Mom's Last Words

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

Traveling Mercies

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

Climbing Mountains

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

Tulips and Daffodils: Lessons from the Garden

My thoughts today are rooted in the "God, you are amazing" thoughts I shared yesterday. There are so many lessons to be learned from nature, from watching a caterpillar change into a butterfly to realizing that a pruned plant comes back stronger and more beautiful. His creation not only celebrates His majesty, His creation teaches us His truth.

Today I'm going to share about God's greatest parenting lesson to me. (Other "Lessons from the . . ." can be seen here.) To do so, I have to share some personal things about one of my daughters, but she has given me her blessing. But if you know Olivia personally, I ask that you be respectful with what I am about to share.

Although this is a lesson learned through God's amazing creation, I have two items in my Memorial Box that remind me of this lesson from Him. I need this daily reminder of how uniquely gifted all my children are. By the way, if you are new here, Memorial Box Monday was started by Linny at A Place Called Simplicity. She has a weekly feature where she shares her amazing stories of how God has provided in her life. Collect your own items that remind you of a time God has answered a prayer or provided a need to remember His faithfulness in your life. (And click the bloggy button below to read her wonderful stories and link to others.)




God has thus far blessed me with two daughters. Olivia (now 13) was born in April, just about the time that my tulips bloom each year. Ava (now 10) was born in March and my daffodils open every year on her birthday.

I plant my tulip and daffodil bulbs each fall knowing their birthday flowers will celebrate their special days with them. But when I started this tradition, I had no idea what God would teach me through their flowers.

You see, Ava is very much like a daffodil.

You only have to plant her once and the joy she brings multiplies each year with little effort. (Don't get me wrong. She's a kid and she's a sinner and is certainly not perfect.) Like the daffodil bulbs, you can plant her sideways or upside down, yet she always seems to push through the dirt and sprout in any condition.



Although she thrives in full sun, you can find her in the shade making the best of the situation. Life comes easy for her. She learns things quickly, makes friends easily, dances through life without a care, and announces every day is the best day of her life.



Like the daffodil, you can see her beauty and smell her fragrance a mile away. Oh, what a blessing she is to me.

But I've also been blessed with Olivia (now 13).



And she is a tulip in many ways. Elegant, tender, delicate, unique. But tulips require more care and effort. You have to plant them in just the right depth, fertilize them with everything from bone meal to cow manure, and make sure to have just enough sun to grow but not too much to dry them out.



And in Georgia, the summers get too hot for the tulip bulbs to multiply so you have to plant the tulips again each fall.

In the same way, Olivia needed more care than many kids. She came into this world a perfect bundle of joy, with only one problem. She is what some term "highly sensitive." It simply means she processes what she hears, smells, sees, and touches differently.

We could tell in her first days that the world she lived in overwhelmed her. Things that normally soothed babies caused her distress. We couldn't turn on a ceiling fan or run the vacuum if she was anywhere close. Everything seemed to be too loud, too bright, too dark, too tight. She was our princess and the pea and some days as her mom were overwhelming.

As she grew, so did her challenges. Something simple like going to the grocery store required a day's worth of patience. Her clothing never felt "right." The labels in the shirts, the elastic in the underpants, the seams in her socks (oh, the seams in her socks)--all made her feel and react as if she had roaches crawling all over her.

At the grocery store she would be overwhelmed by the number of people, by the feel of the plastic seat in the buggy, by the noise and the smells, by row after row of products, by the cold in the frozen food section. By the time we made it to the check-out, she was coming unglued. So was I.

If you think the grocery store trip sounds difficult, you don't even want to know of the tears and the rage that preceded going to the doctor, having her picture taken, attending a birthday party, or arriving for the first day of school. Stressful situations seemed to heighten her sensory overload. The only thing that matched her extreme sensitivity was her strong will.

There were many years that Brad and I felt like failures as parents. People would comment. People would advise. No one understood. Until we had Ava, we didn't realize that all children weren't like this. It was a relief to discover that this wasn't the norm and there were things we could do to help her cope, still there were many days and nights that I would cry out to God asking Him to show me how to be her mother.

I'll never forget the fall of 2003. I was very pregnant with our third child, my mom was battling cancer, and Olivia was going through a rough patch with her behavior (I'm sure the stress of our life contributed to it). I needed easy in a world in which everything was so hard. I had bought a bunch of tulip bulbs weeks before but hadn't gotten around to planting them. I didn't need to plant Ava's daffodils that year because those from past years would surely multiply. But those silly tulips. I had to get them in the ground before winter hit, yet there was no motivation to do so except the knowledge that Olivia would be sad to have no birthday flowers that spring.

I was grumbling to Brad about the bulbs. He is not a gardener and just didn't understand the big deal and why I should go to such trouble for this high maintenance flower. I explained that, yes, they were a pain to plant, that the squirrels would certainly eat half of them, that once they bloomed they would only grace the world with their beauty a couple days.

But this flower is a masterpiece.



It looks like it is spun from silk. The colors God makes them in have an intensity that is like no other flower in the garden. And each morning this perfect cup of petals opens and reveals a handpainted kaleidoscope design. When I look at my tulips, I rejoice in my amazing Creator.



The last thing I said to Brad in my closing statements of why the bulbs must be planted was: "They are worth the trouble. I can't imagine spring without them."

And then it hit me that my little girl born with the tulips was my own living tulip bulb. She would need more patience, more effort, more time, more prayer. But she is worth it. And when she blooms . . . there is nothing more spectacular.

The first time she rode her bike, her first time to swim without water wings, her first time to sing on stage. A long list of victories that to some may not seem like a big deal, but for a child that has to overcome how the shoes feel before even trying to jump over that hurdle, these moments are breathtaking. These moments bring me to tears. These moments make me grateful that God has planted both daffodils and tulips in my family garden.

