Sorting the Fabric...Thanking God for the Dale Thompson's in Our Lives

Sometimes God communicates with people through His word. Sometimes He communicates with people through circumstances. For me, God has always communicated through signs. Sometimes these signs are huge, demonstrative sightings that overwhelm me so, that I cannot even speak. Others times the signs come to me so softly and quietly that I cannot help but look up and smile. Today, my sign was soft and quiet. Although the giver never even knew God was using her, I knew and God knew, and really, that was enough.
Ever since I was a small child, I have loved red birds, especially in the winter when they sit on the back drop of the silvery white snow. Because they seem to appear more readily in winter, I seem to miss them and their beauty much of the year. And so it is no wonder that I readily identify these beautiful animals as gifts from God. However, it wasn't until much later, when I was worried about one of my children, that I knew for sure that these amazing birds were God's way of blessing me...they were His signs for me.
God, I prayed silently as I rocked back and forth in my rocking chair...where is he? Is Jeff okay? It's so awful out. I do not know where he is. I do not know if he is safe in this storm. He will not answer my calls. Oh Lord, I am so frightened for him...and I dropped my head in my hands and began to sob. Please Lord, if he will not call me, Ii I do not know...how will I ever fall asleep and get some rest? Will you give me a sign...something that I will recognize as You telling me he's okay...I just need to know...I love him so very much... I prayed and prayed all through the night as the wind whipped snow and ice everywhere. I rocked and I prayed. Prayed and rocked. And still no answer. Where are You God? Where is Jeffy? Is he okay? Suddenly the phone rang, "Mom, it's me...I just wanted you to know that I am safe and that I love you. Okay Mom?" Jeff said quietly into the phone as we talked briefly. "Don't worry Mom, I can take care of myself..."
I listened intently to the short conversation, so very grateful that he had called. I hung up the phone, stood up out of my chair, turned around, and looked at the big lilac tree out the big picture window. There sitting on snow covered branches was a tree loaded with red birds. many, many red birds...so many I could not count them. And that is when I knew...my sign...the red birds were my sign. God wanted me to know that He had specifically answered my prayers for Jeff. The red birds' presence told me so.
And that was only the beginning. If ever I was worried. If ever I didn't know what to do, God would send red birds my way to know that all was well. And send He did. Now I know it sounds silly. And I know that no one will believe it. But I do not care. Because a sign meant for me from God only needs to be believed by me.
If we had a long night of sickness, I would rock that child next to a red bird on the window sill. If I had to make a heartfelt apology that I didn't want to make, the red birds would be on the rock outside the window dancing at me when I was done. The red birds became little blessings between me and God letting me know that we were all right, He and I, that I was following Him the right way.
When my son killed himself and I lay my head on his tombstone in desperate tears to fix the situation, God sent a red bird to sit beside me and reassure me that it was okay. When I was told I may die of a brain tumor and I walked into the bathroom to sob by myself...it was a red bird that sat in the small bush outside my window and refused to leave, no matter how hard I cried. When I dodged to miss an animal in  the road and almost went into the ditch...two red birds dove in front of the car at the very moment I opened my eyes to see that we were okay. So you see, the red bird has become a life saver in many ways...
And today, today when I have been missing my son so much, wondering if I am making the right decision to walk away from a job and customers that I love in order to get stronger in health..I received a knock at the door. A knock that I was not expecting, from a woman who has never been in my home, and in her hand, she held a red bird. "I found this in my mother's things and I thought of you and how much you love the red birds," she said smiling as she handed it to me. I put the shiny red bird in my hand. I stroked it's smooth exterior. I could hardly believe what I held.  I wanted to jump for joy. I wanted to tell her what that small statue of a red bird meant to me, but I could not. I was too overwhelmed to speak of it. But I held it. I did not put it down. I merely thanked her and made small talk and showed her my home.  Later, as I watched her leave, I looked up at the treasured red bird now sitting in a place of prominence in my home, and thanked God for this gift and the woman who brought it to me. Even though she may never know what that red bird meant to me, I will know that God knows how He used a beautiful woman with a sense of timing and wisdom to answer my prayers of insecurity. He used her to tell me that yes, I am doing the right thing staying home and that Jeff will be alright in heaven. And if I will not take the time to look out the window on a rainy day for a red bird, that He will send one to me, with friendship and love...

