tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-57273112220457408802024-03-13T23:58:08.533-07:00For what it's worth...Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07518588072172543204noreply@blogger.comBlogger62125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5727311222045740880.post-27734808607233516972016-03-06T14:24:00.001-08:002016-04-02T05:15:00.796-07:00Our Family Story...<div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Part of me wishes I had some fantastic story to tell...a story of adventures on the mission field, a story of winning thousands of souls to the Lord, a story of changing the course of history. That's the story I once dreamed. That's not the story I was given though.</span></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">My story begins August 4, 1963. I was born to William and Joy Hewett of Greenwood, AR. I was the third of four children. We were pretty much an average family. We had our difficulties and squabbles, but never doubted our love for each other. We rarely see each other today, but that bond is still strong.</div><div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px;">I spent most of my young life in Greenwood, which was basically typical small town America. We were not poor in the purest sense, but we definitely were not well off. <div><br></div><div>I recall in third grade a kid borrowing colors from me pretty much on a daily basis. After several days of this I finally asked why his parents didn't buy him his own colors. His response was, "Not everybody is rich like you are, John."</div></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px;">This startled me. I went home and asked my dad if we really were rich. Of course, he responded no. We were far from it. </div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px;">I then explained to him what my friend had said. Dad replied something to the effect, "Well, I guess comparatively speaking we are rich then. No matter how bad you think you have it there is always someone else who has it worse."</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px;">A PROUD BUT HUMBLE MAN</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px;"><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">My dad was a very humble but proud man, if that makes sense. He had grown up under very meager beginnings. His dad was an alcoholic and his mother very simple. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">They never lived in any one place more than a few months. They would move into a rental home and stay until they were evicted, then move elsewhere and do the same. He said he would have the bus drop him off maybe a mile from the house. He didn't want anybody to see where he lived.</span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">He bragged Grandpa cared for them though. When he got paid for whatever odd job he had done, he would buy groceries for the family before he bought beer. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Grandpa died when I was just a few weeks old. He evidently turned his life around for the Lord a short while before he passed away. During those last few years, he was in church every time the doors were open and was loved by everyone. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">My earliest memory with Dad was probably me attending a Billy Graham crusade with him in California. I remember there was snow on the ground and we had to walk quite a way up hill to get to the stadium. We traipsed through the snow up a long hill only to discover the crusade had been cancelled due to the weather.</span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">This was symbolic of the life my dad lived. He lived his life trying to prove he was somebody. There was probably not a more righteous and caring man than my Dad. Yet, he never could accept that he was good enough to be loved by God.</span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Growing up, he did not go to church often. Mom would drag him there on occasion, but mostly he resisted. He was a godly man though. He never drank, smoked, or cussed to my knowledge. He thought us to love and respect God as well.</span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">He finally did start going to church when I was about 17 years old. His spiritual struggle became evident then. He would go to the altar often praying for God's forgiveness. He would leave empty though, declaring he just was not good enough. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">He did find acceptance in Christ just a couple years before he passed. He prayed through night with the pastor and discovered the grace of Jesus. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Like his dad, his last days were spent on fire for the Lord. He was loyal to church and went visiting with the pastor on s regular basis, declaring to others the grace and forgiveness of Jesus. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">At age 67, when I was in my early 40s, Dad suffered a massive heart attack and went to meet the Lord. This was a shock to us all. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I had just spoken with him the night before bragging that Michael, my oldest boy, had made the all county football team. The last words I recall hearing from Dad were very befitting of a man who loved his family, "Tell that boy I'm proud of him."</span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Though Dad lacked confidence, he far surpassed his own expectations. He spent the biggest part of his adult life in traffic management. He never made millions, but he was a good father to his children and a good friend to those whom he knew.</span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">He may not have recognized his own accomplishments but he took great pride in the accomplishments of others. His wife was the most beautiful woman in the world. His kids could do what they did better than anybody and he didn't mind telling you. His hometown was the best place to live and his friends the best.</span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">He was a Razorback fan like none other. No matter how bad a season they had, they were the best in his book.</span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">At his funeral, over 400 friends, family and loved ones packed our little FWB Church in Greenwood Arkansas. His entire surviving Senior Class of over 40 was there. As I spoke a short eulogy on his behalf I was able to say words not many can say of their father, "There are no regrets."</span></div></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">HER PRICE IS FAR ABOVE RUBIES</span></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px;">My earliest recollection of my mother is when I was about two years of age. We were at a public swimming pool and I fell in. I remember watching through the blurry water as I sunk to the bottom. I could see the side of the pool rising as I sunk deeper and deeper. I looked up and could see Mom reaching into the water. I grabbed her hands and she pulled me out.<div><br></div><div>Quite honestly, my mother remembers it a little differently than this. That is irrelevant though. The significance of a memory is more about what you remember than what actually happened.</div><div><br></div><div>In life my family and I have often been overwhelmed by life circumstances. We have faced financial woes, natural disaster, and even conflict. Through it all though, Mom has remained strong. It's as if she has reached her hands down through the flooding waters of life and pulled us out again and again.</div><div><br></div><div>Mom was and still is a very beautiful woman. Her and Dad dated through their senior year and were married that summer. I remember them arguing on occasion growing up, but I never recall once fearing their separation. They were madly in love and that love glowed to the end.</div><div><br></div><div>More than her outer beauty is her inner beauty. She is a woman of character and strength. She is a woman of wisdom and compassion. She is a woman who's value is 'far greater than rubies'.</div><div><br></div><div>She worked when she had to, but was always there when we needed her. I never went to daycare. She went to work full time when I started first grade.</div><div><br></div><div>From as far as I can remember, my mom has suffered from chronic back pain. She would go to work all day, come home and fix supper. At one point or another, she would walk out of the room and I would find her off in a room by herself rubbing her own back, almost to tears.</div><div><br></div><div>She still hurts today. I can still find her off by herself rubbing her back, but she doesn't let it stop her. She cares for her children and her grandchildren. She lives through the pain and continues to enjoy life.</div></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px;">MY SIBLINGS<div><br></div><div>My older brother Billy and I were and are polar opposites in so many ways . He is quiet, reserved, and totally content with life as it comes. I, as you can imagine, am loud, obnoxious, and bound and determined to 'fix' the world.</div><div><br></div><div>Aside from that though we actually share much in common. We both played trumpet in high school, sang in the chorus in college, and are known for our wit, his a dry sarcastic wit, and mine a more abrasive slap you on the back wit.</div><div><br></div><div>Growing up, we shared a room together, worked together, and hung out together. Well, in hindsight, I hung with him, him being five years my elder....and honestly I don't remember him complaining too much. </div><div><br></div><div>Obviously over time I have found my own identity outside of my older brother. I am who I am though very much because of his influence and example.</div><div><br></div><div>Then there is my older sister Linda. She is the self-proclaimed black sheep of the family. Well, she actually married into the Black name her second marriage.</div><div><br></div><div>That said, she did always march to the beat of a different drum. She was a very typical middle child, breaking the rules and struggling to be noticed. </div><div><br></div><div>I actually spent many an evening covering for her various escapades. She didn't rob convenience stores or anything, but I did have to carry her to bed on more than one occasion after a rather wild evening on her part.