the doctor, dentist, orthodontist, and veterinarian. I've had things notarized, over-nighted, dry cleaned, and pressure washed. I've been grocery shopping, apple picking, and field tripping, and homework checking. I've been attending soccer and baseball games; tubing on the lake and camping under the stars. I've been kissing boo-boos and correcting no-nos. I've attended school meetings and Bible studies . . . and done lots of laundry. My exhaustion is only matched by my gratitude in having the best job in the world.

I've had so much to share, but it's hard to write on my blog at red lights in my minivan. But life should start to slow a bit now that our adoption paperwork is almost done. (I'll give an adoption update soon.)

So here I sit at my computer knowing I have just enough mental fuel to say a short hello before my eyes flop shut and my head hits the keyboard. I've had three little words that seem to have been the theme of my last few weeks that I think I have the capability of sharing before calling it a day.

A couple weeks ago I was picking the boys up from their Christian school. (All four kids go to the same school, but the boys get out at noon and the girls at 3:00.) I'm often one of the first moms in carpool--primarily because I've often been doing adoption errands that morning and just go straight to the school after, but also because I just love seeing Daniel's face beaming with confidence as he exits the building with his buddies and beloved teacher. That particular day his teacher stuck her head into my car window to tell me something before the carpool parade started.

She said, "Daniel said something beautiful today and I want to tell you before I forget." She continued, "Our lesson was about Cain and Able. When I finished telling the story about how Cain killed Able, then God provided Seth, . . . I asked the children what we can learn from this story. Then Daniel spoke up and said, 'GOD LOVES MERCY.' "

His teacher's eyes were moist with tears as she shared. So were mine. That an eight year old boy had grasped this truth--a truth that took me 35 years to understand--what a blessing.

Since that day, my thoughts have been punctuated with those three words--GOD LOVES MERCY. Like the responsive readings that we would have at my childhood Baptist church--my imaginary congregation's answer to whatever happened in my day seemed to be--GOD LOVES MERCY.

We recently attended a neighborhood camp-out. It's an annual thing where many families pitch their tents on a grassy common area for a night of fun. I remember attending last year wishing Daniel was here. As we sat together this year under a starry sky--watching a movie with Daniel snuggled up next to me, laughing out loud at the funny parts with his mouth covered in the remnants of a s'more--I couldn't help but caption this memory with "GOD LOVES MERCY."

Last week I drove on a field trip for Daniel's class. We went to a local planetarium to study the stars. I loved watching him. It was a treat to see him looking at the telescope with amazement and listening intently to the lady doing our tour.

Then we walked into the planetarium, took our seats, and they began to dim the lights. He grabbed my hand and whispered "I'm scared." And I whispered back, "It's okay. It has to be completely dark for you to be able to really see the stars."

As the darkness revealed the spectacular display in the dome overhead, Daniel's gasp of "WOW!!!" was the loudest one of all. Although he was no longer afraid, he kept holding tightly to my hand. And I was grateful that I was able to experience this with him, drinking in another precious moment with my sweet son, in awe of God's goodness in bringing him into our lives. And all I could think of was, "GOD LOVES MERCY."

Tonight I stepped outside for a minute. I just needed to fill my being with the cool night air of fall and take a look at the stars. And as I marveled at the display of magnificence with the melody of crickets in the background, I couldn't help but quietly sing "How Great Thou Art."

"Oh Lord, my God, when I in awesome wonder, consider all the works Thy hands have made. I see the stars, I hear the rolling thunder, Thy power throughout the universe displayed."

And I rejoiced in my great God and His love for me. I remembered all those times I said to Him "I'm scared" and His answer was: "It's okay. It has to be completely dark for you to see the stars." And I remembered that His goodness and His power is most evident during times of profound darkness.

In my last minutes under the canopy of diamonds, I thanked Him for being a God who loves mercy.

How great Thou art. How great Thou art.

Humbly His,
Kathie

Before and After

2010-09-22T06:42:00.000-07:00

My bloggy friend Lisa left such a profound comment on my last post that I just had to share it here: "I truly believe that adoption is 50% for the orphaned child and 50% for the family that is opening its arms wide. The Lord is asking both to trust and lean on Him with all their might."

That statement is so true. (Thank you, Lisa.)

The purpose of my last post was not to yank your rose-colored glasses off your face and stomp on them. (And forgive me if you're still standing among broken glass.) I was just feeling conviction about some things.

You see, I'm guilty of not sharing "out-takes." I have a lot of photos that don't make it on the blog, or in the scrapbooks, or on the Christmas card. It's not because I'm in denial that at certain angles I have a double chin or don't think my kiddos are adorable when their eyes are closed. I just prefer to share the photos where we are looking our best.

I've kind of done the same thing with my blog. I share mostly the good stuff--not in an effort to hide the hard times, but just wanting to make sure I record every bit of God's goodness in our lives. I also want to respect the privacy of my kids, especially Daniel. You wouldn't believe how many posts have been deleted before publishing. Writing them was cathartic for me and might have encouraged others, but if there's any chance that my child might feel betrayed by sharing something too personal, well, it just isn't worth the hurt it could cause.

The only problem with sharing only the good stuff is that you only get to see the "after" without the benefit of the "before." And when I share about the priceless things Daniel says and does, all you see is that we have adopted a very special little boy. (Which is so very true.) The part that's missing in this story is what God has done and is doing in Daniel's life and in our family.

To explain this, I'm going to have to give you another analogy. (Sorry, but this is how my crazy mind processes things.) I remember walking through a house once that friends had remodeled. It looked like something out of a magazine. I could only imagine it in its current state of perfection. They described what a dump it had been, but I was thinking "Yeah right." But then they showed me pictures of it before. The house was run down, the yard overgrown, windows broken, wiring exposed. I couldn't believe it was the same home. I had to see the "before" photos before I could appreciate all the time, money, and effort they had invested.

I wish I could share all of Daniel's "before pictures" so you could understand how God is transforming him. When we started his adoption we knew we were getting him "As Is." We knew there would be repairs and perhaps some cosmetic updating (he needed glasses and had never had his teeth cleaned), but he was just so precious that we refused to label him a "fixer-upper." All he needed was a fresh coat of love and he would be good as new. Right? We watch HGTV. How hard could it be?

But we got him home and found termites eating the foundation and mold slowly growing in the walls. His heart had been vandalized and our Daniel had words spray painted on him that wouldn't come off.

And we felt overwhelmed with the task ahead. And angry that the original "homeowners" had treated him so terribly. And we realized the box of tools we used for minor repairs on our other three children didn't contain the Power tools needed to restore Daniel.

So we contacted a Master Craftsman to do our renovation. And the estimate for the job was a lot. The invoice said "EVERYTHING." And we let Him know we couldn't afford it. And then He told us He already paid for it. We graciously accepted the help . . . and wept at the generosity of His gift.

And now I love to show the "after" photos and share the "after" stories of my sweet Daniel. But it only tells half of the story. So it makes me want to show the world the "before" that Daniel was so others can see the magnificence of God's handiwork. But then I realize these are Daniel's stories to share some day . . . not mine.

While I feel that at this time I need to respect the privacy of my family, I'm torn because I feel I'm not being fair to my readers. It's not fair to those considering adopting to not share about the challenges because they may not be prepared for the reality of parenting a child with a broken spirit.

It's also not fair for me to only share one side of things, because there are many wonderful adoptive parents who are struggling. I don't want them to read my blog and wonder what they are doing wrong or why it seems our child effortlessly transitioned into our family while theirs is having such a hard time. Had I been reading my own blog last January/February, I think I would have thought to myself, "If I have to hear another story about the precious things Daniel said on his birthday/Christmas/yesterday morning, I'm going to lose my lunch."

And I don't want people who haven't adopted to unfairly compare other's adoption stories to ours. We were fortunate that we got Daniel before the termites had eaten through the entire frame of the house, before the mold had reached toxic levels. We have not had to deal with attachment issues. He has never been violent or harmful toward any person or animal. (In spite of the abuse he has endured, he's one of the gentlest little boys I've ever met.) He has a strong conscience and an understanding of right and wrong. But sometimes children have been so hurt that God has to do a complete demolition of their will before He can rebuild. And these adoptive parents may have years of praying and waiting and loving unconditionally before they can see the beauty from ashes.

Yes, we have invested much time and prayer and love in our son, but the credit for his healing goes only to God. I don't know why some renovations take longer than others. But I do know there's a blueprint for each one of us.

We are far from finished. There's still a lot of sawing, hammering, and sanding going on with each member of our family. (Especially me.)

So as you read my blog from now on, I want you to know that for every "after" I share, there was also a "before." And if you are facing some "before" situations that look hopeless, I've got the name of a Master Craftsman that I highly recommend. He can restore even what has been condemned and His work is already paid in full.

Gratefully His,
Kathie

Tossing the Rose-Colored Glasses

2010-09-17T07:23:00.000-07:00

After hitting "publish" on my last post, I felt quite ashamed. You see, those of you who read my blog are the ones who humble and inspire me . . . not the other way around. Who am I to talk about special needs adoption when thus far all I've done is fill out a checklist? Many of you are living the day-to-day joys and challenges of parenting these precious children.

I guess that last post was explaining why I feel peace about the path that God is leading us on. Forgive me if it seemed like a solicitation for pats on the back.

Although I'm giddy with excitement about our next child, I'm also scared. The reason? I no longer wear rose-colored glasses.

When we started Daniel's adoption, you should have seen the shades I walked around wearing. Not only did they veil the view with a rosy glow, they had butterflies and rainbows painted on the lenses. I merely had to put them on and I would hear harps playing in the background and see a release of doves overhead.

Well, about a year into the adoption process, I put these figurative glasses on my road of despair and drove a figurative 18 wheeler over them. I continued to wear them with the broken glass that was left dangling in the frames. But I finished them off with a figurative hammer once Daniel came home.

The whole truth is this. Adoption is beautiful. And adoption is hard.

This Dorothy realized she wasn't in Kansas anymore during our adoption process. Apparently the enemy thought Daniel was safely his and wasn't too happy about this little boy having a family who would love him and tell him about Christ. From the moment we made the commitment to bring him into our family till Daniel walked off the plane, there was a spiritual tug-of-war for his life. You wouldn't believe what happened in the two and a half years it took to get him home. (Another day, another post.)

When he finally made it home, we quickly learned that the adoption process was the easy part. Parenting a child who has had 8 years of abuse and neglect is the hard part. It was like having a difficult pregnancy and delivery just to be handed a newborn with colic.

Even though I had done my required adoption training and read every book I could find on attachment, I wasn't really prepared. It wasn't at all as I had envisioned because I had been wearing those silly glasses way too long and probably watched too many Hallmark movies. Our happily ever after wasn't what I had mentally scripted.

You see, I thought I knew the remedy for brokenness. Like I shared Monday, all I needed for my own healing was to be carried on the Mighty Shepherd's shoulders. So, the plan was to put our precious son on our Savior's back and watch the healing begin.

We would have days that were perfect--like the script of "The Blindside" except instead of raising a super-sized football star we were raising a pint-sized soccer amateur. And then we would have moments that Daniel would show us that he wasn't just living with scars from his past, he was hemorrhaging on the inside.

So we hoisted him up as high as we could with the hopes of putting him on the Shepherd's shoulders, only for him to fight us and kick us in the teeth. He'd been living in the thorns so long, our little lamb thought this was the only place of safety. Many who had shepherded him before had betrayed him. The only person he could trust was himself.

It wasn't until we placed Daniel at the foot of the cross that he began to heal. He needed to recognize the need for a Savior before he could trust the Shepherd. The transformation we've seen in Daniel in just nine months is amazing. Only by God's grace. Only by His mercy.

As difficult as those newborn days with Daniel were, things have been so much easier for us than so many others who have adopted. There's nothing like hearing about families who have to lock up the steak knives for fear that their child might harm them in their sleep to put the adoption of an emotionally broken child into perspective. There's nothing like reading about an adoptive parent dealing with a seizure in the grocery store, or having to hold their screaming child down for a medical procedure, or praying all night in the hospital that their child lives to the next morning to make you see the adoption of a special needs child with 20/20 vision.

But for every story of adoption hardship, there are a million of adoption beauty. And I don't need my magic lenses with a prescription of optimism and ignorance to appreciate what God is doing in our life and in the lives of other adoptive families.

So as we embark on this adoption, I'm not shopping around for a new set of rose-colored glasses. I've finally learned that God's handiwork never needs embellishment.

Gratefully His,
Kathie

Sweetly Broken

2010-09-13T17:27:00.000-07:00

We live in a world where things that are broken are worthless. In our disposable society, broken items are quickly tossed instead of being repaired. And even the very definition of "broken" is stretched to include things that don't perform as we would like or are outdated.

Sadly, the same holds true for people. Society dictates that we must be perfect. Not just healthy, but beautiful. Not just smart, but brilliant. And anyone who is "broken" must be fixed. And those who cannot be fixed should be thrown away. Thus the tragic statistic that 90 percent of babies who have Down Syndrome or other chromosomal "abnormalities" are aborted. Thus the heartbreaking reality that orphanages are full of special needs and older children who wait for families.

As we started this new adoption, we weren't sure about much. We weren't sure what country we would adopt from, what age child, what gender. Our only certainty was that this child would be, by the world's definition, broken.

We completed a check-list of needs we would consider. We talked at length with our other children about the possibility of having a child in our home who may never walk, or see our faces, or hear our voices, or live to adulthood. Needs that several years ago would have overwhelmed us are now needs that we are prayerfully considering.

We are different today because we understand the blessing of brokenness. It happened in the year 2004 with the loss of our first son then the loss of my mom. I had known brokenness before, but not to that extent. My level of hurt prior to that year rendered me "walking wounded." But the pain of 2004 completely crippled me to where I wasn't sure if I'd ever be whole again.

But that was the year that the Almighty Shepherd scooped me up and carried me upon the safety of His shoulders. Just like the beautiful illustrations I had seen as a child, I felt like that lamb draped around my Savior's neck. It was then that I was able to see that being broken hadn't brought me to a place of hopelessness, but a place of privilege.

When I think of the dearest people I know, there is usually a chapter in their life that they were carried by their Heavenly Father during a time of profound brokenness. Some of the most inspiring people who have walked the earth have endured times of trial yet glorified God through their brokenness caused by life-altering illness, the horrors of a concentration camp, religious persecution, and family tragedy. Every hero of the faith--that I've known personally or read about in history--seems to have spent much of their life in full surrender to the One who can heal every wound.

So perhaps that's why we've been so excited as we do the paperwork for this adoption and see our homestudy written to approve us to adopt a child with special needs. I can't wait to see what God has planned for the life of this child and feel honored to be able to witness His healing hand at work and His sovereign plan unfold.

The verse I'm meditating on this week (sorry I didn't get it posted in time for Sunday Dinner) is:

"The eyes of the Lord are on the righteous and his ears are attentive to their cry;

The face of the Lord is against those who do evil, to cut off the memory of them from the earth.

The righteous cry out, and the Lord hears them; he delivers them from all their troubles.

The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit."

Psalm 34:15-18, NIV

This week's dessert of song is Jeremy Riddle's "Sweetly Broken."

May we remember the One who was sweetly broken for us. (One of my first posts about brokenness and Christ's love for us is here.)

Beautifully Broken,
Kathie

Worth Quoting

2010-09-09T07:19:00.000-07:00

Many thanks to you bloggy friends who still stop by in spite of my recent hibernation in the black hole I have fallen into. I have much to share in the coming weeks about our new adoption and sweet things happening in our family.

But for now, I thought I'd share a quick post on some comments made by my kiddos that made me laugh.