Threading the Needles Because I Can't See...My Sissy...Melissa

Sometimes in life we are blessed to have a great friend; a soul mate, someone who knows you better than perhaps you know yourself. But sometimes in life we are also blessed to have a great sibling as well; a sister, someone who perhaps shared the same memories as you and knows who you were from the beginning. I am blessed to have both in my sister Melissa . Most people call her "Moe", but I have always, always called her Melissa. Ever since I could take her in my arms and stroke her beautiful little freckled self, I have been in love. I have loved her in the good times and protected her in the bad. I have changed her diapers, helped potty train her, and bought her school clothes. I have dressed her in party dresses, bought her wedding dress, and when she was nine months pregnant; let her use my clothes as maternity clothes. Heck, I even went into the delivery room with her when her two beautiful children came popping into this world. She seemed to always have been my baby girl as well as our mother's. Mom worked long and hard to support us and I never ever hated the imposed responsibility of taking care of this young child. She literally was my life at times. And when the "Boogie Man" came into our lives and times were tough and times were scary, it was I who covered her eyes and hid her until it was safe enough for her to see the light once again. It wasn't  an easy task. It wasn't without it's hardships. Loving her sometimes was my only purpose- my reason to live.

And as with many sisterhoods, we grew into adults and have faced many challenges. Our paths have always been smooth and we have never been so angry with one another that we couldn't work it out. I was jealous of her when my son chose to live with her. Mad when he threw into my face that she was a better Mother figure than I. But time makes you see facts more clearly and I came to know that she was only protecting a child, my child, from the deep seeded demons that haunted him until his self inflicted death. Together we found my child, dead on an old dirt road, blood everywhere, gun in his hand. It was at that point that point in our lives that somewhere, somehow, the tables had turned, and she was no longer the baby sister, but she had taken on the role as big sister and I, the baby. My reality had ceased to exist anymore, and because she loved my children as her own, she also grieved him as her own. It gave us an unlikely bond, but one we both knew existed none the less. And so we had faced this awful death together, my sister and I, visiting and revisiting that day until we both were able to face the world without him and find some sort of "peace" about it.

Melissa has always been the wiser one. Always been the one who could hold her own in any situation. She has been the peacemaker in a family that is as dysfunctional as the sky turns gray. She is the one I turn to for advice when I am confused, and she is the one I turn to when I am so horribly lost that I cannot find my way. So it came as no surprise that she was there at my side during this illness, everyday organizing my children; finding rides, getting food, giving money, and playing Mommy to them. She was our rock. Our go to person to solve these problems that I could no longer lift my head enough to solve.

She came to the hospital to visit me in those first unknown days and it was the first time in my life that I saw "scared" in my sister. I looked into her eyes and I knew. I knew that she knew that I was in deep crap here and it was about to hit the fan. I could feel it in her eyes as she stared, studied, and questioned. I could feel it when she spoke of my children and how they were. But mostly I could see that she saw that this bond that we shared so deeply could be severed, and it was something that neither of us had ever entertained.

I called her a lot in that week I lay on the bed at home, in the bedroom, or in the chair. I called her late at night and whispered so that my children couldn't hear through tears of fear and despair, how frightened I was to die. I knew God had this, but somehow His will did not always work out to be my will, and that scared the living hell out of me- literally. I reflected with her my loves, my life, my regrets. I asked her to take care of Tim and my babies and grandbabies. I shared what I wanted for them and their lives. And I told her how much I loved her and how thankful I was that she was and had always been my best friend.

She was there when my head hurt so bad I couldn't see and she was there when I needed someone to take me potty. She was there to help me get dressed, buy me clothes, and help me have the courage to go under the knife. But mostly she was there to love me. To help me through the hardest battle I have yet to face. She was there as my sister, but mostly she was there as my friend and for that, I will always love her.

