Can you do a small thing for Me?

As I was leaving Wal-Mart this morning, I walked past a man sitting in a wheelchair, obviously waiting for someone. He looked haggard and my heart went out to him. I stepped into the parking lot, and a thought came into my mind. "Go back and talk to the man."

"Well, I said to the thought, "I can't just turn around. What if somebody sees me and thinks I am silly turning around and walking back?" So I kept walking. The thought came again. "Go back."

"I know it is you, Lord," I said, "but I really don't want to turn around. Or... well, maybe I can I pretend I forgot something, and just walk back in there, but when I do, what shall I say?

All this time I kept walking. But suddenly I had the tightest feeling in my stomach, so I stopped and just stood there in the parking lot, halfway to my car. "OK, Lord, I will do this little thing for you. After all, if I can't walk up to a harmless old man in a wheelchair, how could I ever march through a jungle if you asked me to?"

I bet everybody has things we'd rather do than the simple minute-by-minute calls of God. Like, stop eating now, or turn off the computer and go to bed, or, go and ask that man if he is ok.

Even hard things. I know I could endure the battle involved in rescuing our boys from the clutches of a dark orphanage in Ukraine, but ask me to work in the concession booth at school and make change? I'd rather go to Ukraine.

Anyway, I turned and walked back to the man and asked if he was ok. He said, He'd just been released from the hospital and had part of his stomach removed.

I opened my mouth, and out came, "I believe God wants me to tell you how dearly he loves you. May I pray for you?"

He slowly raised his head and looked up at me, his face unshaven, but his eyes as clear as a blue sky. "Thank yew, ma'am," he said, "Thank yew for comin' back. Please pray for me."

So I did, Jesus and I, we laid hands on the man in Wal-Mart, and prayed that God would heal him quickly so he could get on with the call of God on his life.

Fried Green Tomatoes

Bennie and I stood in the garage talkin'. I was reading his lips so I wouldn't miss a word of his old time Southern black wisdom. He shook his head, and stared off into the distant green of the pioneer forest across the street.

They never did do anything with that land the bulldozers ravaged the horrible week after we moved here. They just left my woods in terrible upturned heaps of ripped tree roots and branches. But now God is growing it up again the way I desperately asked Him to do.

Bennie looked down, and a big smile spread over his face. He said, "Shewt! Ain't nothi' like fried green tomatas and fish!"

Using his say-only-half-the-word dialect he told how his "gran'ma would ta'e a bunch o' dem pi' needles like dem up yonder in dat tree, and bol dem in wata and den put in a spoo' o' suga' - Ah mean real sugacane suga'- and a cut up lemon. Stir it arou' and drink it fo' da congentyin in the no' and forehea'. Oo, ee, dat really wors!"

What will I do in June, when the day comes for leaving behind chats with Bennie on the doorstep of this house, where we've lived for three years? How did I get from, "Get me out of here," to now having a lump in my throat about saying good-bye? Why is it all so surprisingly wrenching?

There were nights when I used to jerk bolt upright out of a deep sleep and say, "I know what I'll do! I'll pack my suitcase right now, and catch a plane back up north today!" I used to pour it all out on long distance phone calls to my infinitely patient daughters, and they'd listen and love me.

I used to walk around this backyard feeling like I was trapped in some kind of time warp, screaming in my mind to get out. Finally I tore down several walls in our house and put in a pool, hardwood floors, and painted every wall in sight.

But I didn't realize the problem was homesickness, until we made our first trip back north. As we drove up the driveway of our old house, I burst into tears. "THIS IS MY HOUSE!" I blubbered.

But then, yesterday I almost cried again, only this time it was when I walked into my bank. Ms. Eula and Ms. Shenetra said, "Oh, Ms. Sylvia, we are going to miss yew when yew go away. Wah do yew have to move?"

That's what they all say, "Wah do yew have to mewve?" And wah Michigan? It's sew cold; it snows up there!" Moving anywhere is a very puzzling concept, actually living anywhere other than dear ol' Mississippi is hard, but if you add to that, actually CHOOSING to go away up into yankeeland, it is almost unimaginable, off the radar.

They are like me years ago. One day Bob came to me and said, "Newfoundland," and I said, "Where?" Then he said, "Hamilton" and I said, "Where?" Then it was "Windsor;" then "Pennsylvania" and "Detroit;" then "Galveston!" then "Tampa;" then "Detroit" again; then "Mississippi!" and each time until now I said, "Where?"

But I will miss these dear Mississippians. There's Ms. Liz in Wal-Mart who calls me "darlin'" when we tawk about arth-eritis and nutrition at her station by the fitting rooms. There are the ladies who discuss Sunday School at Curves every Monday. There's Jimmy OK in his trailer down the road with his big, shining white smile and his dialect so thick, I can only guess what it is he's so happy about.

There's Ms. Pearl who first stepped over the poison ivy in the woods from her house next door to be my first friend. It was she who rescued me with her hugs and prayers, her little Bible verse bookmarks and constant talkin' about Jesus.

