Carried

I must confess I've been acting like a five year old this week as it pertains to God. There's been some foot-stomping, some finger-wagging, some pleading and screaming, some silent treatment, and much crying in His arms. I am arrogant in my ignorance of His plan--I have learned from the best on how to act when things aren't going how I want them. My teacher is a girl named Ella--one sweet, sassy, stubborn little thing--she reminds me so much of myself in many ways, I just hide my strong will better than she does.

We have dear friends going through devastating loss and unthinkable pain--we are crushed by news that has come since last Thursday . . . a precious friend who lost twin baby girls at 26 weeks after losing  two other babies last year; our neighbors of 15 years who lost a husband/daddy to melanoma; and our close friends whose 12 year old daughter is battling cancer and they are running out of options for her treatment. Our whole family is heartbroken for those we love. I've gone about my days with a lump in my throat. It takes but a whisper of a little voice asking why I am sad and the dam of tears breaks into sobbing.

I can't remember a time I've been this broken since our own loss of our son (that I shared about in my last post) and then weeks later the loss of my mother to cancer.  Perhaps being "acquainted with grief" I have appointed myself some kind of safety-patrol of pain and I'm not liking the answer God is giving these families. But God is teaching me to surrender and to trust--this lesson was taught to me again this week in a hospital room.

When we adopted Ella, we knew her medical needs were significant. I remember our first appointment with the spina bifida clinic shortly after coming home from China. The nurse asked me if I had a medical background--she was trying to make sense of our decision to adopt a girl with special needs. She probably pondered "why else would anyone choose a life of surgeries, therapies, of disabilities?" She seemed alarmed to learn that I was an English major, I still chuckle at the look on her face--some days I too question placing myself on this high dive as I look down into a pool deep with diagnoses I can't pronounce or spell. But you see, we chose Ella, not her medical needs. I think it probably takes adoptive parents who are naive enough to make that leap of faith and know whatever is ahead God will equip us for. We love her exactly as she is and as her mom and dad we are just trying to give her the best quality of life possible.

At every doctor's appointment I brag about her--I tell the doctors that she has already exceeded expectations of what we were told she would be able to do. I share about how strong she has gotten with PT and show how quickly she can move with her walker. I pull out my phone to display photos of her climbing the rock wall at the playground. They humor me and then burst my bubble: "But you do know what her future holds, don't you? As she grows, her upper body will not be able to be supported by her lower body. She will most likely need a wheelchair to get around." The only words I hear are "most likely" which I translate into "we don't know what we are talking about" and in my mind I am determined that my girl will prove them all wrong.

But I do listen when my daughter tells me her short list of big dreams: "I want to run like everyone else on the playground, I want to wear pretty shoes like the other girls,  . . . I want a cell phone." That last one will have to wait, and I do cram those leg braces into modified Mary Janes and fur trimmed boots as best I can, but haven't yet figured out how to make that first request happen. And that makes me feel like I have failed her.

And so a couple months ago her sweet neurosurgeon explained there was one more surgery they could do to help her walk. Her tibia bones rotate out at a 45 degree angle thus causing her feet and hips to compensate for the improper alignment. Without surgical intervention she would never walk with a normal gait. He explained that they would saw the bones under the knees, position them correctly, then reattach with metal plates that would be taken out in a year or so. And as any responsible parent would do, I Googled this procedure to make sure he wasn't making it up and we decided to proceed.

So this past Monday we checked into the hospital for her tibia osteotomy. She wasn't the least bit afraid and announced to everyone she met that we were making her legs better. She was a trooper post surgery and handled the pain like a champion. We had some sweet mother/daughter bonding time with room service and movie night but by Tuesday afternoon we were ready to go home. As I packed, Ella asked if they were ready to take those heavy casts off. I reminded her that she would have those on for several weeks--I saw the disappointment. She had not understood the timetable and wasn't happy about it.  "But I thought I would be able to run when this was over?!" she pleaded. I did my best to put a positive spin on the coming weeks of coloring and play dough and quality snuggle time.