I planted those tulips that fall and each day forward I have spoken words over Olivia so that she doesn't forget for a minute that she is worth it. We've had times that I just kept telling myself "Hang in there. You're planting bulbs." But now, we see the flowers beginning to open. It is nothing short of glorious.

In sharing this story, I don't want you to think I am labeling my children as easy or difficult. Children can become what they are told they are, so I'm very careful with my words. Besides, we all have our moments and stages of being tulips and daffodils. Lately Ava has had her fair share of tulip moments and Olivia is blooming so beautifully that I have almost forgotten how back-breaking those years of planting bulbs were.

For example, she got braces recently. Apparently one of the wires was too long and was tearing up the side of her mouth. When we went for a follow-up appointment, the orthodontist was horrified and said, "Why didn't you let us know about this?" Her response was, "It really wasn't so bad and I didn't want to bother anyone about it." What?!!! This can't be the same girl who used to scream about the seams on her socks.

She also got on a bus at 5:30 a.m. last week for a school trip to a place she had never been. She woke herself up at 4:00 a.m. and packed her own things. All without tears or tantrum. As I hugged her good-bye, I said, "Girl, you are amazing!" And in my mind I thought, "God, you are amazing."

In my Memorial Box I have a silk tulip and a silk daffodil. With the recent adoption of Daniel, I need this reminder that all my children are gifts, even on those days when we are "planting" and our backs hurt and our hearts ache. It also reminds me how grateful I am that God gave us a variety in our garden. Had He given us a match set of daffodils, I honestly don't think we would have taken that leap of faith to adopt. I think we would have been too afraid of the unknown in parenting a child of another type of flower, who might have challenges or special needs, one who might have behaviors to unlearn and wounds to heal.

Our years of parenting Olivia through the hard times prepared us to parent Daniel. He had some meltdowns when we were living in Guatemala and I think he was shocked when I'd give him that "seen it already" look and calmly addressed the issue. He tested us soon after he came home, only to figure out that his Mom and Dad had Phd's in unconditional love.

One morning several weeks ago, we arrived in the school parking lot where our daughters attend for Ava's poetry recital. Daniel was overwhelmed by the size of the building and the crowd of strangers waiting inside. He started crying and refused to get out of the car. It reminded me of Olivia when she was little and we'd arrive at a birthday party and sit in the driveway and she would cry that she just couldn't go in. But instead of becoming frustrated with Daniel, I knew to pray over him. His flower is different from Olivia's (I'll share about him later this week), but the care instructions are similar.

When he gives us a "parenting opportunity" we respond with, "Bring it on, buddy, because our gardening gloves are on and we are used to the smell of manure."

I share this story today, because I know many of you may be parenting flowers of various kinds and some days it is hard. I have dear friends who are parenting children with severe physical and developmental challenges, and although my experience is on a much smaller scale, I want them to know that the Master Gardener will give them wisdom and patience when it is winter and it seems springtime will never come to their garden.

I've also met many remarkable moms and dads, many through their blogs, who have chosen to adopt a child with major medical and developmental needs. Chosen, not in spite of their needs, but because of them. Many of these children have attachment issues, but these parents can enjoy the fragrance of their rose and the beauty of each blossom in spite of the thorns. Some children may never walk or may need a lifetime of surgeries, medicine and therapy. These are the gorgeous blooming vines supported by trellises.

Some children may never live independently as adults. These parent gardeners know that these plants will need to be brought in for winter so the frost doesn't hurt them or may even need to grow at the safety of the windowsill. (I'm thinking of spectacular orchids.) Some children have illness and conditions that may mean they will not live to adulthood. These are the annuals planted each year, knowing their beauty will last but a season.

If you are one of these amazing gardeners adopting a special needs child, I understand your calling and celebrate your obedience to care for flowers that others might think require too much care. And if anyone questions why you would spend thousands of dollars and travel halfway across the world to bring them home, explain that these exquisite blossoms won't survive in the rough conditions of an institution and your garden is the perfect climate for this rare treasure.

So today, if you are planting bulbs but wonder if you will ever see them bloom, go to the One who entrusted you with these flowers. He will provide all you need to care for your tulips and daffodils and everything in between.

But for now, water them with prayer, warm them with the sunshine of your love, fertilize them with scripture, and tell them that they are God's amazing Masterpiece . . . for they are worth it.

Much Love,
Kathie (most days a tulip)

The Waiting Room

The hardest part of my job as mom is taking my kiddos to the doctor. I had to take the boys this morning--an adventure that involved shots and finger pricks. They were absolutely perfect till the needles made an appearance. And then there were screams that made the poor people in the waiting area think the doctor was amputating limbs without anesthesia. They are fine now, watching Curious George sipping on some milkshakes they got for being brave.

After spending last week at the eye doctor, Saturday night in the emergency room with Daniel's broken arm, and this morning at the pediatrician, a story came to mind for Memorial Box Monday. This beautiful idea comes from Linny at A Place Called Simplicity. She encourages her readers to collect items that trigger a memory of God's goodness and faithfulness in their lives. Click the bloggy button below to read her wonderful stories and link to other readers' Memorial Box stories. (By the way, while you're there read Linny's posts from last week called "How to Hear God Speak." Good stuff.)




Every time my kids cry at the doctor I tell them "I wish I could take the pain for you." It makes me think of our Heavenly Father. He loves us so much more than we can imagine. He understands our pain and grief and sorrow because Christ carried it on the cross. I have felt moments where I know God is right beside me saying, "I wish I could take this pain for you . . . in fact, I HAVE taken this pain for you."

