the envelope please.
Our Valentine's gift is . . .
a little GIRL!
Thank you, God, for the blessing of this precious life!
Monday, February 14, 2011
We're Having a . . .
After weeks of wondering . . .
the envelope please.
Our Valentine's gift is . . .
a little GIRL!
Thank you, God, for the blessing of this precious life!
the envelope please.
Our Valentine's gift is . . .
a little GIRL!
Thank you, God, for the blessing of this precious life!
Happy Valentine's Day!
I mentioned in my last post that we'd be finding out the gender of our surprise blessing on Valentine's Day. And thus far today I've had MANY people call, text, and stop me in the carpool line wondering if we are having a boy or a girl. I figured that by the time you have your 5th, people stop caring what gender you are having so it's sweet that so many have asked.
So if any of you bloggy friends are wondering if we'll be adding pink or blue this June, this is a pre-post. We haven't opened the envelope yet because Ava has early morning play practices and she and dad leave before the others wake up. We decided we could wait a few more hours and find out what we're having after dinner. Unless my computer crashes (which is very possible), I will announce later tonight what kind of little one God has graciously blessed our family with.
Anyone want to guess if it's a boy or a girl?
In the meantime, I thought I'd share a story below that I posted last year about Valentine's Day. It reminds me to thank God for the dear people that bless my life.
Much love you all!
Kathie
I have a love-hate relationship with Valentine’s Day. And considering this is a day set aside for expressing love, I’m sorry to admit that many years have been heavy on the hate.
Maybe it’s because of society-imposed expectations of what this day represents and how it should be celebrated. In a world that often seems divided into the Haves and Have-nots, on February 14 it can seem these categories have been renamed Loved and Unloved. But I was lucky to learn an important Valentine’s lesson early in life.
I must preface my story by letting you know that as a ninth grader I was two feet taller than any boy in my class and weighed less than a small domestic dog--and most of those pounds belonged to my hair. (It was the 80’s and I grew up in a city known for its humidity--you do the math.) I had taken terms like “awkward phase,” “really bad perm,” and “self-esteem issues” to new levels. That was the year someone suggested that by spray-painting myself green, I could trick-or-treat as a stalk of broccoli. But it wasn’t until that fateful February day that I felt like a character from a Judy Blume novel.
The student government at my high school had an annual fundraiser. They would take orders for carnations in white, pink, and red and on V-day deliver them to the fortunate recipients during morning classes. I didn’t think much of it when the first flowers arrived and ignored the giggles of the girls reading the attached construction paper cards from their prince charmings and “best buds 4 ever.” But soon I realized that I was the only girl in the class who hadn’t gotten a flower. (Even some boys had gotten them!)
Like listening to kernels of popcorn in a microwave, I knew that as the flurry of flower delivery slowed down they had almost finished distribution. In ten minutes the bell would ring and I would have to navigate the halls of flower laden girls empty-handed.
But then the classroom door opened and a delivery girl walked in. It seemed she was coming toward me, although I wasn’t sure because--thanks to the hair--I had very little peripheral vision. My heart raced as inside I was praying, “Please, God, let it be for me.”
And then . . . prayers were answered, angels sang, and all was right with the world as she tapped my shoulder and handed me the most beautiful pink carnation a dollar ever bought. I slowly looked down at the attached card--dying to know who had sent it--yet not wanting to look like I cared. And then I read simple words that I’ve carried with me for the rest of my life: “Thanks for being my little sister. I love you.”
It was quite a shock, because the sentiment usually coming from my sister’s mouth was along the lines of, “Get out of my room!”
She was a senior that year and perhaps she remembered what it was like to be a freshman of my make and model. But I doubt when she wrote that card she knew how much those words would make me feel valued or how “I love you” could erase insecurity.
It wasn’t because I had joined the ranks of those who had flowers, but because I had joined the ranks of those she loved. And I must say that my dear big sis is one of God's greatest blessings in my life today.
So what’s the moral of the story? That flowers have always been overpriced or that a woman nearing 40 should really let go of things that happened in high school?
Although, yes, these are valid answers, I think the real lesson is that sweethearts come in a number of varieties and that Valentine’s Day not only celebrates love between lovers, but also love between friends.
Over the years I’ve tasted a Whitman’s Sampler of Valentine’s Days. Thanks to my husband, I’ve had my share of candlelit dinners, sweet-smelling bouquets, and love letters that make me forget I was ever in the ninth grade. And, thanks to my children, I’ve gotten handmade cards, sticky hugs and kisses, and living examples of unconditional love.
But, thanks to family and friends, I’ve learned that the love of a friend can get you through the semi-sweet years and make the good years even sweeter. So this year if you find yourself the “older sister” to a little girl with big hair, send a card, make a phone call, or give a hug and say, “Thanks for being my . . . sister, brother, mother, father, grandchild, daughter, son, neighbor, friend. I love you.”
Because on Valentine’s Day there should be only one category of people. And that is Loved.
So if any of you bloggy friends are wondering if we'll be adding pink or blue this June, this is a pre-post. We haven't opened the envelope yet because Ava has early morning play practices and she and dad leave before the others wake up. We decided we could wait a few more hours and find out what we're having after dinner. Unless my computer crashes (which is very possible), I will announce later tonight what kind of little one God has graciously blessed our family with.
Anyone want to guess if it's a boy or a girl?
In the meantime, I thought I'd share a story below that I posted last year about Valentine's Day. It reminds me to thank God for the dear people that bless my life.
Much love you all!
Kathie
I have a love-hate relationship with Valentine’s Day. And considering this is a day set aside for expressing love, I’m sorry to admit that many years have been heavy on the hate.
Maybe it’s because of society-imposed expectations of what this day represents and how it should be celebrated. In a world that often seems divided into the Haves and Have-nots, on February 14 it can seem these categories have been renamed Loved and Unloved. But I was lucky to learn an important Valentine’s lesson early in life.
I must preface my story by letting you know that as a ninth grader I was two feet taller than any boy in my class and weighed less than a small domestic dog--and most of those pounds belonged to my hair. (It was the 80’s and I grew up in a city known for its humidity--you do the math.) I had taken terms like “awkward phase,” “really bad perm,” and “self-esteem issues” to new levels. That was the year someone suggested that by spray-painting myself green, I could trick-or-treat as a stalk of broccoli. But it wasn’t until that fateful February day that I felt like a character from a Judy Blume novel.
The student government at my high school had an annual fundraiser. They would take orders for carnations in white, pink, and red and on V-day deliver them to the fortunate recipients during morning classes. I didn’t think much of it when the first flowers arrived and ignored the giggles of the girls reading the attached construction paper cards from their prince charmings and “best buds 4 ever.” But soon I realized that I was the only girl in the class who hadn’t gotten a flower. (Even some boys had gotten them!)
Like listening to kernels of popcorn in a microwave, I knew that as the flurry of flower delivery slowed down they had almost finished distribution. In ten minutes the bell would ring and I would have to navigate the halls of flower laden girls empty-handed.
But then the classroom door opened and a delivery girl walked in. It seemed she was coming toward me, although I wasn’t sure because--thanks to the hair--I had very little peripheral vision. My heart raced as inside I was praying, “Please, God, let it be for me.”
And then . . . prayers were answered, angels sang, and all was right with the world as she tapped my shoulder and handed me the most beautiful pink carnation a dollar ever bought. I slowly looked down at the attached card--dying to know who had sent it--yet not wanting to look like I cared. And then I read simple words that I’ve carried with me for the rest of my life: “Thanks for being my little sister. I love you.”
It was quite a shock, because the sentiment usually coming from my sister’s mouth was along the lines of, “Get out of my room!”
She was a senior that year and perhaps she remembered what it was like to be a freshman of my make and model. But I doubt when she wrote that card she knew how much those words would make me feel valued or how “I love you” could erase insecurity.
It wasn’t because I had joined the ranks of those who had flowers, but because I had joined the ranks of those she loved. And I must say that my dear big sis is one of God's greatest blessings in my life today.
So what’s the moral of the story? That flowers have always been overpriced or that a woman nearing 40 should really let go of things that happened in high school?
Although, yes, these are valid answers, I think the real lesson is that sweethearts come in a number of varieties and that Valentine’s Day not only celebrates love between lovers, but also love between friends.