Sewing Without a Pattern

I began to slowly call the kids one by one. I didn't know if there was a tomorrow, heck, I wasn't even sure that there was a today. I told the adult children of my fears. I told them all of the stored up feelings of love and regrets I had. I told them everything on my heart. But my little ones, I just said that I loved them. Really loved them and that I was having tests done. My voice broke as I played possum to them and never let on what big trouble I was facing. I felt like a liar. But I couldn't rock their world. Kids in school do not need to know adult stuff. They had just lost their brother. Wasn't that enough for a kid for a lifetime?
The next few days were a myriad of tests. Then the surgeon walked in. He introduced himself and I shook his hand. Tim stood up and did the same. "There's a tumor...," he began. Focus...stay focused. Listen. Stay calm. Where are you Lord. Are you getting this? Am I gonna die and leave these children. These Grandchildren. This man whom I adore? Focus. Stay focused. "It is about the size of a golf ball located right behind your ear. It has been there awhile. Ever feel fatigued? Suffered hearing loss? Blurred vision? Spots in your eyes? Lights flashing in your eyes? Ever feel off balanced? Sinus headaches? Insomnia? stressed? Emotional?..." The list went on and on. I explained that I thought I just wasn't sleeping well. I explained that I take good care of myself, eat right....
"This could be from birth....," he continued. "Good news, is that it probably isn't cancer. Bad news is that I don't like where it's located and I want to schedule surgery within the week. There's a two percent chance that this is cancer. Great odds. But there is also a ten percent chance that this surgery could result in a spinal fluid leak or some other brain trauma. The tumor is located in a very bad spot. I'll need to go in  through here, " he pointed to my neck, "make an incision about six inches long and then go in through the skull....". That was enough for me. No way can this be real. Somebody pinch me. Holding in the tears. Frightened and lonely? Where is God? Hadn't we suffered enough? Hadn't I? Lord, be real. We just lost Jeff. I searched for Tim and watched him take this all in. He just sat and intently listened. The doctor left. There I sat...stunned, frightened. And feeling very alone. Alone with a mass in my body that could steal my life away. That would steal my life away for a very long time.
The doctor shook my hand. He shook Tim's. Then he turned around with tenderness in his eyes. He with his yamaka on his head, his five foot seven stature, and his " I'm barely old enough to drive boyish grin on his face"..."You need to know something else. This is nothing short of a miracle that this tumor was found. All of your symptoms are easily treatable. It could have taken years for us to find it and by then...well it wouldn't have been good. Let's just say someone in this universe wanted you very much alive...." and he grinned again and left.
I watched him leave. Tim was quiet. The quietest he'd ever been, and he's real quiet to start with. He came over and held me for the longest time. My love. The love of my life. The only man to tame the shrew. Keeper of the emotions. My father. My best friend. My children's father. Their children's grandmother. I began to beg God to let me live. I began to play "Let's make a deal" with God. But I knew better. I knew God's style wasn't a game show. I knew His will was His will and I'd have to just accept it.
The plan was to run a few preop tests that day and let me go home to rest for a week. Rest. Bed rest. Not exactly what I had planned for that week. Not exactly who I was. How do you rest. I got so restless. The waiting in that hospital was driving me crazy. The endless praying and conversations with God were going no where.  Where was He and why couldn't I feel His presence?
"I voiced my Godless feelings to Tim..."Sometimes you just have to rely on faith Kari, and for you this may be one of those times...God just is. That is a fact. There's no feeling involved...just faith," Tim said tenderly as I cried.
"Kari, I am here for you. It'll be okay. I promise you...it has to be..." my best friend Katie soothed.
"Momma, it'll be okay. I know it will Momma. I promise. I'm coming home." Lacey whispered through the phone over and over again.
"Mom, God loves you and you found it when you shouldn't. It'll be okay. I promise. Want me to come home?" Tierney soothed from California.
"Momma, just call and let me know...I'm here Momma. I'm here. It'll be okay. You know it will", Josh said half convincing himself as well.
But I doubted him. I doubted them all. I laid my head on the pillow in the quiet, lonely hospital and realized it was out of my hands. I as not in control. For some reason, until Jeff died, I thought I controlled everything. But no, I knew now that I did not. I began to weep. The kid of weeping that goes so deep that you are unlikely to think clearly. I hushed up inside, closed my eyes, and rested my sore neck on the pillow. Tim was asleep in  the chair. The room was still. And there out of no where, was God. I felt His hand stroke my hair. I felt the softness of His robe as I laid my head in His lap. I could feel the soft breeze of the angel's wings caressing my skin. I felt a light and peace that was so intense, I could barely breath.
"Now do I have your attention? Stop. Stop running from me. I will take care of this... I promise.  It will not be easy. It will be the  hardest fight of your life, but I will take care of you. Trust me. Be still, and know... Have faith in Me...",  I heard God's voice stroking my heart. Calmly. Sternly. Surely.
 And I slept. And I knew. I knew I would be alright. If I died, I would be alright. If I lived, I would be alright. But in that moment, for the rest of my life, I knew that God had this. I just had to trust. And I went to sleep with His arms firmly around me, and they are around me still. Psalm46:10.