The story that comes to mind today took place in April of 2004. Many of my Memorial Box stories happened in the year 2004 (the year of our "valley of the shadow of death") or during our two and a half year adoption of Daniel. God's hand is most evident during times of darkness, His faithfulness most evident during times of trial. And although seas weren't parted that morning six years ago, few times have I ever felt God's peace and presence more.

For those of you who are new readers, January 9, 2004, we lost a baby boy 36 weeks into my pregnancy. Eight weeks later we lost my mom to cancer. (The full story of my mom and Baby Luke is here.) Three months after losing our son, we were blessed with another pregnancy (there's a Memorial Box story there that I'll share another day). Although we were grateful for this new life, I can't tell you how difficult it was to start again down the same road that had ended in such pain. I can't explain how hard it was to go from third trimester back to first.

We had decided to stick with our doctor and midwives. Although our last pregnancy had ended tragically, they had been wonderful and already knew my history. I was just a few weeks pregnant with this new life and went to the doctor for an early visit to check my hormone levels. (I've also had three first-trimester miscarriages so they were watching me closely.)

When I walked into that doctor's office, it was overwhelmingly painful. The waiting room was full of very pregnant women and new moms with their newborns. Just months before I had been in that waiting room feeling my baby kick--absolutely giddy that he would soon be in my arms. But that day my arms ached with emptiness.

I approached the window to sign in and the receptionist remembered me. The staff knew me by name because with all my high-risk issues, I was a frequent patient. But apparently she didn't know we had lost our son because she asked, "Did you bring your baby with you for your postpartum visit?!" I didn't know how to answer without turning into a puddle of tears. I leaned over and whispered, "Our son didn't make it." I know she felt so badly and she quickly apologized, but it was salt in a wound that was already causing excruciating pain.

I found a seat as far away from the other patients as possible. I began to pray for God's strength and peace. I felt like a little kid who had walked up the ladder on the high dive. As I stood on the platform looking below at another nine months of this, I just wanted to run. I told God that I just couldn't do it. I needed to feel His peace and His presence or I was going to walk out of the doctor's office.

This was also just weeks after losing my mom. Oh, how I wished I could have her with me that day. Holding my hand, filling out forms, telling me everything would be okay. She would have given me a pep talk. She would have answered the receptionist's question. She would have found something funny in all this awful to make me laugh. She would have played a game of "eye spy" like we did when I was little to take my mind off things. She would have prayed with me.

I picked up a magazine and pretended to read it. Then a lady came over and sat next to me. She was obviously not pregnant and was probably in her mid-50's so I guessed she was there for an annual visit. She simply said, "Are you having a rough morning?" I nodded trying to hold back my tears. (Later in the bathroom I discovered that my chest and neck had broken out in hives from the stress, so she didn't need to be a detective to see that I wasn't glowing like the other patients.)

I didn't want to invite her to my pity-party for one (and didn't want to download my sorrows on this poor lady who was about to encounter the stirrups herself), so all I offered as response was, "I'm a high-risk patient so these visits are stressful." She leaned over and put her hand on mine and said, "It's going to fine. I just know it." I thanked her for her kindness.

She was so calm, so reassuring, and I was so grateful for this soft-spoken stranger who was perhaps being obedient to God letting her know I could use a friend. She sat next to me until her name was called. And that's when I started laughing at God's sense of humor. The lady sitting with me had the same name as my mom--Dixie.

Now, I've read a lot of baby name books over the years, and Dixie has never been in the top 10 on any list. In fact, the only other Dixie I've ever known was the actress Dixie Carter. Had my mom been given a common name, I would have written off this encounter as coincidence, but to hear my mom's name called out that morning was that little reassurance that I needed that God was with me and perhaps even she was with me in spirit.

The next nine months were so hard, but from then on I had such peace that God was by my side in the waiting rooms, the examining rooms, and the delivery room. So in my Memorial Box I'm going to put a "Hi, My Name is Dixie" name tag. It's a reminder that God is with us when we feel the most alone. When we are the most afraid. When we need His comfort and peace to remind us that not only would He take our burden from us . . . He already did.

More Than Lots,
Kathie

Grandmother's Gift

Okay. A quick heads up that you may need Kleenex for this one. I've kept things light the past few Memorial Box Monday posts, but today I want to share about the most special treasure in my possession that isn't breathing. (Memorial Box Mondays were started by Linny at A Place Called Simplicity. It's a way to remember God's goodness and provision in your life by collecting items that remind you of a need met or a prayer answered. Click the bloggy button below to read her precious stories and link to others.)



My dear grandmother (my mom's mother) was truly special. She endured a life of hardship and heartache by God's grace and through prayer. In fact, she prayed so much that everywhere she lived, she made indentations in the carpet where her knees had been. I share more about her and the impact she still has on my family's life here.

Well, many years ago she moved from her house to an assisted living community. As she was trying to streamline her worldly belongings she called to ask what I might want of her possessions someday when she went to be with the Lord. She mentioned her china, her silver, her jewelry, . . . all things that had monetary and sentimental value, yet the one thing I wanted wasn't offered. I figured she had already set it aside for one of her five children or many grandchildren and I felt selfish even asking about it. But . . . I mustered up the courage with, "Grandmother, if someone hasn't already asked, I'd love to have your Bible."

I heard crying on the other end. "Really, that's all you want?" she asked. I assured her that it would be one of the greatest treasures of my life and something that would be cherished for generations to come. She finished the phone call with, "Consider it yours."

Several years passed. I remember another special phone call. We live in Georgia and she lived in Alabama, although we visited as often as we could, we used the phone to keep in touch. It was Mother's Day 2003 and I called to wish her a happy one. This conversation was sweetly different though. She told me how much she loved me, how proud she was of me, what a blessing I had been in her life. Oh my, I'm crying just thinking about it.