Over the years I’ve tasted a Whitman’s Sampler of Valentine’s Days. Thanks to my husband, I’ve had my share of candlelit dinners, sweet-smelling bouquets, and love letters that make me forget I was ever in the ninth grade. And, thanks to my children, I’ve gotten handmade cards, sticky hugs and kisses, and living examples of unconditional love.
But, thanks to family and friends, I’ve learned that the love of a friend can get you through the semi-sweet years and make the good years even sweeter. So this year if you find yourself the “older sister” to a little girl with big hair, send a card, make a phone call, or give a hug and say, “Thanks for being my . . . sister, brother, mother, father, grandchild, daughter, son, neighbor, friend. I love you.”
Because on Valentine’s Day there should be only one category of people. And that is Loved.
Friday, January 28, 2011
Pregnancy Update
I'm almost halfway there and finally starting to feel human again. I know Brad is happy to see me without a plastic "just in case" garbage can next to the bed at night.
Thanks so much for your prayers and support. Our biggest struggle with this pregnancy hasn't been the physical aspect but the emotional one. I simply didn't realize how hard it would be to go down the same path that has many times ended with such pain. I guess I thought all wounds had healed once Brady was born, but I'm seeing now that there's still much healing to do.
I'm ashamed to admit that I've been guarded in my excitement with this new life. Fear of what might happen is stealing from the joy of what is. But at my 12-week appointment, I realized exactly how attached I had grown to this little person.
They tried to pick up the heartbeat on their doppler thing and couldn't find it. I remained emotionless on the outside, but inside I was worried and praying that everything was okay. After several minutes of not being able to find it, they took me to the ultrasound room. Soon we were relieved to see a beating heart and a baby doing water ballet, but those moments in between made me realize that no matter how much I thought I was guarding my heart, I had already fully given it to this little life.
We recently had another ultrasound and little peanut is still growing right on target and already looks precious. Nothing else proves that there is an Almighty Creator more beautifully than watching Him knit new life in the womb.
My bloggy friend Lisa asked if we were going to find out the gender of the baby. The answer is yes. At my last appointment we had the sonographer write it down and seal it in an envelope. We are going to open it on Valentine's Day and I'll let you all know if it's a boy or a girl then.
We did this with all of our children. We opened Olivia's envelope on Christmas Eve, Ava's on Thanksgiving Day, Luke's (the son we lost near the end of our pregnancy) we opened on my dad's birthday.
We never opened Brady's envelope. Because we had lost Luke just months prior, I was concerned that if we found out it was a girl, others might feel sad for us that we didn't have another boy. While we certainly hoped that God would some day grant us another son, we knew that if we delivered a healthy baby it simply wouldn't matter if she was in pink instead of blue. I think by keeping it a surprise we felt surrendered to whatever God's plan was for our family and our baby. But Brady would not be short-changed of his holiday announcement because he was born on New Year's Day.
When we told the kids that we were waiting till Valentine's Day to find out the gender, I reminded them of all our holiday announcements. As I spoke, I looked at my sensitive Daniel and knew the thoughts playing behind his big brown eyes. "I didn't have an ultrasound photo, or a special envelope, or squeals of delight announcing that I was a boy."
But I looked over at him and asked, "Daniel, do you know what day we found out about you?" He shook his head no. "It was Daddy's 40th birthday. That was the first time we saw your photo, the day we knew that God was blessing us with another son, and the day we announced that you were ours."
His smile reached from one ear to the other.
The other day I overheard him explaining to someone why we were waiting to find out on Valentine's Day. He proudly shared the part about his special day being Daddy's birthday. (I've also shared the story of Daniel's "ultrasound" photo in this post. At the time I wrote this he was still living in Guatemala and was known as Danilo.)
We had no idea then how important this would be to him now. God is so good to provide the perfect timing with every detail.
Much Love,
Kathie
Thanks so much for your prayers and support. Our biggest struggle with this pregnancy hasn't been the physical aspect but the emotional one. I simply didn't realize how hard it would be to go down the same path that has many times ended with such pain. I guess I thought all wounds had healed once Brady was born, but I'm seeing now that there's still much healing to do.
I'm ashamed to admit that I've been guarded in my excitement with this new life. Fear of what might happen is stealing from the joy of what is. But at my 12-week appointment, I realized exactly how attached I had grown to this little person.
They tried to pick up the heartbeat on their doppler thing and couldn't find it. I remained emotionless on the outside, but inside I was worried and praying that everything was okay. After several minutes of not being able to find it, they took me to the ultrasound room. Soon we were relieved to see a beating heart and a baby doing water ballet, but those moments in between made me realize that no matter how much I thought I was guarding my heart, I had already fully given it to this little life.
We recently had another ultrasound and little peanut is still growing right on target and already looks precious. Nothing else proves that there is an Almighty Creator more beautifully than watching Him knit new life in the womb.
My bloggy friend Lisa asked if we were going to find out the gender of the baby. The answer is yes. At my last appointment we had the sonographer write it down and seal it in an envelope. We are going to open it on Valentine's Day and I'll let you all know if it's a boy or a girl then.
We did this with all of our children. We opened Olivia's envelope on Christmas Eve, Ava's on Thanksgiving Day, Luke's (the son we lost near the end of our pregnancy) we opened on my dad's birthday.
We never opened Brady's envelope. Because we had lost Luke just months prior, I was concerned that if we found out it was a girl, others might feel sad for us that we didn't have another boy. While we certainly hoped that God would some day grant us another son, we knew that if we delivered a healthy baby it simply wouldn't matter if she was in pink instead of blue. I think by keeping it a surprise we felt surrendered to whatever God's plan was for our family and our baby. But Brady would not be short-changed of his holiday announcement because he was born on New Year's Day.
When we told the kids that we were waiting till Valentine's Day to find out the gender, I reminded them of all our holiday announcements. As I spoke, I looked at my sensitive Daniel and knew the thoughts playing behind his big brown eyes. "I didn't have an ultrasound photo, or a special envelope, or squeals of delight announcing that I was a boy."
But I looked over at him and asked, "Daniel, do you know what day we found out about you?" He shook his head no. "It was Daddy's 40th birthday. That was the first time we saw your photo, the day we knew that God was blessing us with another son, and the day we announced that you were ours."
His smile reached from one ear to the other.
The other day I overheard him explaining to someone why we were waiting to find out on Valentine's Day. He proudly shared the part about his special day being Daddy's birthday. (I've also shared the story of Daniel's "ultrasound" photo in this post. At the time I wrote this he was still living in Guatemala and was known as Danilo.)
We had no idea then how important this would be to him now. God is so good to provide the perfect timing with every detail.
Much Love,
Kathie
Thursday, January 13, 2011
In With the New
Thanks for your patience with me as a bloggy friend and for your words of encouragement over the past few weeks. I'm now 17 weeks pregnant and reading "What to Expect When You Never Dreamed You'd Be Expecting Again" (40 year old edition).
I'm definitely starting to show a bit more than just a "muffin top" out of control and finally surrendered to wearing maternity pants. I NEVER again thought I'd be in the market for pants with an elastic front panel and was doubled over laughing in the dressing room trying them on. But with each day, I'm more and more grateful for this surprise blessing.
I've missed sharing about so much because I've been so sick, but over the past few weeks we celebrated Daniel's 1st Gotcha Day, celebrated the birth of our Savior, celebrated our sweet Brady's 6th birthday, traveled to Orlando and spent a few days at Disney World, and now we are home enjoying some days off from school due to a rare snow and ice storm in Georgia.
When we left for our trip to Florida it was still December--Christmas tunes were on our local radio stations, decorations and lights were still adorning homes and businesses. When we returned, it was after the new year. As we drove through our familiar streets, the kids in the backseat observed with sadness that all evidence of Christmas was gone. The radio was playing the regular old songs, the lights no longer glowing, the decorations had disappeared.
It's funny how God wires all of us differently. Some people are ready to yank down and pack up every bit of Christmas the minute the last gift is opened. They are ready to usher in whatever comes next and can't wait to get moving. Then there are the folks who hang on to the remnants of the holiday season for dear life. They keep their decorations up as long as possible trying to somehow justify them as Valentine's decorations. Some of us fall somewhere between the two extremes.