She pulled it together until her consolation prize arrived. The hospital had ordered a wheelchair and they were insisting that we leave in it. It was so big her legs didn't even reach the foot rests. It was black and metal and must certainly have looked ugly in her world that is adorned in pastels and themed with princesses. She has seen wheelchairs many times. Her big eyes watch them come and go at our PT appointments. She sees children completely dependent on them and didn't want any part of it--instead of her seeing the assistance it could be, she saw a huge step backwards after a year of great progress. There was a bait and switch in her mind--she didn't go through all this to leave the hospital in a wheelchair. I told her to imagine it was Cinderella's carriage taking her to the castle.  Major eye roll. Had she known profanity, room 4247 would have suddenly not been appropriate for all audiences. She instead gave me a look that spoke volumes and went into full-blown meltdown as the nurse and I put her in the chair.

I got to handle this little hospital adventure solo because kids under 12 aren't allowed during cold and flu season and Brad was home taking care of the others. I got us in the car and headed home--I was ready to have the home field advantage for the rest of the recovery. Ella drifted off to sleep with a pout still on her face. Mr. GPS guided me to familiar territory then I chose to go home a different way because I knew this time of day which roads and highways to avoid and needed to make a stop at the pharmacy. But he didn't like that I wasn't following his computerized route. He started insisting that I make a U-turn at the next light, or turn right, or turn around. I thought, "Oh great, now I'm getting attitude from an app on my phone!"

I turned the GPS off and drove the rest of the way in silence. I couldn't help but see the parallels between how I was acting toward God and how Ella had acted toward me. She didn't understand why we had put her through such pain--even breaking bones and taking her to scary places--when she was just fine before. She didn't know that it is because we love her and in the long-run it will help her--that we agonized over options and felt this was absolutely best for her. She doesn't know that although 8 weeks of casts seems like an eternity now, it will be nothing in the scope of her entire life. She doesn't know that she now has legs positioned correctly and grafted with metal--she will be stronger than she would have ever been on her own. And then I pondered my own spiritual adoption--chosen in spite of my brokenness, loved even when I am hard to love, ransomed so that I would not be subject to the consequences of my sin, and in my weakness I'm am made whole being grafted and held by God's strength.

When we returned home Tuesday night, we got the crushing news that our friend Kylie was too sick to go on her Make-A-Wish trip to New York City. Her dad's Caringbridge post confirmed it . . . it is without question the most heartbreaking thing I've ever read. We pulled our daughter Ava aside to share the news with her first--Kylie is like a sister to her and Kylie's sister Jenna has been one of Ava's closest friends for many years. I wished I had had words of wisdom. I'm the mama bird who is supposed to chew the big stuff into little bits before passing it along to the babies but the pieces were still too big for her . . . for us all  . . . to digest.

Lately I have acted less like a disgruntled preschooler and more akin to Mr. GPS. I am so sure that my ending to the story is better--that my route is in fact the best way to get from point A to point B--that I will not even consider other options. I know firsthand that His plan is perfect yet I still cry out to God begging for a U-turn, an alternative route, a miracle. I know that God does allow us to go through hard times so that we will draw closer to Him but with these families I just can't wrap my mind around a why--already such faithful believers, they had already pointed others to Him in their trials, they were already glorifying Him in their lives. Wouldn't it certainly bring Him more glory to heal a little girl of cancer?! But His ways are not my ways. His thoughts not my thoughts. But His grace is sufficient and I must rest in that. The only tragedy worse than losing a loved one is losing a loved one and not having the Almighty Comforter to carry you through it. He has been so faithful to me during my own times of sorrow, how can I question the wisdom of His plan. And yet as I type this, I still petition for his healing for this precious young lady.

Many have asked how is Miss Ella? She's doing well. Today she was playing with her toys and looked up at me and said, "I love you, Mom" out of nowhere. It took me by surprise and I needed to hear it so badly that I asked her to repeat what she said. She giggled and covered her face, acting all shy about it before repeating her "I love you." I'm hoping this means all has been forgiven. And the wheelchair? It's still in the trunk of the car and will be going back to the medical supply store very soon. She may need it in the future, but she doesn't need it now. We will happily carry her anywhere she needs to go in the coming weeks, just as I know our Father will carry our friends through this heartbreaking time. There is no burden so great, that He can't bear.