We talked about my mom who was battling cancer. We reminisced about our recent trip to Disney World and looked forward to her coming to visit the next weekend. When we said our I love yous and good-byes, I had no idea that it would be the last time I'd ever speak to her this side of heaven. But I think somehow her spirit knew.

Days later we got a phone call from my dear uncle. My grandmother had missed an activity at the assisted living home. They got concerned and opened her apartment when she didn't answer. She was a very young 82 years and had never been sick a day in her life, so we were surprised to find out that she had gone to be with the Lord. But we weren't surprised by how they found her. She was kneeling in prayer by her bed with her Bible open.

We went to Birmingham for a beautiful celebration of her life. After the funeral, family gathered at her apartment to divvy up her belongings. My precious aunt pulled me aside and said, "Grandmother Little asked me to give this to you." Then she placed in my hands my Grandmother's treasured Bible. I couldn't believe after all those years, my grandmother had remembered my request. I couldn't believe that I had been given such a special gift. I wept all kinds of ugly tears.

This wasn't just any Bible that my grandmother had dusted off to take to church on Sundays.



This pink Bible was her "love letter" from God. She had read it so many times that the gold leafing had been rubbed off the edge of the pages. She had written so many notes in it that it is hard to find a page without her handwriting. She had cried so many times over these verses that sustained her, that on many pages the ink had smeared.

And then my aunt showed me the page the Bible was open to when she died. When Grandmother's spirit left her, her face hit the page and tore it over Revelation 4. The scripture passage has the subheading "Around God's Throne." This is the passage that the song I posted yesterday is based on. And in it you'll find the beautiful words of those who will worship around the throne of God:

"Holy, holy, holy, Lord God Almighty, which was, and is, and is to come. Thou art worthy, O Lord, to receive glory and honor and power: for that hast created all things, and for thy pleasure they are and were created." (From verses 8 and 11.)




My grandmother wrote at the end of that chapter "How wonderful!"



I believe she was so overcome by the thought of worshipping around God's throne that she told her Creator she was ready to go. I also believe she wanted to be in heaven to welcome my mom when she joined her at the feet of Jesus nine months later.

What I didn't know when I asked my grandmother for her Bible years earlier was that this wasn't going to be just an item I would treasure, this Bible would be my companion through the darkest time in my life. The coming year was the deepest valley I've ever walked--my "valley of the shadow of death."

This wasn't just a gift from my grandmother--I believe it was God's gift to me. It was that Bible that I read for many months during my mom's steady decline as she battled cancer. It was that Bible that I read during my difficult pregnancy of our third child. It was that Bible that I read after the sudden death of a friend and the split of our church. It was that Bible that Brad brought to the hospital when we delivered a baby that would never cry. It was that Bible that I read at my mother's bedside in her last days. (The story of Baby Luke and my mom is here.)

It wasn't just her love letter from God. Because of all she had written in the margins and underlinings of all that fed her spirit, it was also her love letter to me.

I currently keep it in a place out of reach of little hands, but it will be the centerpiece of our Memorial Box. (For now I have a little pink child's Bible holding its place there.) It reminds me of the legacy of faith and prayer passed down from my grandmother. It reminds me of God's provision during the hardest time in my life--His Word was never more alive, scripture was never more comforting, His faithfulness never more evident.

But this Bible also convicts and inspires me. If I had died in 2003, the Bible I would have left behind looked in embarrassingly good condition. The spine wasn't broken, margins missing written notations, pages free of tears. I want to leave a legacy behind just like my grandmother. I want the Bible that I carry through my days to be evidence of a life that glorified God. I want my Bible to be worthy of being placed in the Memorial Box of one of my children or grandchildren.

And I want my life to be a living reply to His beautiful love letter to me.

Truly Blessed,
Kathie

A Tale of Two Kitties

I have just enough time today to share a quick story. God has answered some amazing prayers in our lives over the years and I like to remember His goodness by keeping a Memorial Box. Linny from A Place Called Simplicity started this great idea of collecting items that remind of God's faithfulness and provision. (Click the bloggy button below to read her stories and link to other MBMs shared by her readers.)





This story takes place about the same time as the story I shared last week (click here to read that story and past Memorial Box stories), November 2008. Although at the time we were a year and a half into our adoption of Daniel, I'd still have those middle of the night panic moments of, "What are we doing adopting an older child that we know little about?!" We had visited many times and knew he was so precious, yet I had been reading a lot of books on older child adoption and attachment disorders. Some of the experiences others had described made me concerned about challenges that might be ahead.

If I had been one of Jesus' disciples, I'm afraid that I probably would have been Thomas. Yep, I would have been "Doubting Kathie" asking to see the nail-scarred hands. I was praying for peace and for a sign that Daniel would fit beautifully into our family. My biggest concern was how Brady and Daniel would interact. We would be messing up the birthorder and thus far they had not met. I worried that Daniel would be too rough not understanding that he is older and bigger than his brother. I worried that he might have been abused and might act out that abuse in our home. I worried about the boys sharing a room that for 5 years had been just Brady's. But I also worried about Daniel not feeling like a true member of our family.

And while all this was going on, we were thinking about getting a pet. We had previously had an old cat who passed away several months before. Although I loved Yogi Bear dearly (the old man kitty), he had not been the world's best pet. Since he had been in our home several years before we had kids, he was afraid of them. He'd hide under our bed all day and would not surface till the kids went to bed. He also had "potty issues." Sometimes he'd use the litter box and other times he'd relieve himself on the carpet or a pile of laundry. He also had frequent hairballs. He seemed to time his projectile offerings for when we had dinner guests. Bon appetit!

