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.   

         

Steel Hands

He shuffled in on quiet feet.  

Years of hard work had curved his stature, but silent power remained in his steps. Steel blue eyes set their gaze directly into mine as my birthmother’s father and I spoke our first hello. He'd come 90 miles to my home to join the birthday celebration planned by the hubs and my birthmother.  

I was his only granddaughter born & married on his wedding anniversary. God had aligned the calendar so that we shared this date not only for my birthday and his wedding anniversary, but my wedding anniversary, too.  The air between us was unsteady.  I reached out to hug him, welcome him, and invite him in as I pushed past the questions between us hanging like heavy clouds.

Until this moment, he had never laid those icy blues on me.  

It was a big day.

Way back when time was another day, young, unmarried, pregnant girls faced difficult choices.  For many southern women, giving their babies up for adoption was the only option.  They made these decisions out of love for their children and oftentimes with direction from their families.  Sometimes young girls were hidden away in maternity homes until delivery with ultimatums from their parents.  Don't come home until the baby is gone.  It was simply another culture.  Families were not able to accept these young mothers.  They all did what they had to do and what was deemed right to them at the time.  

It's just the way it was.  They did the best they could.

What I never figured into this cultural equation was the long term impacts of adoption on my birthmother's family.  

As time marched ahead and cultures changed, families changed, too.  After many discussions with my birthmother about my life story, she had told me about the role her parents played.  

She had come back from giving birth to me and never talked about it again.  She'd especially never brought it up to her daddy.  Their relationship had been strained with the news of the pregnancy even though they loved each other fiercely.

The day she told him I had found her was not an easy day.  I have said many times that she is a brave woman. When she decided to tell him I was back in her life, the enormity of his possible reactions loomed high.  He was in great health, but she worried about telling him. News like this could cause even a strong heart to take a shock.  I listened to her tell me about their conversation with eyes wide.  

He hadn't forgotten a thing.  

Not one thing...

When she gave him the news, a handkerchief grasped by strong, steel hands wiped away silent tears. He wasn't a man who cried much.  Emotions stayed tucked away in secret places veiled behind hard labor and integrity.  He didn't talk much either so you knew if he said it he meant it.  

He said wanted to meet me.  

I'm holding back quite a tsunami of tears as I tell you about him because I have a soft spot for grands.

Growing up, I only remember one granddaddy.  My mama's daddy died when I was very young.  I have a few pictures and the stories she's told me, but I have no memory of him.  My daddy's father was the only granddaddy I remember.  He was a quiet man, too.  In denim overalls except for Sundays, he would take me to the country story down the road and buy me all the candy I could fit into a little brown bag.  My sister and I shoved as much as we could into space of that paper sack.  

He was always smiling at me.  

I could sit beside him on the porch swing and lean against his big round belly.  Something happens in a little girl's heart when she feels totally safe and completely loved by her granddaddy.  

My heart was tied to him.  

He passed away suddenly when I was in middle school.  On his last night on earth, he took out a picture of my sister and me and stuck them into the wooden tail of a rooster figurine sitting on the fireplace mantle.  He told my grandma how much he loved us.  

The next day he was gone.  

In the old white church across the road from the graveyard where he would rest, I gazed out the window feeling my first empty hole of death.  Frozen in my mind are the hay bales standing in the field like angels guarding that moment.  

Losing him wrecked me.  

The wails of pain in my grandmother's cries echoed the tremendous amount that this man was loved.  

I'd spent more of my life without a grandfather than with one, and God knew how much I needed another one.  

This beautiful, gentle soul came walking into my home on a hot summer day.  My birthmother and my husband had planned a birthday party for me.  (That is a story in itself.)  I wasn't sure what to expect from him.  He probably wondered the same thing about me.  After normal pleasantries had passed and we'd all gotten comfortable, he and I went into the living room to talk alone.  Sitting side by side on the sofa, he began to tell me things that took my breath away.  In his words, the pressing of pain and regret pressed into my heart.  He wanted me to know that he was sorry.  He'd spent my lifetime wondering about me and regretting decisions passed. The weight of blame he'd put on himself had followed him.  And I was not prepared...  

It was hard to listen.  

Even though I held nothing against him, I never considered that he would hold things against himself.  

I never considered that he would think of me.  

Never once.  

For 34 years, he'd kept the memory of me and nobody knew.  

Here on a plaid sofa next to his only granddaughter, he spoke words of sadness from his heart and tried to accept all the blame.  

Oh, Jesus, only You know these things...these heavy weights lugged around in hearts...

I did my very best to explain to him that nobody was to blame.  My search was not one of accountability.  It was one of family.  

I didn't want him to apologize.  

I only wanted to know him if he was willing.  

I told him that God had given me a wonderful life with loving parents.  I tried to ease his hurts the best I could.  I am not sure I made any difference that day because he was hard to read, but what I do know happened that day is we both fell in love with the other.  I mean it.  

On that sofa in those moments, that sweet old man became my Papa.  The name rolled off my tongue like it had always been there waiting to be said.  

Papa.  

I noticed his hands that day during our visit.  Steel hands formed by mountains and valleys of flesh and bone attached to strong arms had plowed many fields and carried heavy loads.  I loved those big hands.  He wrapped them around me as we hugged goodbye that day, and I kissed him on the cheek.  

I said, "I love you, Papa."  

He said, "I love you, too."  

I felt the air change around us as the look in my birthmother's eyes intensified.  

I found out later why.   

He didn't say those words often.