Ella--Not thrilled about the carriage, but happy to be going home!

Our Big God of Little Details

I have a dozen posts in draft form and a million photos worth sharing, but life these days seems to move at the speed of a freight train and there are so few minutes to write. Things are easing up because our adoption paperwork is completely done and our dossier has been in China since March 22. I have new photos of our precious daughter waiting on the other side of the world and I will try to post soon just about our little Xin Xin. But today I want to share a story--just feel I need to write these thoughts down after a week of tragedy and heartbreak--nationally and locally. 

When bad things happen I typically hear the same comments from people who aren't Christians--usually along the lines of: "If there is a God, why did he allow this to happen?" In their minds, there are only three answers: 1) God doesn't exist 2) God exists but didn't care enough to intervene 3) God exists but doesn't have the power to stop such evil.

I've had people personally ask me those questions after the loss of our first son and then weeks later my mother.  My simple answer when my children ask me this question is: "We live in a fallen world. It started with the original sin of Adam and Eve and continues today. We have a God who loves us so much that He sent His Son to die--as a loving sacrifice for our wrongs and as a redemptive act so that we could be pardoned from what we deserve. Just because we are followers of Christ, we aren't exempt from trials. If we never saw evil--if we never felt the consequences of sin--we would never see the need for a Savior. " (A link to a great article with supporting scripture of why our loving God allows suffering is here .) 

But you may notice that Christians go through these trials in a very different manner than those who don't put their hope in Christ. It's remarkable how the same tragedy, the same loss, the same pain can cause one to be angry and bitter and fearful and the other to have peace and joy and hope. And I believe the reason is that our God loves on us in such a way during these times as if to say, "I know you don't understand why I've allowed this to happen and why I didn't answer your prayers as you had wanted, so I am going to care for you in such an intimate and detailed way that you will see that I am with you through this great hurt." 

That is my truth and my testimony. At the time that I should have questioned my faith, my faith has never been stronger. It is simply because of a million little ways that He showed me His great love.

I find it interesting that Christ's first miracle was turning the water to wine at the wedding feast. One of my "When I Get to Heaven" questions has been why didn't Jesus start His ministry with something with a bit more wow--something showing the full extent of His power like raising Lazarus from the dead or healing the blind? But I do think that first miracle speaks volumes that He cares for even our basic needs and wants. I think it also shows us that sometimes we have to wait till we are completely empty before He will fill us--that every last drop must be gone for us to fully appreciate and acknowledge His provision.

I have one such clay pot that has been bone dry for nine years. My mother's name is written on it.

When my mother found out she had advanced cancer, she had one wish--to live long enough for her grandchildren to be old enough to remember her. At the time there were only four--my oldest two daughters and my sister's two girls. Ava was the youngest of this cute quartet. My mom and dad would have "Gigi and Popo" camps with them--sleepovers with movies and ice cream and singing and dancing. My mother always loved the theater and it was a love she passed down to my sister and me and our girls. (Here's a photo of my mom with her granddaughters--Ava is in the middle.)

Her love of the stage began as a little girl. She had a hard childhood and she loved being in plays because it gave her the chance to be someone else with a better life. So when I grew up, there weren't many memories she wanted share so instead she talked about the plays she had been in. Her favorite part was playing Annie in "Annie Get Your Gun." It's not a musical you see often these days, but it is such a sweet story based on the inspiring real life of Annie Oakley. I was perhaps the only child growing up in the 70s that knew every word to "You Can't Get a Man With a Gun." (Here's a copy of the write up from her school newspaper.)

My mother battled cancer for 6 years and her granddaughters knew her well and loved her dearly. But Ava was only 4 when she died and I knew I'd have to be diligent in keeping my mother's memory alive, especially with her. There have been many Christmases and family trips to the beach that I wished we could borrow her from heaven for just a few days.  I've given birth to two children since her passing and ached to have her by my bedside. When we brought Daniel home from Guatemala I grieved that she wasn't at the airport to welcome him home. But the silly thing is, some of the times I've wish her here the most have been when the four oldest granddaughters have been in plays. (The eldest of them is currently in college as a theater major.) 