Harsh Realizations

The other night Olivia's (my 8th grader) homework assignment was to interview her parents about their first memory of the computer. I shared that the first time I ever saw one was when I was about her age. It was the first computer in our school's future "computer lab" that was then full of electric typewriters. I went on to explain how my research papers were typed on such typewriters and any mistakes were remedied with White Out, but major errors required the page to be typed over again. I shared that there was no Internet, so all research had to be done at our local library--resources were encyclopedias that weighed more than a preschool child and periodicals could be viewed on something called microfilm.

Her eyes were huge, her mouth hung open in disbelief. Apparently the "I walked 10 miles to school in the snow, barefoot, uphill both ways" tales of my parents' generation were no longer necessary. The thought of a world without Google and e-mail and Facebook was apparently enough. (If I had mentioned that cell phones still weren't around, I think she would have lost consciousness.)

She finally spoke. It was the most sympathetic tone I have ever heard out of her mouth. "Mom, I'm so sorry. I had no idea that your childhood was such a NIGHTMARE!"

Keen Observations

We were at Chick-fil-A the other day and as we were leaving got a hug from the 7 foot cow character that is their "Eat More Chicken" mascot. Brady (age 5) is apparently not a big fan of livestock in eating establishments, but handled it okay.

As we exited the building, he leaned over and whispered to me: "Mom, this is just a guess, but I don't think that kind of cow produces milk."

Undiluted Truth

I overheard a conversation with Ava (age 10) and a new acquaintance. I was just catching bits and pieces, but clearly heard the other little girl describing what her mother looked like.

She offered, "My mom has light brown hair with blond highlights."

Ava responded, "Oh, she sounds so pretty. My mom has dark brown hair with silver highlights."

Ummm. I'm thinking I'm overdue for a trip to the hair salon.

Overflowing Gratitude

Daniel (age 8) has said many things that have made us laugh out loud, but his quote that I just have to share is the one that makes my heart rejoice.

The first time he said it, it was in the spring just a few months after coming home. We were at Target and I bought him a pair of Spiderman tennis shoes and some blue Crocs. He asked over and over if we had enough money to buy TWO pairs of shoes. He just couldn't believe it. As we were walking hand in hand to take our new treasures home, he exclaimed, "I love my life!"

One time this summer we were all snuggled up as a family watching "Mary Poppins." We took an intermission to make ice cream sundaes and he came over and hugged me and said again, "I love my life!"

Then during Daniel's first week of school, he hopped in the minivan with the world's best smile. He couldn't wait to tell me about his morning, but started with a slight variation of the same sentiment, "I have a great life!"

Oh, sweet boy, I have a great life, too!

So Grateful,
Kathie

Sunday Dinner: Safe

2010-09-05T19:51:00.000-07:00

If I had to rank Daniel's list of needs, the need to feel safe would be second only to his need to feel loved.

I'll never forget last November, flying down to Guatemala by myself with the plan to live there till I could bring Daniel home. We had been trying to get him home for two and a half years and, like a pregnancy that has gone past 40 weeks, we could see that the situation he was forced to stay in was becoming toxic. Since we had completed most of the process of adopting him, we were able to foster him in Guatemala till the adoption was complete.

Although I had visited numerous times before, this time felt different because he was now forever mine. I had spent so many months trying to make him my son that I had never really focused on becoming his mother. All of a sudden I realized exactly how little I knew about this little boy.

My first night there we stayed at a hotel in Antigua. We chose the location because it was close to friends who were living there, also fostering their son. This hotel was different from the one we had stayed in with Daniel on previous visits. This hotel was one story and the door to our room faced an outside courtyard. (The other hotel was a high-rise and our door faced the interior of the hotel.) It was soon apparent that Daniel didn't feel safe in our room.

Every night we were there, he had the same ritual. He'd check and double check the locks on the door, then he'd push all available furniture up against the door. He also had trouble sleeping--he'd have his eyes open staring at the door and window from the bed like a little night watchman. Finally sleep would overtake him and his eyes would close for a few hours until his semi-conscious body would remind him that he wasn't safe. He'd sit upright in the bed in a state of panic, often jumping out of bed to check the locks and the barricade of furniture.

Just watching him broke my heart. His level of fear was so far beyond anything I had seen before in a child. This was way beyond imaginary monsters in the closet or being frightened in a thunderstorm. This was a little boy in survival mode.

He has come a long way since November of last year. There was even one night recently that Brady was afraid and Daniel comforted him with: "Don't be scared because God is always with you." I can't tell you what joy it brings to walk into his bedroom at night and watch him sleep in perfect peace. To know that when awake and while asleep, this child now knows he is safe. It is a gift I will never again take for granted.

And yet, there have been times in my life that I haven't felt safe. I have locked myself in figurative rooms and pushed the furnishings up against the doors to keep the rest of the world out. There have been nights that I wake in a cold sweat--worried about my kids, or finances, or the future. Sitting upright in a panic, like Daniel wanting to check the locks on the door. The fear remains when I try to find safety in my self-made barricades. It isn't until I remember that "God is always with me" that I find that perfect peace.

This week's Sunday dinner of scripture is:

The name of the Lord is a strong tower; the righteous run to it and are safe.

Proverbs 18:10, NIV

I love the image of our God as our "strong tower." This certainly isn't a first floor hotel room in Guatemala with furniture reinforcing the door. Our God is our fortress, lifting us high above our enemies, that we might rest in His perfect peace. And if we will run to Him, not only will we feel safe . . . we will be safe.

This week's dessert of song is Phil Wickham's beautiful tune called "Safe." May you feel the safety of His Almighty arms.

More Than Lots,
Kathie

Blessed Beginnings

2010-08-27T09:00:00.000-07:00

Have you ever gone so long without talking to a close friend, that when you finally get together, you don't even know where to start? I guess that's how I'm feeling.

This is the longest I've ever gone without posting. (So sorry!) Part of it is due to my trying to get this adoption scavenger hunt of documents completed as soon as possible. The other part is due to some major changes in how we are schooling our boys.

To explain this I must give a bit of background. Our girls (in the 8th and 5th grade this year), attend a wonderful classical Christian school. We had seriously considered homeschooling them when they were younger, but at the time my mother was battling cancer and we were trying to heal from the loss of our first son. (That story is here.) I was barely putting one foot in front of the other and knew I wouldn't be able to give them the education they needed. And so we found this fabulous school and they have now been there 5 years.

But my plan all along was to homeschool Daniel and Brady in the early grades. I have missed so much of Daniel's childhood that I didn't want to give up another minute. Keeping the boys at home last year was exactly what Daniel (and Brady) needed. I loved every minute snuggled up with my boys reading books, going exploring outside, getting to know my new son, and watching a precious bond form between two new brothers. And when Daniel first came home, even basic things like riding in a car were hard for him. There's no way he could have handled going to school last year.

But as winter turned into spring, Daniel began to thaw and bloom himself. In January we'd open his school books and he would cry that he couldn't do the work, but by March he couldn't wait to see how many pages he could do in a day.

And then we would pick up his sisters every afternoon from a building where the kids were laughing, teachers were hugging them good-bye and friends were waving farewells. The boys attended their poetry recitals, watched their sisters make science projects, attended music programs, and laughed at us dressed in our costumes for Arts Festival Day. (Parent helpers dress up, too.) All the while, Daniel was a spectator . . . many times I could tell he longed to be part it.

A few times Daniel asked, "Will I go to school here some day?" I'd answer, "If you want to." I wondered how long it would take him to catch up to where he could attend. I was a little sad though, because the most fun years at this school are in kindergarten and first and second grades. It's a unique school in many ways. In the younger grades the children only attend till noon and in first and second grades, Fridays are completely taught by the parents. (The parents divvy up a variety of topics and create and teach their own lesson plans each Friday.) I assumed that by the time Daniel was able to attend the school, he would have missed the opportunity to have half days and have Mom and Dad teach in his classroom.

But Daniel was doing so well with our homeschool curriculum that I thought he might be ready for second grade at this school. We had him tested and I couldn't believe the results. When the admissions director called to say they would love for him to attend the next year, I wept. I was just amazed that this little boy, who less than a year ago lived in an orphanage, was going to be able to attend such a wonderful school.

He was giddy with excitement this summer when we bought him his uniforms, backpack, and school supplies. But as the date approached for the first day of school, I could see that he was getting nervous.

But on Monday, August 16, I got to witness a first that I will never forget.

You see, as the adoptive parents of an 8 year old boy, we've grieved a lot of "firsts" that we've missed. First smile, first steps, first birthday . . . eight years of baby pictures and memories. But in exchange, we've been given the privilege of firsts that few parents will ever have the blessing to experience.

Like spending Christmas with a child who has never had a family--who is so overcome with emotion at the sight of the Christmas tree and begins to weep saying, "There are gifts with my name on them!" Like having a child, who has known profound hunger, sit at your dinner table-- laughing with his siblings and eating till he is full. Like watching a child, who spent years in an orphanage, now throwing a ball with his dad or dancing in the waves of the ocean. Like celebrating his first birthday with our family and when he blows out the candle on his cake and his sister asks what he wished for, his response is: "I have everything I've ever wanted. There's nothing left to wish for."

Last week we witnessed a first that even fewer parents will ever experience.

We watched our little boy proudly march into an amazing school in a uniform that announced that he was no longer an orphan without hope, but a boy with a future.

(This is Daniel leading the pack down the hallway--no longer a guest . . . but a student!)

(One last hug and "I'm proud of you, buddy" from Dad.)

We took his photo with his precious teacher and saw his fellow classmates greet him. When we left the classroom, he had a smile on his face that said, "I belong here."

(I don't like to post pics of others without permission, so I just cropped in on the most grateful little guy at that school.)

When I picked him up at noon, he was still smiling--yet about to pop wanting to share about his day. He and his little brother compared stories about the fun they had (Brady is in kindergarten in the same building) and when his two older sisters got home, Daniel couldn't wait to tell them about his day, too. The girls didn't even want to share about their day till they had gotten full reports from their little brothers. It is so sweet that now all four of our children will have memories of being in school together.

Daniel has loved his first two weeks at school, each day he announces that it was better than the day before. But I'll never forget that very first day. I somehow held in the tears of watching my two little guys go to school for the first time. But on the drive home the floodgates finally opened. It was prompted by Daniel's voice from the backseat reciting the school's motto. I have heard it many times over the years, but for some reason hearing it recited by my treasure with a Spanish accent gave it new meaning.

He said, "Mama. Hear this! I am a child of God. I ought to do His will. I can do what He tells me. By His grace alone I will."

Praising God for His abundant grace for my special boy.

More Than Lots,

Kathie

Sunday Dinner: A Hope and a Future

2010-08-15T20:22:00.000-07:00

Some of my best writing is done on napkins. These little notes tucked into my daughters' lunchboxes are my way to give them a mid-day hug in the school lunchroom. School starts tomorrow and I've just finished inscribing pep-talks on paper products.

I'll never forget the first day of school last year. Olivia was starting 7th grade and I wasn't sure if she had outgrown the whole note from mommy on a napkin thing. She was about to grab her lunchbox off the kitchen counter as we were heading out the door. I hadn't yet zipped it up and out of the corner of my eye I saw her open her lunchbox, flip part of the napkin over, and take a quick peek to see if I had written on it. I saw the corners of her mouth turn up into a smile showing me that she still appreciated the paper poetry. My heart rejoiced as I realized she'd never outgrow needing words of encouragement.

Do you ever feel like sometimes God writes on your napkin and when you least expect it, you find it in your lunchbox? There have been many times that I've felt that a scripture was written just for me.

This week's Sunday dinner scripture is a verse that is very special to me (I'll share that story later). I wrote this verse on my girls' napkins tonight along with some other words to start the school year.

"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future."

Jeremiah 29:11

This scripture brings such peace--just hearing that He has plans to give us a hope and a future. I look at my children and claim this verse for their lives. As a parent, I want so badly to make the plans and know the plans for my children's lives. But, praise God, that He makes the plans and, oh, His plans are so much better than anything I could have dreamed up.

This week's dessert of song is a sweet one called "The Words I Would Say" by Sidewalk Prophets. It's the perfect back-to-school song. I just might need to jot some of these lyrics on a napkin.

This week, may you get a glimpse of God's plan for you to have a hope and a future!

More Than Lots,
Kathie

The Great Adoption Coordinator

2010-08-11T21:39:00.000-07:00

There are clues when someone is newly pregnant. The kitchen cupboards are well-stocked with Saltines. There's a copy of "What to Expect When You're Expecting" on the bedside table. And the most prized possessions in that home are a stick that has been urinated on and an ultrasound photo proudly displayed on the refrigerator.

And then there are clues that an adoption is in its first trimester. The kitchen counters are overflowing with random papers from tax returns to veterinary records. There's a stack of books about attachment on the bedside table. And the most prized possessions are a copy of a completed homestudy and a referral photo proudly displayed on the refrigerator.

I guess like a second pregnancy, this second adoption already has me comparing our journey to Daniel with our journey to this next child. But it also has me remembering things long forgotten from that time three years ago when we were working on our paperwork for Daniel.

I remember a precious conversation I had with Ava one night as I was tucking her in bed. She asked, "Mom, if I had been a little girl in an orphanage, do you think you would have chosen me?"

My response came before she could even finish her sentence: "Oh, sweetheart, I would have known you were mine the minute I saw you. In fact, I know God would have put a longing in my spirit to find you and somehow God would have provided a way to bring you safely into my arms."

She smiled, so I knew I had passed the essay portion of this test. But I pondered this big question from my little girl (seven years old at the time). It gave a glimpse into how she was processing everything. I had been so worried about how our adopted child might feel left out because he was not given to us biologically, it never occurred to me that my biological children might feel left out not having been chosen through adoption.

Her question still makes me think. Would I really have found my tender-hearted treasure? Out of the approximately 147 million orphans, I've probably only seen photos of a few hundred. Photos that are usually just quick snapshots taken to provide some kind of documentation that this child exists. Bad lighting and bad angles--taken without warning of a child in need of a nap or a meal. That one photo that links them to the outside world and any possibility that they might find a family who can see beyond the orphanage haircut and runny nose.

It makes me look at listings of waiting children differently. It makes me wish that children who need families would no longer be invisible. That EVERY waiting child--all 147 million--could have their portrait taken by someone who could capture the twinkle in their eye and kindness in their smile. That every orphan could have pages written about them sharing what makes them special and what kind of family they long for. That each child could have a video clip giving prospective parents a preview of the melody of their laugh and the potential for their life.

No. It's not fair. It's not fair that often the children who are lucky enough to be listed on a waiting child page are often only afforded a photo the equivalent of a mug shot with a handful of words warning prospective parents of what might be "wrong" with them.

And yet . . . we serve a Mighty God who is the Author of Adoption and the only One who knows the exact number of orphans in the world today. He is able to take that photo and put it before the eyes of the person who will say, "This is my child." That He is greater than intercountry restrictions and governmental red-tape and one-dimensional photographs. The One who enables parents to look past the listing of needs and see only the word "special."

I see evidence of His handiwork when I get e-mail notifications that announce "My Family Found Me." I see photos from "gotcha days" and airport homecomings and cry tears of joy exclaiming "God, you are so good!"

He is . . . the Great Adoption Coordinator.

Three years ago, I tried to convince my daughter that had she been waiting in an orphanage, God would have put a longing in my spirit to find her and somehow He would have provided a way to bring her safely into my arms.

Today I know that it's true.

Gratefully His,

Kathie

P.S. Some of my favorite photolistings of waiting children are at Rainbow Kids, Precious.org , and Reece's Rainbow. They strive to provide the accurate information on the children, agencies, and programs available. Take a minute to look at the sweet faces. You just might find your child.