Every single time I saw him after that day, I would kiss his face and tell him I loved him, and he would do the same.  We didn't need a bunch of words because we'd found what mattered.  

Thank You, Jesus for allowing me to know this beautiful man.  He was one of the best surprises of my journey.  

I keep a picture of us on my desk so I can look at him every day.  We are on the sofa in my birthmother’s house.  Our arms are linked together; hands intertwined like our hearts.  

It reminds me that I serve a faithful, loving God who loved us both enough to put us together.  In Psalm 136:12, scriptures describe God’s love like this: “with a mighty hand and outstretched arm, His love endures forever.”  

The hands of the Father are always wrapped tightly around His children.  Although God’s Hands are beyond earthly comprehension, I wonder what they look like.  I won’t know until I get to Heaven, but I think I got a glimpse of them with Papa.  

   

Hidden

After 5 days without deoderant, the demon lurking in my armpits made her presence known.  Climbing invisible ladders into the depths of my nasal cavities, stink monsters assaulted my senses.  The smell proved beyond a doubt that what is hidden will emerge. 

Deoderant is necessary.  It's non-negotiable.

In a house full of teenagers, two of which are boys, it's a mantra we repeat regularly.

Why would I stop wearing deodorant?

Because.

Because it was Spring Break.

Because I wanted to do the complete opposite of my normal routine. 

Because I could.

Because I am one of those people who says, "why not"?

Seeing how long I could go without deodorant was only one difference in my Spring Break routine. I also swore off wearing makeup for 5 whole days.  I had been reading online about the coconut oil craze and wanted to test the hype for myself. 

Would coconut oil really moisturize deeply and give me a youthful glow? 

I don't know if it was the coconut oil, or just going without makeup, but by week's end my skin never looked better.  Thankfully, my glowing skin was the only thing my family noticed after five days. Immediately, I resumed the use of deodorant.

Gross, right?  Yes, gross, but completely true.

I learned a valuable lesson after going without deodorant for 5 days.

Hidden things don't lose their power.  

You can cover them, keep them secret and tucked away, or disguise them, but hidden things still hold power.

In the pit of your arm are tons of tubes that produce sweat when your body is overheated.  These tiny, sweat glands are hidden within the skin, but they hold great value and tremendous power.  If you don't believe me, just stop using deodorant for a few days.  You'll see.

I am certain that somebody is wondering why on earth I am writing about something so crazy.  I have tried to write this several different ways, but keep coming back to this deoderant story.  God must have a plan for it.  He made a donkey speak so He can use this too I suppose.

It  does seem natural to begin with a stinky tale as I introduce you to my brother.  Armpits, deodorant, and brothers are words that seem to fit well together.  

It was on the one year anniversary of finding my birthmother, that my brother and I met for the first time.  He hadn't always known about me.  

Many birthmothers keep the secret of giving up a baby for adoption hidden in their hearts.  Sometimes their families don't even know. It's their secret, and they have their reasons for hiding it away.  

The culture today isn't like the one 40 years ago.

Birthmothers themselves were often hidden away.

Places like maternity homes kept pregnant girls tucked away from the world.  They experienced deep wounds from a society that didn't accept them.  It is a sad, hard reality to comprehend.  I certainly don't understand that kind of pain.  Until my search I had never even heard of a maternity home.  These homes were organized as temporary living arrangements for young mothers until they gave birth.  I have a brochure of the one my birthmother lived in while waiting on my delivery.  My heart breaks as I think about her there alone.  She was so brave. 

After giving birth to me and going back to her normal life, my birthmother was given a gift.  It came from her mother's friend.  It was given her so she'd have something tangible to hold on to as she faced the difficult days ahead.  The gift was a pale, pink, crocheted baby shawl and blanket  gift set from JCPenney. It was nested in a cardboard box with a white bottom and a clear lid wrapped in a white ribbon.  She would look at it and pretend to see me in it.  The meaning of this gift was a deep hidden place in her life.

Over the years, the box found its way to a drawer in my brother's playroom. He found it and asked my birthmother about it.  She'd told him that he was "supposed to be a girl".  Something about that box registered in his heart.  It was like he could sense that there was more to the story.

The connection with my brother was instant and strong.  When he came to my house for our first meeting, the most powerful moment for me was hugging him. It was like two old friends being reunited.  He's this tall, handsome fellow with a full head of dark hair, olive skin, and deep, kind eyes.  His smile lights up the whole room.  He reached out to hug me with big, open arms and a huge heart.

I was mesmerized by the sight of him.

In my family, I was the loud, animated one who was always putting on a show.  When my brother walked into my house, there were now two of us.  We were the same.  Same voice, same intensity, same laugh, same heart...  We looked at each other for a long time.

I loved him instantly.

He is so funny.

Another time when we were together, he told a story that made me laugh harder than I have ever laughed in my entire life.  Seriously.  I thought I might  pass out.  

When he is around all I do is laugh and smile.  I smile because I love being with him.  I smile because he makes me happy when he calls me "sis".  I tell my own kids that if I ever need back-up, he'd be one of my first calls.  I know he'd come running.  He knows I'd do the same.

My brother had grown up as an only child.  He told me that whenever people asked him if he had brothers or sisters, he would say "no", but he felt "yes".  He just knew something was missing, hidden.

It was during my search for my birthfamily that God arranged it so that my brother finally learned about me.  My birthmother had the opportunity to tell him about my existence.  When I heard about this event and the timeline, I was again reminded about God's Perfect timing.  My brother was a big part of God's timing.  Being accepted and loved by him meant so much to me.  I am so thankful that God gave me a brother.