And so I thought it amazing when the auditions for Ava's school play were announced and, out of all the possible options for the spring musical, the director had chosen . . .  "Annie Get Your Gun." I didn't let Ava know when she auditioned that my mom had the lead role in that same show--didn't want her to feel added pressure and that she had disappointed me if she wasn't cast. There is such talent at her school, she didn't think she would even be considered for the lead, thus there were many happy tears when the cast list was posted and we saw Ava had gotten the same part my mother had in November of 1960. 

(These pics were taken at a dress rehearsal. No flash photography--I promise.)

The play is this week. There have been two wonderful performances already and the last is tonight. I've watched some of it from the balcony--the closest seat in the house to my mama.  I expected to be crying ugly tears throughout this very funny show--but God has taken all the bitter from this wine and left only the sweet. My cup . . .  my clay pot . . . it overflows. God has connected my mother and my daughter in a way that I thought was gone and when Ava takes her final bows I can almost hear her shouting: "Ava, I'm so proud of you!"

They will strike the set minutes after the curtain call. Within an hour the sets and costumes will be taken down and packed away. But my daughter will have shared this with her grandmother--like a family heirloom, this torch has been passed down. And she will look back on this week and never forget that her grandmother was there in spirit.

And I have once again been reminded that my Great God cares about little things like wedding feasts and middle school musicals, that He will love us through every hurt and every trial, and He will fill us till our clay pots overflow. 

He Never Leaves Us in the Valley

Warning: If you stopped by to see cute photos of my kids, get an adoption update, or read a funny story--this isn't one of those posts. But if you ever wondered about the title of my blog, this explains it.

Nine years ago. That's when it began. My love of the 23rd Psalm. My need to savor each verse and digest every word.

Nine years ago I was running errands in my comfy shoes and maternity attire. I stopped at Babies R Us to pick up some goodies for the nursery I was preparing for our third child. Finally some blue in our very pink world. We were over-the-moon excited about this baby boy due on Valentine's Day.

But I noticed that he wasn't kicking. Not uncommon when I was running around, but I went home to rest hoping to feel his mid-afternoon dancing.

Nothing.

I called my doctor in a panic. They said not to worry. He probably had shifted to a position where I couldn't feel him. They told me to drink something sweet and wait. The practice was moving to a new office, that day of all days, but they told me I could go to the hospital if there was no change and see the doctor on call. We dropped our girls off at grandparents and headed to Labor and Delivery. I wasn't interested in waiting for the orange juice to kick in.

Brad and I prayed as we waited to be admitted. I was certain I had watched too many medical dramas and everything was going to be fine and I would feel like a big ding-a-ling for running to the hospital for nothing. I was finally taken to a room for an ultrasound. I was so ready to hear that all was well and return home.

But only silence. The nurses, my husband, the ultrasound. There was none of the "woosh, woosh, woosh" of that heartbeat that I so loved to hear. A nurse ran to get my doctor, she walked in to look at the screen and started screaming, "Jesus, Jesus, Jesus!"  I knew what her profanity meant.

And then I whispered my own, "Jesus, Jesus, Jesus." My Savior knew what I meant.

That was January 8, 2004. On the evening of January 9th, I held my first son. And then my mother who was at the end of a six-year battle with cancer came to meet her only grandson. She held him and sang to him and we cried until there were no tears left. (She joined her Creator and her grandson in heaven eight weeks later.)

When I was alone . . . I talked to God. 

You see, I'd known pain before that day. I had experienced loss. We had had 3 miscarriages, lost multiple beloved grandparents, weathered financial hardship, had moments of personal heartbreak. But this was different. It was too much. In my spiritual immaturity I had conjured up some kind of parameters of what could ever befall me in this fallen world. This exceeded them . . . by a lot. I stared at hospital ceiling tiles wondering if my Heavenly Father was listening and screamed, "But you said you would never give me more than I could handle!"

I had my grandmother's Bible in my hospital room (a story in itself), but no strength to pick it up. It didn't matter--the room was dark and my eyes were swollen shut from crying. My only comfort would come from Scripture I had memorized. 