Sunday Dinner: Lists

2010-08-08T20:54:00.000-07:00

I love lists. This is not due to stellar organizational skills but born of remarkable lack of memory. I also love makings lists because it helps me feel a sense of accomplishment in a world where sometimes the sun rises and sets and I often feel like I have done nothing but keep everyone in my care alive.

I have many lists I'm working off of now. There's the never-ending to-do list. There's the ever-changing grocery list. There's our adoption homestudy list. There's currently a school supply list.

The funny thing about lists are the items remaining when most of been marked off. What is it about those lingering items that are so tough? That phone call or errand on my to-do list that I'm just dreading and keep putting off. The item at the grocery store that I just can't seem to find. The item on the homestudy that seems impossible to get. That random school supply item that is out-of-stock.

The Bible seems to include many lists. Starting with the systematic creation of the world and continuing with the 10 Commandments.

One of my favorite lists is:

"But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control."

Galations 5:22-23, NIV

I also love the passage about love:

"Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.

It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.

Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.

It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres."

I Corinthians 13:4-7, NIV

What fabulous lists outlining a life that glorifies God. How convicting these lists can be when Christ is not evident in my words or actions.

When my children make poor choices, sometimes the consequence for that action is that they write a scripture verse pertaining to the poor choice. They write the verse numerous times based the child's age (thus my 10 year old would write the scripture 10 times). I have found it to be a great way to correct a child, especially at those times that I'm about exhibit a lack of "peace, patience, and self-control." It forces me to go to the Bible for answers and actually calms my child down as he/she sits and ponders those words.

Anyway, the above two "lists" from the Bible are verses used a lot. My kids know when I ask if they've been "patient and kind" or their behavior shows "they have been easily angered and are keeping record of wrongs" that some quality time with I Corinthians 13 is on the horizon.

Just like my daily lists, I have those lingering items in my daily walk that often are the last to be checked off. It isn't until I remember to go to the Author of those lists for help that I'm truly able to live out Galations 5 and I Corinthians 13.

The dessert of song is "Beautiful Lord" by Leeland. It's the perfect song for when I know I need God's help with those toughest items on my list. (And I just couldn't resist adding a Leeland song after some of his tunes reappeared on Playlist.com.)

Have a great week!

More Than Lots,
Kathie

Whatcha Reading Wednesday: Parenting Wisdom

2010-08-04T07:23:00.000-07:00

Yep. I knew this would happen.

I resisted starting a blog because I knew it would give me one more thing to feel guilty about. And right now the guilt caused by the infrequency of my posts is ranking greater than my guilt over not cleaning out my fridge (that no doubt contains leftovers that could be donated to science) and less than my guilt of falling behind on my scrapbooks (I'm approximately 12 years 3 months behind).

Much of my silence is due to trying to pack as much as possible in the remaining days of summer, trying to get everyone ready for the school year ahead, and also working on our adoption homestudy. So if you will forgive me for being a stinky bloggy buddy, I would greatly appreciate it. By the way, thanks for your sweet words of encouragement (written in Sharpie) on my last post.

Lately I've been praying a lot for wisdom. If I had gotten around to doing a Sunday dinner this week, the following would have been my verse.

"If any of you lacks wisdom, he should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to him."
James 1:5, NIV

I love the first part of this verse like it's saying: "This only applies to those people who lack wisdom. All you naturally wise folks can just ignore this verse." I mean, really, don't we all lack wisdom? So perhaps the significance of this first part is that we recognize that true wisdom comes only from God. We must approach Him humbly, acknowledging our need.

I love the next part. All we have to do is ask. Then He will give us wisdom in abundance and without finding fault. He knows it is in our nature to try to do things on our own. It's like those times that I've tried to assemble something without the instructions, then after realizing that I have no idea what I'm doing and I'm making a huge mess of things, surrender to the fact that I need those instructions. Oh, how often I try to live making it up as I go, only to fall flat on my face to seek God's wisdom from His Instruction Manual of the Bible.

I love the story of Solomon asking God to give him wisdom and the subsequent accounts of Solomon using this gift to rule wisely. Every day I feel I need the wisdom of Solomon to be a parent. And never have I needed wisdom more than parenting my adopted son who comes from such brokenness.

While I find myself pouring over God's Instruction Manual and crying out for wisdom, I know the assembly required to help Daniel heal from past pain and help shape him into a young man who seeks God is relatively easy compared to many I know who are also parenting older adopted children. My heart aches hearing their stories of attachment issues and behavior challenges. I know it is by the grace of God that we are not dealing with the same level of hurt.

So on this Whatcha Reading Wednesday I wanted to share about a blog that I think might encourage those of you seeking wisdom in parenting your biological and adopted children.

The blog is written by Summer at Transformed from Glory to Glory. She is a missionary in Uganda, serving alongside her husband and parenting (soon to be) 12 children. Ten of them are adopted.

She has shared many words of wisdom regarding Christ-centered parenting. One post in particular that really made me think was "A Disorder or Disorder?"
and then there was a response to that post that I thought was wonderful-- "A Wise Adoptee." There's an author mentioned in these two posts that I know nothing about and there seems to be controversy in his views. Thus I want to say that I don't support this author/ministry or necessarily oppose it either.

But there are two books that have been helpful as I seek wisdom in parenting--"Shepherding a Child's Heart" by Tedd Tripp and "Age of Opportunity" by Paul David Tripp.

So, whatcha reading right now? Okay, now I've got to go clean out the fridge.

Happy Wednesday!
Kathie

Writing with Permanent Marker

2010-07-29T20:10:00.000-07:00

Today was one of those days. Two sick kids and our air-conditioning upstairs decided to take a vacation. It is roughly the temp of the surface of the sun. Thus we are "camping" in our family room tonight. Nothing like the great indoors.

An AC angel will be coming between 1:00 p.m. and 4:00 p.m. tomorrow to fix it. He will be getting a group hug from one very sweaty family--that is if we haven't melted.

Anyway, we stayed close to home because Ava and Brady felt so crummy and I took the opportunity to catch up around the house. I was picking up the sofa pillows that had been tossed on the floor when I made a horrifying discovery.

I found this.
(Exhibit A.)

That, ladies and the one gentleman who reads my blog, is the cap off of a permanent marker. I knew that somewhere around my house was a Sharpie without it's hat!

(Exhibit B.)

I knew it was quite possibly in the hands of a child who was feeling creative (and immortal) or in the back pocket of a child who was practicing her somersaults. I envisioned carpeting and upholstery, bedspreads and baseboards, getting the business end of this marker on the loose.

Most of the time my Sharpie is my friend. I label things like a rancher brands cattle. Many germs have been contained by the labeling of water bottles. Many wars have been avoided at the community pool simply because our diving toys and floats were autographed by Mom.

Still, I have flashbacks to the time that Olivia (about 3 years old at the time), got hold of a Sharpie and gave herself a Hitler moustache. I scrubbed till her lip was raw, but it just wouldn't come off. I got a lot of nasty looks at the grocery store till it finally disappeared.

I did find the marker before too much damage was done. It was in Brady's hands and he was challenging his brother to a sword fight with writing implements. I handled the situation like an undercover cop and commanded, "Put down the marker and nobody gets hurt!"

Once the marker was safely out of reach and my blood pressure had returned to normal, I shared a little analogy with my kiddos relating to the marker. We've recently had some kidding and sarcasm that I felt was going over the line. Nothing intentionally hurtful, but I have four very sensitive children who wound easily so we have a zero tolerance for things that "do not build up."

I explained that our words to each other aren't written with washable/non-toxic Crayola markers. (Can you tell I've been buying school supplies lately?) They mark our hearts and our spirits with permanence.

You can spot a child who has been told they are stupid or slow or worthless. You might as well have written the words on their faces because the hurt is so evident in their expressions. You can also recognize a child who has been told he is loved and special and a one-of-a-kind masterpiece. There is usually a light about them that says, "I'm cherished."

I still remember things that were said to me--good and bad--as a child and as an adult. Some of those things shaped who I am today.

I'll never forget a Sharpie moment with my high school guidance counselor. I remember having my turn to go into his office and discuss what subjects to take for my junior year. Although he seemed like a nice man, I was very nervous. He looked just like Kenny Rogers and I kept expecting him to burst into song with "The Gambler."

As he looked over my records I could hear the tune playing--"You gotta know when to hold them, know when to fold them, know when to walk away, know when to run."

And I wanted to run. I knew I didn't look like much on paper. My grades were good, but nothing on a valedictorian level. I don't have a clue what my standardized testing showed, but knowing my weakness in math my score would probably have been higher by penciling in the circles in a pretty pattern.

He looked up at me and asked, "What do you want to do when you grow up?"

I wasn't expecting that question and didn't know what to say. I could have talked for hours about my hopes and dreams but like a ding-a-ling responded with, "I don't know."

The ball was back in his court and I was hoping he would live up to his title as "guidance counselor" and tell me what I was good at, what made me special, and what wonderful options I had to prepare me for the future.

And this was his advice: "I recommend that you take typing next year because you will most likely spend your life typing someone else's letters."

Ouch.

I know he didn't mean it the way it came out. It was actually wonderful advice that I take typing, yet I felt that he had written "worthless" across my forehead. As his instructions echoed, I realized that he envisioned my highest achievement to be recording someone else's words.

But this story does have a happy ending. His words were the kick in the rear that I needed. For the first time in my life I was absolutely determined to do my best. I'm still living out Colossians 3:23: "Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for men."

So each day I try to write blessings on my children's hearts--knowing it's so easy to write the encouraging words on, but so difficult to take the hurtful words off.

And guess what? My guidance counselor was absolutely right. Every time I sit down to write, I ask God to give me the words He wants me to share. What a privilege to spend my life seeking to "type Someone Else's words."

More Than Lots,
Kathie

Technical Difficulties

2010-07-27T18:46:00.000-07:00

Okay. It seems every time I log onto my blog I feel like I've been robbed. It started with my playlist below. I added my favorite songs each week so anyone who stopped by could find some encouragement with the listed tunes.

Occasionally I'd see one disappear. I could handle one loss from the musical cookie jar at a time. But a few weeks ago I looked at my playlist and at least HALF my beloved songs were gone! I'm trying not to take it personally but the paranoid side of me wonders if the heads of major record labels got together, expressed concern that some crazy lady was listing their songs on her blog and calling them "dessert", and decided to put an end to it.

It hurt. Losing Leeland was bad enough, but to take Third Day . . . below the belt.

So today I pulled up my blog and realized my background had disappeared. To most bloggers this is no big deal. They change their backgrounds like they change their clothes. They adorn their blogs with cute little seasonal patterns and accessorize with bloggy buttons that blink like pocket-sized billboards.

Not me. I am loyal to the background that I painstakingly posted by my technologically challenged self. Just seeing "html code" makes me break into hives. If I want to cut and paste, I use safety scissors and a glue stick.

All this to explain why there is a new background. It's not that I'm adventurous, just that someone took my cyber clothes and I grabbed the first thing I could put on. I just hope my new outfit doesn't make my sidebar look too big. ;)

Technically Insane,
Kathie

Sunday Dinner: Let the Waters Rise

2010-07-25T15:38:00.000-07:00

It's so nice to have internet again! After a week without contact with the outside world, we returned home to have a thunderstorm that knocked out our internet for several hours. But at least I wasn't tempted to catch up online when I needed to be unpacking and catching up at home!

I shared a few weeks ago about lessons learned from the ocean (that post can be found here). This past week I had another lesson from sea as we visited the beach again.

The waves were really rough last week when we were vacationing with my extended family in South Carolina. The first day Daniel and I ventured out hand in hand. Our strategy was to get far enough from the shore where we weren't hit by the breaking waves. We'd make a few steps of progress only to be carried back by the tide. We were managing but I could tell he was getting scared.

Then one big ole wave hit us. There were a few seconds that I lost hold of Daniel's hand and his head was underwater. He surfaced with his goggles crooked screaming, "Mama, I want to go back!"

We were trying to hightail it to the shore when I turned around and saw a massive wave coming toward us. We're talking a "Perfect Storm" kind of mountain of water where you know this is going to end with water up your nose, sand in your mouth, and bathing suit around your ankles. There was no way we were going to outrun this one. I instructed him to hold his nose, go under the water, and count to ten.

I wasn't sure if he heard me. It happened so fast. I went under the water, too, and surfaced seconds later. When I came up, Daniel was fine . . . even smiling.

We ran toward the shore, making it before another wave hit. He exclaimed, "It worked! The wave didn't get me!"

I couldn't help but think how this is like life. There are times that I see the wave coming. I panic because there is no way to escape it. Then I remember that it's when I try to fight things on my own will and in my own way that the wave of trials wipes me out. But when I remember to surrender to the One who is greater than the sea, bigger than the waves of pain and hardship, then I know to hide under the protection of the Almighty.

Today's Sunday dinner of scripture is (the idea behind Sunday dinner is here):

"These things I have spoken unto you, that in me you might have peace. In the world you shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world."

John 16:33

Wow. Jesus' words in His last days on earth bring such comfort. I remember clinging to this scripture in the days following the death of our first son in the last month of my pregnancy. God blessed us with another new life a few months after and I remember telling my girls that we had been granted the gift of another pregnancy. But Ava looked up at me and asked, "Mom, what if this baby dies, too?"

I wanted so badly to tell her that this baby would be fine, but knew I couldn't make that promise. The promise I knew I could give her was that no matter the outcome, God would carry us through any future pain or grief because we had seen God's faithfulness with the loss of Luke.

This week's dessert of song is called "Let the Waters Rise" by Mikeschair. The lyrics couldn't be more perfect. I love the line "You were faithful before. You'll be faithful again. " Amen!!!

As Daniel and I sat on the shore last week recovering from our adventure with the waves, I asked him if he was afraid to go back in the ocean later. To my relief he said no. (Although he did spend some quality time on his sand castle that day.)

As I sit on the shore of my life, I don't have the fears that I once had. In Christ I have peace. In this world there will be tribulations, but I serve a Mighty God who is greater than the pain of this world!

May you feel His perfect peace this week.

More Than Lots,
Kathie

We're Home!

2010-07-24T21:25:00.000-07:00

We had a wonderful vacation with my side of the family. I have many photos from the trip but for now I'll just share this one.

After years of mentally Photoshopping Daniel into our family pics, I just LOVE any photo that has all four of my children. I keep hoping and praying that there will be one more sweet face in the family huddle next year.

We cut our trip short to come back on Thursday night to attend Brad's sister's wedding rehearsal and dinner. We don't do anything easy around here. We left the beach at 8:00 a.m. but got caught in construction traffic. We arrived home at 3:30 p.m. giving us 30 min. to change clothes and head across town for the rehearsal. I'm sure we looked like a bunch of circus clowns hopping out of the minivan with our pillows and suitcases and minutes later returning dressed up. Never a dull moment. This photo is from Thursday.

Then we attended her wedding last night. It was beautiful. I don't want to publish photos of others without their permission so I'll just share one more of my cute kiddos.

I have many thoughts and stories to share but I'll save them for another time because I can barely keep my eyes open. I hope you are enjoying each day with those you love!

More Than Lots,
Kathie

Greetings from the Island Without Internet

2010-07-19T21:33:00.000-07:00

Okay, I have a really great excuse for not posting for a while. We are vacationing with my side of the family (this year that adds up to 22 people) at a place called Edisto Island, South Carolina. It's about an hour outside of Charleston and my family has been coming here for more than 30 years.

I've heard it described as Mayberry with a beach. There are no high rise hotels, just a few restaurants, and one Piggly Wiggly. The night life consists of Bingo on Tuesday and Thursday nights sponsored by the Lion's Club, walking along the beach watching the sunset, and playing card games at the kitchen table.

We started today with a bike ride, continued with a game of putt putt, spent a few hours riding waves at the beach, followed by a dip in the pool, watched a movie during lunch/naptime, the boys went fishing with their grandpa, my sister made a fabulous dinner, another bike ride, another frolic in the waves at sunset, and we played a bunch of games together till the yawns took over the laughter.