My husband and Olivia seem fine to move on soon after Dec. 25. I'm a bit more sentimental and leave everything up till New Year's Day. But my three youngest kiddos are still trying to find a way to make the Christmas season last till the 4th of July.
I was pondering this the other day--the whole "out with the old, in with the new" struggle within some of us. And I realized that it's the "out with the old" part that is so difficult for me. I don't really mind the new. Bring on the new year, new season, new resolutions, new plans for the future.
But I like the old. It's comfortable like well-worn blue jeans. It's safe and predictable and familiar. And so in my effort to treasure what is old, I am sometimes resistant to what is new.
I'll never forget how Daniel was when he first came home. He wanted to eat the same meal over and over, wear the same clothes each day, and never wanted to leave the house. I made him a daily schedule and tried to stick with it as closely as possible, because I could see it brought such security in knowing what was coming next.
We spent one day at the Magic Kingdom a year ago because the girls' cheer competition had us in Orlando soon after Daniel arrived home. We were concerned it would be too overwhelming for him so we planned on going to the park just one day and kept our expectations realistic. He actually loved it but the way he approached everything was interesting.
His first ride was the Buzz Lightyear ride. It took all the courage he had to get on. When we exited, he announced that was the ONLY ride he wanted to do--"to infinity and beyond." He didn't want to do anything else. Nothing could possibly top it. We tried to convince him that there were other rides he would certainly enjoy. He wasn't buying it.
So we took him over to the race cars for him to watch for a bit. He finally got on and, of course, thought it was the coolest ride ever. He then announced that he would only go on Buzz and the race cars. This exhausting routine went on all day, but he did try just about everything.
When we were driving down to Orlando this year, I reminded him of how particular he was about the rides. He laughed at how he had acted. I rejoiced in how far he had come. (There was no hesitation this year.)
In my "lesson from mommy" voice, I talked with my kiddos about how sometimes we miss out on some great things God has planned for us because we're scared to try something new. Afraid of the unknown. Paralyzed by our limited view of what's ahead.
And then, as usual, my words came back and hit me between the eyes like a boomerang in a cartoon. I realized that I've been bargaining with God on what I'm capable of doing. Trying to convince Him that it's best for me to just stay on the nice, safe ride that I'm already on. And then I feel conviction that I'm not trusting the One whose plan is so much better. I feel regret knowing I'm missing out on the great things God has planned because of my fear.
These past several weeks we have been diligently praying for direction in many areas. Our practical thinking is battling our emotional leading. Discerning God's will has never been so difficult and accepting His answer is proving even harder.
And so my prayer has become, "Dear Heavenly Father, help me to surrender the old--the safe and secure--and help me to be faithfully obedient to the new--the unknown and uncertain." I have a feeling this will be my prayer for 2011.
Much Love from Muffin-Top Mommy,
Kathie
I'm definitely starting to show a bit more than just a "muffin top" out of control and finally surrendered to wearing maternity pants. I NEVER again thought I'd be in the market for pants with an elastic front panel and was doubled over laughing in the dressing room trying them on. But with each day, I'm more and more grateful for this surprise blessing.
I've missed sharing about so much because I've been so sick, but over the past few weeks we celebrated Daniel's 1st Gotcha Day, celebrated the birth of our Savior, celebrated our sweet Brady's 6th birthday, traveled to Orlando and spent a few days at Disney World, and now we are home enjoying some days off from school due to a rare snow and ice storm in Georgia.
When we left for our trip to Florida it was still December--Christmas tunes were on our local radio stations, decorations and lights were still adorning homes and businesses. When we returned, it was after the new year. As we drove through our familiar streets, the kids in the backseat observed with sadness that all evidence of Christmas was gone. The radio was playing the regular old songs, the lights no longer glowing, the decorations had disappeared.
It's funny how God wires all of us differently. Some people are ready to yank down and pack up every bit of Christmas the minute the last gift is opened. They are ready to usher in whatever comes next and can't wait to get moving. Then there are the folks who hang on to the remnants of the holiday season for dear life. They keep their decorations up as long as possible trying to somehow justify them as Valentine's decorations. Some of us fall somewhere between the two extremes.
My husband and Olivia seem fine to move on soon after Dec. 25. I'm a bit more sentimental and leave everything up till New Year's Day. But my three youngest kiddos are still trying to find a way to make the Christmas season last till the 4th of July.
I was pondering this the other day--the whole "out with the old, in with the new" struggle within some of us. And I realized that it's the "out with the old" part that is so difficult for me. I don't really mind the new. Bring on the new year, new season, new resolutions, new plans for the future.
But I like the old. It's comfortable like well-worn blue jeans. It's safe and predictable and familiar. And so in my effort to treasure what is old, I am sometimes resistant to what is new.
I'll never forget how Daniel was when he first came home. He wanted to eat the same meal over and over, wear the same clothes each day, and never wanted to leave the house. I made him a daily schedule and tried to stick with it as closely as possible, because I could see it brought such security in knowing what was coming next.
We spent one day at the Magic Kingdom a year ago because the girls' cheer competition had us in Orlando soon after Daniel arrived home. We were concerned it would be too overwhelming for him so we planned on going to the park just one day and kept our expectations realistic. He actually loved it but the way he approached everything was interesting.
His first ride was the Buzz Lightyear ride. It took all the courage he had to get on. When we exited, he announced that was the ONLY ride he wanted to do--"to infinity and beyond." He didn't want to do anything else. Nothing could possibly top it. We tried to convince him that there were other rides he would certainly enjoy. He wasn't buying it.
So we took him over to the race cars for him to watch for a bit. He finally got on and, of course, thought it was the coolest ride ever. He then announced that he would only go on Buzz and the race cars. This exhausting routine went on all day, but he did try just about everything.
When we were driving down to Orlando this year, I reminded him of how particular he was about the rides. He laughed at how he had acted. I rejoiced in how far he had come. (There was no hesitation this year.)
In my "lesson from mommy" voice, I talked with my kiddos about how sometimes we miss out on some great things God has planned for us because we're scared to try something new. Afraid of the unknown. Paralyzed by our limited view of what's ahead.
And then, as usual, my words came back and hit me between the eyes like a boomerang in a cartoon. I realized that I've been bargaining with God on what I'm capable of doing. Trying to convince Him that it's best for me to just stay on the nice, safe ride that I'm already on. And then I feel conviction that I'm not trusting the One whose plan is so much better. I feel regret knowing I'm missing out on the great things God has planned because of my fear.
These past several weeks we have been diligently praying for direction in many areas. Our practical thinking is battling our emotional leading. Discerning God's will has never been so difficult and accepting His answer is proving even harder.
And so my prayer has become, "Dear Heavenly Father, help me to surrender the old--the safe and secure--and help me to be faithfully obedient to the new--the unknown and uncertain." I have a feeling this will be my prayer for 2011.
Much Love from Muffin-Top Mommy,
Kathie
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
A Belated Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year
We are on our way to Orlando, Florida, because the girls have a cheer competition this week. We're going to take a couple days to visit Mickey Mouse while we're there and the kids are so excited. I don't have much time to upload the thousands of photos taken over the past week, but this is one of my favorites of them ready to come downstairs Christmas morning.
We had such a special Christmas just being together. Even though I'm still feeling pretty crummy, I just enjoyed watching the beauty of the season through my children's eyes. We even had a white Christmas in Georgia. It hasn't snowed on Christmas day in Georgia in about 100 years, so this was quite a treat for us.
Below is our "official 2010 Christmas letter" going out late this year. Most of this you guys already know, but it's my way of documenting God's goodness this past year.
Thanks so much for the blessing you all have been to me this past year! I hope you had a wonderful Christmas and may you have a blessed new year!
Much Love,
Kathie
Dear Family and Friends,
The bar is set so low these days that I no longer strive to have the Christmas card postmarked by December 23--my goal is that it isn’t delivered by a postman wearing shorts and flip-flops in July. This was one of those years that getting ours out before Christmas just wasn’t going to happen. And I promise we have a really good excuse. Not as good as last years’ excuse, but pretty close.
Last year, the card never made it out at all. I was living in a hotel in Guatemala from Thanksgiving till mid-December trying to get our adopted son home. We had one delay after another, including our family court judge having a stroke and having to wait two weeks for a provisional one to be assigned. I finally came home and Brad took my place with Daniel with the hope of being able to bring him home by Christmas.