There's Cherrie who laughs all the time about how redneck she is, and Robin who laughs all the time just because, and who showed up at my front door one day our first week here to drive Rob to the waterpark along with her precious son, who became Rob's first friend. The two of them still chuckle way into the night, when Rob sleeps over after youth group.

And then there's the dear, laid back parents of his second friend, who is "quiet just like Eric up north." They've given an open invitation for Rob to stay at their place in the woods when he visits. There's the easy, friendly Texan drawl of the mom and dad of his third good friend with the fresh innocent smile, standing tall and lanky in his cowboy boots.

For that matter there are all the mammas of all the boys in Rob's wonderful ninth grade class/football team/basketball team/tennis team. And the daddies too and brothers, who play with James and Peter, because God sweetly reached down and matched them all up so nicely age-wise.

Then there's Ms. Virginia who drives up my driveway once a month, never fails, to pop in the kitchen door for a hug. She is the one who tells me to splash on the bright colored paint. And she is the one who says, "Tell Maggie ours will be her home away from home after y'all leave."

I could go on about the teachers and coaches at school who plan on hiding our boys on moving day. And my dear friend Sherry, who has been here twice as long as we have and understands. We lean on each other.

But I will stop there for now. God has been good to us, and He it is who walks us through the bright sunshiny days and the dark places too. He it is who sends the angels to encourage us, and He it is who will go with us withersoever we goeth, because He truly is the dearest Friend we could ever lean on.

I can't imagine leaning on my "own understanding," coming OR going. But when I do go, I will take more than fried green tomatoes, grits and cornbread. I'll take the people in my heart, and I know I'll cry.

Wintry Blast

Our James would be curled in an amazingly small ball inside his sweater if he were there now. Or he would keep walking and walking to not freeze.

A wintry blast has blown down from the north pole bringing snow and sub freezing temperatures to the streets of Odessa, Ukraine. And, yes, I said 'in his sweater.' He had no jacket back in the days when he "went around outside."

Oh, brothers and sisters, pity the homeless children! Little Dima could perish if he were out there. But he is not out there; he is warm.

He is warm, and please God he won't perish. He has been taken to the school for invalid children. A normal, intelligent child with only a limp to have to live in such a place!

Perhaps it is better there than what Margo saw in Romania when they got their three children. At any rate our Peter has written to him asking him to "please stop sniffing glue, because it will make your brain bad and you will die from it. And please don't run away. Give your heart to Jesus and read your Bible. He has a plan for your life."

Amazing, it is true that even in such a place Jesus the Light of the world is shining and God does miracles. Oh, Lord of the Harvest, 'send forth laborers into the harvest' to reflect Your light.

The harvest is so plentiful, but we are so very far away. And we are so very busy living for ourselves.

A friend wrote a couple days ago...

... when a child, depending on the region's resources, reaches the age of 4-5 years old, it is determined that if there is anything wrong with the child that would prevent them from attending an orphanage school without any assistance or extra attention, they are instead sent to a regional institution for invalids.

Now this can be highly functioning children who are missing a limb, have an eye problem, have high functioning downs, CP, SB, or any thing pretty much wrong at all. These large institutions are exactly waht you can imagine the horror of putting in children ages 5-18 with all mental, psychological, very unsanitary, developmental and physcial handicaps with little food, clothing, activities or supervision.

Let me give you an example. When we adopted there was a little boy we heard about after we left and he had Spina Bifida age 5. The director of the orphanage was crying... as she had kept him back as long as possible, but she was required to send him to the institution because the regular orphanage school would not take him. Here is a very handsome normally intelligent child, being sent to live in the same 4 walls the rest of his life, because his lower legs did not work properly. And here is the reality, she said of the children she must send to this place, 80% are dead in 2 years.

Yes,that is right, 80%, regardless of how healthy they arrived. Can you imagine fighting for clothing, food and attention with almost full grown people at the age of 4 or 5. It is unimaginable, but it happens all of the time.

Friends of mine adopted a 2 year old boy in another part of Kiev region this past fall. They kept noticing limbs coming out of a playpen the back of the room, skinny pale limbs flying around for attention. After they had been there sometime they got to see the boy that was in there. He has pretty severe CP, could clap and smile but was so long his limbs fell out of the play pen he was laying in.They eventually found out that he was about 7 years old but at age 5, when the child was supposed to be turned over to the institution, the orphanage staff couldn't do it, so they hide him. They said often when non-orphange people were in the building they would rush to hide him in a back room or would try to get him to quiet down when he sang loudly. It was cruel to be there, but the orphanage staff told them through a translator, if they had not done that, he would be dead in 2 weeks if transferred, no one would make sure he would get food and he couldn't fight for it himself since he could not control his movements.

Anyway, we just want to share that this what happens to 5 year olds,so we need to get to these children fast and get them home. I hate to even think about what is going on in those places.

Their Dearest Wish

Our James says that the dearest wish of an orphan child is that he will not die.