There is a parable in Luke chapter 8 that has been on my mind lately.  Jesus told a story about a lost coin and a woman searching for it.

"Or suppose a woman has ten silver coins and loses one."

Luke 15: 8a. NIV

This woman in the story had started off with ten coins.  In losing one, she still had nine coins. She could have just cut her losses and been happy with the nine, but the value of this one coin sent her on a search. She turned the house upside down looking for one hidden coin.

"Does she not light a lamp, sweep the house, and search carefully until she finds it?"  Luke 15:8b. NIV

The coin was hidden, but it's value didn't change.

It was the coin's value that motivated her to search.  My NIV notes say that searching would not have been an easy task.  "Near Eastern houses frequently had no windows and only earthen floors, making the search for a single coin difficult."  (Zondervan, 1985)

Jesus searches for the hidden.  He not only searches for lost souls, which are valuable to Him, but He searches our hearts for those hidden hurts that only He can heal.

Why?

Because we are valuable to Him, and He knows the power that those hidden places can hold over us.  He knew that nothing would satisfy me until I had found those hidden from me.  God used the reunion with my birthfamily to heal several hidden places in my heart. It was a gift of love allowing me to find them. The beauty of God's healing the hidden parts in my heart is the gifts I received along the way.  He gave me the gift of learning how to wait, learning how to forgive in light of my tremendous need of forgiveness, and the gift of learning to love like He does.

And, He gave me another gift that I didn't expect...a brother.

In His plan for my life and His plan for yours, there are hidden treasures along the way.

You cannot imagine.

If you haven't given your heart to Jesus, please let Him in.  If you have, please let Him shine His Light on the hidden parts of your heart.  He wants to heal you.  There is such freedom in Jesus.

Everyday with Him is a gift.

The gifts would keep coming my way as more family members were added to the story.  One man came walking into my life that had hidden hurts in his heart that nobody knew were there.  I pray that God will give me the words... My throat is tightening as tears roll down my face just thinking about him.  He was a precious gift, too.  

Face to Face

Dreams do come true.  

Today is the 11 year anniversary of finding my birthmother.  Eleven years ago today, my husband walked into her workplace and saw her face to face.  In 6 months after their meeting, my dream of seeing my birthmother face to face, at long last, became real.  After years of searching and months of struggling, we would stand face to face and eye to eye after 33 years apart.  

It was a reuniting long overdue.  We may have been physically apart for these 33 years, but we never were apart in our hearts.  

The hubs went with me for this trip.  We traveled  along the same roads that I had journeyed to meet my birthfather months earlier.  He'd seen me crumble after we fell apart.  He'd seen God put me back together, but I am sure he needed to be certain that this would all go according to plan.  I had changed so much thanks to The Lord.  My faith was in Him as I traveled familiar roads leading me back home.

We were meeting at her house.  I was doing pretty good on the ride over until we made our last turn. The final turn came right on the same road we had used to get to the nursing home.  She'd been right there within reach on the visits I had made previously.  I was reminded of how important it is to live within the safe boundary of God's timing.  Just like the times He had me wait during my search, He had pressed pause on our meeting.  Today, however, was a new day.  The pause button had been repressed and the play button was live.  

This was happening.  

She'd described her mailbox as a small, red barn.  I was looking intently up and down the street for this little barn when suddenly it came into view.  

We had arrived.  

The house was your normal suburban home.  In the driveway sat two vehicles.  The yard was very well maintained with the greenest, weed-free grass I'd ever seen. We pulled in and gave each other one last look.  I took a deep breath and stepped out. There in front of me was a glass door.  All I had to do was walk in.  On the other side of the glass was my dream.  My legs felt like cement.  Boy was I glad the hubs was with me.  I remember arriving, but I don't remember walking in.  I know that God was gracious in scheduling the meeting with my birthfather first.  That was traumatic enough.  Had I met my birthmother first, my nerves would have melted or fried or some other devastating action. 

Her husband met us in the driveway and ushered us in the house.  His open arms and gracious smile were a welcome sight.  As he took us inside, he called her name and said, "She's here."  

Worlds collided as we stood face to face.  

I just can't seem to figure out how to tell you about that moment.  The English language doesn't have words that can contain the overflowing, indescribable joy that surged through my heart.  There are no words.  We were standing eyeball to eyeball looking deep and long into each other’s eyes.  I knew those eyes.  She had beautiful dark, powerful eyes.  They hold emotions and feelings that touch you and grab you and rattle you with only a look.  I just stared.  We hugged each other for the first time, and we both knew it was our very first touch.  

When I touched her then, I knew like I know now, we would never be separated again.  

Never.  

No matter what happened with us in the future, we had touched and connected and nothing would be able to divide us in our hearts.  The tie between us that I had felt since I was old enough to process my life story, reached out and attached to her like a link on a chain.  Two hearts that had held on to each other since the beginning held each other's gaze for the very first time.  

We sat side by side on the sofa in her family room and peace covered me.  It wasn't just the peace that God was providing me, but a quietness of being right where you are supposed to be draped over me like a blanket.  It reminds me of a funny saying that she taught me.  She and I both like to wear “happy pants.”  Happy pants are those kinds of comfy pants you wear at the end of a hard day’s work.  They are the clothes that you put on when you relax.  They aren't necessarily cute or even in good shape, but when you put them on they make you happy.  You know the ones I mean?  The happiness and freedom and comfort I get from my “happy pants” don’t hold a candle to the feeling I had sitting beside her that day.  I wanted to just crawl up in her lap and sit there a while.  