As late as December 22 it looked like Brad and Daniel would both be spending Christmas in a hotel room in Guatemala. We were sad at the thought of our family being separated during the holidays and even sadder that a boy who had waited 8 years to spend Christmas with a family would have to wait some more. But, with a lot of pleading with government officials and even more prayer, Daniel got the last VISA before Christmas and he walked off a plane into the arms of his new family last Christmas Eve. It was certainly one of the best Christmas gifts we’ve ever been granted.
I’ll never forget Daniel walking into our home for the first time. Our front door was decorated with a sign and balloons from our neighbors welcoming him home. He saw our Christmas tree and dropped to his knees with tears in his eyes exclaiming, “There are presents here with my name on them!”
We’ve had many of these moments throughout the year, like on Daniel’s first birthday home. When he blew out the candles on his cake, his siblings asked what he wished for and his response was, “I have everything I’ve ever wanted. There’s nothing left to wish for.” Then there was the day at Target that I bought him some Crocs and new tennis shoes. He questioned me repeatedly, “Are you sure you can buy me TWO pairs of shoes?” I assured him that I could and he just stood there with his mouth open in disbelief. As we walked out of the store, he grabbed my hand and exclaimed, “I love my life.”
It has truly been a year full of wonderful, yet it has also been a hard one. Daniel has a lot of healing to do and he’s still learning what it means to be part of a family. The transformation we’ve seen in him in just one year is evidence of God’s mercy. The transformation we’ve seen in our family is evidence of God’s goodness.
Many days I feel like Brad and I are the conductors of a small band of oddly different instruments. Here’s a glimpse of the tune that we hear on a daily basis. (Note: I don’t actually play any of the instruments mentioned, so bear with me with my ignorant attempt at this analogy.)
Olivia turned 13 last April. Oh my, officially a teenager! She’s in the 8th grade at Perimeter Christian School. She continues to love school and enjoys being part of the theater program--this fall she was a Lady in Waiting in “Once Upon a Mattress.” She has also had some wonderful opportunities to sing with her chorus and even sang a duet in the school’s Veteran’s Day program. We are so proud to see our shy girl step out of her comfort zone. She’s also enjoyed another year of doing competition cheerleading with Ava and we are on our way to Orlando for their national competition. She is the violin in our crazy band--a difficult instrument when you don’t know the correct way to hold the bow or position your fingers, but we often hear beautiful music coming from her section of the orchestra pit. She has been a very patient big sis to a crazy assortment of younger siblings and we are so blessed to have her in our family.
Ava turned 10 this past March. She’s in the 5th grade at Perimeter and also loves school. She is still involved with ballet, has such fun with the cheerleading program, and has a part in the spring play. She is the piccolo in our band--definitely a winded instrument with her non-stop talking, singing, and laughing. She truly makes every day seem like a party, is the official creator of all our nicknames, and is our hugger extraordinaire. We don’t underestimate the importance that her tune adds to our family, for when she’s not here, things just aren’t the same. As she ages we can see her turning into a flute, same sweet melody but showing more of her wisdom and sensitivity. We are so blessed to have her in our family.
Daniel turned 8 this April. I home schooled him last January to last spring, but he was doing so well we had him tested at Perimeter to see if he’d be ready to attend this fall. We were delighted that he was accepted and he is doing very well in the 2nd grade. What a blessing his teacher and classmates have been as he’s is loving his first experience in an American school. He also played soccer this fall. What a joy to cheer for him from the sidelines and celebrate as he scored his first goal. He’s also a gifted artist and loves to spend his afternoons outside sketching. Like Ava, he is also a winded instrument. Perhaps the saxophone would best describe the way he expresses his love and fear and joy and pain. He bellows his feelings in such a way that you feel his triumphs and his moments of the blues. He has a distinct sound that is all his own and we love having this amazing boy with such potential in our family.
Brady turned 5 last January 1st and is about to celebrate another birthday. He is attending school for the first time and loves being in Kindergarten at Perimeter. It has been such a blessing to watch all four kiddos walk into school together arm-in-arm. He played baseball this fall and loved it so much that he still wears his uniform around the house. He is such a sweet and thoughtful little boy who loves with his whole heart. I saw him wrapping a present to put under the tree and asked what it was. He said, “I want to give Daniel something special so I’m giving him my baseball trophy.” It is his most treasured possession, yet he was willing to give it to his big brother. We’ve seen such sweet moments between all our kids. I used to think Brady was our little drummer boy, but as he’s grown I see him as much more than just percussion. He’s the guy in the background strumming a guitar--just a simple arrangement of cords, but such a sweet sound coming our youngest instrument. Just when we forget he’s in the back of the car or sitting at the dinner table, he says something so funny that gets us all laughing.
Our big news is that we will be adding at least one more instrument to our band next year. It all started with something Ava said last Christmas.
We had had a perfect first Christmas with Daniel home. There’s truly something amazing about watching an 8 year old boy celebrate his first Christmas with a family. We had tucked everyone in bed and mentally recorded the day as one of our best Christmases ever. But Ava came downstairs in tears. My first thought was, “Oh no. Here comes the jealousy with all the attention that Daniel has gotten. Or perhaps she’s upset that we had a smaller Christmas due to all we had spent trying to get Daniel home.”
But as she spoke, she unwrapped the best gift I got last year. She said, “Mom, I had my radio on and they played Steven Curtis Chapman’s song ‘All I Really Want for Christmas’ about the orphan who wants a family.”
She continued with, “Daniel is just like that boy. All he wanted was a family.”
I couldn’t understand why she was sobbing. I said, “Ava, I know. But we’re happy now that he’ll never spend another Christmas without a family. Why are you so sad?”
She responded, “Because there are so many children out there who still need a family. Mom, we can do more! We need to adopt more!”
I had been so worried that we would “mess up” our lives by adopting an older child, I never realized what a blessing it would be to see them fully comprehend the brokenness and need of others.
So last August we started another adoption. This time looking for a special needs child in China. And we found a precious 4 year old girl with spina bifida who had been waiting a long time for a home. We had her file on hold and were talking with doctors about what kind of medical care she would need when we learned some surprising news.
In November we found out that I’m pregnant. It was certainly not what we had planned or expected (I celebrated my 40th birthday last June), but we certainly love God’s sense of humor and are thrilled to be granted yet another new life. We have temporarily put our adoption plans on hold as we pray about what is best for the little girl in China and what is best for our family.
Our new baby is due in June and thus far everything is going well. (Except I’ve been so exhausted that I’m barely functioning, which is the main reason this letter is so late.)
If you ever stop by our house, you’ll hear the music of four children, a couple of parents, and an assortment of pets. Most days it sounds like an orchestra pit tuning their instruments and warming up. But once in a while, we all come together to make a beautiful melody. Those are the days that we remember that the Almighty Composer has written a masterpiece and all we need to do is follow the notes. We can’t wait to see where His sheet music takes us in the days ahead.
We are so grateful to be together this year as a family, so grateful for the blessing of friends and family who pray for us and encourage us through life’s journeys, and are so grateful for the abundance of God’s goodness and mercy in our lives.
We hope you had a wonderful Christmas and have a blessed new year.
With Much Love,
Brad, Kathie, Olivia, Ava, Daniel, Brady, and Baby Williams
Brad, Kathie, Olivia, Ava, Daniel, Brady, and Baby Williams
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Snow Globes and Special News
Okay. It's time for me to spill the beans. I've had much to share for a while but haven't had the words or the energy to do so.
I'll preface this news by letting you know that a few years ago I started collecting snow globes. I've loved them since I was a little girl. I remember having one of those plastic ones that could fit in the palm of my hand. I'd shake it and then watch the snow fall around the tiny scene held inside. For this little Georgia girl who rarely saw snow, I loved being able to make it a miniature winter wonderland whenever I wanted.
As much as I love watching the snow fall in these little globes, I prefer to have my own little world sit safely on a shelf. A few months ago I delighted in the fact that our life was finally stable, that we were securely sedentary after years of being shaken.
But several weeks ago, I started not feeling well. (Little shake of my snow globe.) I ignored some things for a couple weeks then finally called my general doctor and spoke with a nurse. As I explained my symptoms, I realized this was the same nurse that took a gallon of blood for my adoption physical. After drilling me with questions she asked, "Could you be pregnant?"