Many at the Special Needs orphanages die. Little Dima with the limp could also die. This is why, when he overheard someone say that he could be taken there, he began running away, and sniffing glue. So far I have not heard that this "good" little boy has a family. Last word was they had taken his clothes away and locked him in the medical "cabinet" so he cannot run.

This week and next a large group of would-be parents are returning to Ukraine to adopt children who have become available. Earlier these families were turned away because the Ukrainian gov't department which handles adoptions is now under a different ministry. Apparently now they are ready to process papers again.

A single lady, a missionary to China is trying to adopt a particular little girl. The little girl is supposed to be available, but as often happens, trouble has suddenly arisen concerning this child. Could I ask you to please pray just once, right now for the woman as she returns almost immediately, that God will guide her and that her little girl will be ready for her?

You cannot imagine how many thousands and thousands of little and big kids there are in those huge, old, dingy Communist regime institutions all over Ukraine! Click on Life2Orphans.org to see some. The healthy boys and girls, though most are bright and affectionate and playful, still have to be in a survivor mode at all times. But the kids in the Special Need orphanages should break our hearts.

Instead of going to the regular boarding school orphanages once they reach 4 years of age, if they have asthma or a limp or Down's or whatever, they are usually carted off to a concentration camp "home".

I am told these are terrible places, which is why little Dima, our Peter's friend kept running away. It can mean death to go there, because they do not have enough food, no schooling, and little medical care.

I encourage you to please take a minute and go to Life2Orphans.org and click on Torez, one of the Special Needs orphanages. Then ask God if perhaps one of your children may be in Ukraine, waiting for you to rescue him or her. What harm could one little prayer do?

I cannot tell you how precious our two boys are to us. We are so very blessed. A year after bringing them home, they are hugging me more than ever and still holding doors open for us. Everyone loves them because they are such eager beavers. A friend told me at the game tonight that she watches James play basketball as much as she watches her own son. She sits in the bleachers crying because of how far he has come in the last twelve months.

Both boys are growing into wonderful, happy friends to each other and to our bio son Rob, and we, and he, and they are laughing together and connecting on more and more levels each day, as barriers continue falling one after another, and we become one family under God.

We are glad that at least two orphans don't have to fight to survive or die on the street or suffer in a place like Torez. All glory to God.

At Least It Ain't Boring

I recall one day as a child deep in the heart of summer vacation, that I was bored for a moment. That was back before soccer and horseback riding camps and all. Day after lovely long day, we children used to do a few jobs, then read books and listen to the bees buzz.

We could amuse ourselves by lying on an old blanket under the maple tree, or riding a bike eating an apple. I recall my big sister waking me at 5:00 one morning to go outside with her and hunt for dew covered spiders’ webs.

But my favorite pastime next to organizing a neighborhood circus, or collecting worms after a rainstorm and selling them to Mom for her garden, was climbing a tree and looking over the neighborhood. The Chinese elm in our backyard was nice and high, but the top of our cherry tree was great too, because I could jump from there onto the garage roof. Boredom was never a part of our lives.

However, I'm not sure why, but for that one instant the word "bored" floated into my childish mind. I can’t imagine where I’d heard it, and since then with my own kids it has always been a "naughty word." I have told them that if you’re walking with the Lord, you don’t get bored.

When it came to mind, I remember what I immediately did. I grabbed a pencil and piece of paper and numbered it down the page. That was the beginning of my first "List of Things to Do."

That is where it all began, kids. Sorry. I believe "The Job List" also was born that day. And it has remained a part of my life all these years. Remember, Steph and Jane, when in your teens you immortalized it?

Steph, you dramatically swept over to the piano and extemporaneously composed, while Janie crooned the lyrics to the brand new hit song, "The Job List." I snuck up on you guys and held a tape recorder around the corner, while you went on verse after melancoly verse. Hah! I still have that tape. It is hilarious.

Well, yes, lists… We are busy making lists these days. After Dad got back from Chicago, where he had the heart attack, and then had the stents put in, he has recovered and is doing great. A couple jobs offers came from Michigan and Ohio, and he has decided to continue the dialed back, three-day-a-week work schedule by signing on with Detroit Medical Center doing locum tenens, which is something like substitute teaching, working whenever you want.

So...

I am making lists. Bennie the Painter is here and sober, seriously touching up the walls, and we will have a garage sale to end all garage sales. And an appraiser will come in to give us a price on the house.

Soon I shall cry piteously over the dear friends who have been my joy, my comfort and prayer support these three years.

And once again (for the sixteenth time) we will stuff our earthly possessions into a big truck, think how nice it would be if maybe the truck got lost and we didn't have to unpack it, but trusting God to go with us and be there for us as we Start Over in a new place.

Only this new place will be the old place, in the old house, which Em and Chad have been caring for while we were down here, "just in case we should move back." Back in Michigan we will be near our near-and-dear family, and that will be oh, so good.

Like it or not, there is never a boring moment at our house.