A Snag in the Fabric...Deemed Necessary

Adoption. Strong word. The dictionary defines adoption as: the act or process of adopting a child. Seems cold. Perhaps unfeeling. Becoming a parent to another person's child. Simple court proceeding. But yet in reality, it is so very much more than that. Adoption is so complicated. It is complicated for the child, the adoptive parent, and even more so for the biological parent.
A lot of people think of the newly formed family. They think how lucky that new parent is to have the child they have longed for. They look at the children as truly blessed to have these new parents who can give theses children all that they need and all that they long for. All of this is true. All of this is a miracle. However, there is a snag in the garment. A flaw. A small minute thread that if pulled too hard, will and can unravel. There was this life. This entity. A family that came first.
Whether children are adopted from a foreign country, the foster care system, or even right from birth, there is still someone who came first. Someone whose existence is sometimes brushed under the rug, not acknowledged, torn down, belittled, deemed insignificant. Biological parents. The one major flaw in an otherwise perfectly woven family. Necessary. But sometimes frowned upon.
But life for our children, our adopted children, life could not exist if not for these parents. And just as every adoption is different, so are the lives that our children lived before they became part of our family, added to our quilt, wrapped in love, and stitched in as if the snag were not there, but it is. And fortunately, it always will be.
Our attitudes about our children's biological parents has always differed somewhat than those who have never adopted. Not only do we acknowledge their existence, but if the law permits, we welcome their participation in our children's lives. This attitude also extends to any biological family members who want to participate in our children's lives. Why? You might ask? Why would you want to complicate your children's lives, your family's bond, your very delicately balanced woven life? The answer is pure and simple. Love. Love for our children and there need to have a relationship with people whom there will always be a natural bond. Love. Love for a parent, whom, for whatever reason, had to give their child/children up for adoption. Love. Why would you not give your child every option to to be well balanced, whole, and have a clear idea of who they are and that they are loved? Love. The love of a parent whether adopted or not, is to provide their child with stability. And does that love not permeate and override my need as a parent to place a territorial flag into my children and declare them mine, solely mine? Love. A love so deep that I as an adoptive parent can look into my children's heart and feel, literally feel, their need for me to love their biological parent. My acceptance of who they were will only facilitate who they are ante and who they are yet to be. Love. The single most significant element that can heal any wound, any misunderstanding, any flaw.
I am not bragging. My love for my children's biological parents does not supersede my right to protect them or keep them from further harm. But it does give me the insight to see and know, first hand, that the role that a biological parent plays and has played in a child's life, is much more than the womb or the sperm donor. That parent/parents is the reason my child exists. They could have chosen adoption. The could have chosen parenthood. They could fail miserably at parenting itself, yet still love their child beyond measure.
Why is that important? Why do I even care? Because I owe all that I am, all that I have, all that Imy life is to theses parents. I owe them my respect. I owe them my friendship. I owe them my prayers. I owe them my love. I owe them a place in my child's life because, quite frankly, they gave up their place for me. I will never forget that. Nor will I ever take their role lightly. Nor will I ever talk bad about them, defame their character, or in some cases reveal their inability to raise their children. It serves no purpose. It does not help my child. It does not help me. My ability to love my child goes beyond my need to judge people for whatever reason cannot parent their child.
Where does this leave me? What does it mean? Love. It means that I answer a thousand questions about who my children are. It means I paint a picture of love and longing. It means I show them that they were wanted. They are needed.mthey did matter. It means I give them something that perhaps the other parent couldn't give them without me. Security.
I guess what I am trying to say, is that in a world where people use children as pawns in a custody battle, where they forget about the other parent, and brush them under the rug, in search of this precious perfect family, I embrace the truth. The truth that we all, biological or not, cannot always control life's events. That children need their pasts to grow into their futures. That perhaps, just perhaps, my love for them is not threatened by their need to love and understand who they were and who they are.
And so, I pray. I pray for the biological parents, their relatives, their friends. Anyone who touched my child in any way. Am I a saint? Never, I do reserve the right to control any relationship that I or the courts deem harmful to my child. However, ego aside, I love. Pure and simple I just
Ove.

Let's Just Sew Another Day

When I was a little girl playing with my dolls and sewing them clothes, I wanted so much to grow up and be a mother. To have a family of my own, with a husband who adored me, and a big red house was all I thought that happiness could possibly hold for me in this life. But, I hadn't counted on God. I hadn't counted on His many blessings. I had not counted on Grandchildren.

I know I have written about my Grandchildren before, and I probably will again, but Grandchildren are the most beautiful, I mean beautiful, blessings of all. They make all the wrongs right, all the rights completely wrong, and all the other things unimportant. my Grandchildren are so very precious, humorous, and completely irrational and I love them to pieces.

Motherhood was oh so hard, busy, a virtual race against the clock to get as much done as I possibly could in a twenty-four hour period, and somehow pretend to be alert and on top of everything. It was headaches and tired, but it was also elation and highs. I loved being a mother to my children when they were growing up, but truth be told, I was a worried mess. My trust in God grew slowly in those years and I wasted a lot of time trying to solve life's problems instead of just letting Him do what He was meant to do.