</div><div><br></div><div>I loved my sister though (and still do). We all do. This became evident as she went through marriage struggles early on. I believe she was shocked at how we rallied to her support during this difficult time.</div><div><br></div><div>Linda went through some struggles as a teen and young adult, but she made it through it. Though she has grown up now and has become an awesome mother and grandmother, she is still the life of the party. No matter how bad things get, Linda is sure to bring a smile to your face a lift to your spirit.</div><div><br></div><div>After me I figure my parents thought they were done. Six years later though came my baby sister Robin.</div><div><br></div><div>Robin was not only the youngest, she was also the gem. She was musical, academic, and an athlete. She excelled in basketball and softball, going on to play basketball in college.</div><div><br></div><div>Aside from this she was very strong willed. She was and still is the typical baby of the family, not only getting the attention but demanding it.</div><div><br></div><div>This strong will would prove to be to her advantage her senior year in high school. She developed hodgskins right in the middle of basketball season. She looked adversity in the eye though and beat it. What could have taken her down made her stronger for it.</div></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px;">EXTENDED FAMILY</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px;"><br></div><div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">For most of my young life, we spent pretty much every Sunday afternoon at Grandma and Grandpa Caldwell's for lunch. Mom, her four sisters, and their families would gather together in my grandparents little three room house for Grandmas good home cooking and a good time of being together. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">After lunch us kids would go outside and play while the men sat around in the living room watching and arguing sports. The women would work busily in the kitchen laughing, talking, and cleaning up. </span></div><div><br></div><div>Grandma and Grandpa never had much, but they had love. Grandpa is probably where I inherited my love for kids. He gave us all nicknames and treated each one of us as if we were extra special. I remember he called Linda I think Pete and me Pedro. <span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Grandma was mostly quiet, but always busy serving.</span></div><div><br></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">My Dad's side of the family was too spread out to get together quite as often. We did spend a lot of time at Grandma Ruby's though which was especially fun when our cousins were in from Littke Rock.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I guess the highlight of our year was the yearly visit from Dad's Uncle Buddy and his family. They lived in California until I was about 14 and would come home to Arkansas for their yearly vacation. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Uncle Buddy was Grandmas baby brother. He was basically the hub of the our extended family. He was a WWII Vet and a wrestling coach. His kids were a blast to be around. We would have passed up an opportunity to go to Disney World in order to spend a week with the Canada clan.</span></div></div></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><div>THE TORNADO</div><div><br></div><div>It was April 19, 1968 and I was four years old. We were in the car line picking up my older siblings, Billy and Linda, and cousins, Sherry and David Hicks. My Mom and Aunt Judy were in front. The five of us young ones were in the back seat.</div><div><br></div><div>When we left the house, the skies were clear and the air was calm. We had no idea what we were in for. We would soon experience a catastrophic event that would impact our lives and change our small community in a major way forever.</div><div><br></div><div>Of course I was very young so my memory may be a bit sketchy. The fact is though, this was a defining moment in my life. As I currently head up the Arms of Compassion Disaster Relief Ministry, our efforts often bring my thoughts back to this moment in my life.</div><div><br></div><div>As the wind began to pick up and the sky grew darker, us kids were told to huddle down in the floorboard of the car. We ignored that directive though and made a game of trying to sneak looks out the window without getting caught.</div><div><br></div><div>The sky was a dark green and we could see debris flying through the air. The winds were rocking the car back and forth. The noise wa deafening. I cannot imagine the fear that embraced our mothers. </div><div><br></div><div>What seemed like an eternity was actually only a few moments of time. The winds eventually calmed down and there was a great calm. We had no idea what had just happened. It would become very real very soon. </div><div><br></div><div>As we drove back through town we were shocked at what we saw. What was once a nice quaint town was now a pile of debris. Out of the dozens of buildings that once occupied downtown Greenwood, AR, only two remained standing unscathed, the old jailhouse and the post office.</div><div><br></div><div>The community of 2000 was devastated. Thirteen lives were lost. Over 300 were injured. Downtown was destroyed. 100 homes were destroyed and 100 more damaged.</div><div><br></div><div>My own home received some damage. I recall my uncle pulling our damaged dining room off our house with his truck. I also remember seeing my pedal powered car in a ditch several blocks from the house. I remember the many stories of tremendous loss and close calls. </div><div><br></div><div>I guess my most sobering memory though is of playing with a little girl in the park after the storm. I recall asking her where her sister was. She responded, "My sister is an angel in heaven now. The storm took her to be with Jesus." </div><div><br></div><div>I do not recall the details much more than that. I didn't even recall who it was until I looked it up. In my memory it was the twin sister of Martha, the girl to whom I spoke. In reality it was her baby sister of 4 months of age. Martha was the twin of one of my friends growing up. It is strange how the memory works.</div><div><br></div><div>My memories of growing up pretty much begin with that tornado. That storm defined the future of Greenwood, AR. In many ways it defined who I would become, because much of who I have become is due to my home town.</div><div><br></div><div><div>MY HOMETOWN </div><div><br></div><div>In 1969, the year that I started school, the population of Greenwood was about 2,000. I don't recall much what the town was like prior to the tornado and I don't remember much about the rebuilding efforts. </div><div><br></div><div>I do remember Piggly Wiggly moved into a trailer until they could rebuild. The Old Jail House became The Old Jail House Museum. You can go there even today and see memorabilia from the tornado, local history, and the civil war. The Post Office remained intact for a while, but relocated as the population increased. The old post office eventually became the Pizza Barn, a favorite eating spot in town.</div><div><br></div><div>Most of the old Greenwood business district was and still is today built around the town square. Well, in reality the town square is actually a circle. In the middle of the square they erected a clock tower using the old clock which was salvaged from the old courthouse which was destroyed in the tornado. </div><div><br></div><div>Greenwood was a peaceful place. We lived much of my childhood in a neighborhood between downtown and the schools. Funny, even though we were very much right in the middle of town, we bordered the woods. My buddy, Mark, and I could play football in the back yard or ride our bikes around the neighborhood and then be hiking the woods within a matter of moments.</div><div><br></div><div>We would get up at the break of dawn and start our adventures. We would explore the woods, roam around town, and/or harass our neighbor's all before starting off to school. Our moms would have to call us in to get us fed and off to school.</div><div><br></div><div>On the weekends and during the summer would spend the entire day running around town. We would sometimes go around the neighborhood and collect 'coke' bottles. We would collect several and take them to the IGA store and return them for the deposit. Depending on how much we collected, we would then treat ourselves to lunch or a chocolate dipped ice cream cone.</div><div><br></div><div>Mom didn't worry about us much. It was different then. There was nothing to worry about. If we needed anything or got in some trouble we could usually find somebody we knew to help us out. Honestly, there was not much trouble to get into. If there was crime in Greenwood, I never heard about it.</div><div><br></div><div>This was small town America. We didn't have a mall, a bowling alley, or a movie theater. I do not remember ever getting bored or complaining that there was nothing to do. We had each other and found something to do.</div><div><br></div><div>Greenwood did have a skating rink. When I wasn't running around town as a kid, I could usually be found at the skating rink. If I could come up with the cash, I would skate Thursday night, Friday night, Saturday afternoon and sometimes even Saturday night. I loved to skate. I would skate until I could hardly stand. </div><div><br></div><div>As I got older, I eventually replaced skating with dancing. I enjoyed dancing just about as much I had enjoyed skating. A friend of mine actually owned a disco show and I would run it for him. We did dances locally and in area communities.</div></div><div><br></div><div><div>ADHD</div><div><br></div>I was ADHD when ADHD wasn't cool. Not so much the hyper type, but the inattentive kind. <div><br></div><div>They didn't know what ADHD was then. If you didn't get your work done, they simply took you out in the hall, gave you swats, and then sent you back to class.</div><div><br></div><div>The sad part is, I was smart. I would rank in the top 10% of my class every year on the standardized tests. </div><div><br></div><div>When I wasn't running around town, I could be found reading or writing. I just for whatever reason couldn't focus on my school work.</div><div><br></div><div>My parents didn't know what to do either. They tried everything, from bribery to beating. Nothing worked.