I was home.  

She said, "You have his eyes...cat's eyes."  Wasn't the first time my eyes had been described as cat's eyes.  They look brown at first glance, but if you get close you will see flecks of gold and green. When I get really mad they go green.  Of course, you wouldn't want to be that close to me when I am mad to see the green, but that is just free info right there.  Thank The Lord He has worked me over about my temper, and my fits are few and far between.  (Hopefully no one in my family will comment about that.  Eeek!)  Her eyes were darker than mine, but the laser sharp gaze they could muster was the look I see in the mirror.  

We had the same hands, too.  Our hands are big with super long fingers.  I remember one afternoon when I had fallen asleep on the sofa at home, my parents had come into the room and were talking about me in hushed voices.  They were looking at me sleeping, and mama commented about my hands.  She said to daddy, “She has the longest fingers.”  I had been asleep, but I woke up to hear her say these words.  That conversation came rushing in my brain as I stared at another set of big hands with long fingers.  

I have her hands.  

I tear up typing those words...I have her hands.  

Thank you Jesus for allowing me to hold her hands again. Our same hands touched for the first time that day as eyes met and lives were changed.

We took pictures together; a mother and a daughter sitting side by side.  Two hearts reunited on the outside.  We were sealed.  

We had a wonderful time talking and staring at each other. It was beautiful. The moments quickly passed and it was time to go.

When we said goodbye, I didn't want to leave.  I never do.  Every moment I spend with her is never enough.  Our first meeting would be one of many more.  I hope I can get them all in some kind of order so that I can share them with you.  I took meticulous notes as I searched for her, but once we got together I didn't write down too many notes.  I was too busy living.  We were too busy living and growing and getting to know each other.  

Today, won’t you reach out to the ones you love and just say hello?  Life is too short and too miraculous to miss a single opportunity to tell your family that you love them.  God has blessed me with a huge family.  Hey, family...I LOVE you all!!!  

In the body of Christ, we are all family.  

John 15:12 “This is My commandment, that you love one another just as I have loved you.”

The love we had for each other continues to grow to this day.  There would be more family added into our story in the months that followed.  I got something I had always wanted...a brother!

Dear Friends

Dear Friends,

You are on my mind today.  I was thinking of you this morning and wanted you to know.  This journey brings me in contact with some of you almost daily.  The texts, tweets, emails, Facebook messages, conversations, etc. are precious reminders to me that you are the reason He told me to tell my story.  

I want you to know that I see you out there.  

You are adopted children like me who have found your birthfamilies and some who dream of finding.  You are mothers and fathers who have adopted children. Some of you know your children's story, but some of you don't.  Many of you are scared to know.  You are birthmothers and birthfathers who gave a child to another family, and you will never know the story.  Some of you have never told a soul about giving up a baby. You carry your story secretly in your heart. You are siblings of adopted children, aunts, uncles, cousins and grandparents. You are friends who walked with families either through giving a baby up for adoption or helped welcome an adopted one into a family.  You are families that are waiting to adopt. You are caseworkers who have seen dreams come true and hearts crushed.  

I see you.  

I want you to know that God loves you, and His eyes are on you. He has a plan for you right where you are no matter the story.  You are important to God, and He has a plan to use your story.  If you need courage, God will give it.  If you need faith, just look to Him. If you need to forgive, lay it down at His Feet. Everything you need is in Him.  He is looking at you. Won't you look to Him?  

"For the eyes of the Lord run to and fro throughout the whole earth, to show Himself strong on behalf of those whose heart is loyal to Him." 2 Chronicles 16:9 NKJV

God looks right into the eyes of His children straight through to the core of their hearts and souls.  He didn't make a mistake. I promise you...

With love in Jesus,

Signs

I don't like to make mistakes.

As I read back through my previous posts, I find error after error and it bugs me.  So, I have "hired" an "editor".  The hubs has been named blog editor after unknowingly applying for the job.

He had finished reading a post a week or so ago and asked me an unusual question.  I was waiting on his post assessment and some words of encouragement, but he had only this to offer.

"Does your blog have spell check?"

Ahem... Spell check?

Why no, I haven't discovered spell check yet.  Ugghhh...he knows how I despise spelling errors. 

He asked the question so kindly and quietly, I knew he was treading lightly.  This whole writing thing, telling my adoption reunion story,  is still a tender place.  He knew to be careful, and I knew I had errors which is why I hired him on the spot.  I gave him complete permission to tell me where he saw mistakes so that I could go in and fix them. He agreed.  (I have since figured out where to find and how to use spell check, but  I can't guarantee that you won't stumble across several errors when you read.)  And while that completely bothers me, I am going to keep on writing anyway.  I see it as my ongoing lesson in humility.  As a performance driven individual, I have to keep that area in check.

I am learning too that while I try to edit out all mistakes in my writing and all the times I mess up in life, God is ultimately the Great Editor.  He's the One Who watches over me and fixes what I ruin when I allow Him to do it His Way. Even my messes bring Him Glory.  

The mess with my birthmother was a perfect opportunity for Him to do some major editing.

Losing contact with her was a death of sorts in my life.  I had worked so hard to find her.  I had climbed every mountain and fought every battle and planned and dreamed and waited.  In my mind, I had done everything right and still I'd lost her again.  God had shown me early on that I had set her up as an idol, and that was a hard pill to swallow.  I thought that was the only lesson He had to teach me, but again I was wrong.  There is always more to learn.