I laughed and explained that it wasn't possible. Years ago we had decided we were done adding biological children to our family, that I am well into my fortieth year, and we have almost finished our paperwork for our second adoption. I explained that I was probably starting to go through "the change" (or perhaps my body was still holding a grudge from the gallon of blood she recently took). I reminded her once more that I am well into my fortieth year just in case she didn't catch that the first time. She said that she'd make an appointment but I could take a home pregnancy test if I wanted to rule that out before coming in.
Since my bathroom cabinets are stocked with anti-wrinkle cream--not early pregnancy tests--I headed to the drug store. I grabbed a generic one. I wasn't going to spend more than I had to just because some crazy nurse needed proof that I wasn't pregnant. The teen check-out clerk gave me a look that said, "Umm. Not an item I see many middle-aged women buy."
The next hour was spent alone in my bathroom. I have been there before many times--sitting with a pregnancy test in hand, too nervous about the results to actually do it. All the other times, what my heart wanted more than anything was for it to be positive. Many times I sat on the bathroom floor and cried because it wasn't.
The last time I took one of those tests was almost 7 years ago. Three months earlier, we had lost a baby boy at 35 weeks that died due to an umbilical cord knot (Luke's story is here). As much as I dreaded being pregnant again, we needed a new life to give us hope. I needed to deliver a baby that would cry, that I could hold in my arms, that I could parent till I'm old. My girls needed to come to the hospital--not to say good-bye to their new sibling, but to proudly bring him home. My husband needed to see his family heal and our family needed to see God's goodness and mercy in our lives. And God was so gracious to give us Brady, due exactly one year after we had lost his brother.
But once he was born, we knew that we were done adding to our family biologically. It was just too physically and emotionally difficult. We had always known God had called us to adopt and felt peace that this is how God wanted us to complete our family.
And so on the morning of November 1, I sat on the cold tile floor working up the courage to take the test. I knew that if the outcome was positive, I would once again have to go down a path that at times ended in overwhelming joy and other times ended in overwhelming pain. (I've had three first trimester miscarriages in addition to our full-term loss.) As much as I would love a house full of little people, I wanted the door marked "Pregnancy" to remain closed.
I finally took the test.
Within seconds that second line appeared telling me that I was pregnant.
Shake, shake, shake of my world.
I was truly so stunned that I couldn't process it. Sometimes my computer freezes up when it gets overloaded with stuff I'm trying to do. I just turn it off and re-boot it later. That's just what I wanted to do. Shut down and re-boot at a time that I'm able to handle it.
But since I don't have a Control-Alt-Delete feature, I just sat on the floor and wept. I wept out of fear of what might be ahead. But, most of all, I wept out of gratitude that God would entrust us with yet another little life. Humbled that, in spite of what I assumed was His plan for our life, His plan was always so much better.
My husband didn't believe me when I called him at work to share the news. Neither has anyone else. The typical response is: "Yea right. Are you kidding? You're not kidding? Wow!" Sometimes instead of the "wow" there's hysterical laughing.
Our four children were excited from the minute we told them. They were shocked, yet overjoyed. But their first question was, "Can we still adopt?" We had already chosen a little girl in China and for months had talked about her like she was already part of the family. We are still trying to decide what to do and I'll share more about her in the coming days.
And so here we are. I've reached 14 weeks so I'm finally able to feel excitement that this baby will be okay. This pregnancy is the reason I've been such a pitiful blogger and bloggy friend. The past three months have completely wiped me out physically and all I'm able to do is the day-to-day caring for my family, but I should start to get my energy back soon.
We are still diligently seeking God's will regarding the little girl we were about to adopt. Please pray for us to have wisdom and clarity with this situation.
We are learning that it doesn't matter how much you are shaken if your footing is firmly anchored in the One who sustains us. And we are grateful for the breathtaking snowfall of goodness and mercy that God has brought into our lives.
Much Love,
Kathie
I'll preface this news by letting you know that a few years ago I started collecting snow globes. I've loved them since I was a little girl. I remember having one of those plastic ones that could fit in the palm of my hand. I'd shake it and then watch the snow fall around the tiny scene held inside. For this little Georgia girl who rarely saw snow, I loved being able to make it a miniature winter wonderland whenever I wanted.
As much as I love watching the snow fall in these little globes, I prefer to have my own little world sit safely on a shelf. A few months ago I delighted in the fact that our life was finally stable, that we were securely sedentary after years of being shaken.
But several weeks ago, I started not feeling well. (Little shake of my snow globe.) I ignored some things for a couple weeks then finally called my general doctor and spoke with a nurse. As I explained my symptoms, I realized this was the same nurse that took a gallon of blood for my adoption physical. After drilling me with questions she asked, "Could you be pregnant?"
I laughed and explained that it wasn't possible. Years ago we had decided we were done adding biological children to our family, that I am well into my fortieth year, and we have almost finished our paperwork for our second adoption. I explained that I was probably starting to go through "the change" (or perhaps my body was still holding a grudge from the gallon of blood she recently took). I reminded her once more that I am well into my fortieth year just in case she didn't catch that the first time. She said that she'd make an appointment but I could take a home pregnancy test if I wanted to rule that out before coming in.
Since my bathroom cabinets are stocked with anti-wrinkle cream--not early pregnancy tests--I headed to the drug store. I grabbed a generic one. I wasn't going to spend more than I had to just because some crazy nurse needed proof that I wasn't pregnant. The teen check-out clerk gave me a look that said, "Umm. Not an item I see many middle-aged women buy."
The next hour was spent alone in my bathroom. I have been there before many times--sitting with a pregnancy test in hand, too nervous about the results to actually do it. All the other times, what my heart wanted more than anything was for it to be positive. Many times I sat on the bathroom floor and cried because it wasn't.
The last time I took one of those tests was almost 7 years ago. Three months earlier, we had lost a baby boy at 35 weeks that died due to an umbilical cord knot (Luke's story is here). As much as I dreaded being pregnant again, we needed a new life to give us hope. I needed to deliver a baby that would cry, that I could hold in my arms, that I could parent till I'm old. My girls needed to come to the hospital--not to say good-bye to their new sibling, but to proudly bring him home. My husband needed to see his family heal and our family needed to see God's goodness and mercy in our lives. And God was so gracious to give us Brady, due exactly one year after we had lost his brother.
But once he was born, we knew that we were done adding to our family biologically. It was just too physically and emotionally difficult. We had always known God had called us to adopt and felt peace that this is how God wanted us to complete our family.
And so on the morning of November 1, I sat on the cold tile floor working up the courage to take the test. I knew that if the outcome was positive, I would once again have to go down a path that at times ended in overwhelming joy and other times ended in overwhelming pain. (I've had three first trimester miscarriages in addition to our full-term loss.) As much as I would love a house full of little people, I wanted the door marked "Pregnancy" to remain closed.
I finally took the test.
Within seconds that second line appeared telling me that I was pregnant.
Shake, shake, shake of my world.
I was truly so stunned that I couldn't process it. Sometimes my computer freezes up when it gets overloaded with stuff I'm trying to do. I just turn it off and re-boot it later. That's just what I wanted to do. Shut down and re-boot at a time that I'm able to handle it.
But since I don't have a Control-Alt-Delete feature, I just sat on the floor and wept. I wept out of fear of what might be ahead. But, most of all, I wept out of gratitude that God would entrust us with yet another little life. Humbled that, in spite of what I assumed was His plan for our life, His plan was always so much better.
My husband didn't believe me when I called him at work to share the news. Neither has anyone else. The typical response is: "Yea right. Are you kidding? You're not kidding? Wow!" Sometimes instead of the "wow" there's hysterical laughing.
Our four children were excited from the minute we told them. They were shocked, yet overjoyed. But their first question was, "Can we still adopt?" We had already chosen a little girl in China and for months had talked about her like she was already part of the family. We are still trying to decide what to do and I'll share more about her in the coming days.
And so here we are. I've reached 14 weeks so I'm finally able to feel excitement that this baby will be okay. This pregnancy is the reason I've been such a pitiful blogger and bloggy friend. The past three months have completely wiped me out physically and all I'm able to do is the day-to-day caring for my family, but I should start to get my energy back soon.
