My personal heros

I want to give a shout out to my personal heros. . . .

There is a little girl who wears a 2 lb medication pump every second she is awake, then sleeps next to it every night.
Who is so so brave.
Who knows just what to do when we go to the hospital.
Who works so hard to catch up in language and reading.
Who manages to get sheer joy out of about every second of her life.
Who makes friends anywhere she goes.


Then . . . there is another little girl who runs interference for her little sister.

Works to help her learn to read.
Helps her with all kinds of kid stuff.
Puts her own needs second way too much - and hurts for it.
Who also knows what to do when we go to the hospital.
Who reads to Mom and Sister when they are sick.
Who works so so hard to be a contributor and make things right.
Who prays all the time her little sister will get well.


And the Dad who watches over them every day.
Even when the shenanigans of two very busy little girls wear him down
Who works with his daughters every day to teach them
Who lets them know every day how special and wonderful they are.
Who prays for and with them every night.
Who has to put his own anxiety for the future aside to maintain the present.


I have a very brave bunch living in my house.

When we lose a child

Sometimes it is easier not to look - or to look but not to really SEE.

Adoption, among other things, has been an exercise in SEEING.

Seeing the distress of helpless children in institutions.

Seeing families gain children they love so much through adoption

Seeing families grieve all their children have had to endure and lose simply because they were born in the wrong location.

 I have seen families grieve children lost to incurable diseases.

Opening my heart to adoption meant a door left open to see and feel for the sorrows of others.  Probably a good thing but not an easy one.

I just shared this lyric with a virtual acquaintance.  One of the heart babies they care died unexpectedly.

Weak and wounded sinner
Lost and left to die
O, raise your head for love is passing by

Come to Jesus
Come to Jesus
Come to Jesus and live

Now your burden's lifted
And carried far away
And precious blood has washed away the stain

So sing to Jesus
Sing to Jesus
Sing to Jesus and live

And like a new born baby
Don't be afraid to crawl
And remember when you walk sometimes we fall

So fall on Jesus
Fall on Jesus
Fall on Jesus and live

Sometimes the way is lonely
And steep and filled with pain
So if your sky is dark and pours the rain

Then cry to Jesus
Cry to Jesus
Cry to Jesus and live

Ohh, and when the love spills over
And music fills the night
And when you can't contain your joy inside

Then dance for Jesus
Dance for Jesus
Dance for Jesus and live

And with your final heartbeat
Kiss the world goodbye
Then go in peace, and laugh on glory's side

And fly to Jesus
Fly to Jesus
Fly to Jesus and live

Fly to Jesus
Fly to Jesus
Fly to Jesus and live

Read more: Chris Rice - Untitled Hymn (come To Jesus ) Lyrics | MetroLyrics 

The foreign land

Spoken language is a visit to a foreign country for Ms Josie.  She really enjoys it, but just can't quite get the hang of all the foreign customs.

Between her low O2 as an infant and toddler, orphanage background,  and witches brew of very strong meds she takes now what ought to be a sturdy bridge of neurological connections between thought and expression is instead a tenuous little footbridge across a vast expanse of language.

She is a darn smart little kid (too smart for my good some days) but I begin to see that people will see her disability first and judge by that rather than watch and see what she is really about.

Just had the "your child is not progressing as quickly as we would expect" talk with the preschool.   They love her, but see that she masters a skill, then loses it only to start over again.

 A wee bit discouraged today.  I should not be.  The first miracle is she is alive and actually improving.  I am waiting to see the following ones.

Why are things so hard for us in this life?  Could it be so we understand the price paid for us?
 The angels look at the mystery of salvation in wonder and want to understand, but can't.

There is singing up in Heaven such as we have never known,
Where the angels sing the praises of the Lamb upon the throne,
Their sweet harps are ever tuneful, and their voices always clear,
O that we might be more like them while we serve the Master here!

But I hear another anthem, blending voices clear and strong,
"Unto Him Who hath redeemed us and hath bought us," is the song;
We have come through tribulation to this land so fair and bright,
In the fountain freely flowing He hath made our garments white.

Holy, holy, is what the angels sing,
And I expect to help them make the courts of heaven ring;
But when I sing redemption's story, they will fold their wings,
For angels never felt the joys that our salvation brings.