I guess the only thing we are lacking is an internet connection--and really that's not such a bad thing. The house we are sharing doesn't have Wifi but my brother-in-law has a wireless card so he is graciously letting me use his laptop so I can say hi to my bloggy friends. I have much to share but it may just have to wait till we return home.

I hope you all are having some sweet summer days with those you love, too!

More Than Lots,
Kathie

Whatcha Reading Wednesday: Radical

2010-07-14T20:56:00.000-07:00

Okay, last week I started Whatcha Reading Wednesday. I can't promise that I'll have a post every Wednesday, but if I have something worth sharing, you'll see it here. It's funny that my bloggy friend Kristin left a comment last week that she was reading "Radical" by David Platt. I thought that was neat because I've been listening to the Radical series online. Truly convicting.

I have been clicking on the sermons to listen to while I fold laundry at night. And I don't usually get past one towel--this is not "background material." It is "will render you motionless/need to rewind and hear again" kinds of stuff. Although my laundry efficiency is taking a hit, my heart is being renewed and my views about what it means to be a Christian are being challenged.

I encourage you to listen to the sermons or read the book. You can click the button below to access the video series.

I also came across a beautifully written post about adoption and Christ's radical love for us. It is "Grace for the Orphan" from the blog Faithful Remembrances. All I know about the writer is that she is the mother of 5 children--some of whom are adopted--and she truly understands the price paid for her adoption.

Okay, now it's your turn. Whatcha reading?

More Than Lots,
Kathie

The Sweetest Sound

2010-07-12T14:34:00.000-07:00

I had planned on posting a Sunday dinner last night after our busy weekend, but a thunderstorm hit and my kiddos needed comforting. I thought I'd pull a Julie Andrews and started singing to them "Sound of Music" style. My goal was not to soothe them with my talent, but to entertain them with my lack of talent.

It worked. I soon heard giggles in response to my tone-deaf version of "My Favorite Things." Then I dusted off every lullaby from when the kiddos were younger. I had all four piled in the boys' room for this little concert. But it wasn't long till I heard Ava sniffling back tears in the top bunk with Brady. I asked what was wrong and she said, "I'm sad because Daniel never had you to sing to him when he was little."

Oh my. I have already grieved over the same kinds of losses. Eight years missed of being his mom. Eight years missed of him having a mom.

I looked at Daniel as I sat next to him in the bottom bunk. His face was easy to see because even though the lights were out, we have enough nightlights to give the room that "prison break glow."

I could tell Ava's words were being processed in his head. So I quickly responded with, "Don't be sad, Ava, because Daniel's not missing a thing. He has us now, surrounded by a family who loves him and a mom who has a voice that's so dreadful she can drowned out the sound of thunder." Daniel chuckled.

I continued by belting out "You Are My Sunshine" and finished with "God Is So Good." The eyelids began to get heavy and I knew an encore would not be needed.

As I was leaving the room, I heard Daniel say, "Mama, I think you have the most beautiful voice I ever heard."

You don't need the ability to sing in perfect pitch to be able to hear the magnificence of such precious words. I walked back over to his bed and kissed him one more time on the forehead. With a huge lump in my throat I mustered up, "Thanks, sweetheart. I just love being your mama."

His loving words helped me to not regret the time lost, but cherish the moments now.

The belated dinner of scripture for this week is:

"Pleasant words are a honeycomb, sweet to the soul and healing to the bones."

Proverbs 16:24

The song of dessert is "Sweet Sweet Sound" by Sarah Reeves. I have a mental list of singers under the heading "Please, God, when I get to heaven could I sound like. . . . " Sarah Reeves is on that list.

May your own life be filled with the sweet sounds of those God has blessed you with and may you offer up your own sweet sounds to Him of thanks.

More Than Lots,
Kathie

One in 147 Million

2010-07-09T20:10:00.000-07:00

I've spent a lot of time on the computer lately. But not on my blog (as evidenced by my pitiful frequency in posts.) Not on Facebook or e-mail or YouTube or eBay. I'm spending a lot of time on adoption listings of waiting children.

I've Googled medical conditions, researched US and international adoption programs and fees, and contacted agencies. All because my husband gave me the green light two weeks ago for us to proceed on another adoption. And you should have heard the burning rubber on my figurative tires as I stepped on the gas.

Thus far I have come to only one conclusion. There are too many children who need families. I don't think there's a social worker who will approve us for 147 million children*. (The sound you hear is my husband letting out a sigh of relief.) My heart has the capacity to love many more than my hands are capable of caring for. Thus I cry at my computer screen asking God to help us choose. To show us which child is waiting for us--the one God has planned for our family. And then I ask God to find homes for all the others.

I know that God doesn't necessarily call everyone to adopt, but He does command us all to care for orphans. There are many ways to obey this call--through sponsorship, through mission trips, through helping others fund their adoptions, through prayer. But I have to tell you, if you feel that call to adopt but ignore it because you're too busy, or don't have enough money, or, well, you can fill in the blank--you may be missing out on one of the biggest blessings in your life.

I'm not saying the road of adoption is easy. Our adoption of Daniel has been one of the hardest things we have experienced, but any sacrifices we have made to bring him home and parent a child who is trying to heal from such brokenness is so insignificant compared to the price paid for my adoption by my Heavenly Father.

And we have known joys that few will ever have the privilege of experiencing. Like seeing an 8 year old boy have his first Christmas with a family. To see a boy who has known profound hunger eat till he is full while laughing around a dinner table with people who love him. To celebrate his birthday and when he blows out the candle on his cake he says, "I have nothing left to wish for. I already have it all."

I've included the video below. I love the song "Orphans of God" by Avalon that plays in the background. There are many great adoption videos but I like this one because of the hope it shows at the end.

May God bless you in whatever way you are answering His call to care for orphans. And may we all feel conviction and urgency to do more.

Gratefully His,
Kathie

*I've seen the number of orphans listed as anywhere from 143 million to 147 million. I guess it doesn't really matter what the number is when one orphan is one too many.

Whatcha Reading Wednesday: Happy Homecomings

2010-07-07T17:53:00.000-07:00

Okay. I have come to accept the fact that I'm just not going to have much to report on a daily basis. Truly our lives just aren't that interesting. But . . . I have met some amazing bloggy friends who do have interesting lives. So, from now on each Wednesday instead of sharing about my latest trip to the grocery store or an analogy gleaned from a Q-Tip, I'm going to introduce you to some special folks doing amazing things. Some I've met because they have left a comment or become a follower and I have hopped over to say howdy. Some have challenged me, some inspired me, some have made me laugh, some have made me cry.

Yes, I've been known to cry onto my keyboard. Really, there's not a speck of dust on it--clean as a whistle from F1 through F12 right down to the space bar, simply from wiping the tears off.

Nothing opens the floodgates for me like an adoption homecoming. I think that perhaps the closest thing we will witness on earth to a heavenly reunion is the welcoming home of an adopted child.

My poor keyboard experienced rainy season the past few weeks. It started with Kristin and the Ferguson family at Seeing the Up Side of Down adopting their two and a half year old Down Syndrome daughter Nadia from the Ukraine. Such a precious family with an amazing story of how they chose her, why God called them to adopt, and the transformation Nadia is experiencing now that she's home. Just read a few posts and you'll wish they lived next door.

The tears continued to flow with Christine and the Reed family from Smiles and Trials. They added their 13th and 14th children (that is not a typo) with the adoption of brother and sister siblings also from the Ukraine. The details of that journey are at Oh Yes We Are. I appreciate how Christine shares not just the things that make them smile, but the trials as well. Such a beautiful story of older child adoption--their love just seems to grow with the addition of each child.

And the tears just kept a comin' with the journey shared by Kat on Momentum. They just brought home twin babies from Ethiopia. Just her description of their flight home caused such a combo of laughing and crying that I was afraid I was going to wet my pants. But no matter how tough things got in bringing them home and no matter how hard things may be now, she is grateful to be the one caring for them when they are sick and comforting them when they are inconsolable. She also has such wisdom on attachment with adopted children (in addition to the twins they have three bio. and two other adopted children)--certainly worth checking out if you are an adoptive parent.

Okay, I've shared some of my favorites and now I want you to share yours. Since I often hear my husband and kiddos ask "whatcha reading?" when I'm laughing/crying at my computer, I'm going to call this "Whatcha Reading Wednesday." (Although spell check is not at all happy with my wording.) Tell me "whatcha reading" in the comments or share about your own blog.

Happy Wednesday,
Kathie

Independence Day

2010-07-05T06:03:00.000-07:00

I hope you all had a wonderful weekend celebrating the birth of our country! Sorry I haven't posted in a while. We've just been busy filling each summer day with fun.

I must share that Daniel thoroughly enjoyed his first 4th of July as an American citizen.

He has pride for his country that far exceeds the six months he's been home.

How grateful I am that this little boy with such potential gets to grow up in the Land of Opportunity.

Although this was Daniel's first Independence Day as an American, he has experienced another kind of independence day in the past. Last December, Daniel and I were living in a hotel trying to get his adoption completed in time to come home for Christmas. (He made it home Christmas Eve!) We picked one day to go back to his orphanage for him to say good-bye to his friends.

He had been away from the orphanage for about 5 weeks. I could tell he was conflicted--missing his friends, yet grateful to no longer be living there. He got a heroes welcome as he came through the gates--all his old buddies calling his name and running up to hug him. He asked me to take photos of him with a few friends and passed out some Christmas cookies we had brought. Then he whispered in my ear that he was ready to go.

I was surprised he was already ready to leave after only an hour. He knew this might be his last visit for a long time and we had planned to spend the day there. I asked again, "Are you sure you're ready to go?" He smiled and nodded.

As we approached the gate to leave, his little hand held by his mom's, the guard said something to me in Spanish and Daniel responded in a very authoritative voice. The guard opened the gate and let us out--our driver witnessed the interaction.

As we drove away, I asked our sweet driver what was said. Victor replied, "The guard said you needed to wait till he got permission for you to leave." Daniel responded with, "We don't need permission. I. DON'T. LIVE. HERE. ANYMORE!"

I fought back tears on the drive back to the hotel. I had witnessed Daniel's first personal Independence Day. Independence from life as an orphan. Released from a past of pain and poverty. Released from a future without hope.

Daniel not only understood what he was leaving last December, he was getting a glimpse at what he was gaining. We had to visit the US Embassy several times during those last weeks of the adoption. We chose a hotel within walking distance and every morning about 6 a.m. people would line up around the building by the hundreds. One day when we were in the waiting area of the USE, Daniel looked around at the sea of Guatemalan faces and asked, "Are they all trying to get adopted?" I couldn't help but laugh--the ages ranged from children to elderly. But I did let him know: "These people are all hoping to get Visas to visit the U.S." It's funny that you have to travel to another country to truly realize how blessed you are.

So this weekend as I watched Daniel proudly waving his American flag, asking questions about what this day celebrates, I became grateful for our freedoms in a different way. Not just for the gift this country has been to me--a privilege I was born into and have been blessed with all my days. But this year, I have a true understanding of the gift my adopted son now has.

I'm grateful for our forefathers--who established a country of life and liberty . . . a nation under God. I'm grateful to our brave men and women in the armed forces--many who have given their lives and all who sacrificially serve to protect our freedom. And I'm grateful for one of America's newest citizens who looks so handsome in red, white, and blue and so eloquently squealed under a fireworks display, "I love America!

Yes, sweet boy, I love America, too!

So Grateful
Kathie

P.S. It seems playlist.com is undergoing some major changes. Half of the songs on my playlist are no longer there. Oh no! It was a challenge to find a song for this week with the limited selection but found a beautiful rendition of "God Bless America." It credits Celine Dion as the artist, but it doesn't sound like her voice.

The Deep and the Shallow: Lessons from the Ocean

2010-06-29T08:18:00.000-07:00

I haven't had a chance to share much about our trip to the beach the week before last. Few times have I been so grateful for such a sweet getaway. I was grateful because this time last year we drained our savings living in Guatemala trying to make progress on our adoption and trying to make memories with Daniel. We were two years into our adoption and just broken that we still didn't have him home.

So to have him with us--seeing him dive in the waves,

build sand castles,

search for shells and laugh with his siblings.

Well . . . it was a beautiful sight.

Some people are beach people. Some mountain people. Some country people, some city people. I think Daniel is definitely a beach person. It's like the air and water and sand renewed his spirit. And watching him renewed mine.

So grateful for my precious girls.

And my precious boys.

I occasionally write about lessons gleaned from everyday life. One about God's love for us is here. Another about trying to understand why sometimes God doesn't answer our prayers the way we want Him to is here. (Others can be found under the sidebar label "Lessons from the . . . ".)

Today, I thought I'd share some thoughts about how trials in our life are like the ocean.

There have been hard times in my life that I have felt like I was swept into the deepest part of the sea. It can be petrifying to look around and see nothing but miles of endless ocean. You don't know which way to swim, which direction might lead you to land. You stay afloat as best you can, sometimes with arms and legs paddling feverishly to keep you from drowning. Other times just lying on your back floating in surrender--trying to find rest . . . about to lose hope. One of the worst things about being in the depths of the ocean is that you don't know what is lurking beneath. Knowing at any moment you could be eaten by a shark or another predator.

There's also overwhelming loneliness. The water is eerily calm and at times dangerously cold. Hopeless thoughts begin to surface. Is there anyone who knows I'm even here? Is there anyone who is going to rescue me?

I've been in the deepest part of that ocean--with the loss of our first baby boy and then the loss of my mom (that story is here). But I know many of you have probably experienced depths of the sea that I can't imagine.

It can also be dangerous close to the shore. Even when the water is shallow enough to stand in, sometimes the waves can be overwhelming. You run to the safety of the beach as fast as you can, only to be swept by the undertow and beaten by crashing waves.

There are people on the shore oblivious to your plight. You might even be embarrassed that the ocean has yanked down your bathing suit and filled every crack and crevice with sand. You try to compose yourself so no one will know that you are hurting or in distress. You finally get your footing only to be hit by another wave.

I've been there, too. I've been hit with financial problems, adoption ordeals, friendship hurts, parenting struggles, health issues. Yes, it's shallow enough to wade through the depth of these problems, yet trials close to the shore are just as hard and often just as fatal as the ones in the middle of the ocean.

While in the deepest ocean, I had full prayer support--a lot of people sending S.O.S.'s to the Almighty Coast Guard on our behalf. But in the shallow waters I was often too prideful to let others know I was in trouble--too embarrassed to let others know I needed help. I often thought my request was unimportant in light of others who were in their own deep blue seas. Sometimes others don't understand how hard a situation can be when the pain only rises a few feet--few understand that we don't have to be in over our heads to drown.

So I guess this life lesson is twofold. One, to remember that God is with us when we feel the vastness of the sea will swallow us whole. When it seems rescue will never come and drowning is inevitable. And two, that sometimes our greatest struggles will be close to the shore. And we need not be too prideful to cry for help--to God and to the body of Christ.

It is also a reminder for me to not only try to help those deep in trial, but to also look for those who are being beaten by crashing waves in the shallow water.

I will always remember His faithfulness when the high tide washed ashore taking me to places I couldn't survive without His mercy. It is by God's grace I stand on the shore right now, celebrating His goodness.

So Grateful,
Kathie

Sunday Dinner: Always There

2010-06-27T20:32:00.000-07:00

Well, we packed a lot in this past weekend. Saturday morning we saw "Toy Story 3" (LOVED it), spent an afternoon with my side of the family at the lake on my dad's old pontoon boat, had a family picnic after church today, attended a fun wedding shower for my sister-in-law, and have some little friends over for a sleepover now. I'm thinking we milked this summer weekend for all it's worth.