We are still diligently seeking God's will regarding the little girl we were about to adopt. Please pray for us to have wisdom and clarity with this situation.
We are learning that it doesn't matter how much you are shaken if your footing is firmly anchored in the One who sustains us. And we are grateful for the breathtaking snowfall of goodness and mercy that God has brought into our lives.
Much Love,
Kathie
Friday, December 10, 2010
The Beauty of Imperfection
We were doing some cleaning out of old toys and I found something that made me laugh.
Yes, it's the game Perfection with only one remaining piece. That pretty much sums up my life.
I had one of these games myself when I was little and remember how badly I wanted to get every piece in place before the timer ended and the whole platform of pieces popped up in my face. I must admit that as an adult, I have created my own games of Perfection--setting off my own internal stop watch to get things done perfectly and on time. The time of year that I seem to be the guiltiest of this crazy--often unwinable game--is Christmastime.
Last year I missed our church's annual Christmas women's tea and I was supposed to be the speaker. I was living in Guatemala (trying to finish Daniel's adoption) at the time and couldn't attend so I wrote down my thoughts and a sweet friend read it for me.
I've included it below because, right now as the clock is ticking and I'm trying so hard to make Daniel's first Christmas at home special, I need my own little reminder of the beauty of imperfection.
Missing Most of My Pieces,
Kathie
The Ultimate Gift Exchange
My blood pressure begins to rise as soon as the Christmas decorations appear at the mall. I know I should feel joy and peace in celebrating the season, but instead I feel a knot in my stomach. (Or perhaps it’s that Cinnabon I just inhaled.)
Anyway, the stress I’m feeling is simply the worry over not finding the perfect gift for every person on my list. I’ve actually been known to buy a gift, get it home and have gift-buyer’s remorse, and return it for something else. There’s a customer service gal at Target who knows me by name. She recommends gift cards for my affliction.
Can you imagine if the three wise men had been three wise women? They would have agonized over the gifts for the Baby Jesus. I can hear them now.
“We don’t really know his size,” comments Wise Woman One. “What if we get him an outfit and he’s already outgrown it.”
Then Wise Woman Two pipes up: “Remember that he’s been wearing nothing but swaddling clothes. I’m sure anything would be appreciated. If you enclose a gift receipt, they can always exchange it.”
Wise Woman Three expresses her opinion: “I think we should go with something personalized. Maybe something engraved with his name and birth date.”
Wise Woman Two reminds: “But we aren’t really certain of the actual date. Reading the stars can be so unpredictable and apparently Mary hasn’t gotten around to sending out a birth announcement.”
Well, you see how this could have been a disaster. Can you imagine the nativity set with one wise woman holding a gift receipt, another a Target bag, and another with a monogrammed onesie? But if Biblical times are anything like modern day, the gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh were probably bought and wrapped by the wise men’s wives anyway.
These days it’s all about having the perfect holiday, perfect decorations, perfect menu, and perfect gift. It’s easy to fall into the trap that anything less is unworthy. But several years ago, one of my kiddos helped me see gift giving in a different way.
It was when Olivia was about 4 years old and was invited to one of her first birthday parties at a neighbor’s house. We were new to the neighborhood and Abby was her first little buddy. I remember displaying the invitation on the fridge and Olivia counting down the days on the calendar. We went to the store for the sole purpose of finding Abby the perfect gift. I don’t remember exactly what it was but remember it was an odd shape of plastic and cardboard packaging that would be a challenge to wrap.
I tried to talk Olivia into going with a gift bag (in my opinion it’s an invention right up there with electricity). But, no, she had picked out some princess wrapping paper and was determined to wrap it herself.
We got the item home and, as all good obsessive-compulsive disorder mommies would do, I tried to assist her efforts. She looked up with those big brown eyes and said, “Mommy, this is MY gift to Abby. I want to wrap this all by myself.”
She cut with her safety scissors and folded the paper carefully around the corners of the package. She secured that sucker with a thousand pieces of tape to make sure there was no chance of Abby seeing the surprise before it was time. But that was not enough. She searched through our box of stickers and adorned the package with an adhesive assortment of American flags, cartoon kittens, and red and pink hearts. And the final touches were sequins and feathers glued on top. And it looked . . . like it was in pain. Although the attached card read “To Abby, From Olivia” all I could see was “Help Me!”
It sat overnight on our dining room table. (However it’s hard to remember a time in my life that a birthday gift wasn’t bought on the way to a party and wrapped at red lights.) Brad saw the explosion of paper, tape, and feathers and commented: “It’s taking every bit of your will power not to rewrap it--isn't it?”
I blurted out: “Oh, how badly I want to! This is the first gathering with our new neighbors and we show up with THIS. I have beautiful paper and an assortment of curling and wired ribbons and cute little trimmings for the top. I could have done this present in plaid and polka dotted perfection!!!! What if they laugh at Olivia when she brings in her gift? But she is so proud of it, I just can’t rewrap it without breaking her heart.”
Well, we left for the party the next morning. Olivia insisted on carrying the gift. I was relieved because I didn’t want any credit for the gift-wrapped mess. We walked in to see a table of gifts that looked like they were taken from a Hallmark ad. I began to pray, “Oh, please God, don’t let anyone laugh at Olivia.”
Olivia ran to the birthday girl and handed Abby the gift. Liv was beaming ear to ear and said, “This is for you. I picked it out and wrapped it all by myself.” It was the longest pause at a birthday party I can remember (with the exception of a shindig where a tray of red-iced Elmo cupcakes spilled onto new white carpet). But Abby’s response was worth all the goodie bags in the world: “It’s soooooo beautiful!!! I love it!” All the other moms saw what was going on and piped up with “oh, I love the feathers, and, wow, that’s a great use of tape.”
It then occurred to me that the most precious gifts aren’t necessarily the ones that are perfectly packaged. They are the ones that are given with the greatest love. The most beautiful gift of song isn’t necessarily Celine Dion backed with a full orchestra . . . it’s a choir of children praising the Lord off-key. The most precious jewelry isn’t found in a blue box from Tiffany’s . . . it’s a necklace made from macaroni noodles delivered with a sticky kiss. And the most special gift isn’t one of extravagance . . . it’s one of complete sacrifice.
As I long to give myself as an offering to the only One who is perfect, I often feel like Olivia’s odd-shaped package . . . I want so badly to be a perfect reflection of my Creator yet most days I’m a mess of tape and feathers and poorly chosen stickers. I’m broken and flawed . . . how could a King so perfect love a servant so imperfect? What could I possibly give that shows the extent of my love for Him?
And then I remember Romans 5:8. The words move me to tears. “But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” (NIV)
Wow. He loved me as a sinner. Undeserving of grace. An offering of brokenness. Yet His gift to me was the sacrifice of Perfection, beautifully nailed to the cross.
So as you think about what you can give your King . . . give out of love, out of sacrifice, without concern for imperfections, without thought of what others will think of your humble offering. Don’t be a wise woman seeking a perfect gift for a perfect King. Be a living macaroni necklace delivered with a sticky kiss for your Heavenly Father.
Yes, it's the game Perfection with only one remaining piece. That pretty much sums up my life.
I had one of these games myself when I was little and remember how badly I wanted to get every piece in place before the timer ended and the whole platform of pieces popped up in my face. I must admit that as an adult, I have created my own games of Perfection--setting off my own internal stop watch to get things done perfectly and on time. The time of year that I seem to be the guiltiest of this crazy--often unwinable game--is Christmastime.
Last year I missed our church's annual Christmas women's tea and I was supposed to be the speaker. I was living in Guatemala (trying to finish Daniel's adoption) at the time and couldn't attend so I wrote down my thoughts and a sweet friend read it for me.
I've included it below because, right now as the clock is ticking and I'm trying so hard to make Daniel's first Christmas at home special, I need my own little reminder of the beauty of imperfection.
Missing Most of My Pieces,
Kathie
The Ultimate Gift Exchange
My blood pressure begins to rise as soon as the Christmas decorations appear at the mall. I know I should feel joy and peace in celebrating the season, but instead I feel a knot in my stomach. (Or perhaps it’s that Cinnabon I just inhaled.)
Anyway, the stress I’m feeling is simply the worry over not finding the perfect gift for every person on my list. I’ve actually been known to buy a gift, get it home and have gift-buyer’s remorse, and return it for something else. There’s a customer service gal at Target who knows me by name. She recommends gift cards for my affliction.