There had been many months of silence between us.  My birthday came during one of those months, and it was a hard day for me.  My emotions had been on a roller coaster ride, and I really wanted to get off.  The hubs and I were sitting out on the porch one evening discussing the events that had transpired between my birthmother and me.  He had been so good to support me during these months.  That night, he summed up the place I was in with one of his signature phrases.  He told me the time had come when I needed to make a decision.  I needed to "make nice or make it go away."  After feeling so out of control, his words opened my eyes to the fact that I had some control here.  I could decide. I could choose to "make nice", sweep it all under the rug and try to start over.  The other option was to close the book on her and "make it go away".  He has a knack with simple, profound phrases.  God blessed me with a smart man.

I didn't make any decisions that night sitting on the porch, but the idea that I could make one made a big impression.  I was thinking about all of this as I traveled over to my parent's house.  The kids were going to spend the weekend.  After dropping off  the kids, I  headed back home. Quiet time in the car gave me the opportunity to talk to The Lord about this decision in front of me.   I knew I could not "make nice".  I just didn't have it in me.  I am not a fake person, and a terrible liar when my heart is involved.  Those that know me well know you can see how I feel all over my face.  I would just rather tell  the truth and let the chips fall. "Making nice" was not a viable option.

The other choice, "making her go away" and totally shutting her out of my heart and moving on was not humanly possible either.  You'd have a better chance of  taking  my heart out and trying to keep me alive without it beating than remove her from me.  She's too much a part of me.

What choice did I have?

I told The Lord  the best I could do was to offer her up to Him and let go if  that is what He wanted.  I promised Him that if He ever put her back in my life, I was going to need Him to send me a sign that it was His plan.  I had made such a mess before that I didn't trust myself to go any further in a relationship with her if given the chance.

Give me a sign, Lord, please?

As I finished this prayer, my car was going over an overpass, and I saw a "sign" in the sky...a double rainbow.  The two rainbows were  touching  like the Golden Arches of a well know hamburger joint.  

I laughed out loud and said, "Okay, Lord I see this amazing rainbow...but really, I asked for a SIGN." 

As I arrived at the end of the overpass and slowed  at the red light, I glanced over my right shoulder.  There on the light pole was a rectangular, white sign with this word in black, all capital letters: REPENT.

Repent?  That's the "sign" You want me to see?

Me? Repent?  Of what???

Really, Lord?

Why do I need to repent?

Needless to say, the laughter I had engaged in moments earlier, came to a screeching halt.  I had asked for a sign, and He had supplied one, but the sign's message stung.  What on earth did I have to repent for exactly?

The meaning of repent wasn't clear to me until I shared my sign story with one of my cousins.  He and I had always been very close.  We'd been exchanging emails since I'd found my birthfamily. I had emailed him about my sign experience and was deeply troubled about it all.  I just wasn't seeing the message too clearly.   He is wise beyond his years and clued me in on the Hebrew meaning of the word.  Repent means to change one's mindset or way of thinking.  It also means to turn and go in a new direction.  With love and truth, he told me that I had been going the wrong way and thinking the wrong thoughts.

He was right.

Swallowed up by my hurt feelings and shattered dreams, I had mistakenly placed all the blame for our troubles on her.  It wasn't all hers to bear.  I was to blame, too.  Isn't that how it is in any troubled relationship?  There's always two sides to every pancake.  I had hurt her, too.  I hadn't meant to, but I did.  When your eyes are blinded by tears, you often see only your side.  I had been so focused on my pain that I didn't see my responsibility in that hurt.

 The REPENT sign was spot on.  In blindness to my fault in the relationship focusing only on my pain, I had failed to be obedient to God.  He was calling me repent of my sins and to be forgiven.  He was also calling me to forgive.  I had been trapped between my sin and my unforgiveness.  It took me several days to let this knowledge sink in.  I prayed and prayed and then I made a decision.

In my car once again, this time at the corner of a well known area in my town, I asked The Lord for forgiveness and I repented of my sin.  Also, I  forgave my birthmother as an offering to The Lord.  Through tears of freedom, I lifted her up and said, "Whatever You decide.  I will accept Your Will, Lord.  If you remove her from my life, so be it.  I will trust You no matter what.  If by some miracle, You ever send her back into my life, I will love her like You have called me to.  I repent and turn and will go wherever You lead Lord."

As I turned the corner with my car, I turned a corner in my heart.

That was on a Sunday afternoon.

The load that was lifted off of me was incredible.  I had been carrying the burden of unforgiveness like a ball and chain.  I had rationalized the ball and chain with my pain and it blinded me to my own sin.  It had only been a few months, but it was so much a part of me that I didn't even feel the weight anymore.  When I turned the corner, the lightness in my heart was palpable.  I couldn't get over how different I felt.  Jesus had freed me.

Monday came and went like any other ordinary day, but Tuesday held a surprise.  I was in the kitchen when the hubs came inside with the mail.  He held out a white envelope and said, "She wrote you a letter."

She did what?

She had written me a letter.

I couldn't believe it.  Why was she writing me?  I opened the top of the envelope ever so carefully and began to read words she'd written from her heart.  I read and cried and read and cried... Her letter was beautiful. She was reaching out and apologizing and I was stunned. One line in the letter sent chills up my spine.  She wrote, " You are everywhere I go!  There are signs of you all around me."  Signs!!! Oh, Lord... His Grace and His Mercy washed over me like a flood.  He was giving us both signs.

As I continued reading, this startling reality hit me. While I had been letting go and giving her to God, she had been penning these words.  When I was lifting her up before The Lord and giving Him control, she was folding those words into an envelope and adding a stamp. While I was giving and getting forgiveness before a Holy God, her words were literally on their way to me.