</div><div><br></div><div>I believe it was my fifth grade teacher, Mrs Fields, that decided It best to hold me back. You couldn't blame her. She had tried me in special reading groups and everything. Nothing worked.</div><div><br></div><div>My parents struggled with this decision, so went to see Mr Turner, the principal, about it. Though he likely knew nothing about ADHD, his response was very appropriate.</div><div><br></div><div>He advised them to pass me on. When my parents asked him what they should do with me then, he responded something to the effect, "Honestly, nothing. John is a very bright boy. He knows the stuff. He's just not doing a good job of showing it. When he is ready, he will let us know."</div><div><br></div><div>He was 100% correct. I didn't blossom until my senior year in high school. I believe at that time my GPA was 1.65 and I was way short on credits. </div><div><br></div><div>I transferred that year to a Christian School that used a pace system. What I didn't test out of I whizzed through quickly. The self paced system worked very well for me. I didn't totally complete my credits that year but I got close. I actually went to college on a music scholarship with a GED diploma.</div></div><div><h2><span style="font-size: 21px;">BULLIED</span></h2><h2><span style="font-size: 21px; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">This low self esteem I developed haunted me pretty much throughout my childhood and youth. Consequently, I became the target of many a bully. </span></h2><h2><span style="font-size: 21px; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I wasn't your stereotypical bully victim, mind you. I was a pretty normal kid as far as appearance. I was well built, smart, and even witty. A</span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-size: 21px;">long the way though, I had painted painted a target on my back. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't erase it. It basically said, "I'm a loser, Pick on me!"</span></h2><div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Throughout elementary, I spent many a recess and lunch period sitting in the hallway because of incomplete assignments, watching embarrassingly as the other kids walked by pointing and giggling. This was completely humiliating. In my mind, I couldn't do anything. I was a loser.</span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div>This lack of confidence affected everything. Though I was of decent build and fairly well coordinated, I did not excel in sports. I was always the last to be picked when kids were picking teams. It is pretty humiliating to have even your own friends fighting for you to play on the other team.</div><div><br></div><div>When I went to lunch I would look for an empty chair by a group of kids where I could maybe blend in so nobody knew I was alone. I would do the same when I entered a classroom or got on the bus. </div></div><div><br></div><div>I would make up stories for my family so they wouldn't know I was such an outcast. As far as I know, my older sister Linda was the only one who likely knew I was the class nerd. I could not have handled the embarrassment of my parents finding out.</div><div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">When I was in eighth grade, there was a particular "bully" that often liked to make me the target of his fists and ridicule. On one particular occassion this fellow worked me over pretty good. Pretty much the whole student body gathered around to witness it. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">It ended when someone yelled teacher and we all scattered, including myself. Not sure why I ran. The only thing I had done was allow my face to be a human punching bag by a kid two years older and 4 inches taller than me.<br></span><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">My face was mangled badly and my body was a bruised and muddy mess. I went into the bathroom to clean up where I was shortly followed by our principal, Mr Wells. I was pretty upset and not very respectful, but he understood and managed to calm me down.</span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">He invited me into his office where he tried his best to get me to identify the perpetrator. I refused to 'rat' on him. He knew who it was and asked me why I insisted on protecting him. I replied something to the effect, "You know, he is not always this way to me. i think if he would give me half a chance we could be friends.". (Not sure what i was thinking)</span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Finally exasperated, Mr. Wells called the fellow in whom he knew did it and told him, "I know you did this to John. I have no doubt you did it. Quite frankly, it makes me very angry with you. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">"For some reason though, he has refused to identify you as the one who did it. I want you to know, if he would admit that you did it, not only would you be suspended from school, you would likely be expelled. I would not only call his parents, but would likely suggest they press charges. You could very well be sent off somewhere. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">"Yet, he has chosen to not only withold your name but has even defended you. I honestly dont know why, but he obviously sees something in you i dont. I guess consequentially you get a second chance. i dont know about you, but this is the kind of friend i would like to have. I don't know what you will do with this information, but i just thought i would share it with you." </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We left his office that day and i never had trouble with that kid again. We actually were kind of distant friends and talked on occasion after that. Folks, that was the wisdom of Solomon!</span></div></div></div></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div>MY CONVERSION </div><div><br></div><div>By the time I reached my junior year in high school, my self esteem was at an all time low. I was drinking and partying to fit in, but I still wasn't satisfied. </div><div><br></div><div>I had a fellow trumpet player named Russell Thomas reach out to me about that time. He was a couple years younger and usually set below me a chair or two. </div><div><br></div><div>I think he had a kind of warped respect for me because of my lascivious lifestyle. He was a born again believer and came from a very conservative family. </div><div><br></div><div>He basically took me on as a project. He was bound and determined to make a believer out of me. I insisted I was a Christian, but he was pretty adamant that that wasn't likely considering my lifestyle.</div></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">I finally caved and went to church with him. My excuse for going to church was to hit on his beautiful sister. In reality I knew I was living wrong and I needed Jesus.</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Well in early April of 1979 I finally went to the altar and made things right with God. My life was never the same.</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">I became a radical Chridtisn overnight. Instead of hanging around the IGA parking lot trying to score something to drink, I would go from car to car telling my old drinking buddies Jesus loved them.</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">That little Free Will Baptist Church in Greenwood embraced me beyond measure. Russell's family loved me and included me like one of their own. Pastor Larry Cook discipled me in the faith. He took me visiting and to preacher meetings with him on a regular basis. He would impact my life and ministry in a magnitude he never imagined.</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><div>Russell was probably about 14 years old when he hounded me into going to church. He was nothing spectacular by the world's standards. He was a decent trumpet player and a pretty good student. He wasn't the most popular kid in school either.</div><div><br></div><div>I'm not sure, but I figure I was the first person he ever led to he lord. He didn't end up on the mission field after that either.</div><div><br></div><div>That said though, in this one moment in time, he mustered up the courage to hound somebody about Jesus. I'm not even sure his tactics would measure up to the church's standards of effective witnessing. He was simply obedient though and it worked.</div><div><br></div><div>That little FWB Church averaged about 60-70 in attendance and to my knowledge doesn't average much more than that today. When I needed acceptance and loving though they were there to give it. They reached out to this confused lost teenager with open arms and embraced me with the love of Jesus. Together, that little boy and that church led me to the cross of Jesus.</div><div><br></div><div>Understand, I don't figure I am anything fantastic myself. For whatever reason though, my family followed me in faith. Well, my younger sister started some time around the same time as me.</div><div><br></div><div>Today, my entire family of origin is in church, which makes six. Billy is leading in worship in a church of over 500. Linda attends church regularly and accompanies her husband in his music performance ministry. Robin has thought for over ten years in a Christian school. </div><div><br></div><div>To my knowledge all my siblings' kids are attending church. All included, that equals close to fifty directly related to Russell inviting me to church. </div><div><br></div><div>I personally have pastored half a dozen churches over the years, leading dozens, if not hundreds to the Lord. Over the years I have influenced and ministered to numerous future pastors and missionaries, who in turn have likely participated in leading at least hundreds if not thousands to Jesus.</div><div><br></div><div>My son has lead probably more than me to Jesus in his short time serving through young life. My nephew Nic has preached to many and is currently preparing for the chaplaincy.</div><div><br></div><div>Folks, the world measures success by direct immediate results. Sadly, often the church does to. By those standards, Russell is simply an electrician that attends church. Greenwood First FWB Church is no more than a spiritual social club.</div><div><br></div><div>God doesn't use those standards though. He rejoices over the salvation of one. When we think we are defeated, He is orchestrating results beyond our wildest imagination.</div><div><br></div><div>All it takes is for someone to be obedient to the call....for someone like Russell to respond at 'such a time as this'.