So, when Yogi Bear went on to his reward (and we are thinking that his "reward" wasn't too great), Brad was thrilled to be done with shedding, furballs, and potty presents. Yet our kids wanted a new pet so badly.

We found a cute little tree frog thinking this might meet the need to have something to care for. But when I went to PetsMart to buy it food and they told me it would only eat live crickets, I got the attention of every customer and canine with my, "Are you kidding me?!"

So I found myself on weekly trips to feed our little green friend. And often these trips would coincide with Pet Adoption Days. Do you see where I'm going with this? One post-PetsMart trip left my three kiddos sulking in the backseat. Brady summed up their feelings with, "We don't have a doggie. We don't have a kitty cat. We don't have nuffin'."

That night I had a heart-to-heart with Brad asking if we could get a pet other than Pickles the frog. And after negotiations worthy of a Nobel Peace Prize, he finally gave his blessing to get another pet. One that was potty trained, didn't make noise, was completely hairless, and could be returned if we had any trouble. (I'm guessing we were in the market for a bald mime.)

The next Pet Adoption Day, we were there bright and early. And within minutes the girls found an adorable little calico kitten. We all took turns holding her and with her sweet little meows, game over . . . she won our hearts. Even Brad's, although she broke two of his criteria (she had fur and made noise).

The little kitten's "foster mom" told us that we could reserve her but couldn't bring her home for two weeks until she was big enough to be spade. It worked out nicely because I was leaving for my trip to Guatemala the next week and we could get her when I returned.

Then, the foster mom put the little calico back in the cage with another cat. (The girls had already named her Snickerdoodle because she was the color of a sugar cookie with spots of chocolate and caramel.) And the other cat was so happy to see his friend that he licked her head and started purring. We assumed the big kitty was our kitty's mom but the foster mom filled us in on the story.

"Many think that Snuffles is her mom, but he is just one of the other cats I'm caring for till I can find him a home. I'm not sure why, because they aren't biologically related, but there is a special bond between them that I can't explain. Although I'm fostering several cats, these two are always together. It's a shame I can't find Snuffles a home."

At this point Brad knows he is in big trouble. He looks at his wife and trio of children listening to the story. Then he looks inside the cage of two kitties and one big explosion of fluff. The foster mom continues, "Few people are interested in Snuffles because even though he's only a year old, he's almost full grown. Most want a small kitten. I found him several months ago in a dumpster behind a grocery store. Someone threw him away like garbage. In spite of his rough start, he's one of the sweetest cats I've ever had."

Her words reminded me so much of Daniel. A boy thrown away like garbage, yet one of the sweetest children I had ever met. A child that because of his age is typically hard to place. Statistics show that a boy over the age of five has only a 20 percent chance of being adopted. And as Snuffles and Snickerdoodle snuggled together, I kept hearing the words, "Although these two aren't biologically related, there's a special bond between them."

Brad saw my teary eyes and said, "You want both of them, don't you?" I nodded. The kids nodded. Praise God that my husband is such a softy. We were giddy filling out the paperwork to make them ours. Ava commented, "Oh, how I wish Daniel's adoption was this easy!"

We brought them both home the day after I returned from Guatemala. And the foster mom wasn't exaggerating--these two cats are so sweet together. They usually sleep together, always eat together, and often bathe each other. It gave me a glimpse of the kind of sweetness that our children might have once Daniel came home. It was that "sign" I needed and gave me peace that everything would be okay.

We have a million photos of the cats, but here are are few that are proof of how close they are to each other.









And here's one of the kids with them the Christmas before Daniel came home.




Fast forward a year. Daniel finally comes home and meets the kitties for the first time. He had never seen a domestic cat and called them "little lions" for the first few weeks. The cats were apprehensive of him at first. That first month home I washed Daniel's hair with tea tree oil in case of lice. (He had had lice in the orphanage, thus I nuked dandruff. Not taking any chances. FYI, tea tree oil is great for killing those suckers.) It must smell like cat nip because the cats were all over him after his baths. He'd exclaim, "Look, Mama, they love me!" Soon they truly did love him.

This is Daniel with Snuffles.




He loves them dearly. He worried about them when we went out of town and loves to care for them.


This is Daniel with Doodle.


A few weeks after coming home, he asked why Snuffles is bigger than Doodle since they are twins. I explained that they aren't twins and aren't even from the same mommy. I saw the wheels turning and wondered what he was thinking. He said, "They must be brother and sister because they love each other so much." I added, "Well they are 'brother and sister' because they are in the same family." Then all kinds of fireworks went off in his head and he said, "Like me and Olivia, Ava, and Brady!!! We love each other because God put us all in the same family!"

I know Brad would agree that Daniel's realization that love makes a family made cleaning out the litter box well worth it. (Although I don't have the heart to tell Brad that the kids are now praying that we'll get a dog. ) And just like our cats, you'll often find our four kids snuggled up reading a book, playing together, just being silly--evidence that you don't have to be biologically related to have that special bond.

We plan to put two kitty figurines in our Memorial Box as a reminder that God makes families, not just by birth, but with love. What a wonderful God to provide this life lesson for a mom who needed peace that her children would have a special bond and for a child who needed reassurance that he truly belongs.

More Than Lots,
Kathie

Memorial Box Monday--No-Sew Blessings

One of the best ways to remember God's faithfulness in my life is something called a Memorial Box. A memorial box is where you collect items that trigger a memory of a time God answered a prayer or provided for a need. This wonderful idea is from Linny at A Place Called Simplicity. She has a weekly feature where she shares her amazing stories of how God has provided in her life. By the way, while you're there, read her post from yesterday. Beautifully convicting. (To read Linny's precious stories and link to other reader's stories, click the bloggy button below.)