When the Seamstress is Broken

Dear Readers,
That Saturday began like any other day. I got up, ate breakfast and went to give blood at the blood bank. I was feeling achy, but who wouldn't feel tired when a six year old comes to sleep under your armpit in the middle of the night. I felt nervous, but I always fell nervous when I give blood because sometimes it makes me dizzy. But as the morning wore on, I began to feel fatigued- more fatigued than I had felt in a long time. And my neck began to hurt. My neck began to hurt almost like I had suffered whiplash or something, but again...a kid had slept in my armpit all night. So, like usual, I just went to give blood.
But then, my blood pressure was high, extremely high, and it wouldn't go down, 186/128. Very scary numbers. The nurse shook her head as she sent me to my docs, who in turn sent me to the ER, "Just to be safe", he stated. But at the ER, the PA and Doc there were dumbfounded, "You're as healthy as a thirty year old...I don't feel comfortable though just getting this blood pressure down....we need to run a CT...something just isn't adding up."So I tell myself, whatever they'll just run a few more tests. Worse case scenario, I stay overnight. So Tim and I casually joked in the hospital room and never truly thought anything serious was wrong.
Then the Doc came in. Now this guy is no normal doc. He's the guy who had seen myself and our children through a number of scary things...husband dies, pregnancy scare, ruptured spleen, appendicitis...and never ever would I not trust him or his judgement. But this time when he walked in, his face had changed. The smile was gone. He was serious, weird serious. I noticed at that moment how he had aged. The years of youth had disappeared when he became that somber and the fatigued of his job, and the horrific things that he had endured were present as he slowly sat down and and moved his stool towards me.
"The scan did not come back well. There is a mass. Quite a large one at the base of your skull behind your right ear where all your pain is..." Color drained from my face. I began to feel nauseous. I began to feel strange. I looked at Tim and watched him swallow hard."We need an MRI rather quickly and I want to send you to a bigger hospital...." I couldn't speak. I didn't hear. I flashed to my mother's deathbed, her cancerous, lonely deathbed. My hands started to sweat. My kids. My life. My husband. My grand kids. Mass, tumor, and then fear. Crazy, crazy fear. Fear like I'd only known a handful of times in my life. Oh Lord, I prayed, don't let me lose my life. Not now, I have so much to do....
I came back to reality to hear the doc say good luck as we drove to the larger hospital. "It's okay Honey. let's not panic until we know what this is...", Tim kept saying. But it was too late. I had already let panic sink in. I wanted Virginia, the only Momma I had known in many many years. So I began to call, call all the people I treasure before it was too late. A mass in my brain. Death. Living past fifty. Sweaty. Frightened. Plans. I had to make plans. I had to let them all know how I felt about them. I couldn't leave stuff unsaid. I couldn't, not like Jeff.
"Mom, " I began....and we talked and she begged to come with me and I wanted her too, but it was too late. We were already out of our small town and on our way to the larger hospital. Prayer chain. Yes, I wanted her to call the prayer chain. Yes, I was beyond frightened. So was she. She was crying. I could here her voice cracking. Yes, tell the family. Tell them all. Yes, I would let them know when we knew anything.
And so we kept driving and it felt like an eternity. I knew it wasn't an aneurysm, the doc said the mass was different than that. I knew I wasn't in immediate danger, the doc said that too. But I felt so weird. Foggy almost. And the fog wouldn't lift....
I was put in the wheelchair. All the other sick people who'd been there hours just stared as they wheeled me into a room. They tagged me...one for the hospital....one for fall risk. Was I a fall risk? They said I was. It bothered me. Really bothered me. Was I naughteous? I began to gag. The nurse handed me a blue bag. Where was Tim? I felt his hand holding mine as they whisked me into my own private room to wait for the MRI. It was all happening too fast.
The room was quiet. I asked Tim should I tell the older kids. He thought I should. Yikes! That meant he was apprehensive about this mass as well. And so it began....the hardest conversations I've ever had to have with my babies. It was also the hardest nonconversations I've ever had to have with my little ones. I am awful at being brave. Little did I know, my faith would be tested for the next six months in more ways than I could ever imagine....
Telling my babies...