Daniel is thrilled because his special buddy from Guatemala, adopted by friends of ours, is spending the night. The girls often have friends over and he has put up with fashion shows/nail-painting/karaoke singing, and is so happy that now it's his turn (but the evening involved sword fights and Star Wars battles). He made a menu of what he wanted me to prepare for the meals, did a fabulous job helping clean up, and thanked us all day for the treat of overnight fun with his friend. It's fun being his mom.

It's Sunday dinner time (the idea behind Sunday dinner is here) and the scripture for the week is:

"I will not leave you as orphans; I will come to you."

John 14:8

It's such a short and simple verse, but I think one of the most beautiful ones in the Bible. I remember when we were trying to get Daniel home, we visited as often as we could during that two and a half year ordeal. Each time I'd arrive in Guatemala and my driver would pull up to the front gate of the orphanage, my stomach would turn into knots wondering if Daniel would be happy to see me. Oh how I wished he could understand that we would never forget about him, never leave him to live his days as an orphan.

When I'd walk through the front gate, his buddies would start screaming, "Danilo, Danilo!!! It's your mama!" He would catch one glimpse of me and come running. And all would be right with the world with him in my arms.

Sometimes I feel that way with my Heavenly Father. Sometimes I allow the world's noise to reach such a volume that I can't hear His voice. I wander so far in my own will and own way, that I don't feel His presence. Sometimes I feel lost, like a child in a department store and there's not a familiar set of kneecaps in sight. But all it takes is for me to seek His face and call on His name, and I see that He was there all along.

The dessert of song is "Find You Waiting" by Decemberadio. I heard it the other day when we were driving back from the beach and thought it was beautiful.

This week, may you celebrate the love of your Father who is always with you.

More Than Lots,

Kathie

So Grateful

2010-06-27T15:17:00.000-07:00

Thanks so much to all who took the time to leave a comment on my last post and for your encouraging words. Thus far we have 55 comments. Wooooo hooooo! Many of you hopped over from Stefanie's site and already knew about An Orphan's Wish, but I'm tickled that some of you hopped from here to AOW's site and have seen for the first time what a special ministry it is.

We've had a busy weekend here, but I plan to write more later tonight. Just wanted to thank you all for taking the time to visit and say hi. I LOVE discovering new blogs and making new bloggy friends and I can't wait to visit you guys, too.

God Bless,
Kathie

My Heart Is With . . .

2010-06-24T05:46:00.000-07:00

First, thank you all (bloggy readers and Facebook buddies) for you sweet birthday wishes. I have survived the first few days of being 40 (and thus far haven't needed medical attention). It has actually been a fabulous start of a new decade and I can't wait to see what God has in store for our family in the coming years.

I've often said my heart is with the people of Guatemala. When we adopted Daniel last year, I left a piece of it there. It felt like I left all of it there. There are children in that country (mentioned here) that I will always love as my own, ministries that we will continue to support monetarily and with mission trips, and a country that I will always feel loyalty to because it gave us our sweet son.

But over the past several months, I've realized that I didn't leave my heart in Guatemala. I gave it to all 147 million orphans in the world. It's not just the beautiful faces of Guatemala that I ache for, it's the children in China, Kazakhstan, Uganda, Ukraine, Ethiopia, Haiti, India, the United States, and any country that has a child longing for a family.

In our search for seeking God's will for our role in caring for orphans, I came upon a wonderful ministry called An Orphan's Wish. (Click the bloggy button below to visit their site.)

They care for orphans in China who have medical needs that can't be met in a regular orphanage. The children range from infants who need surgery to older children with cerebral palsy. I've been helping write this and that for their new newsletter and we are sponsoring the cutest little guy named Cooper. People can help by sponsoring children and soon there will be a listing of needs that people can give to for one-time donations. And if you sponsor a new arrival to AOW, you get to pick his or her English name. How cool is that?!

In just the last several months of watching the work at An Orphan's Wish, I have been blown away by what I have seen. The quality of care, the amount of love, well, I'd trust my own children to their care. Because it is a smaller ministry, it has been fun to see firsthand how my donations are used. I get amazing updates on the little guy we sponsor--monthly reports via e-mail with lots of photos that make my kids do their "awwwws."

I don't plug a lot of things on my blog, but this cause I felt was worthy of it. Right now Stefanie from Ni Hao Y'all, also the director of AOW (also one of the gals behind Wild Olive Tees--see the bloggy button on my sidebar), is celebrating her 1000th post by matching dollars for every comment. (That is one brave lady.)

Well, I'm not celebrating a 1000th post, but I am celebrating. My birthday gift from my husband was his official blessing for us to start another adoption. We are in the process of updating our homestudy and will share in the coming months as God leads us to the child who has been waiting for our family.

For every comment you leave below, I'll also donate a dollar to An Orphan's Wish. (That means I want all you loyal lurkers to come out of the shadows and say hi!)

Thanks for the blessing you all have been to me!

So Grateful,
Kathie

Mom's Last Words

2010-06-21T08:42:00.000-07:00

Okay. I'm going to fess up. Tomorrow I'm having a birthday that starts with a 4 and ends with an 0 (or perhaps that should be an "oh no"). Really, I'm handling this aging thing just fine. (It's my kids growing up that I struggle with.) I think I'm just so very grateful for every year God blesses me with that birthdays are a victory, not a defeat.

When I think about Christ's life--that His ministry didn't really begin till he was about 30 years old (Luke 3:23) and only lasted about 3 years--it humbles and convicts me that I've been granted 39 years and 364 days (hey, I'm not owning up to my new digits till it's official). What have I done and what am I doing that will really matter for eternity? I think that's my "mid-life crisis." I'm not feeling regret about the years past but urgency for the years ahead.

Today I'm going to share about an item in my Memorial Box. It's an item that represents one thing that is significantly shaping the second half of my life. It was my mother's last words to me March 10, 2004 after a long battle with cancer.

I've shared this story with close friends. (I included it in the 2006 Christmas letter and plan to eventually post them all here, but I feel kind of silly sharing December stories in June.) By the way, Memorial Box Monday was started by Linny at A Place Called Simplicity. Click on the bloggy button below to read her precious stories (the one she posted today is one of my favorites) and link to other wonderful stories of God's faithfulness and provision.

Deep breath. Here goes. (There should probably Kleenex warning with this one.)

Few things have impacted my life more than my mother's last words. In her last hours, I curled up in bed with her. I sang to her, read scripture to her, reminisced with her. It was painful to be with her--because she was in such pain and her face was so thin and jaundice that it hardly resembled the woman who had been my mother. Yet it was painful to be away from her knowing every minute could be the last this side of heaven. It had also been only eight weeks since the loss of our son (that story is here) and I needed my mom more than she needed me.

A few days before going to be with the Lord she said something precious to me and my sister. She said, "The best thing I ever did for you girls was to marry your father." This was in the midst of my dad taking care of her. He said it was a privilege to care for her in her last days so she could have her wish of dying at home. What a blessing it was to see their love for each other right to the end.

But it was what she said to just me in those last hours that were life-changing. She was barely able to talk at this point and I knew these golden moments with her were few. I'll never forget she turned to me and--although her voice was barely above a whisper, she spoke as if she was screaming from a mountaintop. Each word its own sentence: "Make. Your. Life. Matter!"

I didn't know what to think. Of course, in my world as a wife and mom I did my best to make my life matter, so why was she telling me this? Then I looked at her withered body and saw a tear spill down the side of her face. Then, I realized why she said it. She never thought her life mattered.

Although she was a talented pianist, she never played at Carnegie Hall. Although she was beautiful, she was never on the cover of a magazine. Although she was a hard worker, she never earned a high-paying salary. Although she spent her life serving others, her passing would not be front page news.

One advantage to losing a loved one to a long illness is that you get the chance to say thanks and I love you. We had already told her so many times what a blessing she was and, although it seemed ridiculously redundant, I knew I needed to tell her one more time how much she mattered. As I searched my heart for the right words, I thought about my Savior. I thought about how His ministry began when He was about 30 which means that most of his life may have been spent as a carpenter, teacher, a son, a friend.

Some might wonder why the Son of God "squandered" so many years doing such everyday things that there's little record of His life between His birth and His baptism. But maybe it's those years of "growing in wisdom and stature and in favor with God and man" (Luke 2:52) that make our life matter and prepare us for greater things. And by Christ's example, we should understand that a life of surrender, service, and uncelebrated sacrifices is more important than a life of great achievement and recognition.

Then it occurred to me that my mother had not missed her calling. Her piano concert hall was our church's sanctuary. Her audience of dignitaries was a dozen elderly people at the nursing home calling out their favorite hymns for her to play each week when she visited.

She was never more beautiful than when she was bald--refusing to let her cancer rob her of her radiance--never more triumphant than when she walked down the runway for a breast cancer survivor fashion show. She was the CEO of making others feel special, of making every day feel like a party, of being the first to meet the needs of others and the last to take credit for it.

And so I did my best to articulate to her how much she mattered to me, to others, and to her Heavenly Father. But I knew my words would soon seem trite, for in just hours she would hear her Creator say, "Well done, good and faithful servant." With tears flowing down my face, I ended our last conversation with: "Don't ever forget that there's a difference between a life wasted and a life given."

That was not only the day that my mother told me to make sure that I lived a life that mattered, but it was also the day that I really understood God's definition of what that truly meant.

So I have this in my Memorial Box.

Next to this.

Words spoken by my mother. Defined by my Heavenly Father. Lived beautifully, perfectly, sacrificially by my Savior.

Thank you, Merciful Father, for every day granted. May I use each moment to glorify you.

Thirty-Something for a Few More Hours,
Kathie

Happy Day of the Father!

2010-06-20T12:05:00.000-07:00

We're back! We thoroughly enjoyed our first trip to the beach with Daniel. I'll share more later, but he LOVED every minute of it. He loved the ocean, the sand, the pool, the time with family. The oil threatened but never hit us. And our coming home was so sweet. He walked in the door and said what I always feel after being away, "I love you beautiful home. I love you beautiful kitties and fish and frog." It hasn't taken him long to learn that vacations are fun, but there's no place like home.

Today is Father's Day or what Daniel calls "The Day of the Father." (That's what they call it in Guatemala.) Brad prefers the Daniel's version. Sounds much more important.

I have much to be grateful for on Father's Day. I've been blessed with a wonderful father, father-in-law, and father to my children. Most of all, I've been blessed with a good and merciful Heavenly Father.

Years ago I was shopping for Father's Day cards with someone close to me. She was looking for a card for her step-father who had not been a good father--he was angry and verbally abusive and she was afraid of him most of her childhood. She was looking in the "simply stated" section trying to find something along the lines of "well, you're getting this card because I'm supposed to pretend I'm honoring you."

She said that as a little girl she had a hard time listening to people describe God as our Father. Her only example of a father was more kin to monster than Savior. She didn't need another father to fear, another father to tell her she was worthless. It wasn't until she understood that our Heavenly Father is a father of sacrificial love that she was able to cling to Him as the father she had longed for. She said, "I got a second chance to have a daddy."

I know if I was purchasing a greeting card for our Heavenly Father, I wouldn't be shopping in the "simply stated" section of Hallmark. (Because He's the only one who truly "cares enough to send the very best.")

The scripture for Sunday dinner is what I'd write on the outside of my handmade card to God:

"How great is the love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are!"

I John 3:1, NIV

The dessert of song for today is an old favorite--"How Deep the Father's Love for Us." Joy Williams does a wonderful rendition of it. I've also included a video below from Sovereign Grace Ministries. It was shared at our church this morning and I thought it was such a beautiful tribute to the One who adopted me. (You will need to pause the playlist at the bottom of the blog so you won't hear both songs at the same time.)

Thank you, Heavenly Father, for the blessing of my husband, my dad, my father-in-law, and the legacy of my grandfathers. All are beautiful reflections of your love.

So Grateful,
Kathie

Life's a Beach (and Pool)

2010-06-14T14:27:00.000-07:00

Saying hi from Rosemary Beach, Florida!

Sorry I haven't posted in a while. We arrived on Saturday but haven't had internet for a couple days.

We've been enjoying every minute of Daniel's first trip to the beach. I don't have many pics to share yet because I left the thingy that connects my good camera to my computer at home, but here are a few from Olivia's pocket sized digital one.

This is Ava, Daniel, and Brady enjoying kayaking fun with cousins.

This is a quick pic before going to dinner.

And this is with a large stuffed alligator at dinner.

After two and a half years of mentally Photoshopping Daniel into our family memories, it's such a blessing to have him sharing it all with us.

My belated Sunday dinner of scripture is simply one about the sea:

"Mightier than the thunder of the great waters, mightier than the breakers of the sea-- the Lord on high is mighty."

Psalm 93:4

Few things make me realize God's greatness like the ocean. I awe it, fear it, revel in it, delight in it. Just like I awe Him, fear Him, revel in Him, and delight in Him.

I have many thoughts about the ocean that I'll share later, but one small thing I love about it is its healing power. We all came on vacation with our scraps and cuts. I have a cut on my hand that reminds me that I'm long overdue for a tetanus shot, the boys' knees look like they have been grated like a piece of cheese, and my teen's legs look like she's been shaving with a chainsaw.

On the drive down, I reminded all the injured that the salt water would heal our wounds. And, you know what, two days into our trip and you can hardly tell where are boo-boos were.

It reminds me of God's love. I know if I just immerse myself in the healing power of His grace, I find healing of wounds that I thought would always be raw and infected and bleeding. Sometimes it stings at first, but I know that is the first step toward restoration.

As I soaked in the sea playing with my kiddos, I saw healing--not only in body, but in spirit. Primarily Daniel's spirit. It's a beautiful sight to behold.

This week's dessert of song is "Ocean Wide" by The Afters.

May you celebrate God's greatness and experience His healing.

More Than Lots,

Kathie

The Daughters of My Heart

2010-06-11T09:00:00.000-07:00

There's a little girl who calls me mama who turned 12 yesterday. But I didn't bake her a cake, or sing to her as she blew out her candles, or watch her smile from one ear to the other as she opened gifts from her mom and dad and siblings.

Simply because, although I love her as my daughter and she loves me as her mother, the world only recognizes me as her sponsor through a charitable organization. (I guess I should post some kind of "Really Depressing" warning on this one.)

I was prepared for many things when we started our adoption of Daniel, but I wasn't prepared to fall in love with two little girls at his orphanage. Children who aren't adoptable because they have an aunt who visits a few times a year. (This aunt loves them dearly but is a very young single lady and can't afford to adopt them herself. We asked the girls if they wanted us to help their aunt to financially be able to care for them and they cried that they didn't want to live with her but wanted to be part of our family.)

I wasn't prepared to meet these sisters who would show me that my heart had the capacity to love them as much as I do my biological children. I wasn't prepared to watch them cry as I left from my first mission trip almost three years ago. I wasn't prepared for that love to grow each time we visited (16 times in the past 3 years). And I certainly wasn't prepared to take Daniel to say good-bye to his friends at the orphanage only to face their tears and cries of, "Take me, too! Take me, too!"

I've had some hard days in my life. I've buried a child. I've lost a mother. But trying to explain to two precious girls who I love as daughters why I can't bring them home . . . well, it moved that day last December into the top three of days that I would never want to relive.

I mentioned in a past post here about something we were praying fervently for as a family. It was about these girls. I've cried out to God to move mountains and part seas so they could be adopted, but right now the mountains remain and the seas seem too deep and never-ending. And so I try to move on, knowing that there are 147 million children in the world who are adoptable and desperately need homes. I look at photo listings of precious faces, but can't help thinking "but they aren't Vivi and Eluvia."

