I Can See

The first year  with my birth family felt like I was feeling around a dark  room that seemed somewhat familiar.  The challenge of adoption reunions is you know so much about your birth family based on self-knowledge, but you know nothing about them based on life experiences.  

I spent hundreds of hours on the phone with my birthfather working my way through these relationship hurdles.  Yes, hundreds.  Each time we talked, it was a minimum time limit of one hour.  Usually it was more.  He liked to talk.  I loved hearing his voice.  Nothing thrilled me more than hearing him answer the phone with “Hey there, Babygirl!”  

We were working our way through the awkwardness all new relationships bring and establishing a friendship.  

As I have shared before, he was legally blind.  His eyesight had been diminished by a rare disorder, and seeing me was literally one of his last views.  So, when he called around midnight one weekend shouting into the phone, “I can see, I can see!!!”, I was stunned.  The hubs took the call and quickly brought the phone to me.  Something had happened and amazingly, my birthfather regained some vision.  He was practically shouting into the phone.  His voice was several octaves above his normal pitch and his raspy, slow rhythmic drawl was replaced with a rapid staccato.  He was running through his house describing every detail that his once faded sight was now beholding.  “I can see every little cut and edge in the glass of the light fixture!”, he yelled into the phone.  He was breathing heavy and shouting descriptions of every object in his path. I gripped the phone listening as my eyebrows crinkled and my eyes darted from side to side.  I honestly didn’t know what to make of the call.  A mixture of happiness combined with concern filled my heart.  Was this real?  Was he okay or maybe totally losing it?  I wasn’t sure.  

We stayed on the line for a while.  I sat in my dark, quiet house listening as he ran through his house turning on all the lights and laughing and looking.  He was beside himself.  I was of course thrilled, but confused.  I asked him to go see a doctor, and he promised that he would.  We ended the call, and I had a hard time going back to sleep.    

When I talked to him the next day and his vision was still the same, I began to breathe a bit.  He had calmed down some, but the utter joy over his returned sight was radiating from him.  

I praised and thanked God with him for this miracle.  

The next week his life was different.  

He did several things that years of blindness had prevented him from doing.  

One important thing he did was take a cab to visit his mama at the nursing home.  Without sight, he had been without transportation for many years. Tears well up in my eyes thinking about him going on this visit.  

Oh, how he loved his mama.  

With some of his vision returned, no longer held back by darkness, his first trip was to see her.  They never shared the details of this visit with me.  I can only imagine.  Some moments are better left to one’s own imagination.  I do know that during his visit his gave her his gold necklace with a gold cross pendant.  She put it around her neck that day and that is where it stayed.  

My friend and fellow private investigator, Laura, came through town the next weekend and stopped in for a visit with my birth father.  She was the first one to make contact with him during our search and rescue mission.  They talked on the phone quite regularly.  He named us the “Mutt & Jeff Detective Agency.”  When he told her about his new vision, she promised to come by and see him.  

During her visit, they took a long drive. He wanted to go out into the world he’d missed.  

As they drove along back country roads with the windows down, he took off his favorite cowboy boots and threw them in the back seat of her car.  He told Laura to give them to her son. I don't know what prompted him to give away his favorite boots, but my guess is he had plans for a new pair.  

New vision leads to new journeys, and new journeys need new boots.  

He propped his bare feet up on the dashboard of her car as they rode around.  There’s a phrase I think of when I imagine their road trip together.  

They were on a “joy ride”.  

He was overflowing with joy as he rode and looked out the window drinking in sights that most of us take for granted.  God blessed him with big time joy that day.  

As he adjusted to his new level of sight, he spent most of his days outside on his back deck basking in the sunlight.  He wrote me letters from there.  One said this…

Hey, Babygirl,
    
I am sitting my old “behind” on the deck with my toes in the sunshine, smiling and thinking of YOU!

So, when you get this—-SMILE Babygirl!

Love always,
Your Old Man

All was bright and brilliant in his life  as a lonely, blind man who had been trapped in darkness turned his face into the light of day.  

His world had changed.  

And then, within a few days of the one year anniversary of finding my birth father, I lost him again.  

Without warning, he died. 

      

  

#FMF The Device In My Hands

As my hands reached for the iPhone, I found the timer app and set the limit to five minutes.  The moment I touched the device, my thoughts ran from the idea I'd decided to write about to this question.

How long each day do I hold this device in my hands?

A life measured by moments created by a device in my hands is a life missing real moments.

My baby son reaches for my hand during church, and he holds it.  He is in middle school.  That fact alone makes our hand holding precious.  I don't want to miss real moments of hand holding, tear wiping, hug gathering because my hands are full of devices.

Jesus, today would you help me put down the devices in my hands, and go grab real life?

The Stage

On the stage, your posture changes.  You stand taller, straighter, & do your best to hold your gut in all the while trying to appear calm and relaxed.  You feel every eye pointed your way.  The stage is frightening and exhilarating.  Prickling heat from the spotlight blasts against your skin as the white glow temporarily blinds you to the many gazing, penetrating eyes.  My heart beats wildly like the wings of a hummingbird when I stand on any stage, and yet strangely, I love it there.  Like most of my life, it's yet another area where I just don't make sense.  

I discovered my first stage in a Southern Baptist church where I grew up singing my first solo in a Christmas recital.  I pretended to be just like my beautiful voice teacher who was also our youth choir leader.  She had recorded an album of songs (which I still have), and in my mind, she was a superstar.  Her love for Jesus flowed into the lives of the young hearts around her.  I wasn't that good of a singer, but she made me feel like I was far better than I actually was.  With her encouragement, I took the stage and sang my heart out.  Thankful to have survived, I found that the experience was quite enjoyable after the nervous shaking subsided.  