And one of the passages was Psalm 23. Like any child raised in Sunday school, I knew it well. I got to "even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil. . . . " The tears began to flow until I choked through to the end, "goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life. . . "

Then I realized the 23rd Psalm didn't end in the valley, it always ends with His goodness and mercy! It was then I knew that the same was true for those who believed in Him. I knew He would carry me through this time because He promised joy would follow mourning, spring would follow winter, goodness would follow brokenness. And He promised He would never leave me.

And He hasn't. 

More of Luke's/Brady's story is here if you'd like to empty your box of Kleenex. So much happened in the days and months after our son's loss that never for a minute did I question the wisdom of His plan. So many beautiful things happened that year (and still do today) that I could not deny His presence or His love for me.

And so this morning I awoke knowing it was my son Luke's birthday. I won't lie--nine years later there are still tears. 

But I was hugged by my eight-year-old son Brady--our gift of goodness due exactly one year after our loss. Then greeted by Daniel--our gift of mercy through the miracle of adoption. I watched my oldest blessings help the younger ones and observed Miss Dimpled Cuteness navigate through the backpacks lined up at the door. I remember how my big girls gave me a reason to get out of bed during that very hard year and I see our bonus baby who makes me wake smiling now. I have a precious daughter who waits for us in China and know my cup runneth over. 

A chorus of kids calling me mom kept me from any moments of sadness. I dropped my big kids at school and Victoria and I returned home to take on the day.

One of my favorite songs came on the radio--Chris Tomlin's "Whom Shall I Fear." Victoria likes to "sing" along (think high-pitched Gregorian chant) and we both belted out "I know who goes before me, I know who stands behind. The God of angel armies, is always by my side." We must have been a sight at the red lights as we echoed the lyrics at the top of our lungs, "You are faithful, you are faithful, you are faithful."

I was grateful to have a very normal day in the life of an abnormal family. The kids are in bed and my eyelids are heavy, but I just couldn't let this day end without thanking God for His goodness and mercy. 

There are a lot of hurting people in this world. You might be one of them. I know many have loss so much greater than mine and pain that I can't imagine. But as a mom who once thought she was too broken to be whole again, I want you to know . . . 

HE NEVER LEAVES US IN THE VALLEY.

Much Love,

Kathie

Merry Christmas, Happy Gotcha Day, and Introducing Our New Daughter

It's a rainy Christmas evening in Georgia right now. We have attended five family gatherings in four days, given/received many gifts, eaten way too many cookies, and hugged a lot of necks. As much as I love the crazy fun of Christmas, I really cherish the post-Christmas time as a family where we are just simply enjoying being together.  I'm sitting by the fire now and am grateful for the time to write.

I've seen those cards that say, "Santa, I can explain" and feel like saying, "Bloggy friends, I can explain." I never intended to take such a long break and I have so terribly missed blogging.  But we have had such a wildly busy year, I haven't found much time to update. God has been doing some awesome things in our lives and I know I need to document every detail. I will try to be better about doing so in the coming year.

Not only are we celebrating the birth of our Savior today, we are celebrating Daniel's "gotcha day"this week--the day we brought Daniel home from Guatemala. After two and a half years of praying him home and after Brad and I took turns living 6 weeks with him in a hotel room in Guatemala, having him walk off the plane to see a huge gathering of family and friends to greet him is one of our sweetest Christmas memories. He came home Christmas Eve night three years ago and we are still so grateful for this precious gift to our family. 

He is such a blessing and a joy to our family. Here we are picking out our Christmas tree Thanksgiving weekend. (Some of my kids have asked me not to share our Christmas morning photos of them in their PJs so this will have to do.)

Keeping up with this crew keeps me busy, but my lack of blogging time isn't just because of our life full of baseball, soccer, play practice, carpool.  I've been doing some paperwork . . . yes, adoption paperwork.

This is what our family looks like now . . . .

Olivia (15), Ava (12), Daniel (10), Brady (7), and Victoria (18 months).

But here's a glimpse of what it will look like in the coming year. We hope to have our new daughter home this coming summer.