And you know that unsettled feeling a mom has when one of her kiddos is at a sleepover elsewhere? I feel that every night because two are always missing. Daniel reminds me on an almost daily basis saying, "Don't forget them, Mom." And I tell him I never will--there's no expiration date on love.

I ask God why. Why out of 450 children from Daniel's orphanage did I fall in love with these two? Perhaps our role was only to be their sponsors. But it doesn't seem to be enough for children whose hearts long for a family.

So this week I've been sad. I looked through photos of a party we gave her when she turned 10. (I'll share those and an amazing story about that party on another day.)

Then I looked at photos of the one we did for her dorm when she turned 11. Our whole crew was there because we spent most of June last year living in Guatemala. Viviana wanted a Hannah Montana party. My girls insisted there must be a blonde wig involved.

This is the only photo I have of us all together. Even though I'm as green as my shirt (I had a bad stomach bug that day), it is one of my favorite photos because our family looks whole.

I couldn't bear the thought of her birthday coming and going without anything. No cake, no candles, no card--nothing different from every other day of the year. I e-mailed our favorite driver in Guatemala who was such a blessing to us during Daniel's adoption and has become our dear friend. I asked if there was any way he could take a cake and some balloons to her orphanage. I attached this photo so he would remember who I was talking about.

(A year ago, he drove us to an amusement park where that photo was taken.)

Well, last night I got these photos. This is what he blessed me with.

Apparently Viviana was allowed to choose a few friends to join her at a picnic table to have some birthday cake. And I was so happy to see they let her little sister (who lives in a different dorm) join her. But the photos are also hard to look at. They've grown up so much in just a year.

I cried happy tears. Happy knowing that she understands that we remembered her birthday and wish we could have been there. I also cried sad tears. Sad knowing what kind of day she would have had here with our family. (Here is the post about Daniel's first birthday home.)

Thanks for letting me cry on your cyber shoulder. I know many of you are adoptive parents who love children that you had to leave behind.

Happy 12th birthday, Viviana--the daughter of our hearts! May you know how loved you are all the days of your life.

Much Love,
Your Sponsor Mama
Still Praying You Home!

Traveling Mercies

2010-06-07T17:29:00.000-07:00

Please don't pass out upon seeing two posts today. I know. It's as rare as a solar eclipse. Try not to stare directly into the computer screen or it might blind you.

As I was sharing about my sweet husband in my last post, I remembered a story of God's goodness that is great for Memorial Box Monday. This wonderful tradition was started by Linny at A Place Called Simplicity. Click the bloggy button below to read about her inspiration behind this idea and to link to other stories of God's faithfulness in their lives.

This story takes place August of 2008 in Guatemala. We were one year into our adoption of Daniel (that ended up taking two and a half years). We visited as often as we could so he would know we hadn't forgotten about him and to build our relationship with him. It was Brad's "turn" to visit. I remember waiting each night he was away for a phone call with the full report of what they had done that day. Sometimes I'd even get to hear Daniel's little voice on the phone saying, "Hola, Mama. Te amo mucho." (Hi, Mom, I love you so much.) I'm so grateful I can hear that precious voice all the time now.

But this particular night when Brad called, his voice was different. It surprised me because I knew he had planned to go with friends and the children they were adopting/sponsoring to a waterpark. I knew something was wrong. My mind went in all directions wondering if a child had drowned. Oh, dear God, what if it was Daniel. I could hear him choking up as he spoke. I patiently waited for the words to come, hoping this story ended happy.

Fortunately he opened with, "Kathie, God was with us today." With those words, I let out a sigh of relief.

He continued, "We had a wonderful day at the waterpark. Daniel and V. [one of the girls we sponsor] had such a precious time. It was the first time either had gone swimming. They loved the bathingsuits you sent. Anyway, the kids were worn out from our day of fun. Doug [one of our friends] was driving for our hour and a half trip back to the orphanage. I was sitting in the front next to him with Daniel asleep sitting in my lap."

Okay. Just a little side note that we would never normally let our children sit in the front seat on our laps. But when you find yourself in a van without seatbelts, trying to cram 10 people in for a day of fun, well, you find yourself doing some "when in Rome/Guatemala" kinds of things.

Brad went on, "Then out of nowhere, some people hiding in a ditch on the side of the road threw a rock, the size of a small watermelon, at our van. By God's grace it hit the bar that separates the windshield and door window on the passenger side. It shattered the windshield but miraculously the rock bounced off the bar and didn't break through. If it had, the speed and impact would have been enough to have killed me or Daniel."

We certainly rejoiced over God's protection that day. It was heartbreaking to imagine getting a phone call from Guatemala from one of our friends letting me know that Brad or Daniel had been killed. But I don't think we really understood exactly what God spared them from that day till a couple months later.

I was reading on a Guatemala adoption website a link posted from the U.S. Department of State with a travel advisory. They mentioned that stretch of highway that Brad and our friends had traveled on that day. They said that some people had been hiding in ditches, throwing things at cars. When the tourists stopped to survey damage or see what happened, these people would rob them and often even physically and sexually assault passengers.

When I read that I wept. I thought the thrown rock was just a silly prank. But not only had God spared Brad and Daniel from possibly fatal injury, He protected that entire van of two men, three women, and several little girls and boys from unthinkable violence. Praise God that the rock didn't come through the windshield and that our friend Doug had the wisdom to just keep driving instead of stopping to assess the damage.

I have put a small rock in our Memorial Box to remind us of God's protection that day. It also reminds me to pray fervently for my friends and family who are on mission trips or are traveling to complete adoptions.

Thank you, Mighty Father, for never ceasing to guide and protect us.

Gratefully His,
Kathie

Sunday Dinner: Eighteen Years Ago Today

2010-06-07T15:34:00.001-07:00

Okay. I do still own a calendar and I am aware that it is now Monday. But I have a really good excuse for not posting Sunday Dinner on an actual Sunday. It was our 18th wedding anniversary. One gift to hubby was spending minimal time on the computer this weekend.

I'm actually technically not late on wishing my husband a happy anniversary today. When we were doing our adoption paperwork, I requested a copy of our marriage license. They couldn't find us anywhere in the system for June 6, 1992. I started to get nervous. Fifteen years and three kiddos into this and we aren't legally married?!

Then they did a search by name only and found that our license stated our marriage date as June 7, 1992. I'm thinking the secretary at the church who filed our paperwork accidentally put the wrong date. So on our adoption paperwork, we have June 7 listed. I think it gives us permission to celebrate our anniversary for 48 hours.

So the scripture for the week is:

How can we thank God enough for you in return for all the joy we have in the presence of our God because of you?

I Thessalonians 3:9, NIV

Little did I know 18 years ago all God had in store for us. Our last anniversary we spent having dinner in a Pollo Campero in Guatemala. Nothing says "I love you" like fried chicken in a Third World country. We were there with our whole crew trying to make some sweet summer memories with Daniel. Even though it wasn't what most would view as a romantic way to celebrate, it was so fitting for our life. (And if you want to feel close to your husband, spend some time in a foreign country where he's the only adult around who speaks your language.)

We've experienced laughter and tears, grief and joy, blessing and loss. And there's truly no one I'd rather go on this crazy journey with than him. And just like the verse above, I can't thank God enough for the joy Brad has brought to my life as my husband and the father of our children.

The dessert of song was a hard one. Many of my first choices aren't offered on playlist.com. But I do like this one by Brandon Heath called, "Let's Make It Last." I'm guessing he wrote this sweet song for his wife. The relationship he describes reminds me of mine and Brad's.

Happy (two-day) anniversary, Brad! I can't wait to see what God has planned for the next 18.

So Grateful,

Kathie

Survivor: The Family Vacation

2010-06-04T11:00:00.000-07:00

Whoever coined the phrase "the lazy days of summer" was obviously not a mother.

Don't get me wrong. I LOVE summer. I'm enjoying every single minute and am grateful to be moving at a considerably slower pace. I can't express how wonderful it is to have Daniel home for his first summer. I'll share more about these special moments in another post. But as we look ahead at the possibilities for our family, sometimes I just have to look back at the sweet years behind us.

I don't know about the rest of you, but sometimes looking back at photos when my kids were younger is painful. I look at them in all their dimpled cuteness and wonder if I fully appreciated every single minute. And then I look at Daniel and it hits me that I've missed so much of his childhood. But instead of grieving what has passed, I must savor every moment of today. For some day, I'll certainly look at photos from this summer and wonder if I fully appreciated every single minute. I want to be absolutely certain that the answer would be yes.

It's raining here and we are cleaning up and getting started on our summer reading. I came across this piece below that I wrote years ago and it made me miss those toddler days, yet grateful for the stage in life we're in now. It isn't a real account of our family vacation--but instead a caricature of a typical family vacation. I haven't watched the show "Survivor" in years (do they still let contestants have a luxury item?) but the only prerequisite to appreciating the experience detailed below is having vacationed with young children.

I've sprinkled in a few photos of our 2006 summer beach trip. These were taken at Edisto Island Beach in South Carolina. We've taken an annual week-long trip there with my extended family for about 30 years. My girls were 9 and 6 and Brady was 18 months. Daniel was about 4 years old living in unthinkable conditions in Guatemala. How I wish I could turn back time and rescue him from that life sooner. Oh, how grateful I am that he won't miss another summer with our family.

Under the title I've added "Preschool Edition." There certainly should be a "Grade School/Teen Edition" as well. I'd love for you to share your own family vacation stories in the comments or share a link to your blog of your own summer fun.

Happy Summer,
Kathie

Survivor: The Family Vacation

(Preschool Edition)

I didn't mean to get hooked. I started watching "Survivor" because I heard they were eating things like rats and maggots and thought by comparison I'd get fewer complaints about dinner.

As I watched these contestants brave the elements and each other, I realized this Survivor game is nothing new. It's called the family vacation.

The similarities are uncanny. On the TV version, contestants (known as tribe members) eat almost nothing but rice, sleep in crude huts, and try to get along with people who often annoy them--all for the chance of winning a million dollars. On the family vacation, contestants eat fast food and fried seafood, sleep in crude rental facilities, and try to get along with people who often annoy them--all for the chance of spending what feels like a million dollars.

The latest season of "Survivor" may have ended weeks ago, but for many the adventure is just beginning. I can almost hear the tribal theme song playing as American families load their minivans. Join us for "Survivor: The Family Vacation" where the slogan "Outwit, Outplay, Outlast" has never been more appropriate.

The Contestants

Dad: Official driver/referee. Luxury item: A pair of ear plugs (not necessarily for the pool).

Mom: Official nurse/activity coordinator. Luxury item: Same book she's tried to read the last 5 vacations.

Baby: Most likely to have a diaper explosion after passing sign that reads "Last exit for 57 miles." Luxury items: One of everything sold at Babies R Us.

Two-year-old: Most likely to cause scene in restaurant. Luxury items: Thirty-two of his/her favorite dolls/animals and whatever older sibling has. In spite of limited vocabulary, is able to whine in 16 languages.

Five-year-old: Most likely to pout about above tribe member bothering him/her, restaurant scene runner-up. Luxury items: An assortment of toys marked "choking hazard ages 3 and under" and the one forgotten item that Mom and Dad will hear about all week. Able to kick back of Mom's seat till Mom threatens to strap the young tribe member to the luggage rack.

Day 1

Mom finishes marathon of washing and packing, finding pet sitters, assigning mail pick-up. The average wedding takes less preparation. Dad is loading the family vehicle--a task that requires an engineering degree and a lubricant.

The tribe will barely be out of the driveway before the two tallest members start to question choosing a destination 7 hours away. The journey will include visiting every public restroom and fast-food play facility that can be spotted from a backseat window. There will a Magna-Doodle incident that will upgrade Two-year-old to "most likely to get head injury."

Mom will offer Dad $100 for his ear plugs. He pretends not to hear over the hour-long rendition of "The Wheels on the Bus" with Baby doing back-up vocals of "Get Me Out of this @*!# Car Seat."

The tribe members arrive (4 hours later than estimated). They have just completed their first reward challenge. The reward is now they can start their vacation with fun things like unloading the van and going to the grocery store.

Mom starts looking for the port-a-crib then Dad explains there wasn't enough room to bring it and his golf clubs. Mom calmly informs that she will not put her cherub in the rental crib/death trap and Baby will have to sleep with them. Dad realizes the only action he'll be getting is with Big Bertha.

Days 2 through 7

On the TV "Survivor" things start to get interesting when the tribes merge. On the family vacation this dynamic unfolds as extended families get the wonderful idea to vacation together. The brilliance of this plan seems to fade as tribes without small children discover they're sharing a confined living space with a traveling circus.

For example, even a simple task like going to the beach/pool seems like a "Survivor" immunity challenge. The first hour is spent applying SPF 430 to naked bodies that only stop running when they hurt themselves. Then parents wrestle with greased piglets long enough to double bag them in swim diapers and swimsuits. Quick call to Poison Control to find out if ingested sunscreen is toxic. Baby due for feeding and everyone else (especially Mom) due for naps.

This tribe finally arrives at the beach/pool armed with a cooler of refreshments and armloads of aquatic accessories. Preschool Tribe will enjoy the sand and surf until someone gets knocked over by a wave, the sky opens in a thunderstorm, Baby needs a new swim diaper, or the children have lost interest and want to do something else. This usually happens in the first 15 minutes.

This same group--as soon as they've been de-sanded and de-chlorinated--will beg to return to the scene of the crime.

This challenge is repeated each day, except the day Dad plays golf. Mom will be the lone child-ranger where the highlight is a special trip to the store for headache medicine. Dad will finish his suspiciously long golf game with an emotional outburst of, "Please don't make me go back!"

Dinner is always an adventure on family vacations. There are two options: an overpriced seafood restaurant where parents take turns escorting children outside for the "Appropriate Restaurant Behavior Lesson" or cooking in a cramped kitchenette where parents take turns escorting children outside for the "Appropriate Kitchenette Behavior Lesson."

The only thing missing from this version of Survivor (other than prize money) is that no one gets voted off. Otherwise Mom would form an alliance with those who can be bribed with candy and have them eliminate her. (Don't judge until you've walked a mile in her flip-flops.)

Day 8

This is Day 1 in reverse. Except instead of the optimistic dream of a relaxing vacation ahead, there's an overgrown lawn, a pile of mail, 104 answering machine messages, and a week's worth of dirty clothes waiting for their return.

It's a bittersweet good-bye as tribe members board a vehicle that will forever carry a sticky film of snow cones, sand, and sunscreen. (They say a new car depreciates 20% when you drive it off the lot. My guess is that you lose the remaining 80% after a road trip with preschoolers.)

Some may question why this young family would even attempt a vacation if it's so much work. Well, an amazing thing happens as you drive away. You only remember the good stuff.

Little explorers searching for seashells and budding architects building sand castles.

Angels with water wings shouting, "Look at me! I can swim!"

Sweet smiles covered in ice cream,

dimpled legs chasing waves,

priceless commentary from miniature travel guides.

Special moments captured on film and in hearts.

For one week a year, life surrenders to a slower pace--no work deadlines, packed schedules, phone interruptions, endless to-do lists.

It can all wait because this time is reserved for playing,

laughing,

and feeling blessed.

"Do you think it'll be easier when the kids get older?" Dad inquires.

Mom surveys the backseat of little people deep in vacation-induced sleep. She savors this scene knowing how much they'll change by the next vacation--wishing they could forever stay like they are right now because a year of growth couldn't possibly improve on such perfection.

"Yeah, it'll probably be easier," she replies, "but I can't imagine it being more fun."

They extinguish their torches from another vacation. This Mom has spoken.

Sunday Dinner: Five Summers Left

2010-05-30T14:40:00.000-07:00

I'm one happy mom. Although it is still technically spring, summer has officially begun at our house.