Can you imagine if the three wise men had been three wise women? They would have agonized over the gifts for the Baby Jesus. I can hear them now.
“We don’t really know his size,” comments Wise Woman One. “What if we get him an outfit and he’s already outgrown it.”
Then Wise Woman Two pipes up: “Remember that he’s been wearing nothing but swaddling clothes. I’m sure anything would be appreciated. If you enclose a gift receipt, they can always exchange it.”
Wise Woman Three expresses her opinion: “I think we should go with something personalized. Maybe something engraved with his name and birth date.”
Wise Woman Two reminds: “But we aren’t really certain of the actual date. Reading the stars can be so unpredictable and apparently Mary hasn’t gotten around to sending out a birth announcement.”
Well, you see how this could have been a disaster. Can you imagine the nativity set with one wise woman holding a gift receipt, another a Target bag, and another with a monogrammed onesie? But if Biblical times are anything like modern day, the gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh were probably bought and wrapped by the wise men’s wives anyway.
These days it’s all about having the perfect holiday, perfect decorations, perfect menu, and perfect gift. It’s easy to fall into the trap that anything less is unworthy. But several years ago, one of my kiddos helped me see gift giving in a different way.
It was when Olivia was about 4 years old and was invited to one of her first birthday parties at a neighbor’s house. We were new to the neighborhood and Abby was her first little buddy. I remember displaying the invitation on the fridge and Olivia counting down the days on the calendar. We went to the store for the sole purpose of finding Abby the perfect gift. I don’t remember exactly what it was but remember it was an odd shape of plastic and cardboard packaging that would be a challenge to wrap.
I tried to talk Olivia into going with a gift bag (in my opinion it’s an invention right up there with electricity). But, no, she had picked out some princess wrapping paper and was determined to wrap it herself.
We got the item home and, as all good obsessive-compulsive disorder mommies would do, I tried to assist her efforts. She looked up with those big brown eyes and said, “Mommy, this is MY gift to Abby. I want to wrap this all by myself.”
She cut with her safety scissors and folded the paper carefully around the corners of the package. She secured that sucker with a thousand pieces of tape to make sure there was no chance of Abby seeing the surprise before it was time. But that was not enough. She searched through our box of stickers and adorned the package with an adhesive assortment of American flags, cartoon kittens, and red and pink hearts. And the final touches were sequins and feathers glued on top. And it looked . . . like it was in pain. Although the attached card read “To Abby, From Olivia” all I could see was “Help Me!”
It sat overnight on our dining room table. (However it’s hard to remember a time in my life that a birthday gift wasn’t bought on the way to a party and wrapped at red lights.) Brad saw the explosion of paper, tape, and feathers and commented: “It’s taking every bit of your will power not to rewrap it--isn't it?”
I blurted out: “Oh, how badly I want to! This is the first gathering with our new neighbors and we show up with THIS. I have beautiful paper and an assortment of curling and wired ribbons and cute little trimmings for the top. I could have done this present in plaid and polka dotted perfection!!!! What if they laugh at Olivia when she brings in her gift? But she is so proud of it, I just can’t rewrap it without breaking her heart.”
Well, we left for the party the next morning. Olivia insisted on carrying the gift. I was relieved because I didn’t want any credit for the gift-wrapped mess. We walked in to see a table of gifts that looked like they were taken from a Hallmark ad. I began to pray, “Oh, please God, don’t let anyone laugh at Olivia.”
Olivia ran to the birthday girl and handed Abby the gift. Liv was beaming ear to ear and said, “This is for you. I picked it out and wrapped it all by myself.” It was the longest pause at a birthday party I can remember (with the exception of a shindig where a tray of red-iced Elmo cupcakes spilled onto new white carpet). But Abby’s response was worth all the goodie bags in the world: “It’s soooooo beautiful!!! I love it!” All the other moms saw what was going on and piped up with “oh, I love the feathers, and, wow, that’s a great use of tape.”
It then occurred to me that the most precious gifts aren’t necessarily the ones that are perfectly packaged. They are the ones that are given with the greatest love. The most beautiful gift of song isn’t necessarily Celine Dion backed with a full orchestra . . . it’s a choir of children praising the Lord off-key. The most precious jewelry isn’t found in a blue box from Tiffany’s . . . it’s a necklace made from macaroni noodles delivered with a sticky kiss. And the most special gift isn’t one of extravagance . . . it’s one of complete sacrifice.
As I long to give myself as an offering to the only One who is perfect, I often feel like Olivia’s odd-shaped package . . . I want so badly to be a perfect reflection of my Creator yet most days I’m a mess of tape and feathers and poorly chosen stickers. I’m broken and flawed . . . how could a King so perfect love a servant so imperfect? What could I possibly give that shows the extent of my love for Him?
And then I remember Romans 5:8. The words move me to tears. “But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” (NIV)
Wow. He loved me as a sinner. Undeserving of grace. An offering of brokenness. Yet His gift to me was the sacrifice of Perfection, beautifully nailed to the cross.
So as you think about what you can give your King . . . give out of love, out of sacrifice, without concern for imperfections, without thought of what others will think of your humble offering. Don’t be a wise woman seeking a perfect gift for a perfect King. Be a living macaroni necklace delivered with a sticky kiss for your Heavenly Father.
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Sunday Dinner: Always the Same
Retailers during the holiday season crack me up. First, they announce the "Biggest Sale of the Season" is before Thanksgiving. Then, they retract that statement with the can't miss After Thanksgiving Sales and Doorbusters. As the season progresses, they again try to convince us that, hold on, stop everything, forget all those other dinky sales because they have yet again slashed prices and NOW is the time to shop.
The actual items for sale can be equally frustrating, especially for the consumer who must have the latest and best. Several years ago, the popular handheld toy was the Gameboy. It was soon replaced by a better Gameboy, which was replaced by the DS, then soon outdone by the DSi, and now the big deal is the DSi XL. I'm so glad we don't have one of these on our Christmas shopping list because I know by next spring there will be another electronic carrot dangling that's even better.
This is the time of year that I just want everything to be the same. The same traditions, the same Christmas carols, the same family and friends to share the holiday with. But we live in a world that's always changing. Loved ones pass away and move away. Kids grow a bit more each year. Sometimes I just ache to have one more Christmas with my mom and grandparents and Brad's grandparents. I want to freeze this time with my children so they will never grow up. All I can do is savor every single minute of right now.
This Christmas I'm especially grateful for the one gift that is always perfect and always the same. A gift that never needs to be exchanged, will never be outgrown, can not become outdated, and will never be outdone. The gift of Jesus Christ.
This week's Sunday Dinner verse is simply:
"Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever."
Hebrews 13:8
The actual items for sale can be equally frustrating, especially for the consumer who must have the latest and best. Several years ago, the popular handheld toy was the Gameboy. It was soon replaced by a better Gameboy, which was replaced by the DS, then soon outdone by the DSi, and now the big deal is the DSi XL. I'm so glad we don't have one of these on our Christmas shopping list because I know by next spring there will be another electronic carrot dangling that's even better.
This is the time of year that I just want everything to be the same. The same traditions, the same Christmas carols, the same family and friends to share the holiday with. But we live in a world that's always changing. Loved ones pass away and move away. Kids grow a bit more each year. Sometimes I just ache to have one more Christmas with my mom and grandparents and Brad's grandparents. I want to freeze this time with my children so they will never grow up. All I can do is savor every single minute of right now.
This Christmas I'm especially grateful for the one gift that is always perfect and always the same. A gift that never needs to be exchanged, will never be outgrown, can not become outdated, and will never be outdone. The gift of Jesus Christ.
This week's Sunday Dinner verse is simply:
"Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever."
Hebrews 13:8
There's such comfort, such peace, such freedom knowing He is never-changing and never-failing.
Much Love,
Kathie
Saturday, November 27, 2010
A Cup of Thankful Topped with Marshmallows
I hope you all had a blessed Thanksgiving holiday. Perhaps few enjoyed it more than we did.
It was simply wonderful just being together. This time last year, I left my husband and three kiddos the day after Thanksgiving to try to bring Daniel home. With tears streaming down their faces, I boarded a plane to Guatemala, didn't return till mid-December, and came home without him. Brad took my place till he was able to bring Daniel home Christmas Eve. Having our new son home after two and a half years of waiting was the only gift we wanted for Christmas.