But with these Grandchildren...ahhhh...no worries. They look at me and expect nothing but pure fun. I can blow bubbles. Go for walks. Take them to the river to throw rocks in. We can go for an icecream cone and then get donuts. None of the Rules apply to me because I am not the parent. I am just the Grandmother. My rules are to enjoy, make them ecstatically happy, and then send them home with their parents and promise to never do all those unhealthy things with them again. Ha! Ha!

In just one day, one day of Grandmotherhood, I experienced...

Watching them dig a huge hole in my back yard for worms. Never would I have let my children escavate our backyard with sticks, silver spoons, and Poppy's tools. But the Grands, now they can dig a whole in my potted plants if they want to. My favorite conversation..."Grammie, I telled them I guess I don't wike too touch them worms. Make dem stop putting dem on my hands. Dem is filfy!"

Taking them for a walk and throwing rocks in the river. Throwing sticks in the river. Wanting to throw theirselves in the river (it is April). The delight of each stone making a kurplunk noise as the threw their tiny treasures in and yelled, "Watch Grammie!" As if I'd never witnessed this miracle and then realizing I was excited as they were.
Hearing them fighting from upstairs and watching Cullen come crying down the stairs and yell, "Melia called me a BITCH, Grammie,! Dat is naughty!" And trying not to peel over in laughter at the seriousness of the situation!

Going to the donut shop and keeping them from licking the glass case because they wanted to taste everyone. Getting our donuts and eating them in the living room in front of the TV and licking our fingers and dipping in milk and slopping everywhere...favorite line..."Can I have the one with the FRINKLES? Grammie, can I?"

Walking and picking up sticks and pretending we were on an adventure and protecting ourselves with our great weapons! Finding rocks and trash that seemed to be needed and thrust into little pockets so that a mother could wash it later. Explaining what a dead bird was and why we cannot pet it. Favorite...Being thrust back onto the sidewalk because, " Grammie, you wasn't wooking bofe ways!"

Eating icecream and parading downtown with their superman faces, walking on everyone's curb, and triumphantly yelling, "Me first!" to become the leader! Taking ourselves to the gazebo and laying under the benches and watching them scrambled as I whispered, "Oh, ahh, watch for spiders!"

Blowing bubbles, tasting them, chasing them, spilling them, and eventually making plans to live in a giant bubble and eat donuts to our hearts content! You have never lived until you have blown bubbles with your Grands. Favorite moment, " Sissy, stoles that bubble from me! I was sabing it and her popped it!"

A picnic dinner on the front porch, complete with a blanket, spills, ranch dressing everywhere, and stealing others chips every five seconds, while watching the neighbors look at us in utter jealously! Each Grand telling stories to each other and laughing while various food ran outta their mouths and onto their clothes. Funny..."when I was just little, I would have picnics ebrery day!"

And my favorite, looking out at the garage and watching in awe as a robin built its nest on the outdoor light...the oohs and ahhs...and plans to,"get up dere and help dat birdie get dem babies safe!"

And finally, as dusk broke and the y all went home or to bed, holding my littlest Granddaughter Brielle, and having her hold my hand for dear life, snuggle and smile as if I hung the moon...feeling her heart pound on my chest and watching her coo in delight as I whisper promises of love and devotion because her , " Grammie love her Honeypie!" I

Folks this IS what life is about. Not the money. Not the activities. It is about the joy in evey childs eyes in every moment of everyday. It IS about spilt milk, pee on the back of the toilet, and dancing in the rain on a warm day with the mud all over the house. 

So next time you get the chance to color the zoo on your wall, or chew up cookies and see how far you can spit them...I'd advise you to throw caution to the wind and do it...it may just be the best day of your life!

The Eye of the Storm

It amazes me sometimes how fearful small children can be of storms. The bright lights and loud noises that they often ooh and ahh and praise over, suddenly become horrific in the dark during a storm. Although I am never afraid of a storm, I am sometimes afraid of the devastation to which it can sometimes lead. So during a storm, I am very alert and protective of my children and now grandchildren.  Storms, like life can be very precarious, and certainly we must protect ourselves from both, with fervent prayers and supplication...

When the kids and I first moved to New Mexico, we were all alone in our huge adobe house. I was all  they had to protect them, since Tim was away finishing a home in Michigan. It was hard sometimes doing everything by myself and making all the quick decisions. But in a way, I relished it as I was closer to my children more than ever before. We seemed to begin to work as a family unit, rather than just getting by. It was the first time we melded into a family.

The storms in New Mexico were fierce. The thunder was so loud and the lighting shot across the sky from one side to the other. In the daytime, it was magical. But in the evening, it was a frightening mess. On one such night, the storm began, and I got up to open my bedroom window so that I could listen to the rain and be lulled back to sleep. But just as I would drift off, one by one my children would come in, and we would rearrange and scoot to make room for the next child. They began to giggle and tell stories. Lastly, my oldest son Jeff came in, he looked at me sheepishly and smiled,"I can't let you sleep in here alone unprotected. I gotta come in here and take car of you all!" and he clinmbed into bed with us. And we all huddled closer together, finally drifting off to sleep. The closeness, the need to feel secure, the Oneness of it all.