There's so much that I want to share and will try my best to update in the coming year. The prayers and encouragement of so many of you helped us get through that long journey to bring Daniel home. I would be so grateful to have your support as we bring home the newest member of the Williams family.

Below is the annual Christmas letter that I sent out in those last days before Christmas. (The more children we add to our family, the later these cards seem to get sent.) It tells the story of how God led us to our newest daughter. I wasn't able to send it to many of you who are dear to us--realized a bit too late that our list had grown and I just didn't order enough cards. But know this letter is meant for every person taking the time to read it now.

We hope you and your family are having a wonderful Christmas season celebrating the birth of our Savior!

Dear Family and Friends,

You would think with the end of the world breathing down my neck, I’d be able to get my cards out before the 20^th of December. If you are reading this it means the Mayans and I have about the same sense of timing. If not, I was standing in line at the post office when the asteroid hit.

I could give you a list of things that delayed this Christmas greeting—when you have a family of 7 it increases the number of trips to the doctor for ear infections/cold/flu, the pile of laundry that accumulates, the number of parties and programs to attend. But although there are days that I can hardly keep my eyes open, I truly have never been happier. Life is loud and crazy and busy, but it’s so much fun.

I’ve debated whether or not to even do a Christmas letter this year or in the future. When I started writing these letters, it was the only option to reconnect with friends.  But times have changed. I remember a conversation with my kids about the “olden days” (what they call my childhood years). They were most certainly envisioning me in Little House on the Prairie attire churning butter. Their eyes widened with horror as I told of a world with four TV channels and no computer or Internet. Their response was “How did you get a connection for your cell phones or iPods?” I informed them that our phone had a 6-foot spiral cord and music came from a boom box that weighed more than the average 7 year old. They uttered declarations that I had the “worst childhood ever.”

When my kids are grown and sending out their own Christmas cards, I’ll tell them about my years of taking photos with a camera that had two settings—flash working/flash not working. I’ll share about waiting for film to be developed hoping for one decent picture, explain that cropping was only done by farmers, and if you asked where you could find a memory card you would be sent to Hallmark. And then I will tell about Christmas letters—little updates between friends they didn’t see often. And then they will ask, “But what about Facebook? Instagram? Twitter?” Upon realization that I survived those critical years without social media, they will tweet that their mother had the “worst young adult life ever.”

Twelve years ago, I started writing these letters like many of you. Each year we get fewer—I guess they seem unnecessary in a world where we can all see every detail of each other’s lives the minute it happens. This piece of paper doesn’t have a “like” button or a comment section, can’t be reposted or go viral. (Unless you sneeze on it.) It is an old-fashioned Christmas letter and yet, when I find one tucked inside my Christmas card, it’s a treat.

Our year has been so full that I don’t even know where to start. It has been such a heartbreaking time for so many that it makes me feel like all I need to report is that we are grateful for another year. There isn’t a day that goes by that I’m not overwhelmed by God’s grace, grateful for the health of our children, awed by God’s provision in every area of our lives.

There will be a new member of the Williams family in the coming year and she deserves an introduction. Thus far I haven’t posted anything about her because I’ve been up to my eyeballs in adoption paperwork since August, but also because I just simply didn’t know how to share the news since to many of you an additional child is the last thing our family seems to need.

This story starts May of 2010. Daniel had been home a year and a half and was doing so well. We just love that sweet boy and can’t imagine our lives without him. But I was haunted by the children we left behind. As Daniel said good-bye to his friends at the orphanage, children came to me in tears pleading, “Take me, too.” Guatemala is now closed for adoption but there are millions in other countries who desperately need a mom and dad and we can’t forget that fact.

We started our adoption paperwork and by October had completed our homestudy. We even had a precious little girl on hold and were about to submit our documents to be officially matched when we found out I was pregnant with Victoria.  God provided another family for her (a sweet story in itself) and it was clear that we needed to put our adoption plans on hold. While we were disappointed to have missed out on the little girl in China, we were so grateful for this precious new life God had granted us. Victoria has brought our family so much joy--what a precious gift she is to us all.

