The Sun Will Shine Again

Dear Future Self,

     I am writing this letter to you as a reminder. Life hasn't always been easy, and we both know it hasn't always adhered to "the plan." It has, however, gone according to His plan. This is just another one of those seasons.
     We started planning 2019 back in 2018. We had almost the entire year planned out. We had trips planned to visit a bird sanctuary and coffee plantation in Colombia, South America, the beautiful Gulf Coast beaches in Florida, and the Footsteps of Paul in Greece. We were excited, and ready to take on 2019. What we didn't remember in all of the planning is that life happens. We didn't make our bird and coffee date, nor did we get to feel the sand between our toes. We also had to cancel our excursion to Greece. The famous phrase, "Change of Plans," seemed to govern 2019.
     In March, we decided to host a sibling group of orphaned children as well as another young lady, all from Eastern Europe, for the month of July. A few weeks before they were to arrive, the young lady received news that parental rights had been terminated. What deflating news for that poor girl. The glimmer of hope she had to be reunited with her mom had been put out. She wasn't coming back for her. She also wasn't going to be coming to America. Change of plans...
     April came, and we said goodbye to one of the greatest guys we've ever met. Cancer had paid a visit, and didn't want to leave. Five months prior, we said goodbye to his beautiful bride. Both farewells were quick and definitely not expected so soon. Change of plans...
     The day after we celebrated the life of our dear friend, our son started to get sick. He got very sleepy, lost his appetite, and turned yellow. We gave it the weekend, but no improvement. Monday came, and we went to see his pediatrician. The next morning we were called with his lab results, and told to head to Duke Children's Hospital immediately. After a stay in the hospital and many many tests, we made it through the month of May. He was diagnosed with Immune Mediated Liver Disease. What is this you ask? We don't really know. No one really does. It is a newly identified disease. We know that the liver has its own immune defense system and that it got all fired up. We also know that it has the potential to trigger other diseases and problems, but don't really know how or when. Change of plans...
     It's June. A few weeks in, and we have seen our son go from very sick and very yellow back to his feisty little self. His liver has calmed down, and his levels are returning to normal. Words can't describe what it feels like as a parent to see your son recover from a sickness that's attacked his little body like that. Our lab visits got spread out a little farther, and so did the doctors visits. We could start to see the end in sight. So we thought. Change of plans...
     Last weekend we noticed a slight dip in our son's health. Nothing too serious, but we called the doctor, and labs were bumped up. We received his results, and his liver numbers look beautiful. However, there is a hiccup in his blood count. Since the beginning of his illness his white blood cells have slightly dipped. That can happen when the liver gets inflamed, but now that his numbers are back to normal his blood counts should be also. They continue to drop, along with his platelet count. We have an appointment with the hematologist next week. Whatever was attacking the liver may have moved on to his blood system. We aren't sure. It may be something different altogether. Whatever it is, it's unknown at this point.
     After that news, I had to get out of the house, so I went out on the deck. The whole family joined me. They decided to grab the water balloons, and have some fun. It was great. It was cloudy because a storm was rolling in. I looked at my son. I realized how fragile my dreams are. My dreams about the future, about our present, all had been shaken in that one moment. I looked at him with the realization he might not be here forever. I looked at our other five, and realized none of us are promised tomorrow. Things happen, life happens, and plans change. The one thing that doesn't change is God. He is unshakable. He is unmovable and never-changing. He loves me more than I can comprehend. I know that. What He has shown me through all of this, is that He loves my son like that also. He loves my son more than I do, and that has blown my mind while at the same time given me immeasurable peace.
     Back to that storm...The wind was blowing pretty fiercely, and we were standing on the deck waiting for the rain and the thunder to ruin our family fun. The air was chilled, and we were all about to go in, when it happened. The clouds broke, and there was the sun. It was warm and seemed brighter than it had been in a long time. Every one of us stopped what we were doing to celebrate it. We looked up right at it and soaked it in. It lasted until it was time to go in for dinner. Whatever is going on, whatever storm we are in, or we are bracing ourselves for, God has a way of reminding me that the sun WILL shine again. It always has. (And it always will.)

Until Next Time, Beautiful...

Unplanned, But Chosen

     

     Like everyone else on the planet, I have a father. I also happen to have a dad who has been a father to me since the age of one. When I was born, my mother didn't know what to do with this tiny, unplanned human. (Shout out to all the unplanned humans!) My father took off to God knows where to do God knows what. It was a mess. My paternal grandma took us in. It was a package deal at the time. My mother just couldn't do it. So, I was left with an aging woman to look after me. Little did I know, God had already started writing an incredible story with twists and turns no one could have seen coming.

     Fast forward a few months, and through a friend of a friend of a cousin or something like that, word traveled from Texas to Florida that a little girl needed a home. A couple heard of the little girl, and with much thought and discussion decided to make her their own. That was only the beginning.

     I grew up knowing that I was adopted. Some kids ask about their birth story, but I always asked about the day they "got" me. My parents always told it with such enthusiasm, that I didn't know there was any other way to feel but proud and excited. I only ever knew them as my parents. As I got older though, there was something in me that started to struggle with identity. I think everyone goes through some form of that, but for an adopted kid it seems to strike you in not knowing your origin. It doesn't matter how much your parents love you or care for you, there is something that seems broken when who you came from remains a mystery. 

      Before I go on I have to say, my parents were amazing at disclosing all they knew, and were extremely supportive. My mom even kept in touch with my paternal grandma until she passed. However, when I turned 22 years old, I couldn't let it be any longer. I had to locate and speak to my biological mother. I needed to know. All these movies had come out about these girls who never knew their fathers, and they all turned out to be a princesses. What if that was my story?! It wasn't. It really really wasn't. If you are put up for adoption, chances are, it wasn't because your father was royalty. Just saying.

      I found my mother, and spoke with her. Long story short, it went like this, "What do you want from me?" Her tone was more frightened than annoyed. The truth is, I wanted nothing except to know. A few weeks later I received a phone call from my father. This stranger loved the sound of his own voice, and told tales of the life that he had lived. An hour passed, and we said our goodbyes and hung up. I sat there for all of about 30 seconds processing that painfully, yet humorous, conversation. Gratitude washed over me like a flood. I picked that phone back up, and I dialed my dad. The first thing out of my mouth was, "I just talked to my biological father. I have never been so glad in all my life that you are my dad." We laughed and chatted about it all, and we hung up. That was my moment. That was our moment. 

     I walked away from that moment never questioning my beginning. It didn't matter. It is part of me. It is the first chapter of my story. It was a huge chapter in my family's story. I was left, abandoned, socially orphaned, but God was weaving a tapestry that no one could see. So whether you grew up with a loving father, or you didn't, a biological father, or an adopted one, God is writing your story, and it's not finished yet. God saw me from the start, and He sees you, too. My father didn't plan me, nor did he choose me, but God did, and so did my dad. 

Thanks, Dad, and Happy Father's Day!

              

Until Next time...