During my junior year, the local pageant came to town and all my friends were taking part.  So, I decided to join in the fun.  It was a hoot.  I had the best time being part of the rehearsals and learning the routines on my high school auditorium stage.  No one in that building was more shocked than me when the announcer called my name as the winner.  What?!?!  Standing in the middle of my gorgeous friends (all wearing the state level required white evening gowns) looking like a giant lobster in my hot pink satin dress I'd designed for my junior prom, my shocked response was completely legit.  I had won, and the stage had won me. 

The next level of competition was the state pageant.  As I prepared, my parents and all their friends in our small, rural town gave me incredible support.  I was reminded of this recently after running into an old family friend I haven't seen in over 18 years.  This friend reminisced about all the supporters who came to cheer for me as I represented our fair city on the stage in Macon.  I hadn't thought about it in a long time.  As my mind drifted back to the competition, one thought rose up to the surface of memories.  My parents have a dear, dear friend that was a huge help and support during my preparation.  We wouldn't have known what to do without her.  She was instrumental in my success. She was also the loudest voice in the audience.  Every time I entered the stage she'd start screaming my number with a booming, commanding voice.  "16!"  "16!!!"  "16!!!!!"  While I waited on the judges' final decision (which miraculously turned out to be another success),  I was literally glowing in the love coming from those cheering voices shouting my number above all the other sounds in the crowd.  On that stage, the little girl inside of me unsure about exactly who she was in this great big world, felt a few precious moments of validation.  

On my 34th birthday, I sat on another stage of sorts.  There was no microphone or bright spotlight, but the event was one of the biggest in my life.  This stage was actually a back porch off my kitchen.  It’s a small area with two wooden chairs anchored by a red brick floor.  I sat in one chair surrounded by my adopted family and my birthmother and her family and 34 presents.  In the chair facing me sat my birthmother.  It was my birthday party, the first one we'd celebrated together in the same place since begin reunited.   

My birthmother and the hubs had planned this event.  It was a dream come true for me as my adopted family met my birthmother and her family.  Under my roof, I was surrounded with the past and the present.  The air was thick with nervous tension.  In all honesty, not everyone present for the party really wanted to be there.  I knew this day would not easy for some.
  
Doors that have been kept comfortably closed don't open easily.  

I was not blind to the different emotions swirling through the air like  tornados.  I knew it would happen this way, but the risk was worth it.  I'd asked my families to do this for me.  I needed them to meet.  I needed to have one birthday with us all together.

My birthmother had brought the 34 presents to celebrate each year of my life that she had missed.  When she told me there were 34 gifts, the steady flow of tears that had taken residence in my eyes fell a bit faster.    I sat on my porch "stage" as all of my family gathered around to watch.  It was the stage of all stages.  She’d numbered the gifts in a special order each one holding a specific purpose and requiring a description.  We sat facing each other as I started with present number one.  She announced each gift with carefully chosen words.  In each package, a precious treasure laid quietly until the veil of tissue was removed.  Each one I opened unveiled a layer in my heart.  As I listened, unwrapped, and cried, the packages revealed pieces of china from both her grandmothers, a square of fabric from her wedding dress, and of course the hidden pink outfit.  These are just a few of the treasures showcased on my stage that afternoon.  I took my time as I soaked in the meaning of each gift and soaked my face with tears.  It was beautiful time. The friends and family watching us were so gracious, but they got tired after the first hour of my present opening marathon.   Some tried to drift off and sneak away, but I would yell and call them back.  Nobody was leaving.  This was my day.  I was shining on my birthday stage, and everybody had to watch.  (I’m kind of a brat sometimes).  I tried really hard during the party to be coherent and respectful of all the jitters and emotions each person was having, but I felt like I would burst.  I LOVED us all being there together and wanted to scream with joy and grab everybody into a huge group hug.  My emotions were going wild and it was pure bliss as past, present, and future pages of my life story talked and ate and breathed under the same roof.  

Being such an emotional person, when I think back to my party, mostly what I remember are the feelings.  I had to call my birthmother and ask for the details.  She never forgets a detail.  She says that when she and her entourage arrived on that sweltering July afternoon that I wouldn't immediately open my front door to let them in. She says I hid behind the door not wanting to open it.  I don’t remember that detail.  She says I called out, "I'm scared!"  She says she replied, "I'm hot, open the door."  It's strange to me that my fear of opening the door isn’t part of my current memory.  The only memories burned in my brain are the moments afterwards.  As I twirled that forgotten detail around, I wondered what if I had kept the door closed?  What if I’d allowed fear to dictate my movements?  Opening a door is deliberate act.  Your brain tells your arm to stretch and your hand to grab hold and pull.  What if I had allowed fear to stop them from coming through my door?  The powerful, life changing  party on the other side of the door would've never happened.  What if I had allowed fear to stop me from searching for my birth family?   Oh, what I would have missed.  Lord, help me in times of fear to move forward with faith, to stretch and reach out grabbing hold of You.  Help me to see the hand of the enemy at work in my life and apply the Truth of Your Word.  

Fear is the devil’s playground, and he knows just what it will take to stop you.  

The stage of your life has been set by God and His divine planning.  Keep moving forward, pushing past fear.  Don't miss the party on the other side of fear.

No spotlight could've out shined the brightness burning in my eyes on my birthday “stage”.  Surrounded by my family, I inhaled with deep, satisfied, thankful breaths. God had filled my cup to overflowing and shown me that He is the only One worthy to take the stage of my life. The little  girl inside of me that had faced 33 other birthdays with questions and empty places stood up and began cheering in a loud booming voice.  “34!, 34!!!, 34!!!!!”  

Three months before this party took place, something terrible had happened.  There had been another gathering.  I never saw it coming.