I've shared two "Memorial Box Mondays" in the past (you can read here), but this story is a bit different from the others because instead of God answering the prayer directly, He answered this prayer through the help of others.

This story takes place in November of 2008. We were nearing a year and a half into our adoption of Daniel and I was days away from visiting him at his orphanage in Guatemala. Brad and I visited as often as we could so he would know we hadn't forgotten about him.

Well, with all those visits, not only had I grown very attached to my sweet son, we had also grown to love many children from his orphanage. So when my friend Anna (who adopted 2 children from the same children's home) organized a mission trip to do an "extreme dorm makeover" for a dorm housing 27 girls ages 8 to 10, I wanted to be Ty Pennington, umm, without the facial hair.

Well, two days before leaving for this trip I got an e-mail from a friend already down there. She wrote, "Kathie, it's cold and the kids don't have coats." (Although Guatemala is in Central America, the orphanage is in the mountains and it can get quite cold especially at night.) After finally surrendering that there was no way to fit 450 coats in my two suitcases for all the kids at the orphanage (much less pay for them), I bought coats for Daniel and the two girls we sponsor. But oh how I wished I could do more.

It was the girls in "V's" dorm (the older girl that we sponsor) that I ached the most for. They were the same ages as my girls and were so appreciative of anything we gave them. I would be around these precious girls all week painting in their dorm and I so badly wished I could give them each something to keep them warm. (And I was leaving in two days so there was no time to ask for donations.)

I had my kiddos with me at Wal-Mart helping me buy stuff for my trip. We walked past the fabric department and they had hanging on display a poncho made from fleece. My girls thought it was beautiful and the lightbulbs went off at the same time, "We'll make 27 ponchos for the girls in V's dorm!!!"

But if you've ever stood at a craft store checkout, heard that your grand total was something close to the national debt, and screamed "but all I bought was scrapbook paper and pipecleaners", you'll understand that I wanted to be careful not to spend more than it would have cost to just buy jackets. So I prayed that if God wanted us to do this, that He would provide affordable fleece.

A sweet lady overheard our plan and with a wink wink directed me to some bolts on sale and some that were low enough in yardage that she could price as remnants. We also went to Hobby Lobby and Jo-Ann's and with some carefully used coupons soon had enough fleece in all kinds of colors and patterns to make about 30 ponchos.



The girls stayed up late with me the night before my trip to help make the ponchos. And we had just enough time to make (drumroll please) . . . three. Hmmm. This quick, no-sew craft took a bit longer than we had thought. So I put the fleece in those vacuum storage bags and loaded them into my suitcases. I figured I'd have plenty of time to work on them once I got there. (I'm hearing chuckles from everyone who has gone on a mission trip.)

But as soon as I arrived, my time evaporated as quickly as my energy. We spent most of our time cleaning and painting the girls' dorm. I would spend much of the day loving on Daniel and worked into the night on the dorm with the other women on our mission team. (I got the fun job of painting flowers and butterflies in the girls' bathroom.)

Although it looks like I'm leaning over with the girls (the one we sponsor is in the pink leopard print--another thing my girls picked out from Wal-mart), at this point I'm not able to stand upright.



Unfortunately, all the time I thought I would have to do the ponchos just wasn't there. The other women were just as tired as I was and I didn't want to ask for help since this had been my crazy idea.

I worked on them a bit at a time, but in my four days there I had only completed three more for a grand total of six. I had one full day left and would be leaving the next morning . . . returning home with about 50 yards of fleece and leaving behind girls who were shivering.

I had accepted that the ponchos just weren't going to happen and was just focusing on finishing my painting in the bathroom. My friend Judy was done with her project so she brought one to work on in the dorm while the rest of us painted. One of the girls spotted the poncho in progress and said, "It's so beautiful!!" Ugh! My heart ached that I wasn't going to be able to give them all one.

Although I had about finished my painting, I was feeling all kinds of defeat because of those silly ponchos. I should be accustomed to craft projects gone awry--like the time I Bedazzled the front and back of a shirt together. Or the Christmas of 1998 when I thought I'd save money replicating an expensive wreath that I saw in a magazine only to drop enough dough on the bowmaker, ribbon, and supplies to have decorated the tree at Rockefeller Center. Yep, there have been enough crafting fiascos that Brad has come home from work and said, "Put down the glue gun and nobody will get hurt."

But this time was different. It wasn't about fleece. It was about my girls at home starting this project with me and who were so excited to hear how it ended. It was about God providing an abundance of beautiful fabric at an amazing price. It was about me wanting to leave something with each girl before I had to hug them good-bye. It was about 27 girls with so little having a little something that says "you matter."

I finally left the dorm about 1:00 a.m. with two friends who stayed late with me to finish up. My feet, shoulders and hands ached like never before after 5 days of painting. But I told Kim and Anna that I was going to stay up and try to do as many ponchos as I could before my flight. (Yes, they know that I'm quite the assortment of nuts.) My plan was to work till 9:00 a.m. leaving some time to say my good-byes before leaving for the airport at 10:30 a.m. They wished they could stay up with me but they were just so exhausted.

Well, we opened the door to the mission house, not wanting to wake anyone from the other mission teams who had been working hard on their own projects. There was little light, but as we walked in, I could see my fleece in neat piles on one of the dining tables. I thought, "How sweet that someone has helped gather it up for me to pack." But as we stepped closer, I saw that these were not piles of fleece, these were piles of ponchos!!! I cried and laughed and cried some more.

It was like the elves and the shoemaker story. I wanted so badly to know who had done them, but knew I'd have to wait till morning for the full story.