As our life was returning to a new normal, plans to add to our family were indefinitely on hold. We would occasionally look at the photolistings of children waiting for a family--we’d pick out specific ones to pray for and rejoice when it showed they had been chosen. But there was one little girl posted last summer by Lifeline Christian Services. It wasn’t her photo that won us over; it was a video they had posted. Although she can barely walk, she was pushing her buddy in a doll stroller. She stopped and politely answered questions she was asked and waved at the camera. There was something so sweet and so familiar about her that we were smitten. Months passed and she still wasn’t matched with a family.

In August Brad gave me his blessing to inquire about her. Her agency told us she was still waiting and sent a copy of her file to review. I didn’t want to admit that we were just “browsing”—that this was not a good time for us to adopt. I looked over what I thought would be a basic account of her medical history. What it turned out to be was a love story.

As most of you know, in China they have a one-child policy. Most want a son—they carry on the family name and take care of their parents when they are old. For years this caused the abandonment of thousands of healthy baby girls—many who have been adopted by families around the world. But as ultrasounds have become available for these expecting couples, many of these unwanted girls are now aborted instead of abandoned. The orphanages in China are still overflowing, but now it is with children with medical needs (both boys and girls) born to parents who did not have access to medical care and didn’t know the child they were expecting was not the preferred gender and had medical issues.

Some of these needs are minor and easily corrected, some are more severe, but all of these needs pose a problem. Many families are very superstitious and consider these defects a curse. Others simply can’t afford the lifetime of medical care that child will require. These special needs babies are usually abandoned at birth.

But what I read in this child’s file was a different story. This baby girl was born May 2009 with spina bifida. Her medical needs were obvious from the very first time they held her and perhaps she wasn’t the son they had longed for—but they kept her anyway. Perhaps there was pressure from family members to abandon her immediately before they got too attached—not to delay the inevitable and go ahead and try for another child. Still, they kept her anyway. Not only did they love on her for a year, they scraped together enough money to get a surgery that she most likely would not have gotten in the care of an orphanage. And then knowing they could not provide the long-term care she needed, they made the heartbreaking decision to give her up.

This little girl’s file told of the busy bus station in which she was abandoned; it detailed the beautiful white outfit adorned with flowers that her mother had dressed her in for the very last time. Both evidence that this child was dearly loved and their hope was that someone would find her and rescue her. The tears began to flow as I read her story—for I, too, have held a baby that I knew I wouldn’t be able to parent on this earth and wished for just one more day. I, too, have lost my mother and imagine the ache in that baby girl’s heart as she looked around the bus station of strangers wondering where her loving parents had gone. I, too, have a one-year-old daughter and would be beyond broken to have to make such a choice out of love. And then I saw when she was abandoned—May 2010. The very same time my longing to add another child began. I felt a connection that I couldn’t undo--as if our lives were already intertwined.

I flipped through the pages to see the end of this story. She was found and taken to a local orphanage. She has spent the last two and a half years there—yet she was still waiting. I couldn’t walk away from her knowing we had the ability to change the ending of her story. And to be honest, we feel we need her more than she needs us. Our sweetest times as a family have been during times of brokenness . . . during times of complete dependency on God. We have gotten to a place of green pastures and still waters and are starting to forget those days where He carried us through the darkest valleys. It is our turn to do some carrying. We look forward to what God will teach us as we care for her needs and we are honored to be this little girl’s new family. Oh how proud I am of our children for how excited they are about their new little sister. How grateful I am to have a husband that saw her video and said, “Let’s go get her.”

I must admit that in this world of sorrow and uncertainty, it has been our efforts to bring this little girl home that give us hope and purpose. Just as the wise men must have certainly looked foolish for the years of searching for the promised Messiah, we must certainly look foolish to many for adding another child to our family. But only by seeking Him, will you find Him (Matt.7:7) and we see evidence of His guiding hand as we obey His leading.

This Christmas and always, we are grateful for a Child born to change the ending of our story. Thanks for your love and support for so many years. May you seek Him and find Him in the coming year.

With Much Love from the Williams Family

We Wish You a Merry Christmas . . .

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!

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

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

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