 It was a memory that still burns in my mind. The loud storm, the children coming in one by one, looking for safety and security in my big, warm bed, looking to me to comfort them. Ironically, that is how I feel about our Heavenly Father. Sure, during the day, I am tough, I can handle all of life storms. But then gradually one by one We come to Him for protection, knowing the He is safe and warm. We cuddle next to His promises asking for comfort and answers, until we too can fall asleep forgetting our storms.

I have no real purpose for writing this. There is no huge epiphany here. Just a gentle reminder that life storms are not quite as frightening and overwhelming as we sometimes make them out to be. We need to be mindful that the dark, the thunder, the massive lightening is only as scary as we allow it to be until we turn it over to God and allow Him to make peace over it...Mark 4:39

Embroidering the Piece

Motherhood has been a life long career for me, at least active motherhood has. It has been a beautiful,  amazing experience that has given me so much joy everyday, that I would not change it for the world. However, as a young mother, I made many mistakes. I sought perfection in myself, my children, our home, and our lives. Sometimes my choices were so unrealistic that I  caused a lot of calamity in a family that really existed purely on the chaotic. Our lives were wonderfully magical, but also overwhelming at times. I was so busy that  I seemed to see the necessary than the unnecessary most days. With eight kids running everywhere that the world mandated, I found my best efforts were needed just to keep them fed, clean, and on time. Oh, don't get me wrong, I "got" my kids. I connected with them, but a lot of special moments were not magical because I simply couldn't relax and let life get a little crazy.
However, with our last child I am much more relaxed. After losing a son to suicide and facing two brain surgeries back to back, my life has become anything but busy. I enjoy every minute of this child's life. I notice all her world, her growths, her changes.  And so every milestone has been a remarkably big deal to me. I watch her. I hover over her. I adore her very breath. But to be fair, this was a child we almost lost both before her birth and after she was born when she became ill with meningitis, so I cherish that I even have her at all. She is my baby. The youngest Burd baby. Our last hurrah...But today, today she became something much more, she became my friend.
With all the other girls, friendship came gradually. Their trust in me as their confidante, was slow and gradual, after a series of unconscious testing, that I somehow made it through, I unknowingly their past. But with Katie-Grace, Katce, I have been her primary caregiver, warrior, bodyguard, chief cook, and boss exclusively her whole little life. So her need for me in any other capacity, was never warranted. Until today.
We sat in the car and made our way to the dentist. She chatted up a storm. She  never really had anything important to say, she rarely does, but she still can "talk water up hill". As I listened to her  banter, I watched her, and I realized that she was growing up. She was attempting to solicit knowledge and asking all sorts of questions. We began to actually have a real grown up conversation. We  laughed and she became very lively and funny, her little eyes dancing as I chuckled at her genuine humor.
We reached the dental office, and the hygienist came out taking us each to different rooms. I started to speak about having her in a separate room, but Katce quickly grabbed my hand, squeezed it, looked in my eyes, and said, "Bye Momma!". She hopped away and left me all by myself to get my teeth cleaned. I listened to her all through the cleaning, talking away to the tech, and I wondered what dark secret she was betraying. She waltzed in some thirty minutes later, was very polite, and waited before she interrupted to speak or even jump on my lap. Instead of me watching over her, she watched over me. The dentist checked us. Told us we were cavity free. Talked about braces, to which Katce wiggled up her nose, and we left. She smiled courteously to the staff, held the door for me, and to the car we went.
And still, still I was dumbfounded at the change in my child. Her maturity level had blossomed overnight. I just kept studying her as I pulled into the store parking lot. I helped her out, but she did not want me to lift her. I reached for her hand and she took it, but more because I needed to know she was safe. She did not cling to me. She pushed the cart with me, never asking to get in. Her eyes flitted from one rack to the next as she picked out clothing for me, matching up outfits and assuring me, these were the ones that would make me look spectacular. I just kept marveling at her. The change, the softness, the maturity of this nearly nine year old girl. And then, then, it happened..
"Momma, do you see this Momma? Do you see this beautiful dress? Wouldn't it look good on me?" She stood holding up a lovely spring maxi dress to her chubby frame.
"Yes, Baby, it is gorgeous! Would you like it?" I asked. Her eyes lit up as she nodded and we began to shop for just her. We rummaged through the racks and she gave me opinion after opinion of what she liked and didn't like. She managed to know exactly what she wanted and for the first time, I did not shop for my child, she shopped for herself. We waltzed the store and I marveled at her maturity and knowledge of her tastes and distastes. I wondered where this would all lead. Was I losing my little girl for a teendom already?
 She reached up high above her head  and grabbed the perfume bottle and smelled, " Ummm, Momma, sniff this?"  I bent over and smelled a soft feminine smell of faint cotton candy. " Could I get it Momma? Can I?" I stammered a little and was about to say no, when it hit me, it hit me like a ton of bricks. This child, my little girl was bonding with me. Not like a mother and daughter bond, but a woman to woman bond. And my answer, my answer would forever change our relationship...I studied her face, her earnest little girl face, ready to grow up and smell pretty and be part of this woman's world. I hesitated...still, she was still very much a little girl. I reached for the milder smelly lotion. But when I held it and we sniffed it, I saw defeat in her eyes. I saw my  little girl fighting to be a young woman and I was standing in her way of growth because it was I, not her, who needed this youngest child to never grow up.
 My heart began to pound and my eyes misted with water, "Okay, Baby, you can have the perfume, but..."
"Oh Momma, you are the bestest Momma ever....now I will smell like Timara and all the other girls. I will be pretty! Oh Momma thank you so much!" And she flung her pretty little self around my body and gave me a hue hug.
 She never heard the "rules" for her perfume use... she only knew that now she had taken the first step to being very grown_up. She chattered all the way to the car clutching and fingering that perfume bottle. she sniffed it and studied it as if it were her whole life. and I watched her and studied her in the same way...My baby...my last child...number nine...was growing up. But instead of being frightened, I reached my hand over the console, took her small chipped polished hand, and murmmered ever so quietly, " I love you Babygirl, my Katce, this has been the best day...thank you for being my friend!"
She looked up at me and nodded, her glowed as her eyes glistened with threatening tears, " I love you too...Hey Momma, can we go to McDonald's?" well my babygirl may have taken her first step into womanhood, but we weren't there quite yet, and off to McDonald"s we headed...