It turns out that two women from our team in Georgia--Judy and Lynn, decided that they would make as many ponchos as they could. Then some women from teams from Arkansas and Alabama pitched in and soon they had an assembly line of poncho makers. (Oh, forgive me for not sharing everyone's name. I would try to list everyone but know I would certainly leave someone out.)

The next morning as I was saying my good-byes, I was able to not only give V a gift, but she was able to help distribute a gift to every girl in her dorm.



One by one, each little girl just giggled in picking out her poncho.



I wish I had more pics of the girls and the precious poncho makers. Angels on earth, all of them!



Everyone seemed to get their first choice and we had some left over to share with some teens who help care for the girls. When my husband visited 2 months later, he reported that the girls were still wearing their ponchos proudly.

I have a little square of fleece in my Memorial Box.



It's a beautiful reminder of how God provides through the love of others--from the lady in the fabric department at Wal-Mart, to my daughters who came up with the idea, to a precious group of women who were such an answer to prayer.

It's also a good lesson for me to remember to accept the help of others (I struggle with this one). By trying to do this alone, I was depriving them of the joy of being part of this gift.

I think when we are blessed by the care of human hands, we often forget the One from whom these blessings flow. But sometimes God wows us through the work of His hands and other times He wows us through the work of other's hands. So today, I want to not only give thanks for God's blessings, but also give thanks for the dear people He places in my life who have blessed me.

More Than Lots,
Kathie

Sorrow to Joy

One of my favorite bloggy friends is Linny from A Place Called Simplicity . She does something called Memorial Box Monday. It's a weekly feature where she remembers a prayer answered or evidence of God's hand in her life. She puts an item in her Memorial Box that represents the story so that she and her family always have these reminders of God's faithfulness. (She explains it much better on her blog so be sure to click the bloggy button below to read her precious stories.)



I shared my first Memorial Box Monday here, regarding our adoption. (For any new readers, at the time we were still calling him Danilo, but now he goes by Daniel.) Today I'm going to share one about my mom. She's been on my mind and heart a lot lately. Last week (Feb. 18) she would have celebrated her 67th birthday and in a couple of weeks it will be the six year anniversary of her going to be with the Lord.

This story takes place March of 2004. She was in her last days of a six year battle with cancer and we were savoring every minute we had left. We were already at such a place of brokenness because just weeks earlier, we lost a baby boy near the end of my pregnancy (that story can be found here .)

To understand the significance of this story, I must explain that my mom was one of a kind. She made every day seem like a party and could find humor even in the worst situations. For example, she did one more round of chemo with the hope that she would live long enough to meet her grandson (who is now with her for eternity). The treatment burned all of her soft tissues including tastebuds . . . except for one who she affectionately called Bud. She named her car, her piano, even her wheelchair. The term "detail-oriented" was certainly an understatement when describing her. Not only was she creative, she lived poetically. And she wanted her last breath to be on a day that had meaning.

Thus when the calendar flipped to March, she was bummed. There wasn't a day in March worthy of her obituary. She wished she could make it to a day like Palm Sunday or Good Friday or Easter. But she knew her days were few and I could just hear her talking to God under her breath, "March . . . really?"

While my mom was praying for a day of significance, I was praying for a sign of significance--a sign that our storm was almost over. During a nine month period we lost my grandmother, our son, and now my mom. In addition to those losses, we had also faced with some detours and other challenges in our life. I was thinking that God should just cover me with boils and call me Job. I was becoming fearful about what might be next.

The morning my mother died the sadness was overwhelming and I just kept praying for peace. Later that day, I glanced at my calendar and saw a little word typed in the box for that day . . . "Purim." Since I'm not Jewish, I wasn't sure what it was but quickly Googled it. I couldn't believe it when I read about the Feast of Purim, that this is the celebration where sorrow is turned to joy. Never has Wikipedia been so profound. I just wept reading the words "the days of mourning are over"!!!

Apparently the Feast of Purim is observed on a different day each year (according to the Jewish calendar)--anytime from late February to mid-March. But that year Purim just happen to fall on the same day my mother went to be with the Lord. God is amazing.

I picked up the phone to tell my mom about her perfect day--then realized this sweet revelation would be coming from her Father. I'm sure her mouth--with brand new tastebuds--let out a squeal when she found out how beautifully God had numbered her days.

And my prayer had been answered as well. I suddenly had such a peace and calm that this would be the end of our pain and our goodness and mercy would follow. And it has . . . in abundance.

I wish I had kept that page of my calendar to put in my Memorial Box. Instead I tucked a copy of the verse from the beautiful book of Esther that records the first observance of Purim.

Feast of Purim
"The time when the Jews got relief from their enemies, and as the month when their sorrow was turned into joy and their mourning into a day of celebration." Esther 9:22

The book of Esther is the only book in the Bible that doesn't mention God, yet His mighty hand is seen throughout the story. And as we celebrate the anniversary of my mother's passing, we don't remember that day with sadness, but stand in awe of a great God of great love who cares about every little detail. I'm so grateful that His mighty hand can be seen throughout the story of my life.

Humbly His,
Kathie

Memorial Box Monday--Danilo's "Ultrasound" Photos

To introduce this story, I first need to fess up that I am a recovering eBay addict. Just a few years ago, I loved it. Every random thing I needed could be found in seconds without driving my kids all over town or dealing with a toddler meltdown in a shopping cart.

I did much of my Christmas shopping through eBay one year only to discover that my bidding skills were lacking and it only added to my stress. I’d be 3 seconds from the auction closing chanting, “I got it, uh-huh,it’s mine, uh-huh” only to have some heartless person outbid me in the last fraction of a second by 37 cents. “Nooooooooo!!!!” My husband would run to see what the tragedy was and the conversation would go something like this.

“I LOST IT!”