The enormity of it all took me to my knees.  The Sovereign God of the Universe had orchestrated all of this in His time.  

I was blown away...  

A couple of days later I sent her an email that ended with this sentence.  "Let's start today with a clean slate."

Forgiveness is freedom with a clean slate.Cleaning slates is some of God's best work.  When we surrender control of our lives and allow Him to edit them the way He sees fit, He does things we could have never imagined.  We don't have to choose between the limited options we see in front of us.

We can simply choose God. 

“For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways,” declares the Lord. Isaiah 55:8

We can choose to seek Him and follow His ways instead of our own.  I am thankful that I didn't try to "make nice".  What a train wreck that would've been!  If I had chosen to "make it go away", I feel certain that her letter never would have arrived, or I would have thrown it away.  I am grateful and humbled that God in His infinite Love and long-lasting patience, He didn't give up on me.  He took the mess I had made, taught me lessons through my mistakes, and edited my story to bring Him Glory.  

One month later, the moment I had been waiting for my entire life finally happened.  I met my birthmother face to face, and the storm we were in faded away. God cleared the clouds between us and sent in a rainbow.  The rainbow is a sign of the promise God gave to never flood the earth again.  God's miracle of restoring my birthmother back into my life again was His sign to me that He can do anything.  Even when I mess it all up.

What have you messed up that you think can never be restored?   Nothing, I repeat, nothing is too messed up for God.  He can do miracles with your mess.  Let Him be your editor.  Stop trying to fix stuff on your own.  Repent if you need to.  Forgive everyone that has hurt you.  Let it all go and see what He can do. And if you need a sign???  I can tell you where to look.  Just go grab your Bible and open it up.  It's full of signs and they all point one way...to Jesus.

Get off the porch and go into The House!

Saturday night I had a dream that I don't remember.  It was one of those intense dreams that seems so real. You have a memory out there that you can feel, but you can't see. The only thing I do remember is waking up with a direction to go to the verses about Jesus healing the cripple at the Pool of Bethesda.  I woke up completely hearing the directive.  It was a command, and I knew I had to find these verses, but I didn't go there immediately.  

During church on Sunday, I tried to skim through my Bible to find this passage, but I had my "church" Bible and not my study Bible.  My church Bible is a small one I carry on Sundays that the hubs gave me.  My big study Bible is the one my daddy gave me for Christmas the year before I got married.  The reason I tell you that is...that if I'd had my big friend I could've found the passage easy.  

The little Bible was not helping me out Sunday morning between trying to pay attention to the preacher, fill in the blanks on my sheet, and find this passage.  I got frustrated and gave up.  The timing just wasn't right so I am just guessing that He hid the passage until I needed to see it.  He does that to me a LOT!  Actually He uses my weaknesses to show me stuff...either way you want to look at it.

Over the next few days, The Lord was showing me some things in my life that needed attention.  I had some fears come out of nowhere that temporarily paralyzed me.  

Have you ever had that happen?  

Has the enemy sent a thought or a feeling, something weird and crazy into your life and you were just stunned?  It happens to me from time to time, and I have learned to recognize the signs when it happens.  
The devil has tell-tale signs.  

God doesn't operate in chaos.  He is a God of order and calm in the midst of confusion.  

So, when all these crazy emotions started hitting me from nowhere, it took a minute, but I realized where they were coming from and then I knew what to do....apply scripture.  

I started praying and quoting scripture, and then I brought out the big guns.  I called in my prayer warriors to battle with me.  

I don't do that often because after many battles that I have faced in life, God has trained me to fight.  His Word is enough.  

But...sometimes you gotta have backup.  This was one of those times.  Praise God for sisters in Christ that you can trust with your private wars, and they keep it private.  Praise God for sisters in Christ who know His Word and will stop what they are doing, fall on their faces, and pray.

My prayer warriors, got your back with some powerful scriptures, know God intimately, sisters in Christ started blowing up my phone with prayers and verses.  Little did I realize that their words from The Lord and verses would be what I needed to hear before I understood the passage God had given me in my dream.  What an awesome, on-time, revelational God we serve.  Wow!  

In these next words, I am going to attempt to share with you what He showed me.  And then you will see how all this fits with the new character who came into my life and why she needed me and I needed her and how God knew all of this.

Here goes...

John 5
"Some time later, Jesus went up to Jerusalem for one of the Jewish festivals. Now there is in Jerusalem near the Sheep Gate a pool, which in Aramaic is called Bethesda and which is surrounded by five covered colonnades. Here a great number of disabled people used to lie—the blind, the lame, the paralyzed. One who was there had been an invalid for thirty-eight years. When Jesus saw him lying there and learned that he had been in this condition for a long time, he asked him, “Do you want to get well?” “Sir,” the invalid replied, “I have no one to help me into the pool when the water is stirred. While I am trying to get in, someone else goes down ahead of me.” Then Jesus said to him, “Get up! Pick up your mat and walk.” (John 5:1-3, 5-8 NIV)

At the pool of Bethesda there is a cripple, who has been an invalid for 38 years.  He was there lying by the pool.  This pool supposedly had healing powers as the verses say, and yet he somehow never managed to get down into those waters in front of him and get healed.  He just stayed there right beside the healing waters making excuses, getting attention, and still...crippled.

So when Jesus comes by, he doesn't recognize Christ, his reply to Jesus proves that he was full of excuses.  No motivation at all...