Sewing Prayers

Everytime I sew, it is so therapeutic. When I am overwhelmed, I sew. When I am excited, I sew. When I am creative, well, you get the picture...And sometimes, like today, I want to completely sew and shut out the world. I want to immerse myself in the whirring sound of the motor and the needle humming to forget what lies ahead...I want to sew and pray...pray and sew...
Today, I will watch a family, say goodbye to their loved one and I will ache for them. I will ache because I want to take away their pain, wrap my arms around them, whisper calm scriptures in their ears. For one beautiful, beautiful young woman, there will be pain, so much pain that I have prayed constantly that she will be able to live through it. For today, today she will bury her sister. A sister with whom there were many struggles...
Since my sisters were lil girls, I have struggled to protect them. I have raced to beat the Boogie Man to their door. I have helped our mother feed them, clothe them, and drag them through life lessons. I have loved them. Cried with them. Laughed with them. Adored them. But never, never have I had to bury one of them.
There is a bond between sisters that is sometimes spoken, but more often not, that no matter what we say, what we do, or even what we don't do, that with sisters, we can always take it back. But sometimes, just sometimes, Life kicks us in the teeth with this horrid, unexpected death. And we forget. We forget that about our bond. We forget that our earliest playmate will always love us for ever. We forget that unlike marriage the binding ties between sisters is forever. And so, we are filled with misplaced guilt that overrides our rational thinking allowing the devil to have a field day inside our minds as if suffering a loss is not huge enough. We allow it to destroy our self esteem and not concentrate on the joy of the bittersweet memories. We allow this horrid, nasty guilt to betray that sacred, unspoken bond with our sister and promise to take our very sanity and self esteem in the making.
But, it is there. That bond, that sisterhood is still there. How do I know? Because, my sweet fellow sister, I watch you. I watch you softly, quietly sift through her pictures. I watch you masterfully mother her children. I watch you welcome fellow mourners with whispers of hope. I watch you quietly gaze at her casket, reaching out to make sure her hair is tucked by her face just so.
Please, please do not let this guilt eat at you. You are okay, you and your sister. She is watching you now. She is proud, so proud of her Lil Sissy. She knew she could count on you to plan, to please, to pray...She and God watching you, loving you, eagerly awaiting you to let this devil created guilt to leave so that they can ease you through these moments through her Valley with gentle, splendid love.
Your bond is still there little one. It is just a bit quieter, more tender, and easier to maintain. Love her today, but more importantly, allow her to love you...because in the end she needs you more than she ever has...you are no longer lil girls playing dolls, you are her only link, the only one who can give to her children and family here on earth. She would want that. But more importantly, she would want you to be happy, joyous, and safe as you continue your journey to meet her when you get Home...