He’d ask, “The Georgia Tech stadium replica--new in box?”

“Worse. The American Girl ice skaters outfit in mint condition” taking a deep breath, “with free shipping!”

“Outdone by PixieDust437?”

“Yep.”

But now I have found something on my computer that's better than ebay . . . blogs. Here’s the thing. Blogs are like the eBay of people. If you’re looking for a friend who has adoption advice, or can make you laugh, or has a great recipe to share, or understands your hurt, or is like-minded in things that matter to you . . . sometimes, that’s the easiest way to find them. Now don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing better than a real live friend to laugh with, confide in, and cry on. There’s just an element of friendship that can’t be achieved with a keyboard and computer screen. Yet there are some wise and wonderful folks that I never would have met without the bloggy world and over time I want to introduce you to them.

The first one I want you to meet is a lady named Linny. Her blog is called A Place Called Simplicity. She’s a pastor’s wife and mom of 10 (so far) who lives in Colorado. Her posts make me laugh and cry--they encourage and inspire and convict me. I don’t want to tell too much because I want you to read her stories yourself. We often read her posts as part of our family devotion time. A good place to start is with her ongoing series called Memorial Box Mondays then read the items under “Special Posts.” (You can click on the bloggy button below to get there.)



Her Memorial Box idea is based on Joshua 4 where God instructs the Israelites to pick up 12 stones from the River Jordan as a memorial of what He has done for them. Their family Memorial Box contains little items that trigger a memory of how God has answered prayer. I’ve started one for our family so that when we are wandering through the wilderness and our long-term memory is hijacked by our short-term needs, we can look in this box and remember His faithfulness yesterday, today, and tomorrow. It’s a sweet way to build our family’s legacy and I hope my children someday start their own Memorial Boxes.

So, the first item I'm going to share about is a photo that you’ll see in a bit (no peeking). Here’s the quick background for those who don’t know. In August of 2007, we heard of an emergency need to place some children for adoption from a Christian children’s home in Guatemala (there was concern that they would be moved to a government institution). We wrote the director of the home that we would love to adopt a girl of any age or a boy younger than our younger daughter. Danilo was the last child needing a home and we were the last family on the list. We started paperwork on him having seen only one picture, having no history, and never having met him. We made a decision in 24 hours that would forever change our family. It was quite a leap of faith for this woman who won't buy a microwave without months of Consumer Report research.

Our prayer was that if God didn’t want this child in our home, that He would close the door. God had called us to adopt so who were we to question His plan? But there were nights I’d wake up at 2 a.m. in a panic wondering what on earth were we doing. What if he had behavior issues that we didn’t know how to handle? What if he had delays and handicaps and was never able to live independently? What if he had experienced abuse that he would act out in our home? I was praying that God would give us some kind of sign that he was truly ours so I could have peace that we were doing the right thing.

A few weeks later, a team of men from our church visited Danilo’s orphanage to do some construction work. They returned with hundreds of photos, not knowing which children were being adopted. There were 9 families from our church adopting from the same home and we had been invited to our fellowship hall to watch a slide show from their trip. The men told us when we saw our child, to call out his or her name and they would make copies of those photos.

We were giddy with excitement to see new photos of our little ones. We all joked that these were our “ultrasound” pics, but inside I had a knot in my stomach. I didn’t have a good track record with ultrasounds.

You see, when I was pregnant with our other three, I could never figure out what I was looking at. With our first child I commented, “Awww. I see her cute round rear end.” And the ultrasound gal replied, “Oh, that’s your full bladder.” I knew I had gotten it right when I exclaimed, “Look at her precious profile!” But again I was a bit off: “Umm, ma’am, that’s your partially digested breakfast.” From then on I would look at these black and white blurs and pretend to see what seemed so clear to everyone else.

So there we were sitting as photo after photo flashed up on the screen. Families were squealing, “There he is! That’s my baby!” But I just knew I was going to be the one mom who didn’t recognize her child. In the sea of beautiful faces of dark eyes and silky black hair, I needed some kind of divine caption stating, “Hey, Kathie, this one is your son!”

As the slide show progressed, everyone else had identified their child. I thought perhaps our little guy's photo had come and gone and we had missed it. The prayers continued, “Please, God, help me out here.” If only God could stick a Ga. Tech shirt on him (the team our family cheers for), or maybe some Mickey Mouse ears (we‘re big Disney people), or perhaps have him holding a sign that says, “I’m a Williams.”

I resigned myself to the fact that God would most likely not Photoshop these pics for my benefit, that is until I saw this one.



I thought, "Wait a minute. I think I saw him and he's wearing what looks like a Disney shirt." Several pics passed and I was going to ask them to go back until this popped up.



That was him! But I couldn't make out what the shirt said until this one.



There was Danilo sporting a “Disney dreaming” t-shirt. The tears poured down my face and I looked over at Brad who was a mess, too. I was too stunned to speak but Olivia, Ava, and Brady squealed, “That’s our brother! There he is! Look, he loves Disney World, too!”

Our friends started kidding us. “You mean you’re 3 weeks into this adoption and you’ve already sent him a Disney shirt?!” We explained that we hadn’t sent him anything. The shirt he was wearing must have been donated by someone else. And Danilo just happened to pick that shirt out of a box of clothes shared by 17 boys and just happened to be wearing it the day our mission team stopped by to take his photo. God is good to answer the prayer of this crazy mama who desperately needed a clear ultrasound photo.

But you know what, I didn’t need the cheat sheet after all. I recognized his sweet face before I even saw the shirt. But it was neat that our God of big and small things cared enough to make sure I knew this child was our son. I’ve never questioned it again and after all this time of loving him, I wonder why I ever doubted.

Grateful Mommy,
Kathie