</div></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">EASTER BRAWL </div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><div>Easter Sunday during my senior year was a very memorable day. Bud and Evelyn now lived back in Greenwood The Canada kids were all gone for the holiday. Us Hewetts were visiting. </div><div><br></div><div>We had eaten and were just hanging out. Lois and a young boy (escapes me who) took her dog for a walk. </div><div><br></div><div>I was in the living room by myself watching tv. Lois' little friend came running in saying Lois' dog had bit another dog and its owner was following her down the road crazy mad wanting to fight. </div><div><br></div><div>Being the macho teenage boy I was, I went to my cousin's rescue. I stepped outside and saw Lois walking down the road with a half crazed lunatic following on her heels yelling at her.</div><div><br></div><div>He wasn't wearing a shirt and was pretty buff looking. He was likely in his low to mid twenties. I am pretty certain he was strung out on something. Regardless, he was crazy angry!</div><div><br></div><div>I ran out to meet them and the fellow turned his attention on me. I do not recall much what was said, but I do recall this fellow wanted to fight.</div><div><br></div><div>After a bit, Dad came outside to try and defuse things. There was no defusing anything. He just squared up to Dad and said bring it on.</div><div><br></div><div>Eventually, two men came walking down the road. One was evidently his brother and the other big burly guy his father.</div><div><br></div><div>Dad yelled up at them, "Would you guys come settle this fellow down before someone gets hurt?" The burly dad yelled back down, "We're not settling anybody down. We're coming to scrape up the pieces!"</div><div><br></div><div>Well, by this time we had attracted quite a crowd. Buddy had joined us along with his sons Bobby and Bill, and my brother Billy. </div><div><br></div><div>Of course, Uncle Buddy took over now. He told everybody to settle down. I recall him at one point saying, "Fellows, we need to watch our language. There are ladies present." (Which he soon forgot). To this Lois responded, "Dad, let's just leave. These people are the scum of the earth."</div><div><br></div><div>Well, that's when it happened. The original scum guy gave Lois a right hook across the chin. At that, all chaos broke loose.</div><div><br></div><div>Buddy and the Canada boys of course all converged on Mr Scum. This left me, Dad, and Billy to deal with Big Brother and Burly Daddy.</div><div><br></div><div>From here on out the facts are a little blurry. Of course the facts wouldn't be as interesting as my story anyway.</div><div><br></div><div>I jumped on Burly Daddy and pulled him by the beard and somehow ended up laying on my back with him on top of me. While I was wrestling with him, Buddy was wrestling with Mr. Scum to my side while Bobby and Bill were I believe kicking the guys face in. </div><div><br></div><div>Burly Daddy was just fixing to punch me when Evelyn came running over yelling, "Don't you hit him! He's a minor!!!" At that she reached under his armpit and pulled out a handful of armpit hair.</div><div><br></div><div>While this was going on, I could see Daddy and Billy duking it out with Big Brother across the road in the ditch. Actually Daddy was wrestling around with the guy while Billy was banging the guy on the back with his fists.</div><div><br></div><div>Well, evidently Evelyn got distracted. I think she started running around yelling at everybody to break it up. Anyway, Burly Daddy decided to start punching my face again. Just as he was about to make mincemeat out of my face, Lois came running, jumped up, and planted her heels in his back. He let out a groan and rolled off of me.</div><div><br></div><div>That was it. It was over. For whatever reason we all got up and went our separate ways. At least that's all I recall.</div><div><br></div><div>I'm not sure who won. I'm pretty sure Mr Scum wished he hadn't punched a Canada girl, Burly Daddy had to regrow some armpit hair, and Big Brother had bruises on his back for a while.</div></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">A SMOKING HOT ENCOUNTER</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Kim planned to attend Free Will Baptist Bible College in Nashville, TN. I dreamed of going to Hillsdale Christian College in Moore, OK. I was going to be a chaplain. She was going to be a pharmacist. </div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">We both had big plans for God. What we didn't know was, He had even bigger plans for us. </div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Through a series of unforeseen events and roadblocks out of our control we both ended up at Arkansas Tech University in Russellville, AR. I was a first year senior. She was a freshman. </div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">We met in the girls dormitory parking lot. I along with several other upper class men was helping the freshmen girls move into their dorm rooms. Of course our motives were totally pure.</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><div><br></div><div>Kim was smoking hot when I saw her enter the parking lot that day. Well her and her car were smoking hot. That old Plymouth Volare just barely got her there. Smoke was rolling out from under the hood as she sputtered onto the campus. Not the first impression I figure she had envisioned making her first day on campus. It brought us together though.</div><div><br></div><div>Like a knight in shining armor, I rushed to the rescue of my fair maiden in distress. Like a preacher who knew nothing about cars, I quickly referred her to a friend who did.</div></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">We didn't see each other for a couple weeks after that though, as she hid out in her dorm room like the shy title girl she was. We found each other again a couple weeks later though as we both ended up in a small group together at a back-to-school retreat. </div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">The sparks of romance began to fly that weekend. We were in love, just didn't know it for sure yet. We were off and on for a few weeks after that, but were engaged by her birthday on November 13. </div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">We were married the following summer approximately ten months after we met. That was over thirty years ago. I promise you this has been one crazy exciting three decades.</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">From the beginning we agreed we would go anywhere and do anything God called us to do. We dreamed that would be many miles and many great deeds. </div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">We have logged a lot of miles, but not necessarily the miles we dreamed. We have had success, but not the success we had imagined. </div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">We dreamed of a career in the army ministering to our men in uniform. Instead we have served in various ministerial capacities in 10 communities in three states over thirty years.. </div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">There have been disappointments in the ministry, but not failure. We have not reached millions, but through us God has touched hundreds. </div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">It excites me to see young ministers serving in the ministry that I played a part in their preparation, even if it was a small part. We have seen ministers blossom out of just about every area we have served. </div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">No matter how disappointing a ministry has been, God has always managed to plant future ministries in the hearts of young people. Whereas we have logged about 3000 miles in moves, the impact of our ministry has literally reached around the world through those to whom we have served. </div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">THE CHILD WE REFUSED TO TERMINATE </div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">While we were dreaming big dreams for the ministry we also dreamed big dreams for our family. We were very specific in our family plans. We wanted four children, two boys and two girls.</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">God would give us our four children and more. His provision though was not according to our plans or even our wildest imagination. He would provide our family according to His plans and His timing. </div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Kim became pregnant within six months from the time we were married</span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">. We were broke and had no insurance. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I was a fulltime student, interim pastor at a small rural church Just outside Russellville, AR, and worked part time as a delivery driver for Domino's Pizza. Kim finished business school while pregnant. It wasn't pharmacy school, but love tends to alter our dreams. </span></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpHTmbL5ci_Ity8G38axjeyNwujqGXse3wYIeADLoLDVrGE0bhqGLXgWfhlR6FeNFc9W58n14UUOz93mDRJ6onumzQZ3XGGFluRLL-ayWlPsD5DHZr94ykeR1GrWb7AaCEP-7YkdhSZH3v/s640/blogger-image-1952885202.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="cid:81F46F51-3297-430E-9127-436F6888936E@mobilenotes.apple.com"></a></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I believe we grossed less than $9,000 during our first full tax year together. Logically speaking, we had no business even being married, let alone having babies.</span></div><div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We were foolish and excited though. We had no fears. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Kim's mom was not so upbeat about the ordeal. She tended to be a little bit opinionated, and made her opinion in this instance very well known. </span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We actually had words and were not on good terms throughout the pregnancy. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">In retrospect her concerns were well based and totally in the interest of her daughter. God has a way of working things out though, as well He did.