Sewing a Life of Memories

It is so necessary when a loved one dies, for us as humans to keep something tangible of theirs to remember them by. Recently, our youngest daughter lost her great, great Grandmother very rapidly to cancer. It was quick. By the time Grandma R. Found out, the cancer was well advanced and throughout her body. She chose not to fight.mshe was exhausted from many years of just living life. And so after a short battle, she succumbed to life after death with our Lord Jesus Christ. It was sad. It was hard. A family so closely knit, losing there matriarch. Their most beloved hostess.
When the family came to me and asked me to take some of Grandma R's clothes and make thirty or so memory pillows, I readily agreed. As I opened the box of beautiful shirts and ran my fingers ove the different fabrics, it occurred to me that these items represented much more than fabrics to be used for the family's heirlooms. These shirts represented Grandma R's life, her loves, her style. In essence, just by looking at her clothes, I could readily tell what kind of woman she was.
The shirts were very simple. Yet each one was cut with an open neck, a sure sign that she was not closed off. There was a femininity to them, some small,flair of intricate beauty, leading me to know that she was particular about what she did and paid attention to detail. And finally, the fabric was soft and pastel in color, which I assume was why she too could say what she meant with a flair for the quiet wisdom that come when a woman has lived a long life.
As I began to cut the fabric and make the shirts into pillows, I wondered, "What kind of memorabilia would I leave my children. Would they too be able to take my precious items or clothing and have great keepsakes? Would they know and remember who I truly am by the things I have left behind as Grandma R. had? Would they look at my sewing machine and remember the hours I sewed to buy their school sports shirts, their shoes, sewed their prom dresses, tuxedos, and articles to sell? Would they look at the jewelry, and see the simple, cheap dollar store finds that they bought me as small children and know that I wore them proudly because my children had bought them? Would they open my treasure box and finger each item I saved as a memento of their love, and know I cherished these objects of glue and macaroni above all else. And finally, would they open my Bible, picture me in the Word, and know I spent many days on my knees praying for their wars and welfare?
I hope so. I pray that at the end of this life my children see a woman, imperfect as she was, who loved her Lord and her family more than life itself. I pray they see a woman who was content with second beat so that they could have firsts. I hope that my memories leave them feeling safe, souns, and loved. But, Imdo not know for sure. I have not been perfect. And so, I will spend more time allowing God to perfect me. I will sew a little longer. Read a little more. And pray a little harder. I will continue to live my life with a legacy in mind for them that will last a lifetime when I go to meet my Maker.
So, my question is, what kind of a memory pillow will be made for your family? What treasure box of memories will you leave behind? Will the good, outweigh the bad? Will they remember your love and commitment both to you and God? Will your perfection overcome the imperfections? I know, deep huh? But in the end when we leave this earth, all we really have is a lot of stuff  with attached memories. And I pray, in the end, my children will finger my objects, look into their hearts, and have beautiful memories in their souls ...until we meet again...

Grandma R. with her namesake Ella

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...

The Precious Handmade Gift of Life....

I watched today as my six year old daughter began to open her gift. At first she seemed quite passive about the task. After all, it was the end of Christmas Eve and Katie-Grace had already opened her fair share of toys and presents from her many admirers. But as her Grandmother explained whom had sent her the gift, Katce began to tear open the first of several packages more fervently, her tiny hands ripping the paper as if it was uncovering a long held secret she needed to know.
The first gift held hushed fascination as my daughter unwrapped it. The room was quiet as her Grandmother proudly stated, "and she made it just for you...." It was a pastel colored tray that bore her name and said "I Love You" hand painted richly with a childlike hand. She carefully reached into the box and pulled out her next treasure and unwrapped it. The gleam in Katce's eyes grew brighter as she gingerly fingered her hand painted teapot. She touched the tiny spout and smoothed the lid as she carefully placed it on its perch high atop the hollow vase. Her hand carefully picked up the next piece and she shewed away the other children and guarded the small sugar bowl with its colorful glossy surface. She held it close for a moment and observed just the right spot to place it softly on the tray in it's rightful place next to the teapot.
I began to hold back tears as she continued in her own little world, taking out each tiny cup and saucer from their wrappings and never looked up to see what we all thought of her latest Christmas conquest. She never noticed that she had other gifts to open, she only stared and touched and caressed her miniature tea set carefully "pouring out" in a make believe tea party that existed in her vivid imagination. No one even noticed the way she touched each small piece time and time again and whispered the words"I Love You" as she read them over and over again. But I did. I noticed.
 You see, I noticed because I am her Momma and I am trained to know my little girl and the makings of her little heart. I am preprogrammed to know that this handmade tea set meant much more to her than a simple playtime romp on a fun filled afternoon. This tea set represented a part of Katce that she is too young to understand, and too immature to comprehend. But I understand it because I am her Momma.
I say it to Katce a million times a day, "I Love you"...I write it to her. I whisper it to her. I tickle it to her. I have even sung it to her. She expects it from me because I am her Momma. And yet, I did not give her this gift. I would have. I could have. I paint. I am talented. But I did not do it, it was not me. This I love you was much more important than any "I Love Yous" that I have ever uttered.
Somewhere, another young woman who loves Katie-Grace perhaps more than I, painted this gift. She tenderly picked out the tray. She carefully painted Katce's name. She fervently painted, "I Love You". She picked out the colors. She painted and glazed and fired them and waited for each piece to get done. She gingerly wrapped them in more love than she'll ever know.
And as I watched my daughter finger the words, "I Love You", I realized that in her little hearts of hearts, her birth mother had validated what I had always promised her...that she loved her. I softly held back a gasp as I held my breath and promised to keep her precious treasure safe, I wanted to stop all the noise and hold her close and explain the importance of this momentous occasion. I wanted to shout to the world that my little girl will forever understand that her adoption is okay, that she fits, that she feels complete. But I couldn't and I didn't. I just picked up that tray and promised to take care of Katce's precious treasure...the words, "I Love You"...painted from a beautiful, loving birth mother to a beautiful, loving daughter she gave to me....