A New Garment...My Son's Mother

Dear Adoptive Moms,

I wrote this poem many years ago for a Mother's Day contest in a newspaper. It won honorable mention. Although that part is not important, the fact of the matter is that I was thrilled that birth mothers all over would read this and know how much we , as adoptive moms, appreciate what they have done for us. So today as you hold your adoptive child in your arms and he tells you Happy Mother's Day, realize that there is another mother out there who longs to hear those words as well.

 

My Son’s Mother


I wonder what she looks like,
The woman who bore this boy,
Did she gaze upon his hazel eyes,
And love this precious joy?

I long to see her rock him,
As she carried him in her womb,
She gave him life on that treasured day,
Knowing he must leave her soon.

I want to deeply thank her,
for making a heartfelt choice,
It must have really broken her heart,
Not hearing his newborn voice.

I know that she must wonder too,
‘Bout me from time to time,
She gave up a life of memories,
In making her child mine.

I want to say I love you,
for the sacrifice you’ve done,
For giving me the most precious gift,
Your Dragos, my firstborn son.

written by Kari L. Burd 
December 12, 1997

Sewing for Royalty....Raising Special Needs Children

It was one of the busiest weeks of our lives, almost like planning a wedding. With three children graduating this year, and this being the famous "Winter Homecoming" week, our house was not only a buzz...the whole community was a huge hive as well. And they should have  been. After a couple of bad years in a sports slump, our althletes were coming out strong in basketball again. So "Restoring the Roar" (we are known as the Maple Valley Lions), was beginning to be a highly successful campaign and school spirit was not only coming back, but thriving as well. So homecoming week was a myriad of odd contests, special "dress up days", and voting for the senior class King and Queen candidates. Every school in the valley as well as child was involved in this huge event. The excitement was all over the community, but no household was buzzing more than ours.  As fate would have it, we had two children running for the homecoming court; our daughter Timara and our son Arden Dragos...
I watched her gaze at herself in the full length mirrior as I laced up her exquisite princess, blue, ball gown. She looked breathtaking. Her slender figure fit perfectly into her dress and looked absolutely brilliant against her dark coffee skin. Tears welled up in my eyes..."it'll have to be shortened," I struggled to say. But she did not speak. Timara just looked at herself over and over as if she was living a dream....
I remember meeting her for the first time. Oh, I had seen pictures, but photos never do a child justice.
It is their spirit and their personality that makes a child really who they are meant to be.  When I first saw her, she was chasing James all over. He had made her mad and she was gonna "get him". Timara was running and running chasing her brother, when all of the sudden she stopped dead in her tracks and stared high up into my face. "You's gonna be my momma? " She asked all bright eyed and bushy tailed. I nodded. "You's white!" she exclaimed matter of factly  climbing into my arms and snuggled her head close into my neck. "I's gonna love you!" she whispered. And that was it- I was sold. Whatever this child wanted...she was gonna get. If I couldn't buy it, well, I'd just steal it. She had stole my heart. This child was my daughter forever.
She was my little spit fire. She was a little bit of hell all wrapped up in beautiful. She was amazing. Anything she tried she could do and if she couldn't, she wouldn't stop trying until she mastered the task. She was super athletically talented. She was graceful. She was happy. And she was freakishly strong too. But sometimes when she got angry- she got mean, and that became a struggle for us on a daily basis during her toddler years. She had every boy in our household on the ropes and they never dared mess with her because she could "take them out".  She could and she did on several occassions if she felt it was necessary. I watched her once grab the skin on James' neck, twist it, and punch him right in the nose in one quick sweep. It was humorous in a way, but scarey too. But as the years rolled on and we channeled that energy through various sporting events, my little tomboy became a beautiful independent young woman.
She spoke with a hispanic, ghetto, foul mouthed tongue, and was hard at first to understand. So when you asked her a question sometimes she spoke both english and spanish. Quite a challenge for someone who was barely fluent in english.
I remember when she used to get ill, she would puke, and never tell anyone. All of the sudden we'd hear something, click on the light in her room, and there she'd be...tears streaming down her face covered in puke. She'd never yell. Never cry. Just sit and wait for someone to  come clean her up. One Christmas she spiked a very high fever and I drove her to the ER at two in the morning. "I's sick?" she said as she snuggled in my lap.  "Yes, Tateebutt- you's sick," I'd say as I stroked her little head. Later, I got sick too and she said matter of factly, "You's sick now too Momma!"...
 She could cuss like a sailer at her brothers, but if someone messed with them, or they were hurt.- she was as gentle and kind as could be. I remember once when a kid called Dragos ("Fados" as Timara used to call him) a "retard" and she jumped on top of the boy, got him down pushing sand in his mouth yelling, "nobody calls him dat...nobody never!" The kid got up and apolojized to Dragos. My daughter grabbed  HER brother by the arm and waltzed away, having saved the world. You see Timara (he called her Dimarna) was her brother's protector.  Nobody was gonna mess with her brother. He didn't fight it...nope because it's pretty cool to have your own personal body guard even if she was a girl.
I watched her as she stood there...gazing in that mirror...all grown up...all grown up...and I pinned her dress and prepared to make her a true Queen.