</span></div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4UmjJ9t0rQ_Sct9sLXhcoW3N1qChXUQhK7gaG_rv6rOErQ47QpIK7t-jSaxpcwwdYlytIu-pDYPd1bV_tK_nmKPuwtCxvncQWxIQB2CUk-3p1r6NeDanT0hF-rlWagIHXyN73R40IIte6/s640/blogger-image--1493220005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font color="#454545"><img src="cid:6D034608-0B5A-4F09-87B8-2C17B62A75DF@mobilenotes.apple.com"></font></a></div></div><div><br></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Things went along fairly well for the first six months, then Kim started having BP issues. The doctors told her to take it easy. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We survived that way for a little, but then at about 29 weeks she developed an excruciating headache and drove herself to the doctor, as I was at work. At the doctor's office her blood pressure read something like 220/170. Of course they hospitalized her immediately. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWHkR95YMINFgqI9zx9VaxvMVfUEbRUD2ntuSLo-_d-KB33v1FuplZZuphlghtyqcxUahkz0oV4xInbb1SKqkWpRep_dwbZhUhKBaNeKOqs_gZORuHr_oItlG7MskQlzuFPnYe0CxuRw8k/s640/blogger-image-888388917.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font color="#454545"><img src="cid:68F2BED3-40E3-4EE5-9E71-B30198BDC16A@mobilenotes.apple.com"></font></a></div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Her mom came and stayed with her in the hospital room while I continued to work and go to school. By this time I was a security guard at a pickle plant about fifteen miles out of town.</span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Kim's BP continued to skyrocket and the doctor became very concerned with her health and the health of the child. </span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">The doctor finally conceded there was nothing more they could do. </span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">His solution was of the unimaginable though. His exact words were, </span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">"We are going to have to terminate the pregnancy." </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div>Kim's mother was the only one there with her at the time. She immediately called me at work and told me what the doctor wanted to do. I agreed that was totally unacceptable.</div><div><br></div><div>We both agreed we would do all that was humanly possible to save my wife and my child. We made arrangements for her to be transferred to <span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Baptist Hospital in Little Rock, about 75 miles away, where there was an NICU. </span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlwmBZDc4I6YTsgW0jolSpQD-QMrSDfREJNS57gWxxNbt9Gdu_8FLTvciI2DgCQUfnlgrL_137FJmUWuiTRuL8tqEqpDgWA3sh9hRLKekUOM4PG3353jncLXdrF9UTKH-SEz8c_MQdgozl/s640/blogger-image-1110644459.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font color="#454545"><img src="cid:D749D02A-530D-4659-A705-F32DF008FB24@mobilenotes.apple.com"></font></a></div></div><div><br></div><div>I rushed to the hospital and arrived just as Kim was getting ready to leave. Nancy and I then drove from Russellville to Baptist. Well, she drove and we talked. By the time we arrived at the hospital, all was well between us. We ended up arriving about the same time as the helicopter. </div><div><br></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I was immediately met by hospital personnel and began signing our</span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> lives away. This was pre-Obamacare by the way. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDRojKsTlD7qurPxwmLK3zWF-NRrnQf6LFkC34Qxo_giz51Z1DSU1ZpA5jgLkU-mkCLxwK8CMbpol3idAynVQy66hg34_47-x50MT6GUxRi1rnBhvfR1h_S55mSKWcIckqhf0o6OfYzJO1/s640/blogger-image--2013046305.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font color="#454545"><img src="cid:5F72723A-6C3F-407D-A262-9F7AF6BF85D1@mobilenotes.apple.com"></font></a></div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I recall looking up at Kim's dad at one time and asking, "Should I be reading what I'm signing?" He responded in his normal matter-of-fact style, "Why? What are you going to do if you don't like what they say?" Good point.</span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Well, while I was signing, Kim was rushed into surgery and Dawn was born at a whopping 3.5 lbs. She dropped down to 2.75 lbs, had a lung collapse early on, but all in all progressed very well. </span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Kim's BP continued to skyrocket for several days until once again Nancy spoke up on her behalf</span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">. She had not seen the baby. They said they wouldn't take her to the nursery until her BP was healthy.</span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">She seriously feared the baby didn't make it and we were all lying to her. Nancy finally got her way and Kim was able to see our baby. She looked at her with all the wires and tubes and knew all was well. Her BP leveled out immediately.</span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">It was a long recovery for both, but both eventually got better. Kim was released after about five days. Dawn was expected to be in the hospital for eight weeks but went home after five. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">When Kim was released she moved in with her parents close by the hospital, while I continued to work and go to school. It was exhausting but we survived. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Our bills ended up totaling over $100,000 yet we were only held responsible for a few hundred. As I said earlier there was no "ObamaCare". We relied instead on GodCare</span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">That little baby the doctor wished to "terminate" is now happily married, serving God in the ministry, and teaching public school....oh, and with child</span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8JjaVMhxLBXu-4KrKkNCBfBH0zNgDAUGs4x3VNDZM8xQV0htxLXcjEmhAJGKMgKEd9VDQpUy3eHPHtSnkDrxhh3ap_NHGmTQ0cXp573UxLUbvhIsMzUHRYdZNhLjTTBVv_nu4ghvkJI9I/s640/blogger-image-1631909802.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font color="#454545"><img src="cid:586F3A14-DCEE-4532-8ABB-D9BD1566B26A@mobilenotes.apple.com"></font></a></div></div><div><br></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I guess I could look back and note the pain we went through those many difficult days and wish we would have done things differently. If we had though, things would likely be different now. We maybe wouldn't have had that precious little girl that has grown to be such a blessing to so many. What about the next five God brought into our lives. Where would they be? Where would we be? </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><font color="#454545" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW69KuTER9BGEKXrKeRWtmbqmszVKP3WQ4tbISX5jdBG3Q5ROthyXtKw_N61Abj5a-D-6kbiyH0IX5IuCQk9MMKHSu067HdgCjk6i4CAiq6Ap5jUAdjXxd40aO8y_kEOOLtkKKRgZf2mDa/s640/blogger-image-1905688415.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="cid:09FE90F7-2988-4E35-BD0B-DC9D1E878940@mobilenotes.apple.com"></a></font></div></div></div></div><div class="separator" style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress; clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress; clear: both;">A BOY CALLED EMILY RENEE</div><div class="separator" style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress; clear: both;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div class="separator" style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress; clear: both;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We had talked about adoption, but never seriously until after Dawn was born. The doctors really gave us no other option. </span></div><div class="separator" style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress; clear: both;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div class="separator" style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress; clear: both;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">That was ok to us. We were kind of excited about "choosing" a child. We didn't expect to be making that choice so soon though...</span></div><div class="separator" style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress; clear: both;"><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpdwZEeZXs7LJMkvxzxoLri-W0xUhFfcWmdhTPkt7-VpiIM-vsPOGrHP1CPQpCLMpsXbp5pH0eJyjDcddnUUa_gTAE291ccQuMl9NPGI6JWVDD0fNJ4rRHw4SKl9P1aIYzhN2MYYg5RSvy/s640/blogger-image--1952454694.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font color="#454545"><img src="cid:3ECD5FA8-859B-4EE4-AC10-4ACB2BC8F57B@mobilenotes.apple.com"></font></a></div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">The call came just eighteen months after Dawn was born. It was Kim's Aunt Shirley. She knew of a single Mom carrying a little girl that needed placement quickly. </span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">The baby was due in just two weeks and the mom was already involved in custody issues over her one year old. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Abortion had been advised, yet she had decided to give the child a chance at life. As the due date approached, she knew she could not give the child the care it deserved, so she began searching for prospective families.<br><br>I'm not sure how Aunt Shirley came to hear of the situation. I am guessing she had received a call asking if she was interested. Her and Uncle Loyd have adopted eight children themselves. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">They have been a tremendous influence in our lives. When we are particularly put out with one of the children or simply put out though, our signature phrase is, "It's all Aunt Shirley's fault!"<br></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGIbx3Oel85ktRMcPlyWRlyJsoLPQIIF_QjpGMU_T99gyl00rHXyukD2PRyLocCfn-1x47u96ZtwWcKtXAa1XbM-A7dfiaBvEmlj-cBftnB02ETIQKtSVB4iBUNqHG5sja3-6PTIkWEr_I/s640/blogger-image--1327581627.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font color="#454545"><img src="cid:1E4478D7-93BC-405F-88BF-168E0A1A9B61@mobilenotes.apple.com"></font></a></div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br>Anyway, we had to make a decision and make it fast. Honestly, we really weren't' ready. </span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We were broke and there would be much expense involved....court costs, lawyer fee, home study, and the medical costs for the mom and child. I was working a regular full time job now and had insurance, but the likelihood of it covering an adoption seemed rather unlikely. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We had also only been married a couple years. I wasn't even finished with school so we were still living in school housing. Our home was a three room drafty concrete block shell of an apartment, probably about 300-400 square feet in size.<br><br></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkgQRZyRRD3vojE8mz0PF39ZypLFz_4-iWwk_3VmQ3LPzo7SKZUugGAD_W9GIQlEItHma2AJbpsOEYuua1GO9dpEckanMDnL00547QK3CV5g2EhRbMFCTexgz9YNxRMg93H9aL7rcb7HjL/s640/blogger-image--139188403.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font color="#454545"><img src="cid:38F1C312-4711-4FE6-91EE-457661B365C1@mobilenotes.apple.com"></font></a></div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br><br>Well, it's pretty obvious what our decision was. We went through the facade of praying over it for a few hours and seeking counsel from our friends and family, then called back a little later and told Aunt Shirley we would take her. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">She of course wasn't surprised. I am sure she knew we weren't ready as well, but I recall her saying somewhere in the process, "Just remember, these opportunities don't come often, maybe once in a lifetime at best."<br><br>Once again we were excited and anxious. We had just two weeks to prepare for our new baby girl. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We cleared out a spot in Dawns closet and put a crib in it for the baby. The room itself was no bigger that an average utility room. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We were relieved clothing was not an issue. If the baby wasn't too big, she could wear hand me downs from Dawn. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We weren't rich but we had it all planned out. We even had her name picked out....Emily Renee.<br><br></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGdjyrqLkJk5-Kx_RFAwA8G6ohY1BX7PHdovWc6obEkrewzkZioMOO7KJtrmz9rVUPccyM0fH_lHj8_IBVunbYbsA5QAss1feIN9zwD2uS9m6nedtOTN9HS7eUzoHU9VUUPz6_szmxDQ7K/s640/blogger-image--972236480.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font color="#454545"><img src="cid:DC67335E-12DE-4F2A-BACA-8D13DF4086A9@mobilenotes.apple.com"></font></a></div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br><br>The next couple weeks weren't without obstacles either. We had the financial aspect to concern ourselves with. All together we were looking at about $10000 for medical and legal fees and such </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">This was also an extremely high risk adoption. The mother did have second thoughts even up until a few weeks after the baby was born. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We were ignorant to the risks though. We were </span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">excited about our baby. We were looking forward to bringing her home. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">As it turned out, the costs were not near the obstacle we feared. John's lawyer cousin represented us, we were not required to have a home study (I know, strange), and our </span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">insurance covered the bio mom's expenses as well as the baby. </span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Our judge was very adoption friendly as well. God was most definitely in control.</span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br>Those two weeks seemed like an eternity, but the day finally came. It was 6:14 in the morning, December 20, 1987. The phone awakened us. We raced into the living room, Kim answered and of course it was Aunt Shirley. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I'll never forget the confusion I experienced when Kim said</span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">, "John, I think we are going to have to come up with a different name." Then she added, "Unless your comfortable naming a boy Emily!?" </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsK-9Trogg_OCmWrkAgLH305_XmexFPA2GPgFaueN5_JY0YvWAhRDmjUdkCSZCvKzeeTTsFqXj3JzXmLSaOJr8ykuKvOGuMQHG37unQaZJsAoTwkkhF2ESUAcW1-tCicgOxJ3ul-MGjhGM/s640/blogger-image-206125027.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font color="#454545"><img src="cid:945AA49F-BF4D-47C1-B25D-D50BCD6143A6@mobilenotes.apple.com"></font></a></div></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I was ecstatic! I believe I let out a yelp that even the neighbors two blocks over could hear. We made him a junior and called him by his middle name, Michael.</span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Well, we got dressed immediately and headed off on the three hour trip to the hospital he was born in Washington Regional in Fayetteville. When we arrived we went immediately to view him in the nursery. He was a beautiful big round chubby kid with a head full of coal black hair. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We then went to the nurses station and asked to see him. For whatever reason that didn't fly. Even though the adoption was legal and and our name was on the crib, they said we had no legal right to see the child.</span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYml3wCqguYFi97jTMHR9q5q3AMj-uGHrkv0wcp5I-Vdw3WmBKQzdmhzURzfQGr0zH09H1_hu6KUhLhwXuiDxE0e0r_L3XJ0BKpZQrEGeVVJc8WL92UYywNB_ySUotElzL3KzLWU7FDB9h/s640/blogger-image--1818451652.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font color="#454545"><img src="cid:E24629B8-FD6D-4CA1-B618-DA944BD51AC9@mobilenotes.apple.com"></font></a></div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We didn't get to hold him that day, but we did get to see him. We went back two days later and picked him up. He was ours! </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">There were some legalities we had to take care of. Things even got scary for a short bit as the mom vacillated. All in all, things went pretty well though, considering we had no idea what we were doing, our lawyer had never handled an adoption before, and it was such a high risk adoption. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Michael was an extremely strong willed independent child. He always had an air about him though. He was adored by just about everybody he came in contact with and still is.</span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">There were some difficulties in parenting Michael. He led us on multiple trips to ER and the principals office a few times over the years. </span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">That was Michael though....and I wouldn't have had it any other way. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">From the time Michael was A toddler and still even today, he has lived life on the edge. From riding his big wheel down the steep hill in front of our first full time church to to serving mission stints in Uganda and Haiti.</span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">He attended FWBBC first and then ended up graduating from Hillsdale. He answered the call to the ministry and is currently serving as an area director for Young Life in the Dallas area. </span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">He is happily married, the father of my beautiful granddaughter and hoping to add a houseful of kids soon. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">He has spent much time on the mission field, leading other groups as well as serving on his own. </span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">It was through one of his trips to Africa we were connected with Emma, who would become our fifth adoption (another story).</span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><font color="#454545" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFLddcDz7UpBcio0OnsHAbnwNWn2cXrDPQeWKO2njglWp7y8Dcu5YyUX_d-dlXiAez86sNQq3X3hrMEgcNB-IE1fc4dvHEgKqTbTcAHMvKh8KUoMuARJMk8fYDx3OIRD3xn4duoCpr3hbh/s640/blogger-image--1047478811.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><img src="cid:8E8082EE-F6A6-45C4-A13A-64D684D5E614@mobilenotes.apple.com"></a></font></div></div></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">It is amazing how God works these things out. We could very well have said no to that phone call. We didn't have the money, time, or maturity. We could have given up very early, but we didn't. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">People often tell us what a blessing we are to these children. I promise you, Michael, as well as his sibblings, has been and continues to be a blessing to us and those around them. We are not the blessing. Our children are the blessing.</span></div><div><br></div><div>After Michael, we didn't really want to stop. Our first two children were such a blessing, we wanted our quiver full. </div><div><br></div><div>Life dictated otherwise though. I graduated and was commissioned as an officer in the army reserves. We spent a few months at Fort Benning, GA, then we moved to Memphis for me to attend seminary.</div><div><br></div><div>After about eighteen months in Memphis, I decided the chaplaincy was evidently not my calling. He took his first pastorate in Mansfield, AR. We went from there to Charleston, AR Then Batesville.</div><div><br></div><div>OUR FAMILY DELAYED BY PREJUDICE </div><div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I was I guess about thirty, Dawn and Michael probably eight and six respectively. That would make Kim about 27. I had been actively involved in the ministry for about eight years. I had pastored one church and most recently served as youth pastor at another. I was at a crossroad in life, searching for my next step in ministry.</span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We were also considering growing our family some more, so hoping out next move would be a long stay. As we know, God's plans are not always the same as our plans…</span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I did some deep soul searching during that time as I had before and would many more times in the future. I told God when I answered the call to ministry I would go anywhere he led as long as He led the way and provided for me and my family while we were there. I received an invitation to try out for a pastorate one evening from a church in the south. This wasn't really Deep South but further south than I was accustomed.