Sewing a Memory

Today I will go to work as usual. I will sew some things for customers, alter a few clothes, and maybe do some cleaning for my bosses. But after that I will begin to make some memories. It has taken me close to two long years to finally be able to part with some of my late son Jeff's things. Some things I have given away to whomever God has lead. Some things I have given up based on the needs of the other person. But mostly I have sniffed his things, refolded them, and put them back in his treasure box that once held so many memories and dreams for the future. It will be hard today. I know it will and there is a huge piece of me that is dreading what I am about to do...but it is time. It is time to make some new memories out of the old ones.
I have decided to take my son's t-shirts, the ones that he collected over the years for various events that he loved to participate in, and cut them up and make a pillow for Christmas for each one of my children. I am choosing to call them "Jeffy Pillows".
Today, I will relive the time he crossed the finish line at state in track and brought his teammates to victory. How they were way behind in the relay and he peeled across that track as if his feet were on fire. How I kept screaming, "RUN! Baby! RUN!". I will see the crowd come to it's feet for my son and yell and chant for him. I will relive every moment on the track that day and many others.
Today, I will relive watching him play in endless basketball tournaments. The heat was always unbearable, but he loved the game. The sweat was unbearable, but he loved the game. Sometimes the other player's attitudes were unbearable, but he loved the game. And because of him...I grew to love the game too.
Today I will relive the young lady who insisted on buying him some brand names shirts for Christmas and how excited he was to have them. Even though we had bought him brand name shirts, the look on his face when he was able to say, "Mom, she got these for me!" I saw in his eyes the love he had for her and realized that I had lost my little boy forever, he was now going to be a man.
In my mind, I will see his face over and over again and I will weep.  I will weep for a son whom nobody would adopt and we never even hesitated because we wanted him to have a better life than foster care. I will weep for a son who gave us so many beautiful memories that the thought of not making anymore will surely pain me until the day I die. I will weep for a son who left the most beautiful memories with me the last week of his life. I will weep for a son who could have had the world at his feet, but chose instead to have heaven at his feet. But mostly I will weep because after today I will not be able to open that treasure box and selfishly wrap those t-shirts around my shoulders, sniff them, and bury my tears in them. After today, they will be his siblings. They will be able to hold them and love them and in essence hold and love him. Because, it is time.

It is time to put this part of my life away and go on. It is time to make new memories and wipe away the hurt of finding my son shot by his own hand. It is time to open his treasure box not to "find" him again, but to remember the child that he was and the good man he grew into despite all the bad. And finally, it is time that I let go of him. I loved Jeff so much. I still do. But today while he is enjoying heaven, I have eight other children, spouses, and grandchildren whom need me to make these pillows into new memories. And so today, that;s what I will do...

My first thoughts of Thanksgiving....