Last night I watched my kids catch lightening bugs. Such remarkably agreeable little critters (um, the insects, not necessarily the kiddos). My children would reach out and catch them with their cupped hands. The fireflies would continue to light up in their hands till they were released. Then my kids would catch another, delight in its beauty, then release it. The ballet continued with the music of crickets chirping and children laughing. I love summer.

I remember being a little girl catching fireflies. But I would catch them and put them in a canning jar with little air holes poked in the lid for ventilation. I wanted to keep them forever in the little jar. I wanted to take them in my bedroom and watch them light up my room--kind of like nature's nightlight. Surely they would be safer there. But my parents would convince me that their lives would be shorter in that little jar and I would begrudgingly release them convinced that they would have been better off in my care forever.

I'm sorry to say that I haven't matured much over the years. I'm the mother of four precious fireflies who light up my life. I let them out of the jar on occasion as long as they are well within reach of my hands to protect them. But they are growing quickly and I know I will have to begrudgingly release them one at a time.

I'm really struggling that my oldest is officially an eighth grader now. Olivia has just one more year till (big gulp) HIGH SCHOOL. Basically five summers left before she is a high school graduate. How did this happen? Perhaps if I get a bigger jar and start poking holes in the lid now, I can keep her as my little girl forever. But I know for her light to shine, I have to let her go. She isn't truly mine, but was God's gift to me to nurture and love and care for in her first season of life.

Then I realize that I only have five years left to teach her, prepare her, equip her. (And then I start breathing into a paper bag.) Just summers ago my biggest goal was making sure she could swim independently and ride her bike without training wheels. Oh boy, some real life water wings and training wheels are about to come off! Brad and I are praying for God's wisdom and direction as we parent her through the teen years to be a young woman who glorifies God. (Otherwise, she will be attending college in a pickle jar.)

She has a summer reading list for school, but Brad and I have added an extra book to her list. It's called "Don't Waste Your Life" by John Piper. Everything he writes is such an encouragment (my bedside table looks like a Piper display at our local Christian bookstore), but I think this book is a great one that she can understand and apply even in her young life.

This week's Sunday dinner scripture is:

"Do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God? You are not your own; you were bought at a price. Therefore honor God with your body. "

I Corinthians 6:19-20, NIV

Here's what Piper says in that book about this scripture, "If you are a Christian, you are not your own. Christ has bought you at the price of his own death. You now belong doubly to God: He made you, and he bought you. That means your life is not your own. It is God's. Therefore the Bible says, 'Glorify God with your body.' God made you for this. He bought you for this. This is the meaning of your life."

And truly understanding I Corinthians 6:19-20 enables us to:

"Let your light shine before men, that they may see your good deeds and praise your Father in heaven."

Matthew 5:16, NIV

If we could have our children understand one thing before we let them out of the jar that is our home, it would be that their lives belong to Him. Then I know that their lights would truly shine in the darkness.

This week's dessert of song is by Leeland called "Enter This Temple." It's a beautiful song for a Sunday as I think about our church as His temple, but also about our bodies and our lives as His temple.

May this be sung within your "canning jar" this summer and may you enjoy this special season with your own fireflies.

More Than Lots,
Kathie

My Report Card

2010-05-27T11:00:00.000-07:00

Just one more day till summer break!

Sorry I've been a stinky bloggy friend lately. I plan to keep in touch much better this summer. I'm so excited about having our first summer with Daniel home that I'm just about to pop. I promise to post lots of pics of Daniel's first summer at the pool, first sight of the beach, first 4th of July as an American citizen.

This is the time of year of final exams, end-of-year report cards, and honors day assemblies. As a mom, sometimes I wish I could get some kind of report card on how I'm doing. I wonder what kind of grades my kiddos would give me in how I care for them, serve them, discipline them, and love them.

I know that because of their maturity levels their grading system might be a bit off--deducting points when I don't let them eat candy or make them clean up. And I have those days that I feel I should be in mommy detention for not handling something patiently or reacting to a situation without first covering my words and actions in prayer. Still, it would be nice to have some kind of evaluation for this big job with little recognition.

Perhaps the report card I'd like to see the most is the one from Daniel. He spent the first five years of his life being abused and neglected by his birth mom. (I share a bit about his past here and here.)He spent the next 3 years in an orphanage without a mom. I feel a tremendous responsibility to write a new definition after the word "mother" in Daniel's mental dictionary.

I sometimes envy my husband Brad a bit. Daniel has no memory of his biological father, so Brad is writing the "Story of Dad" on a clean, blank page. Daniel's "Story of Mom" includes a "bad mom" (as he refers to her) and a "good mom." There are five years worth of pages in his heart that record her actions and words. Although we visited him often throughout our two and a half year adoption, I've really only had five months of his life with him completely in my care.

Occasionally I get little "job evaluations" that make my day. He often says, "Mom, you're a genius!" The funniest things impress him--like watching me cook on the grill, or drive the car, or fix a toy that he thought was beyond repair. He's watched me paint backdrops and make costumes, plan birthday parties and bake birthday cakes, clean out closets and host dinner parties, read bedtime stories and sing lullabies. Things that aren't a big deal for my other three, yet leave Daniel watching in awe like I'm putting on a magic show.

He'll often ask: "Who taught you how to do that?" Often I give credit to my parents, a teacher, a friend, to instructions in a manual or on the computer. Often I give credit to God for those things that moms just know how to do because we are made in the image of our Heavenly Father.

The other day he said, "Mom, I don't think anyone taught my 'bad mom' how to be a good mother."

Such a simple statement that broke my heart. It spoke volumes about how he's processing his hurt from the past. I'm so grateful that he recognizes that the problem wasn't him--that he doesn't think the abuse and neglect was because he deserved it or that he was unlovable. I'm glad that he can see that his birth mom was broken--that perhaps this is what she was taught in her own life that most likely included that same kind of abuse and neglect.

I hugged him and told him some day he'd be a great dad. And he piped up, "Because I have a great dad to teach me how."

Oh my--holding back some tears with those words. It looks like Brad and I both got good grades on our report cards from Daniel. I must say, I've never been so proud to have made the honor roll.

More Than Lots,
Kathie

P.S. I had just finished typing the above post while my kids were cleaning their rooms. They surprised me with made beds, toy/clothing-free carpet, and a huge card shaped like a cross. I think the artwork was inspired by my retelling of the "rowing the boat" story. (This analogy is oh so lovingly told when certain members of my family are expecting mom and dad to do all the work.) I think they could tell I was worn out and not thrilled with the chorus of whining when I asked them to help. They made the below artwork to say sorry and say thanks.

I had to share it. I love Ava's square that says, "Mommy, if it weren't for you we'd be in BIG BIG trouble." And Daniel's square that reads, "We love you the same like Jesus loves you."

I think it's the most beautiful report card ever.

Making Progress

2010-05-22T07:10:00.000-07:00

Sorry for not posting much this week. Just busy with life.

My girls have just one more week of school left (they attend a fabulous classical Christian school) and my boys are wrapping things up, too (they attend a fabulous school in our home with a teacher who looks just like their mom).

I don't know about you but by May I'm nauseated by the smell of dry erase markers, have nightmares involving bibliography cards, and can feel a panic attack coming on by simply purchasing poster board. (I think my eldest daughter's science fair project required more planning and money than my wedding.) The only words I dread more than "I don't understand the Pythagorean Theorem" (my thoughts about math are here) would be "Mom, I have a test on the Periodic Table of Elements tomorrow." Let's just say few folks are happier about the end of the school year than this mom.

It has been almost 5 months since our sweet Daniel arrived home on Christmas Eve. He has made such remarkable progress. Things that used to make him scared or anxious no longer do. When he first came home, things as simple as riding in the car or going to a place he'd never been before would cause meltdowns. Bad habits and behaviors are quickly being replaced with wise choices. He looks healthier and is growing like a weed.

He can speak and understand English as if he was born in the US. There's even a bit of a Southern twang mixed with his Spanish accent. (It's very cute.)

He's learning to trust us and respect us. He now understands that his home is a safe place, he will always have plenty to eat, and his family loves him no matter what.

Occasionally, we will see flashbacks of old behaviors. Evidence of old fears. Re-injury of old wounds. Those moments are heartbreaking to watch . . . often hard to handle.

But the remarkable thing is that he sees it as "the old Daniel", too. He realizes it as soon as the words of anger come out of his mouth, or the pouting lips and furrowed brow wrinkle his face, or the fear and anxiety make his little body tremble. Often all it takes is a gentle reminder from Mom and Dad and he is able to pull it together--sometimes more quickly than others--and understand that he isn't that boy anymore.

It makes me think of our adoption as sons and daughters by our Heavenly Father. Our hearts, minds, and actions reflect our new Father. We seek to honor Him, we seek to resemble Him.

Things that used to cause us to be fearful no longer do. Bad habits and behaviors are quickly replaced with wise choices. We learn we can trust Him to provide, protect, and love us. We begin to understand His language and His Word. We become able to share things of our Father with others.

But occasionally, we forget we are the child of a King. Old fears return. Old temptations beckon. Old lies convince us that we are beyond help and unworthy of love. And we act as if we're ungrateful for the gift of grace and loving sacrifice that paid our ransom.

But then our Father reminds us that we are forgiven . . . that we have been chosen . . . that we are forever changed.

And on those days it is hard to parent an adopted child, I remember I'm an adopted child, too.

Thank you, Heavenly Father, for the miracle of adoption.

Gratefully His,
Kathie

Facebook Confessions

2010-05-17T06:07:00.000-07:00

Okay, I don't have the time to write a Memorial Box Monday this week, but I do have a few minutes to take part in other MckLinky fun.

"Not Me" Monday was started by MckMama. (Click on the bloggy button to read other confessions of things they didn't do." )

Today I'm going to share some things that I certainly do NOT think about Facebook and would absolutely NEVER share with my Facebook friends.

I do NOT get frustrated with the creators at Facebook for "improving" the layout and settings as soon as I get used to the current way things are done.

I am NOT going to tell you that if you are depending on me to help you with your Farmville, your livestock and crops are going to die terrible deaths. I'm lucky to keep my real live pets and plants alive over here.

I do NOT freak out every time I am notified that someone has "written on my wall." After 13 years of having real little people write on my real walls, this is not something I can handle, even on a figurative level.

I do NOT get frustrated with people who tag unflattering photos of me and I would NEVER be tempted to tag ugly pics of them in retaliation (a closed eye for a closed eye, a double chin for a double chin).

I do NOT untag bad photos of myself--that would be vain. But if the mouse accidentally clicks on Untag--well, oopsie.

I'm NOT going to warn you that if you post a photo of me in a bathing suit, I have Photoshop and am not afraid to use it.

I do NOT feel guilty that my FB photo albums are as far behind as my real life photo albums.

I do NOT think there should be other options to the "Like" button--perhaps "Too Brain Dead to Comment".

I do NOT have refrain from jealousy after seeing others post amazing pics from exotic trips while the biggest adventure I've been on in the past few months is to the grocery store. (But the view from the produce section was amazing.)

I do NOT need Facebook: Attention Deficit Edition, because I'll see a post or that a friend is having a birthday, plan to return later when I have time to comment, then end up forgetting who I was going to write. (They really should have a belated birthday listing for people like me.)
I do NOT see those who posted their high scores on games with bubbles and jewels and make a mental note that you might have time to watch my kiddos the next time I need to go the dentist.

I am NOT going to admit to being sucked into the Facebook black hole and have lost hours of my life watching videos of kids at their piano recitals and viewing baby/wedding/vacation/holiday pics.

I do NOT wonder about people who take the time to join clubs with names like "I'm a Fan of Navel Lint." (And I do NOT think there should be an "Ummm. You're crazy" button.)

But I AM grateful that Facebook has helped me reconnect with old friends, meet new friends, and stay in touch with many dear friends.

Logging Off,
Kathie

Sunday Dinner: Divine 911

2010-05-16T19:07:00.000-07:00

I first have to say that the comments you guys leave are better than the actual posts. Thanks for taking the time to write!

It's Sunday dinner time again. For any new readers, the inspiration behind it is here. But in a nutshell, it's a dinner of scripture with a dessert of song.

I must share a little story before I serve "dinner". The other day, I was reviewing personal info. with the boys to make sure they knew their phone number, address, etc. I told them about 911 and explained that if there was ever an emergency, that was the number to call. Their eyes grew bigger as I explained that by just dialing those 3 numbers, they could have a fire truck, an ambulance, and a police car at our house in minutes. They both responded with "cool".

A couple days later, Brady hurt his leg when he was skipping through the kitchen and hit it on the corner of the opened dishwasher door. He moaned and rolled on the floor in agony. Daniel and I came to his aid and Daniel asked, "Mom, do you want me to call 911?!" I tried not too laugh. His concern for his brother was so sweet. I also knew he was just itching to summons every emergency vehicle within a ten mile radius.

Once Brady's injury stopped hurting, I thought it best to clarify with the boys about WHEN we might need to call 911. I explained that, yes, Brady was hurt, but it was an injury that didn't need a doctor's help. I also reminded Daniel that when he broke his arm, it was an emergency so we took him to the ER. But since it wasn't life-threatening, Daddy was able to drive him and we didn't need an ambulance.

Thus started the quizzing of what would classify as necessary for a 911 call. Daniel asked, "If someone hits me in the head with a baseball bat and my head splits open and one eye is hanging out . . . would we call 911?"

I answered yes and let him know that someone would also need to request help for Mom who would certainly be out cold.

Brady didn't want to be outdone so he piped up with, "Okay, what if I'm carrying something really heavy, and my arms rip right off my body and they are gushing out blood . . . would we call 911?"

Oh goodness, my boys are going to grow up to either create horror movies or cartoons.

This really disgusting lunchtime conversation went on for a few minutes . . . each time they were so pleased to come up with a scenario worthy of emergency care. They egged each other on with, "Ooooo, that's a good one!"

Then it got me thinking. I asked the boys, "What kind of emergency do you need to have to call on God for help?" Long pause with tune from "Jeopardy" playing in the background. (Apparently this game wasn't as fun.)

They finally answered with "Anything!" I reminded with, "There is no request too big or too small. We can ask God for help any time."

This week's dinner of scripture is:

"In the day of my trouble I will call to you, for you will answer me."

Psalm 86:7, NIV

"Then you will call, and the Lord will answer; you will cry for help, and he will say: Here am I. "

Isaiah 58:9, NIV

There are many great verses on calling on God and calling out His name, but these are two of my favorites. I've called out God's name a lot this weekend. We have dear friends, the Montes family, who left this morning for Guatemala to try to convince a government to let them complete their adoption of a little boy who has been their son in their hearts for almost 3 years. I've been calling God's name for a bloggy friend Linny, as her husband has gotten terribly sick while on a mission trip to Uganda. And we attended a prayer time tonight for a dear man named Tony battling cancer.

And in the midst of these "emergencies", I've prayed that God would soften my children's hearts this morning at church to hear the message being shared. I've prayed that God would help me to have wisdom and patience through this busy weekend. Don't we have a good God who can listen to the urgent and not-so-urgent at the same time? He never has to put our requests on hold because someone else has a greater need. We don't have to reach a level of emergency for God to care. I'm going to have to borrow my sons' comment and just say "cool".

This week's dessert of song is "Your Name"--this version is sung by two of my favorite artists, Phil Wickham and Paul Baloche. As you go about your week, may you remember that you can call His name for any need and He will answer.

More Than Lots,
Kathie

Superheroes

2010-05-13T04:55:00.000-07:00

I can't find my Supermom cape anywhere. You know, the one they give you when you become a mom.

I'm sure it's under a pile of laundry or was used as a drop cloth for a quick painting project. I don't think I've worn it in years. To be honest, I feel ridiculous walking around with a big "S" on my back when most days I feel like I'm barely getting by.