We watched the Peanuts Thanksgiving special the other night. It was the one that had the Peanuts characters telling the story of the pilgrims coming over on the Mayflower in search for a better life and religious freedom. It told of their hardships--that their boat was so badly damaged from the storms they almost had to turn back to England, that sickness took many lives, how the Indians came to their aid and showed them how to live on the land.
Daniel had never heard this story that my other three had grown up knowing about. He kept looking at me with amazement asking, "Mama, is this true? Did this really happen?" Each time I'd answer yes, his pride in being an American seemed to grow.
We've had a pilgrimage of our own this past year. Times of hardship that made us just want to turn around and go back. Struggles that made us want to give up. Kindness and support from others that encouraged us to keep going.
Daniel had the hardest journey of all. A new family, a new country, a new language, a new life. He had to leave all he had ever known and start over. He lived in survival mode for the first few months home because it's the only way he knew to live. Now he lives carefree like any other kid his age. Here he is playing in the leaves for the first time in his life.
So as we sat around our table this Thanksgiving, sharing what we are most grateful for, laughing like he had always been part of our family--the hardships of the past year seemed to evaporate.
In just the past few months of fall, we've had so many moments for which I've been grateful. Like the day I took the boys with me to vote. They were precious as they watched in awe as I cast my ballot in the election. Daniel also attended his first Veteran's Day program at his new school. He left with a new appreciation of the freedom we have and for those who serve our country. He was also very proud of his big sister who sang in the program. Here Olivia is with my dad who is an Army Veteran and was there to hear her sing.
I'm also so grateful to have witnessed Daniel's confidence grow this fall in being part of a soccer team. So grateful that he finally has a daddy (plus mom and siblings) to cheer him on from the sidelines.
This sweet pic is with his best friend who was adopted from the same orphanage by friends of ours at church.
Daniel and Alex played on the same soccer team and a precious young man also from the orphanage, now living here on a student VISA, came to their games to cheer them on.
And Daniel has become such a great big brother cheering his little brother on during Brady's first season of baseball.
Brady has spent a lot of time watching his older siblings at their events and it was fun for him to have his own turn to feel special.
Daniel got to carve his first pumpkin with our family
and dress up for some Trick or Treating on our street.
Thanksgiving Day we spent most of the day at my sister's house. I'm so grateful for another year with those we love so much. That evening we had some of Brad's family over to further celebrate being together this year. As I listened to each person share what they are grateful for, I couldn't help but be overcome with gratitude for God's blessings on us this year.
Yesterday Brad and the boys watched some football, I did some shopping with the girls, and last night we watched a movie by the fire in our PJs. We made the first hot chocolate of the season. Brady says, "Everything is better when it's topped with marshmallows." I piled them high this year, because everything is better this year because we're together.
We started decorating for Christmas today, but I'm not quite done celebrating this season of thanks. My cup runneth over and I think this holiday of gratitude is going to go well into next year.
Grateful for You,
Kathie
It was simply wonderful just being together. This time last year, I left my husband and three kiddos the day after Thanksgiving to try to bring Daniel home. With tears streaming down their faces, I boarded a plane to Guatemala, didn't return till mid-December, and came home without him. Brad took my place till he was able to bring Daniel home Christmas Eve. Having our new son home after two and a half years of waiting was the only gift we wanted for Christmas.
We watched the Peanuts Thanksgiving special the other night. It was the one that had the Peanuts characters telling the story of the pilgrims coming over on the Mayflower in search for a better life and religious freedom. It told of their hardships--that their boat was so badly damaged from the storms they almost had to turn back to England, that sickness took many lives, how the Indians came to their aid and showed them how to live on the land.
Daniel had never heard this story that my other three had grown up knowing about. He kept looking at me with amazement asking, "Mama, is this true? Did this really happen?" Each time I'd answer yes, his pride in being an American seemed to grow.
We've had a pilgrimage of our own this past year. Times of hardship that made us just want to turn around and go back. Struggles that made us want to give up. Kindness and support from others that encouraged us to keep going.
Daniel had the hardest journey of all. A new family, a new country, a new language, a new life. He had to leave all he had ever known and start over. He lived in survival mode for the first few months home because it's the only way he knew to live. Now he lives carefree like any other kid his age. Here he is playing in the leaves for the first time in his life.
So as we sat around our table this Thanksgiving, sharing what we are most grateful for, laughing like he had always been part of our family--the hardships of the past year seemed to evaporate.
In just the past few months of fall, we've had so many moments for which I've been grateful. Like the day I took the boys with me to vote. They were precious as they watched in awe as I cast my ballot in the election. Daniel also attended his first Veteran's Day program at his new school. He left with a new appreciation of the freedom we have and for those who serve our country. He was also very proud of his big sister who sang in the program. Here Olivia is with my dad who is an Army Veteran and was there to hear her sing.
I'm also so grateful to have witnessed Daniel's confidence grow this fall in being part of a soccer team. So grateful that he finally has a daddy (plus mom and siblings) to cheer him on from the sidelines.
This sweet pic is with his best friend who was adopted from the same orphanage by friends of ours at church.
Daniel and Alex played on the same soccer team and a precious young man also from the orphanage, now living here on a student VISA, came to their games to cheer them on.
And Daniel has become such a great big brother cheering his little brother on during Brady's first season of baseball.
Brady has spent a lot of time watching his older siblings at their events and it was fun for him to have his own turn to feel special.
Daniel got to carve his first pumpkin with our family
and dress up for some Trick or Treating on our street.
Thanksgiving Day we spent most of the day at my sister's house. I'm so grateful for another year with those we love so much. That evening we had some of Brad's family over to further celebrate being together this year. As I listened to each person share what they are grateful for, I couldn't help but be overcome with gratitude for God's blessings on us this year.
Yesterday Brad and the boys watched some football, I did some shopping with the girls, and last night we watched a movie by the fire in our PJs. We made the first hot chocolate of the season. Brady says, "Everything is better when it's topped with marshmallows." I piled them high this year, because everything is better this year because we're together.
We started decorating for Christmas today, but I'm not quite done celebrating this season of thanks. My cup runneth over and I think this holiday of gratitude is going to go well into next year.
Grateful for You,
Kathie
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Sunday Dinner: Gratitude
Forgive me. I've been on an unplanned, unannounced bloggy sabbatical. I could blame it on being busy, but honestly I've just been without words.
I'll share more in the coming weeks, but in a nutshell, the snow globe that I live in has had a bit of shaking up. The snowfall is beautiful, but I'm still trying to regain my footing.
The one thing I've learned in my 40 plus years is to be grateful. Grateful for the lean years and the years of blessing. Grateful for brokenness and for healing. Grateful for pain and restoration.
Grateful that this year Daniel will finally spend his first Thanksgiving with our family. Grateful that we've been granted another year with those we love. Grateful that He is the One who directs our steps and lights our paths. Grateful for unexpected gifts and goodness and mercy beyond measure.
The verse for this week is simply:
"Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good; His love endures forever."
Psalm 118:1
The dessert of song for this week is the very first song I posted on my blog over a year ago--"Gratitude" by Nicole Nordeman. The lyrics have never been so true as they are to me today.
During this week of giving thanks, may you remember God's enduring love in all situations.
Much Love,
Kathie
I'll share more in the coming weeks, but in a nutshell, the snow globe that I live in has had a bit of shaking up. The snowfall is beautiful, but I'm still trying to regain my footing.
The one thing I've learned in my 40 plus years is to be grateful. Grateful for the lean years and the years of blessing. Grateful for brokenness and for healing. Grateful for pain and restoration.
Grateful that this year Daniel will finally spend his first Thanksgiving with our family. Grateful that we've been granted another year with those we love. Grateful that He is the One who directs our steps and lights our paths. Grateful for unexpected gifts and goodness and mercy beyond measure.
The verse for this week is simply:
"Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good; His love endures forever."
Psalm 118:1
The dessert of song for this week is the very first song I posted on my blog over a year ago--"Gratitude" by Nicole Nordeman. The lyrics have never been so true as they are to me today.
During this week of giving thanks, may you remember God's enduring love in all situations.
Much Love,
Kathie
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