Dragos, my Dragos, put on his tux. I bought it online having sold a few of my own dresses to pay for it. It was huge in some places and I knew that I would have to really work some magic getting it to fit just perfect for a King. He put it on...it was too long and the pants drooped. But he grinned from ear to ear? "Think I'll win Momma?" he asked in a small quiet voice. I choked back the sob in my throat..."I think you've got a good chance Bubby, " I answered as I pinned and prodded.
My son. The only thing in my life that I've ever been absolutely sure about. Oh, how I loved this son. The son who was never to have lived. The son that the orphanage in Moldova said to "walk away...he is an idiot and will die". The son I could never give up on and waited a year for. This son was nominated for Homecoming King. I just kept pinning and remembering....
''This is your son Kari...you said a child, any child, and this is the son I've chosen..." I could hear God's voice as clear as a bell. All of the reasons not to adopt him never ever mattered to me. He can't talk. He can't walk. He rocks his head. But he laughs and he' s happy and there is just something about him...your son....he is your son.
Dragos. The son who overcame every obstacle he had to to fit in and be "one of the guys". They said he'd never talk. He spoke fluent english in six months after the adoption. They said he'd never walk. He walked perfectly seven months after the adoption. He'll be an idiot they said. He'll graduate in May with his class. Oh how I have loved raising him. But being a parent to him and even a sibling to him has meant great committment and patience. I had to trade sewing so he could have horse therapy to improve his gait. I traded sewing so that he could have deep massage therapy to help improve muscles destroyed by hundreds of shots of penecillon in his legs when he was young. Tim worked and then would come home exhausted and take Dragos to hills and parks. He would walk him up and down- up and down, to build week leg muscles from being left in a crib sixteen hours a day. His siblings had to listen to him repeat questions and then answer them over and over because Dragos would forget that he had already asked them. They shielded him from kids who were mean to him, when we lived in a different state, and they never let him know that he was different. They have spent hours and hours helping him with homework and telling him facts over and over. But mostly, mostly, they have just treated him normal. They have loved him and punched him and just been a sibling to a brother who some would be embarrassed about. He never ever knew that he was different...they never let him know.
So here he was standing in this tux. this would be the biggest moment of his life. I prayed that win or lose...he would be proud of who he was and who he would become in the future.

We stood behind them, Tim and I , watching from the sidelines in the gym. "And the 2013 Homecoming Queen is...Timara Burd!" the crowd roared with applause and whoops! Tim and I began to puddle up with tears, but before we could even catch our breath, "And your 2013 Winter Homecoming King is...Arden Dragos Burd!" The crowd exploded! Timara began to cry as they were placing her crown on her head and also placing his medallion around his neck. Tim looked at me and started bawling...I was bawling... and we held each other forever as we watched Dragos and Timara hug and cry. The crowd jumped to their feet and gave them a standing ovation! People were shaking our hands. Hugging them. They raced to embrace their grandparents. Their peers had elected them! My children! Two children who had every chance to fail to thrive. Two children whom by all early standards shouldn't have been here at all. My children. Our children.
I watched through tear stained, mascara running eyes as my children were surrounded by their friends and community. I watched as teachers, coaches, peers, and even strangers congratulated them. I watched my daughter Timara once again protect and guide her brother through the crowds... to us!  "I did it Momma! You happy? You surprised?" Dragos asked me through his tears. "Me and Timara won, Momma.! Did you see it?" I nodded and just kept hugging him. I looked over at my daughter so poised and happy and realized something I had never ever told her...something I'd always taken for granted...she was much more than his sister...she was his Hero. And now to share the spotlight with him, well it was God's way of saying to her. "Well done, my good and faithful servant."
That night, after the excitement had died down, I walked into her room and quietly took her hands and whispered, "If you never do anything again, I do not care...I have never ever been prouder of you than I am tonight...and I love you....". I held her for the longest time ..and she knew that I knew what this meant to her. You see his victories were her victories because when you have a special needs sibling every achievement is every family members.