As we celebrated another Thanksgiving season, it occurred to me the number of people who were writing about all that they were thankful for. I read posts on facebook, watched the television, and even heard people in the village telling of how they were thankful for this and that. While I realize that the Thanksgiving season provokes such thoughts in all of us, I also found that I could not put one finger on just one thing to be thankful for. because you see, I am thankful every single day, for every single thing that God has placed in my life. Maybe it is because I have nursed a husband and my mother to their deaths. Maybe it is because I have nine children. Maybe it is because seven of the are special needs. maybe it is because I have lost eight children. Maybe it is because my eldest son killed himself. Or maybe, just maybe, it is because God has allowed me to live and love in such a way, that all of those things put together have made me so grateful for this life that I cannot be anything else but thankful. I do not know the reason for sure.
 But I can tell you that everyday when I rise, I am thankful. I am thankful. At this moment I am thankful for the small, "Pitter patter" of feet that are running around my house. My two grandteins and their Momma have had to move back home. It is hard, it is unfortunate. Yet they are here. They call me "Gammie" and they call Tim "Poppy" They yell, they fight, they scream, they really don't sleep, and worst of all they make my tidy "OCD" home look like something on a really bad cheerios commercial. But they are here and they are mine. A year and a half ago, when my daughter,7 months pregnant, gave birth to them via an emergency c-section, we were not sure they would make it. It was horrible. It was scary. But mostly it was like living in a moment that wouldn't go away as they struggled for life those first few days. But they did live. They are here. They are in my home. I am changing "poopy" diapers. I am wearing "food" soled socks. I am being spit at and hit at. But I am also getting wild hugs and wet kisses, and playing "git choo" (get you), and tucking in , and singing the most amazing lullabies any Grammie can imagine.
I am thankful everyday that my children live. That they have survived their parents' horrific lives and that they breath, smile, run, and play and can even function. I am thankful everyday that I get to pray over them at night and wake them up every morning. I am thankful when they screw up and I am thankful when they cross a finishline. Many children do not have these chances in our world. many paople are too selfish, or simply cannot fathom adopting a child with special needs. We never even considered the consequences, it was our "Calling" it is what we do. I am the mother who stands in the way of anyone, anyone ever trying to step on my child's toes or my child's self esteem. It is not your job to change my child, it is mine. I am the Momma who is constantly wearing used clothes so that my children can keep up with the "Jones'", I do not regret it, I am thankful for people who give to goodwill so that I don't look like gartbage. I am thankful everyday that when I drop my children off at school, they are at a safe place with people who love them as their own. We have been blessed with a staff at our school that will call me at the drop of a hat if my children seem "off" or "something is up". 
I come home each day to a warm home, with decent things in it, and food in the cupboard. I clean it with love because I know many people who do not have a nice home, much less own one. I am thankful everyday for my job, for bosses who allow me to come and go as I please to take care of the needs of my large family. My job is my solace some days and without it I would certainly lose my sanity. For people who love me enough to allow me to parent in a way I need to, I am thankful.
I am thankful everyday of my life for a husband who comes home everyday to me. Who is handsome, kind, and would give you the shirt off his back and has many times. I am thankful that he has a good job, and people who care about him also. I am thankful that out marriage has only deepened these past two years of turmoil, that we have clung to each other, and protected our children from this awful "death". I am thankful that when Tim comes home everyday, my heart skips a beat, and it is I who gets to hug and kiss him and no one else.
But mostly, mostly, everyday, I am thankful for the chance that God has given me to live this life. I am thankful I was  able to survive my rotten childhood, and put together some moral fiber and live a life most people only dream about. I do not have money. I do not have "brand new". I do not live stress free. But I do live this life in such a way that I always am thankful, that there are always "silver linings" , and I can always, always, bow to a God who took a frightened little girl who loved to play dollhouse....and molded her into a woman who still loves to play dollhouse only now those dolls and those moments, hug me back!