(Here's a photo taken spring break at Six Flags of my kiddos and their superhero capes.)

I became keenly aware early in my parenting that I was issued the regular style while everyone else got the deluxe. I remember one of my daughters coming home from Kindergarten announcing she was the "snack cowgirl" and needed to bring something yummy for the class the next day.

"How about grapes and cheese cubes?" I suggested.

"Hmmm. James' mom sent muffins and everyone loved them," she countered.

"Okay, I can pick up some muffins" I offered.

"No, Mom, these were HOMEMADE muffins," she informed.

Remembering I had a friend named Betty Crocker, I replied, "Yes, I can send HOMEMADE muffins, too."

My delighted daughter added, "Oh wonderful! And don't forget the cream cheese icing that James' mom put on the top. And she squirt it for each student in the shape of their initial."

Okay, I'm out. We sent in grapes and cheese.

Yep. Just like the superheros of the comics have their superhuman specialties of spinning webs and turning things to ice, the supermommies I encounter have super strengths. These hand-smocking, birthday-party throwing, bread-baking, home- organizing, coupon-clipping, interior-decorating moms can make me feel like I will never even attain sidekick status.

But the past few years have changed me and changed what inspires me. There's a new group of supermoms that humble me. They are serving on the mission field--leaving their world of comfort and convenience to care for those who are physically and spiritually starving. They are adopting children--doing so out of great sacrifice of time and money. Forfeiting easy for days that are hard--parenting children with major medical, developmental, and emotional needs. They are starting businesses to raise funds to care for orphans. They are writing and speaking out for those who have no voice. They are raising families that glorify God in a world that is all about glorifying self. I know many of these moms personally and have met many through their blogs. I hope to introduce you to some in the coming months.

I'm not the only one influenced by superheroes. My kids are watching, learning from, and imitating those they admire. It starts young with princesses and caped crusaders, but quickly changes to entertainers and athletes. I think it's fine for them to have people they look up to, but critical that admiration doesn't turn into idolatry. Because these people are human, even those who are Christians (or claim to be) are sinners in need of a Savior, living in a fallen world. We should never put people on a pedestal that should only be occupied by One.

A few years ago, my girls and I loved to watch "John and Kate Plus Eight." I guess in a way they were "heroes." A sweet family that valued life and seemed to be doing so much right. What has happened to them is so sad, especially for those children. It was difficult to address the questions as my girls saw tabloid headlines at the grocery check-out. Their family was a sobering reminder that we need to guard our marriages and families with diligence. But it also made us careful about what "superheroes" we invite into our home. Too many "wholesome" pop stars have gone from singing about butterflies to posing provocatively for magazine covers and being arrested for DUIs.

Sometimes it's not about choosing between good and bad, but good and best. I remember a line in the movie "Superman" where he catches Lois Lane falling from a skyscraper. She says, "You've got me, but who's got you?!" I guess that's what it comes down to. Who is the source of that person's strength? If it doesn't match the source of your strength, that's not a "hero" you want in your home.

We try to read books as a family about missionaries, people of faith who have made a difference, families who are currently serving in their daily lives and on the mission field. We need to find "heroes" that not only encourage us, but challenge us. If you have a favorite book, movie, or person that has inspired you or your family, I'd love for you to mention it in the comments.

And for all those supermoms out there making a difference for eternity . . . thank you. You not only humble me, but inspire me. I look at your faithfulness and it makes think, "Now that's even better than homemade muffins with cream cheese icing."

More Than Lots,
Kathie

Sunday Dinner: Happy Mother's Day

2010-05-09T17:26:00.000-07:00

I hope you all had a blessed Mother's Day--whether you are celebrating being a mom, having a mom, or both.

I'm so grateful this year to share this day with all my kids. Last year, I spent "the day of the mother" (as Daniel calls it), with Daniel in Guatemala. Today, I got an assortment of cards and hugs and kisses from four precious children. My cup (that reads "World's Greatest Mom") overflows.

It's Sunday dinner time (the idea behind Sunday dinner is here). The scripture for this week is probably pretty easy to guess:

"She is clothed with strength and dignity; she can laugh at the days to come.

She speaks with wisdom, and faithful instruction is on her tongue.

She watches over the affairs of her household and does not eat the bread of idleness.

Her children arise and call her blessed; her husband also, and he praises her:

Many women do noble things, but you surpass them all.

Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting; but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised. "

Proverbs 31:25-30

That's just part of the infamous Proverbs 31 passage that I've always found intimidating. It's verse 28 that I truly long for: "Her children arise and call her blessed; her husband also, and he praises her."

That's perhaps why I love Mother's Day. It's that time of the year where my husband and children "arise and call me blessed." But every day, I strive to be worthy of this privilege of being a mom. I guess it all starts with being a "woman who fears the Lord."

Although today was such a gift just to be surrounded by all four children, I was also missing my mom who died six years ago. But her legacy lives on because she was a woman who feared the Lord--we still rise and call her blessed.

Today's song of dessert is John Waller's "The Blessing." If you ever need a "fight song" for your family to rally together and do something for God's glory--this is it. It's true that each day we can choose words and actions that build up or tear down. We can spend our time and money on things that are worthless or things for eternity. We can choose to serve ourselves or serve others. It's these daily choices that make up who we are, how we affect others, and what legacy we leave behind. Not a day goes by that I don't question how I'm living my life.

As I end my day, I'm going to look through the handmade cards one more time and remember the words of a little boy who just 5 months ago was considered an orphan: "I'm glad you're my mom. You are the best mom ever." Yes, I'm truly blessed.

Happy Mother's Day,

Kathie

Building Trust

2010-05-07T10:32:00.000-07:00

Ahhh, May.

May always seems to be one of those months that chews me up and spits me out. Still doesn't compare to December--in which I'm like a bad science experiment and turn from a solid to a liquid. Let's just say partially eaten and decomposing aren't good looks for me.

This is just a crazy theory, but perhaps because this month is so challenging for moms is the reason why someone chose to celebrate Mother's Day in May. I must admit, it keeps me from going on strike.

Probably like many of you, I'm busy helping the girls finish their school year with tests and projects, music programs and ballet recitals. I'm also helping the boys finish their homeschooling year so we don't have as much to do this summer. This week has been so crazy that even Princess Leah and Luke Skywalker (our goldfish) are starting to complain about the condition of the house. I've got a pile of laundry that might be eligible for some kind of Guinness Book of World Records and a bathroom that looks like it belongs in a gas station. Since I don't want a rep from the Health Department to visit, this will be a quick post between loads of laundry and toilet scrubbing.

We had another "getting to know you" encounter with Daniel the other day. Even before Daniel came home, our hope was that we would be able to earn his trust. He has experienced a lifetime of disappointment and neglect. We soon realized that his level of trust was in negative numbers.

He needs to trust that there will always be enough food. To trust that we won't abuse him. To trust that we know what is best for him. To trust that he is safe. To trust that he is just as loved and part of the family as our other children. To trust that we won't abandon him. We are still trying to earn that trust a little at a time.

What I didn't consider was that he would also have to earn our trust. Trust that he would be honest. Trust that he would be respectful of our home. Trust that he wouldn't harm his siblings or pets. Trust that he would be a loving member of our family. He has earned that trust quickly but the other day I realized that he hadn't yet earned it completely.

We had embarked on a quick trip to the grocery store and had actually made it to the check-out without too many, "Mom, can I have . . . " episodes. But there we were at the register--I was eyeing the home and garden magazines and the boys were eyeing the gum. The boys asked if they could have some, I remembered a cup holder in my van that had become the final resting place for gum that had lost its flavor, and felt certain I had made the right decision by saying no. To my surprise, they took it really well and just replied with "Okay, mom."

I proceeded to unload my groceries onto the check-out counter feeling good about life, then out of the corner of my eye I saw Daniel fiddling with something in his pocket. My thoughts exploded into a dialogue of "Did he steal some gum?" to "No, I really don't think he would take something."

As the check-out lady chatted with me about Daniel's cast and shared about the time her granddaughter broke her arm, I smiled and nodded hiding the fact that my blood pressure was rising and my stomach was churning. I debated whether I should ask Daniel what was in his pocket or head home to confront him there. I didn't want to falsely accuse him, yet it was a real possibility that he had stolen something. That was his old way of life. That was how he survived.

I finally leaned over, pointed to his shorts and whispered, "What's in your pocket?" I don't think he fully heard me, but looked down, discovered his fly was open, turned red (okay, with his beautifully pigmented skin he doesn't really turn red but he looked embarrassed), zipped up and said, "Thanks, Mom." Oh great. Not only am I the driver of the get-away car, I've been letting my possible felon walk around showing London, France, and Batman underpants.

By this time I could see that, without question, he had something in his pocket. Ugh! What should I do? I wished I was on one of those game shows that let you phone a friend. Or if I could just quickly Google "Adopted son. Stealing. Mom freaking out."

I didn't want to overreact. I know many people have stolen things or "permanently borrowed" items when they were younger and they aren't currently members of the mafia. Still, Daniel knows he has a clean slate and a fresh start. He has such good character and a strong conscience and I was sad that his old temptations might have such a hold on him. I knew this small incident could tear down the trust that had been built--I would later wonder what else he might steal. That I would question his future words and actions.

I could almost hear the theme song from "Cops" playing ("bad boys, bad boys, whatcha gonna do . . . ). I leaned over one more time and asked, "Hey, buddy, what's in your pocket?"

He looked at me with those big eyes and slowly pulled from his pocket a handful of . . . Nerf gun bullets. That were his! That he brought from home! Oh, praise God! I hoped he didn't know that I hadn't trusted him--that my mind had already had him convicted him as a Bubble Yum thief. I tried to contain my elation and nonchalantly said, "Yep. That's what I thought you had in there. Be sure to take them out of your pocket before I wash your shorts cause they might melt in the dryer."

My check-out lady has never had a customer so giddy in answering that I didn't have coupons and preferred plastic to paper. I skipped out the store with my heart rejoicing.

That night when I tucked him in, I told him that one of the things I loved about him was that I could trust him. I asked if he trusted me. He sweetly nodded. When we said bedtime prayers, he grabbed my hand and held it tightly. I was grateful for one more brick laid on that wall of trust--a brick that we put there together.

More Than Lots,
Kathie

Climbing Mountains

2010-05-03T05:00:00.000-07:00

First, thanks to you guys for your kind comments on my post last Monday about the "flowers" blooming in my garden. I'm glad that my experience has encouraged others going through the same parenting challenges. God is good to give us a variety of flowers in our family gardens. Many of you also made me laugh with your responses to my post about math homework. Seems I'm not the only right-brained mommy out there!

Just when I think I'm going to run out of Memorial Box Monday stories, God brings another to mind. By the way, Memorial Box Mondays were started by Linny from A Place Called Simplicity. Click the bloggy button below to read her amazing stories and to link to others.

I'm tickled that my own box of items that remind me of God's faithfulness is filling up quickly.

This story takes place June of 2004. We had just months before lost a full-term baby boy then weeks later lost my mom to cancer. (For new readers, that story is here.) I was about 8 weeks pregnant with God's blessing of a new baby and was experiencing morning/noon/night sickness, so Brad had picked up dinner. I munched on crackers while the rest ate and I debated whether or not I was going to attend a summer Bible study that started that evening. Every day was hard as we grieved the loss of our son and my mom . . . as we looked ahead hoping for our goodness and mercy to follow.

Grief is a hard place to live in. One minute you just want to be alone with God--the next you need the comfort of friends and family. One day you want everyone to treat you like life is normal--the next you want others to understand what it is like to live in your brokenness. It was hard to expect others to "get it" when I wasn't understanding my own needs and thoughts.

I told my husband Brad that I felt like I was climbing a mountain. (My mind understands things better in the context of an analogy. Perhaps that's why I love Jesus' parables.) I wasn't talking about a gradual hike, but the kind that you scale holding on with your fingernails, with your feet carefully searching for just enough of a ledge to provide footing to carry you one more step.

As I talked with him, I could almost see my mountain. I've never been mountain climbing in real life, yet as I talked to him I could imagine what it would feel like to hang on by my fingertips. How scary it must be to climb alone with no wires and no net as back up.

I explained that as I climbed this mountain, I couldn't look down. If I looked down at where I had been, it would be so frightening that I would certainly fall. If I looked up at where I still had to go, it would be so overwhelming I wouldn't have the strength to continue. So I just needed to keep my eyes on the One who gives me strength, on the One who sustains me. My prayer each minute, each hour, each day, was simply that God would give me enough wisdom, courage, and peace to make it another inch up that mountain. I was not going to dwell on what happened yesterday or worry about what might happen tomorrow. I was truly surrendered to His will and I clung to my Savior on the side of that figurative mountain.

After talking with Brad I decided to attend the study that night thinking it would help me conquer one more inch of my imaginary mountain. We had only told a handful of people that I was pregnant again, but I'm sure I looked as green as Kermit the Frog as I sat waiting for our Bible study leader to pass out our new books. I knew nothing about the study except it was called "Extreme Love."

A stack of books made it to my hands. As I took one and passed the rest to the next person, I looked at the cover. I wasn't sure if I should laugh or cry. The photo on that book was just like the mountain I had pictured in my mind. It was only about an hour after describing this mountain to Brad in great detail.

And then it made me think that perhaps this wasn't MY analogy, but God's. I was stunned because not only did God give me the thoughts that would teach me a lesson I so greatly needed, He actually gave me a picture to go with it! What an arrogant ding-a-ling I had been to think that I was just making these analogies up, when all along my Heavenly Father was taking His God-sized thoughts and translating them into a language that I could understand. (It reminds me a daddy bird chewing up the worm before feeding his baby birds.)

This book remained on my bedside table (and now it is in my Memorial Box) and this visual image remained in my mind. It was a constant reminder not to dwell on the pain of the past or worry about what challenges I might encounter in the future, but instead to surrender this journey to Him.

I made it to the top of that mountain by God's grace and the view was spectacular. I've climbed other mountains since then, and although the mountains have been smaller, I still remember to keep my eyes only on Him.

So whatever mountain you might be climbing, remember not to look down at what you have been through or look up at where you still have to go, but just keep your eyes on your Heavenly Father. And know that you never climb alone.

More Than Lots,
Kathie

Sunday Dinner: Romans 12:12, 15:13/"Our Hope Endures"

2010-05-02T22:50:00.000-07:00

Some weeks my "Sunday dinner" becomes a midnight snack. And other weeks, it becomes leftovers reheated the next morning. Due to technical difficulties, this is one of those weeks.
But I don't want to start a week without posting a "dinner" of scripture to meditate on and a "dessert" of song to share.

There are many wonderful scriptures about hope. In fact 1 Corinthians 13 lists hope right up there with faith and love. They are a beautiful trio, although love will always get top billing. Two scriptures about hope that I love are:

"Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer."

Romans 12:12

"May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit."

Romans 15:13

One of the greatest gifts God can give us is the hope that can only be found in Him. During my darkest valleys, I clung to the hope and faith that my story wouldn't end in the valley of death, but in the goodness and mercy that followed. Even now, we are facing a situation that looks hopeless, yet we don't feel despair. For we know that whatever the outcome, our hope is in a Father who can work all things for good.

I remember when we first met Daniel in his orphanage. That first trip he wouldn't smile for the camera. By my last day, he finally cracked a little smile. Over the next two and a half years of visiting, his smile grew to one that started at one ear and ended at the other. Full showing of teeth and gums. What transformed his smile was hope.

The song for this week is Natalie Grant's "Our Hope Endures." It's a song about hope that is rooted in a Father that carries us through the darkest valleys and worst storms. This week, may you have hope that can only be found in Him.

More Than Lots,

Kathie