Jesus asked him, "Do you WANT to get well?"
He basically says, I can't .  I don't have any help.  Folks be cuttin' in line... I need somebody to do it for me.

Jesus commands him..."Get up! Pick up YOUR mat and walk."  Or...Move!!!!

Healed, but unaware of his Healer, he does as Jesus commands.  

Later Jesus comes back to find him, and the man is in the temple, the House of God,  and  Jesus says something so interesting...

"See, you are well again. Stop sinning or something worse may happen to you."

Then when he went away he knew it was Jesus.

Okay,,,, so here's the revelation.

The place where this man was laying was a site with two twin pools covered by five colonnades.  There would have been a colonnade on each of the four sides and one between the two pools.

The word colonnade intrigued me so I looked it up.  It's a Greek word, stoa, and it means a portico, or in the KJV it's a covered porch.

This dude was laying on a porch.

The lack of healing in his life had kept him out on the porch so he never moved into the temple, God's House.  Only when he obeyed Jesus did he move into the temple.  Then he recognized his Healer.  

I LOVE porches.

Growing up, I spent countless hours on the porch of my grandparent's old clapboard house.  There with my daddy's parents, we'd just sit on the porch either in the swing or in rocking chairs.  I have beautiful memories of being in that old swing with my grandaddy.  He always wore overalls except on Sundays.  My grandmother always sat in a rocking chair.  She'd sit and fan herself to keep the bugs and heat at bay.  I have a picture hanging in our family room of my grandparents and my sister and I sitting on the steps of that porch.  There were many stories told and lessons learned on that porch.  For instance, did you know that tree sap is supposed to cure a sore throat? My grandmother was about to try out this remedy on me once, but I bolted off that porch as fast as I could go, and she wasn't able to catch me.  Hard to run in a polyester dress.

I just LOVE old people.  I really, really do.  I use the term "old people" with great respect & admiration.  In a society that values youth, the older generation gets a bad rap sometimes.  They shouldn't.  The older generation knows things that we don't.  They have vast knowledge that would benefit us greatly if we took the time to listen.  That's the beauty of a porch.  You can just sit and listen.

I would do lots of sitting and listening in the next years ahead as my birthfather finally decided that he needed to tell his mother about me.

My birth-grandmother was living in a nursing home a few miles away from my birthfather's house. He had told me about her, but said he was afraid that she wasn't strong enough to take the shock of me.  I didn't pressure him to tell her because I really had no interest at the time in adding other people to this deal.  I was struggling to emotionally handle everthing.  He was so protective of his mother that he felt she would be better to be left out of the loop.  That was fine with me.

One day we were talking on the phone and he said he had changed his mind.

Okay...

He said he had decided to tell his mother.  

I told him it was fine with me if he thought she'd be okay with the news.  I surely didn't want this little lady who was in poor physical shape to have a heart attack over news like this.  I guess over time of adjusting to my place in his life, he had decided that the risk was worth it.

So, he called her.

We always protect the ones we love.  In trying to protect them though we sometimes don't give them credit.  She may have been in terrible physical condition, but her heart, mind, and spirit were solid like steel.

When he called, he told her something big had happened.  He asked her if she remembered my birth mother.  She said yes.  Then she began to recant to him the details of everything that happened that she was involved in during this time.

Then he told her that my birthmother had given birth to a baby girl and that baby girl had found him.

When she heard the news, she heard it this way...I have a granddaughter.

She wanted to meet me immediately.

I am sure that he was concerned about all the normal worries we  face when we have big news to share, but what he never counted on was the gift he was giving her and me.

I learned later that she had gotten saved late in life after a very hard life.  She had prayed for many years for God to give her grandchildren.  It was the deepest desire of her heart.

This lady had a broken body.  She was completely crippled.  Her days were spent in her bed or a wheelchair totally dependent upon others.  She'd been in the nursing home for about 7 years or so.  Her lungs were a  mess and she used oxygen to help her breathe.  Her back was a mess, too, and she really needed surgery but the condition of her lungs prevented surgery.  Her hands were curled and frozen due to arthritis. The list goes on and on.  It was a pitiful physical outlook.  The only places she'd been in the past years were the rooms within the nursing home.

However...

Her mind and spirit were strong!  I saw this myself on the day we arranged to go and meet her.

The hubs and I picked up my birthfather and off we went to the nursing home.  I was excited to get to see this woman in the flesh.  The first image I saw of her was an oil painting hanging in my birthfather's house.  She was beautiful!  The painting showed a blonde woman with green eyes dressed up in a fancy dress. Her hair was all fixed in an up-do.  I felt a little faint the first time I saw the painting.  I have never fainted out of shock before, but something about her face nearly took me out.  When I saw her, I could see my daughter.  It took my breath away.  The eyes of a stranger held the face of my baby girl.  I was amazed that genetics actually worked.  As an adopted child you are somewhat shocked that you have DNA and it actually works.  Weird, but true.

When we arrived at the nursing home, I held my birthfather's arm as we walked in.  He had his stick, but I could see that he didn't want to use it.  We walked together inside and down the hallway to her room.  The staff had helped her get ready for this meeting. She'd had her hair and nails done.  She was waiting on us.  When he knocked and called out "Mama?", the door opened on a new chapter for me.  She was sitting in a wheelchair with a broken body, yes... But, she was not broken on the inside.  He ushered me in and presented his daughter to his mother.  Those eyes looked straight at me with such anticipation.  Her crippled arms reached out to hug me and right then I was smitten.  

I loved her immediately.