Sewing a Life of Thankfulness

Thanksgiving. I've been thinking a lot lately about what it means to be truly thankful. Many people have posted their thankful thoughts each day on facebook. I 've read articles in the magazines and newspapers about thankful people. I have watched television news reports on all sort of miraculous thanksgiving miracles. But I could never write one thing down about it. For me, there is no way I could ever pick one issue, person, or place that I am thankful for. Oh, but i am thankful, I'm thankful every day.
When I get out of bed each morning I am thankful everyday that I get to wake up my children with a hug and kiss and get them out of bed. Seven of my nine children are special needs children. Their biological parents couldn't care for them properly so God has blessed us with them. I'm thankful; that God blessed me out of everyone in the world with the opportunity to raise them. I am thankful that Joshua is going to college, has moved out on his own, and has a decent job. I miss him terribly, but he calls me and tells me about his life and still comes home occasionally just to lay on our couch and cuddle with his siblings. I am thankful for Arden Dragos, our little guy from Russia, the one who was never supposed to walk or talk. Although we we fight because "he is eighteen and I can't tell him what to do", he still in the end realizes that we adore him and will always be there for him. I am thankful everyday for James. The son who provided many dare devil trips to the hospital. Quite frankly, I am amazed he is alive and not maimed. I am so thankful for the way he has grown into a man and became who he is and not some "jock wanna be". He has chosen his own path and not those of his peers. I am thankful every for Timara. She has become all I ever dreamed and more. She lights up a room with her knowledge and personality. She will succeed in this world and change it because, she will never ever let anyone get the best of her. She has over come epilepsy and deals with her illness in an intelligent manner. Everyday I am thankful for my Katie-Grace. I am thankful that she is growing and thriving despite having a renal kidney deformity. I am thankful for cuddling, for her "dancing debuts" , and for her fussy ways. But mostly I am thankful that God let her live through meningitis so that Tim and I could raise this last cherub together. And finally, through many tears and much guilt, I am thankful for my son Jeffrey who committed suicide almost two years ago. I am thankful for the opportunity to know him, to hold him, to watch him reach huge milestones, and to be the one he came home to his final week of life. Everyday, I fight back tears and wish things were different for him, different for us, but if it can't be different, if he cannot be here, then I will be thankful that he was and that he loved us the best he could.
I am thankful for their spouses, two Godly men brought into our family for the soul purpose of fathering my beautiful grandchildren (at least that's what I tell them). They are two of the best men I know. They love their wives (my daughters Tierney and Lacey) and they take loving care of their children. They are men of honor and integrity and I am blessed everyday to have them.
Then there are my three grown daughters. I am so thankful for them everyday and what they bring into my life (besides grandchildren). Tierney calls me nearly everyday with some funny tale form her life. her tenacity and drive as a wife and a mother light up my day and validate who I am as a wife and mother myself. She makes me feel good about bring me. Lacey, the full time teacher and homemaker and momma, calls as often as she can. her life is filled to the brim about the children of New Orleans, their life, wants, and experiences. She brings nuances of changing the world, and living for the future. I am so proud of her calls and how she just loves me because I adore her and her little family. Kayla. My fondest hope and dream. My firstborn. How can I not be thankful foe her everyday. Struggling to raise to babies on her own. Coming home to us and allowing us to help parent her silly children. Her hugs and late night chats remind me of the great times my Momma and I used to have drinking hot tea.
And grandchildren, How can I even begin to be thankful without writing a whole paragraph on two of these little lovelies who have moved into my house for a while to keep me company. I have no free time. I have spilled milk everywhere.My "OCD" home wreaks of poopy diapers and old food stuck under the couch. The living and dining rooms both look like a bad cheerio commercial that will only get worse, but for them I am thankful. I am thankful that we are called "Mamma and Poppy". I am thankful that I get to rock an eighteen month old again at three in the morning. I am thankful that the "pitter patter" of little feet are running through our house again. But mostly I am thankful that my single daughter had the security to know if she came home with her children, that we would open our door and let her live here with our arms and hearts open. And the two grandchildren whom I visit as often as I can. I speak to them on the phone and hold them close to my heart through pictures, stories, and visits. They all have changed my life for the better and for them I am thankful everyday.
 How can I not be thankful for my husband? A man put solely on this earth to be my husband and the father of our children and "poppy" to these grand babies. When he walks into a room after twenty-two years, my heart still skips a beat. he stimulates me intellectually, emotionally, and spiritually. he challenges what I think and who I am. He comes home everyday to me and our family and works his tail off to give these people who live here everything he has.Plus he serves his community in many, many ways, supporting them financially and ethically. he is where my children get their Godly honor from. he is the man of my dreams and the friend of my days, and I am so blessed by him sometimes I can barely speak.
 I am blessed with two beautiful sisters who are so different from each other that I can't believe we are related. They are funny til we pee our pants. Sad til we call 911. And most of all, loved to the moon and back. They are my lifeline to reality. They are sometimes the reason I stay sane and breath.
How do i not mention everyday how thankful I am for my friends? For my Katie Aronin. her compassion and willingness to hear me out good or bad. her willingness to drop everything and come to my side whenever I need her. her ability to see right into the depths of my heart and pull me into her own heart and stop my fears. I love her with my life. My Teresa Harrington, my friend, my conscience, my ability to "get over it". I could not live without her being a phone call away. She is all that I ever wanted to be if I only had the courage. I love her for always sending me back from wherever my life leads me to run to. Everyday, I am thankful for these women.
My Home. how could I ever not be thankful everyday for our home. many people do not have a home. many people only have a house. But our home is filled with so much love, laughter, and living, it is a home. A home that I cherish everyday. Sure it's freezing sometimes. Sure it's smelly sometimes. But the bottom line is, I always want to come here, I always want to be home.
And community and friends and bosses and work. How can I not be thankful everyday for our school and the awesome staff and coaches. They love our children and parent them everyday. They take the next step everyday with my children Or what about the local police chief who stands out in the cold and mans the traffic so our children won't get run over on their way to school. Or what about the guy in charge of our school bussing and transportation. Everyday, I watch him man all of the issues related to bussing and walkers and droppers...really the guy deserves some kind of a medal, or at least Prozac. And then there's Junie Decker and dale Thompson. Always there to mother or grandmother every person they meet. Or the dance teacher Kim? A diamond in the rough, bringing culture to my children in so many ways! And what about the people I work with everyday, The ones who put up with me being late, or calling in. They allow me to parent and grandparent in my own way, in my own style. My children have never known they have a working mother because I have great bosses. They are my friends, they are my family.
And finally, how do I even think about thankfulness without thinking about God? God. A God who gave me these dreams. who took my heart's desire as a scared little girl and gave me a family to love. A God who saw me hiding under a dresser while my father pulled a gun on my mother and tried to shoot her. A God who pulled me out of an abusive marriage. A God who every time I shop at Goodwill gives me beautiful, cheap clothing so I won't feel bad because I have to shop there. A God who I can run to when I lose a spouse, or mother. A God who scooped me up in his arms a s I lost seven babies. A God who watched my son kill himself and was by my side when I fell to my knees that day after finding his lifeless bloody body in his car. A God who has given me the will to get up each day with a thankful heart. A God who let's me see beyond the idiots of this world, the judgers, and allows me the peace to pray for those who try to destroy all that I have and all that I am. And finally a God, who despite my faults, loves me for me and lets me climb in his lap and just rest my silly burdens before Him.
So you see, I cannot just pick one thing a day to be thankful for everyday. My life is so full of stories, events, dumbness, and sometimes outright irritations that I have to be thankful everyday or my head would explode. I cannot fathom. ever , ever choosing one because in the end our heart of hearts are always. always thankful, if we just have the courage to see the blessings right in our own little lives.