People all over the world want to have a child...please look into adoption. the rewards are remarkably endless. And if you're lucky...real lucky... you will recieve a couple of crowns as well.

Sew in Love with Kids!

I love to sew for children; fun fuzzy pillowcases, silly soft blankets, outrageous creative costumes. But mostly I like kids to feel happy and loved. That's the best part of being a child...to have a blast!
Everywhere you go there are sayings about motherhood, sayings about childhood, and sayings about parenthood, and how great it is to let children be children. But do we really let them? In this fast pace world of hurrying up and growing up and being the best we can be, do we really let our kids live in a world of imagination? Has anyone really gotten down on their hands and knees and relived the reality of being a child?
I remember once when my children were small saying to my daughter, "Stop acting like a three year old!" And her looking into my eyes and answering, "But Momma, I am three...".
I guess my point is that our children ARE only little for a litle while. They see a world full of excitement and adventure. They see gum under tables. They see millions of kness. They see the stuff crammed under the couch. They see the color of gum on sidewalks. They see the trash can eye to eye. They see a toilet filled with adventurous water. They see a box as a new toy. They see things that you and I just consider ordinary, and take them to their imagination and change the world.
We chase them. We stop them. And sometimes we even chastise them. But the truth is, we need to stop ourselves. What would our children;s lives be like, if we just slowed down long enough to wonder...

• What does cat poop smell like in our hands, up close and personal?
• What about eating french fries in the back of the car, they still taste good even if they're a week old!
• How do we know that the sugar wouldn't be better all over the dining room floor?
• How about sucking up puke with a vaccuum?
• Ever swung from a clothes rack? (loads of fun)
• What if we colored our sister's face with permanent black marker? 
• Or how about playing with our blocks in a poopy diaper?

The possibilities for children are endless, and they should be. Somewhere along the line, their lives will get tainted. Some idiot will destroy their innocence and they'll learn to be afraid to try something new or too embarrassed to voice their opinions. But until then, let's let our children discover this big, beautiful world...eat frosting in the rain...protect them and love them...but seriously...let them be children.

 

 

 

 

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When the Beautiful Fabric Has a Flaw....