She had no expectations of me.  She only wanted to know me.  We talked and shared bits of our lives that day.  The fact that I was her one and only grandchild was not lost on her.  She wanted to know everything about me and my life.  I brought some pictures for her to have.  The way she held them was like someone had handed her the Hope Diamond.  They were precious to her.  I told her about my family and the good life I had been blessed with, and I told her about my kids.  She was very interested in meeting them, and I promised her to arrange it.

Now, even though her lungs were practically filled with fluid, this lady still insisted on smoking.  I saw firsthand that day how strong her will really was.  We wheeled her out to the courtyard which she considered "her courtyard". (She was a bit of a princess herself.)  The attendant had to make sure to unhook the oxygen so we didn't all blow up...  Then she took a few laborious drags on her cigarette.  I remember being purely astonished at the willpower it takes to smoke when you can hardly breathe.  I thought, "Man, she's a tough old bird."

During the visit, my birthfather went to the restroom which was inside her room.  As he fumbled his way to find the door right in front of him, trying to act like he could see, she watched him like a hawk.  When he closed the door behind him, she turned to me and said, "He is blind as a bat."   I busted out laughing.  Yep, she was most definitely my blood.  She called it like she saw it, didn't mince words, and meant what she said.  She went on to say she didn't understand why he tried to hide the truth.  She was his mother.  She knew him.  The love between them was so real and so obvious. 

They were two people broken deeply in different ways, but their connection to each other was sealed.

As much as I loved, I mean LOVED being in their lives, I was realizing how much I LIKED these two people.  Being with them was easy.  They accepted me for exactly who I was and wanted to move forward in a relationship right away.

Part of our growing relationship was meetings like our first one and a few phone calls along the way, but the biggest part was in letters. We would write letters to each other.  

I have a stack of letters she wrote to me and to the children, and I cannot read them without tears.  In her first letters she would apologize to me over and over for being crippled.  She would beg me to accept her as she was.  Bless her heart, she thought her physical limitations would somehow make me decide she wasn't worthy to be in my life.  She marveled too in her letters that God would love her enough to send her a  grandchild at her age.  

She wrote, "I almost gasp for breath when I think of what would have happened, what we would have missed if you had not decided to find us.  Oh, Dear God, what we would have missed. Just another one of God's blessings that we receive everyday and take for granted." 

Wise words from a crippled hand.

Inside that broken body, was a soul saved by the grace and mercy and blood of Jesus Christ.

I gasp for breath now too knowing that if I had been disobedient to God when He told me to search, that she would have suffered.  He desires to bring healing to His people.  We are His Hands and Feet on this earth and when He gives us a command, we'd best follow it.  If not, we miss the blessing and can possibly cause others to miss out too.  

She, like my birthfather, was  not in my plans.  They were in God's.

As I struggled these past weeks with the issue God was talking to me about, I  learned through scripture that He wants to take all of His Children to new levels of healing.  Of course, we won't have complete healing until we are with Him in heaven, but He wants us so close to Him that we allow Him to heal our hearts.  The deeper we allow Him in, the more He will shine His Light on areas we never considered in need of healing.  

Our healing will depend on our obedience.

When I called in the prayer warriors about my struggle, one gave me this scripture as a part of her prayers over me.

Psalm 91
"He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty...."

I was crying and praying this verse aloud and began to draw on a sticky note.  I wrote the word "me"and then I drew an arc over the word me and wrote..."Under the Shelter"...  I needed a visual...   I needed to see myself under the shelter of the Most High.

I prayed...
"Lord, I want to dwell in your shelter...the shelter of God is His Temple...His House...The House of The Lord..."

And then the revelation came....

Like the crippled fellow in John 5, until sin is confessed and Jesus heals, I am just like the one laying on the porch.  When you confess your sin, and really repent and turn, and are obedient to His commands, then He Heals you of ALL YOUR INFIRMITIES and you GET UP AND WALK INTO THE HOUSE!!!

Without obedience, you will be stuck out on the porch.

And then this nugget of Truth...

Are you going to stay on the porch???
Or are you going to walk into the House???

Whooooweeee.....I don't know about you, but I ain't staying out on the porch.  I want be IN the House with The Lord.  And I am ready to hear whatever sin He sees in me that needs confessing.  I want to be completely healed.

When he told the guy at the pool of Bethesda to take up his mat, to get up and move, Jesus was making sure that the man didn't have a spot left by the pool.  He was trying to get this man to see that to move on, you need to let go of the past.  Move on and take your mat with you so there is no room for you to come back.  Stop making excuses and stop making your pain about you.  The past is keeping you stuck.  The past is stopping your healing.

The porch is great for sitting and talking, but the HOUSE?  The House is where the real action is!  Inside the Lord's House is a new level of faith and more healing.    

If God can take a child given up for adoption and give her a wonderful life and still see fit to send her back to her birth family, that's life in The House. If God can deliver me to my birthmother's doorstep when finding her should not have been possible, that's life in The House.  If God can send me to a blind man all alone and give him a daughter, that's life in The House.  If God can answer the prayers of a older, crippled lady in a nursing home by providing not only a grandchild, but three great-grandchildren, that is life in The House.  

So, let me say this loud and clear.  There is no "If God can..."  God can, and God did.

Over the next months, God moved in a mighty way in my life and their lives.  I didn't know it, but He was moving in my birthmother's life too.  The day was coming when He would ask me to obey Him in an area that I didn't want to obey.  He was calling me to forgive.  I would have to decide.  Would I stay out on the porch and hold on to my pain?  Or would I get up, forget the past, and move on?