When God Ran Almighty God, the great I am Immovable rock, omnipotent, powerful, awesome Lord Victorious warrior, commanding King of Kings Mighty conqueror, and the only time the only time I ever saw Him run CHORUS: Was when He ran to me, He took me in His arms Held my head to His chest, said “My son’s come home again” Lifted my face, wiped the tears from my eyes With forgiveness in His voice He said, “Son do you know I still love you?” He caught me by surprise when God ran The day I left home I knew I’d broken His heart And I wondered then if things could ever be the same Then one night I remembered His love for me And down that dusty road ahead I could see It was the only time – it was the only time I ever saw Him run And then He ran to me, He took me in His arms Held my head to His chest, said “My son’s come home again” Lifted my face, wiped the tears from my eyes With forgiveness in His voice He said, “Son do you know I still love you?” He caught me by surprise as He brought me to my knees When God ran – I saw Him run to me BRIDGE: I was so ashamed, all alone and so far away But now I know He’s been waiting for this day I saw Him run to me, He took me in His arms Held my head to His chest, said “My son’s come home again” Lifted my face, wiped the tears from my eyes With forgiveness in His voice I felt His love for me again He ran to me, He took me in His arms Held my head to His chest, said “My son’s come home again” Lifted my face, wiped the tears from my eyes With forgiveness in His voice He said, “Son”, He called me Son He said, “Son do you know I still love you?” He ran to me and then I ran to Him When God ran by: Phillips, Craig, and Dean Almighty God, the great I am Immovable rock, omnipotent, powerful, awesome Lord Victorious warrior, commanding King of Kings Mighty conqueror, and the only time the only time I ever saw Him run....  and the small lil boy laid in the bath tub with his peed undies on his head. Tears running down his face, he wondered why he was so "bad". Why did his parents walk away and leave him here? Why did they choose drugs over him. He pretended to sleep because when he woke up if he was "bad", his foster mom would lock him in that dark closet again. He hated being by himself. He hated the dark so much..... Was when He ran to me, He took me in His arms Held my head to His chest, said “My son’s come home again” Lifted my face, wiped the tears from my eyes With forgiveness in His voice He said, “Son do you know I still love you?” He caught me by surprise when God ran....  and she held him in her arms and cooed, "I love you. I will never leave you. It will be okay. I promise Jeffy. No one will ever hurt you again. It doesn't matterHthat you stole. You'll say sorry and we'll help fix it. It'll be okay...." And the little boy now a young man sobbed on his adoptive mother's lap and she held him tight and wiped his tears.... He caught me by surprise when God ran The day I left home I knew I’d broken His heart And I wondered then if things could ever be the same...  She watched him leave. She was a mess. He had broken her heart. He had broken up her home. He had scared his siblings and hit her with objects he had thrown. She looked in his eyes as he hissed those words' "I hate you!" But she couldn't see her Jeffy anymore. She could only see a bitter, frightened young man . She watched him go. She yearned to run after him. But how could she? She had eight other children to care for. The police came and she refused to press charges, but it didn't matter....Jeffy was gone and things would never be the same... Then one night I remembered His love for me And down that dusty road ahead I could see It was the only time – it was the only time I ever saw Him run And then He ran to me, He took me in His arms Held my head to His chest, said “My son’s come home again” Lifted my face, wiped the tears from my eyes With forgiveness in His voice He said, “Son do you know I still love you?” He caught me by surprise as He brought me to my knees When God ran – I saw Him run to me... She felt wrong as she crept up the stairs that night. Something told her to stop, go down those steps one more time,  hug him, and tell him she loved him. But it was late so she did not. She just went to bed. But he did not sleep. He never slept anymore. In fact, he never ate anymore. Life was just too hard. He came home to his Momma and he thought it would help. But it didn't, sure Momma gave him everything he needed. Found him a job, making him a new bedroom, cooked him his favorite meals. he had come home...his momma was thried...he knew she was.But the pain was so deeply ingrained in him that he just couldn't do it anymore. He followed her everywhere...he told her he loved her and it wasn't her fault. he hugged her and kissed her. But it still hurt. She couldn't make it better. It just wouldn't stop hurting. He needed to go. He'd finish it this time because there was nothing left to fix. The pain was unfixable. He looked around at all the love in this home. He watched his sleeping baby sister for a moment...oh how he adored her. She gave him a reason to live many, many days.He stared at the other children's photos on the wall...."I;m so sorry, "h he hoarsely whispered and Jeffy opened the door and shut it for the last time. "They will forgive me," he texted..."they will all forgive me...even God..." I was so ashamed, all alone and so far away But now I know He’s been waiting for this day I saw Him run to me, He took me in His arms Held my head to His chest, said “My son’s come home again” Lifted my face, wiped the tears from my eyes With forgiveness in His voice I felt His love for me again He ran to me, He took me in His arms Held my head to His chest, said “My son’s come home again” With forgiveness in His voice He said, “Son”, He called me Son He said, “Son do you know I still love you?”  His Momma drove over the hilll, raising to bring him home. Hoping he hadn't scared the young girl too much and that maybe someone would give Jeffy the help he needed. She saw the car.She saw the steam. Her heart began to pound. Her chest began to tighten. She peeked in the windows. Her sister yelled to get back back. her sister pushed her to stop pounding on the windows. That's when she saw the blood. That's when she saw his lil ashy hand holding the gun. That's when she dropped to her knees and begged God to stop this...to make it untrue. The police lights, the questions.....Where was God? Where was he now? He ran to me and then I ran to Him When God ran...  Up on that hill in the beautiful woods, with His arms opened wide...stood God. He watched Jeffy run. He watched him run so fast and so far, but determined  as always,God never stopped chasing him. "Jeff, please don't do this. You've tried it so many times. Let's just relax and stay here. It'll be okay...I promise..." But Jeffy ran. He ran to his car. He held the gun in his mouth. He cried. He groaned into the phone...and with all the courage he could muster, he pulled the trigger. And God ran to Jeffy, "Come on home my Son...it'll be okay...I promise...and He took my Jeffy, my whole world and He loved him and He took away his pain...and he held him and now it is okay for Jeffy...just as He promised...