</span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I visited the church a couple weeks later and it was love at first sight. I felt the love of the people when I preached and they felt the spirit of the Lord as they listened. We moved into the parsonage about a month later.</span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">It was literally a dream for the first six months. The church was out in the country with the parsonage right next door to it. Our yard was about five acres with trees everywhere. The parsonage was nice enough and roomy, and the people were just wonderful. They showered us with gifts and acts of kindness daily. Our kids hit it off with the neighborhood kids too. We thought we had found our permanent home.</span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Well, the saying goes, all good things must come to an end. As pessimistic as that sounds, there is much truth to it....especially in the ministry. If you don't believe me, ask Peter and Paul.</span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><div>It was very simple, so we thought. We had spoken to DHS and were in the process of being approved for foster care. We simply needed the church's approval to bring foster children into the parsonage.</div><div><br></div><div>Our hopes were to do foster care for a while and eventually adopt again when the right children came along. This is how we imagined God would complete our family.</div><div><br></div><div>We had planned this for a long while and now seemed like the right time. We were very happy where we were and planned to be there for several years.</div><div><br></div><div>We really hadn't thought about needing the church's approval to do foster care. It seemed like a very natural thing for a Christian to do and a church to support. I mean, how could the church object to us bringing hurting children into our home? </div><div><br></div><div>The caseworker who happened to be African-American suggested it though, so to appease her, we brought it before the church. I think she knew what the response might be.</div><div><br></div><div>I preached my message that Sunday morning, gave the invitation, then made the announcement. The response was not what I expected. The congregation was dead silent. They didn't appear all too happy either. </div><div><br></div><div>I could not imagine what the problem was. You could have heard a pin drop and the mood of the church was as cold as ice. I stood in bewilderment as I awaited the response. Finally, one of the deacons stood up and said, "Brother John, I think the board might need to meet with you tonight. "</div><div><br></div><div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I was stunned. These people had been our friends. I had hunted with them, eaten with them, and visited them in the hospital. They had been nothing but good to us. Something was wrong though and I did not have a clue what it might be.</span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">That was one long afternoon. My ministry and family's future were both apparently at stake. </span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Kim and I did a lot of praying that day. Before church that night we even called the kids into the living room and prayed a hedge around our family and ministry. We would do this several more times over the next couple years. If I learned only one thing at that church it was that there is power in prayer.</span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">As I met with the board that night, I still had no idea what was going on. The meeting lasted several hours. Most of that time was spent with me fielding potshots and questions that appeared to have nothing to do with why we were meeting. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">They complained about my preaching, how I mowed the lawn, and how we kept the house. On numerous occasions I had the urge to walk out, grab the kids and my wife, and be done with it. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Something kept me there though. It was as if God had His hand on my shoulder holding me in my chair. He was very clear in His intentions. He wasn't done with me there yet.</span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Remember, I still had no idea what this really was all about. I finally got my fill of the whole inquisition. I stood up and said, "All right guys, let's cut to the chase. Why are we here?! "</span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">They stuttered around for a little while after I asked that, then the chairman finally let the cat out of the bag. He said, "Brother, we all admire what you are trying to do here. We have nothing against you helping these</span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> kids out. I guess our </span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">question is, can you specify what nationality is placed with you? Do you know what I mean?"</span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Well, at this, a light went on. It became very clear what the problem was. I responded, "I am afraid I know exactly what you mean, Brother. You are referring to race, not nationality. Yes, I figure we could, but not with a clear conscience." </span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">To this he responded that it would probably be in the best interest of us and the church that we not do foster care.</span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I was shocked. I was not raised around this kind of prejudice and had never witnessed it in this manner first hand. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">This deacon would later explain to me that he normally explained the situation to potential pastors. For whatever reason he had not when he called me. The fact is, had he, I would not have even considered that pastorate. It seems apparent God wanted me in that small town.</span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Before I proceed, I might point out that at this point I felt this chairman of the deacon board was my number one enemy. He turned out to be one my most loyal friends and ally. He would lose his leadership in that church in his defense of me and my family.</span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div>The next morning I rose up early and drove to Conway Arkansas to visit my good friend and mentor David Joslin. I explained to brother David the situation and told him that I planned to leave the church.</div><div><br></div><div>He prayed with me and said before I left, "John, just a few days ago you were excited to be a part of this ministry. You seemed certain that it was God's will for you to be there. Were you mistaken? Do you still believe God called you to that church?" I responded, "Yes, I do." Brother David then replied, "I don't reckon God changes his mind, do you? "</div><div><br></div><div>Well, needless to say, we stayed. We did not do foster care and I did not bring my black neighbors into the church. A preached long and hard about prejudice and compassion over those long months though. I felt as Jeremiah must have felt as he preached </div><div><br></div><div>As we closed out that board meeting, I explained to the Church, "When I stand before God on this issue I will have a clear conscience. When they stood before him on the same issue I feared his judgment for them. "</div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We lasted for two years after that but it was not without incident. I was falsely accused of various acts on numerous occasions. They were constantly on the attack and we were constantly on the defense.</span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">After about two years though we came to an em passé. The attendance had dropped and key members were withholding their tithes and offerings. I started driving a bus to help offset a pay cut. I was determined not to leave until God made His intentions clear though. His intentions became clear when the church went back on some promises they had made to me concerning my kids when we came. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I'm not going to use up the space to explain the issue here. It was very important to my kids and our future at the church. I remember when the vote was tallied the chairman of the deacon board turned to me, his face was as white as a sheet, and he said ashamedly, "Brother John, I don't know what else to say to you except, we lied to you and your family." I responded, "I am confident everybody present knows what that means. I have no choice but to resign."</span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We borrowed a camper trailer and moved into the back yard of one of the other members. We didn't know how long it would be, but we were prepared for the long haul. I continued driving a school bus and Kim went to work in the school cafeteria. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">It was a tight squeeze for our family of four in that small trailer. We actually set up a tent to keep our clothes in and to use as a changing room, but it still was cramped. We managed though.</span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Though we were expecting to continue like this for a while, it appears God knew our limitations. We were at our next church in Guymon, OK within six weeks. Guymon was not only accepting but also supportive of our family plans. He has perfect timing for everything.</span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">You know, in so many ways I could look at those three years of my life as a waste and my ministry there a failure. Much good did come out of it though. For one, I learned no matter how bleak things appear, God is in control. We faced some hard times there, but God always pulled us through. Also, no matter how much you feel a failure, God brings some good out of all our good intentions. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Several of the young from that church have moved on to other places and ministries. At least two of the young men are now in full time ministry. The ones I have spoken to are far removed from the prejudice of that community as well. </span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">No matter how much you feel you are speaking to deaf ears, there is likely some who listen. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">My kids went through a tough time themselves, but were exposed to something they otherwise would never have known. They are both stronger as a result. They</span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">developed through this experience a love for their fellow man no matter his race or creed they might otherwise have never known.</span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I wish I could say I stood strong throughout this's hole ordeal....that my faith never wavered. The fact is I did waver at times though. I questioned God, I questioned His church, and I questioned my faith. At times, I fear my trials did not reveal the strength of my faith, but instead it's feebleness.</span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I weathered the storm though. I endured to the end and God blessed me for it. I am who I am now very much as a result of the trials I went through hen.</span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">God has implanted in me a great hatred of prejudice and racism. He has given me a love for those different from me and a compassion toward those less fortunate. Much of this drive was planted during and nurtured through this experience</span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">. Thank God for Star City, AR.M</span></div></div></div><div><br></div></div><div>OUR LITTLE MAN</div><div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Once in Guymon, we immediately began efforts toward expanding our family again. </span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Michael was12 and Dawn 14 when we completed PRIDE training for foster care. We cared for one baby for several weeks, then a couple older children for a bit before we learned of Nathaniel.</span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Nathaniel was about 10 months old when he came into our lives. He was born into foster care. His mother was raped at I think at about 15 years of age and was in foster care for several months before giving birth to him. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">He spent the first few months of his life with her then was placed in a seperate placement. All indications were she was a very caring person. She just couldn't deal with the responsibility and emotional trauma of raising him conspidering the circumstances surrounding his conception and birth.</span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><font color="#454545" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDa6BzCrxuyY3JV34oeDSvrfV3adaR46JAXSlDVFNNi-Q5GrQwztPUK661EgxWN62WKW6SpZOlF7s9SzUSHxmgwhQ0hgtWZfwMPjPOTLSOBQzj-HuoAvwDUhvZiq6TifOLtCByxse0P7f3/s640/blogger-image--1341002774.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><object type="application/x-apple-msg-attachment" data="cid:E385DB65-014D-4A61-B432-CA8DF10895E4@mobilenotes.apple.com"></object></a></font></div></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">It was a fairly traumatic experience when we first met him. He was just ten months old but weighed close to thirty pounds. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">He was a blank page emotionally. His only movement or expression was when he seemingly got excited he clapped his feet together. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We loved him at first sight but it was scary. We had no idea how he would develope.</span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><font color="#454545" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTLEBBN-DBtKiaVttBOWqEWNT0zn7TVajB225OjRH_c1m3Q4lHLz8qeD-mfUrEeLrnz0WXbBHEpIvwpZPqNaxi0UIHs2GoK3gD1CkYOLwuQWb5SV7n2Dea14r8dMfCxbJtF4jZQ_ftx4wS/s640/blogger-image--1218386165.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><object type="application/x-apple-msg-attachment" data="cid:25F968A0-8FCE-4715-B500-A57B2EE76C97@mobilenotes.apple.com"></object></a></font></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Of course it was a process to make him ours, but everything moved fairly quickly. We had already been approved as foster parents so there was not a lot to do there. His mother had already signed her rights away and his bio father of course was not even given the option, as he was in prison.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">The Guymon Church was awesome! They embraced him like he was their own. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Brother Red, our song leader, would sit in front of him at church and harass him, trying to get a response. Honestly it didn't take long until he get him to respond. Nathaniel would see him and smile from ear to ear. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">John followed Red's lead and would have screaming contests with him. He got pretty good at it. I have not totally forgiven him for that one. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">One of the Deacons, Bill Dawes, insisted on shaking his hand every time he saw him. We were at the church for about a year after Nate came into our lives, before we moved on. By the time he was two or three he was insisting on shaking hands with everybody in the congregation before church started. He became to be known as our little man. </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR6izfqQ5WY1-cZPQYYOZ6OOHADQh7ThPjT1g-7UrPwCYV82A92IbYqS3ElpRA9zAZdSBCvIwPJnwoH4JEwE4gDivo-fcsMJlV07Fu4jVMyO4x3-YKO7T1nztxy7juDrjT8PyydqS-0K2Q/s640/blogger-image-129666961.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><object type="application/x-apple-msg-attachment" data="cid:C5D28395-418C-474C-8CE4-03EF57D9CE7D@mobilenotes.apple.com"></object></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">He still meets that criteria today at 16. He has developed normally. He has some academic issues and some minor issues with his motor skills. He plays basketball though and refs soccer, and is learning to play the guitar. He likes to hang out with his dad when he does his disaster relief ministry and such. He is also a regular and dependable usher in our church of around 300. He is known for his politeness by preachers and Christians throughout the state of Oklahoma. And he's still a hand shaker. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcH0HIG0BGUl9432C-VNq1rIX2PNb2Gwb_gYP9SZeOjTRK_x-zhotePRQPLPUPNJQ9Ur_nytpbhG3e8ewHuERznAXA9lgo74DN5FOc358y064575Z7t35LHS4Ze9heSonPCGhtVd4WjS68/s640/blogger-image-60395115.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font color="#454545"><object type="application/x-apple-msg-attachment" data="cid:1DE724BD-9221-46CE-B9DB-E28189D9930C@mobilenotes.apple.com"></object></font></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I'm not sure where Nate is going in life. It probably won't require a great amount of academic prowess, but I am sure of this, He will touch lives. By the way, I still think of him as my little man....even though he is now about 5'10" and growing every day.</span></div></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">OUR E-BABE</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Nathaniel was two years old when we moved to Tahlequah where we now live. Dawn and Michael were both teenagers. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">John was content with the three we had. Not so much for me. I wanted that little girl I had been promised!</span><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Whereas in times past you went to adoption parties and such to check out the kids, now you could do it online and had the pickings of the entire country. I looked at several children, but kept coming back to one particular child who happened to share my Daddy's birthdate. That child was Alexis, a special needs child in Portland, Oregon.</span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><font color="#454545" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF8SCj9gzQMzyIBolaZP2CTizcRVugmYcynBgIRzu6tlqd9KQZw1X2ix99PGVpOf8nlz4E9kni947C9ByIxDxfwMlf_LghFyVxEozGwQWsJ78Whd82NXtNkY5fIlaUZW8jOjvsJFCQnDdy/s640/blogger-image-535035109.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><object type="application/x-apple-msg-attachment" data="cid:B924D915-A016-434F-AB6A-E4CD03EEA56B@mobilenotes.apple.com"></object></a></font></div></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Alexis was 2 1/2 years old when we got to know her. She had been through one failed adoption, but had been with the same foster family since birth. She was removed from her biological mother immediately following delivery, as she tested positive for meth. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Alexis was a meth baby. At 2 1/2 she was nonverbal and barely walking and would not be potty trained until 6-7 years of age. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">She was born with abnormalities in her hands and arms, as well as a cauliflower ear and profound hearing loss in both ears. For whatever reason, I fell head over heals in love with her.</span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We contacted the state of Oregon and let them know we were interested. We were one of three families they were considering. It was nerve racking as we awaited their decision, but we finally did get their call after several weeks. By this time Daddy was fully on board and she would eventually become a major Daddy's girl.</span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">The first time we met Alexis was when we drove up the driveway to her foster home in our rental car just after we got off the plane. As we pulled into the driveway, she stood on the deck of her home with her foster mom smiling from ear to ear. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Remember, she was nonverbal and had only made indistinguishable sounds to this point. Her first discernible word in her life was as I stepped out of the car and began walking up the driveway. Alexis reached out her hands and said very distinctly, "Ma."</span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8YjEaHsiouISYn0RMA_Cs8eCmmhrL_86xWULBQIkD9KRFUPAhY-aqhq3Hggcry3k-uSJGof5GQQ4VKkaoHBcckMJPXHvIKqJpKBBbmTkktaDk8G6Pcg7DRWT3rQIzjRib1TBSvfVXYa6n/s640/blogger-image-670466561.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font color="#454545"><object type="application/x-apple-msg-attachment" data="cid:FB316D05-2968-425D-A8DC-D0E3A4C5172E@mobilenotes.apple.com"></object></font></a></div></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We spent a week getting to know Alexis in Portland then returned home with her as ours. She has had much to overcome, but has steadily progressed forward from the first moment we met her. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">She has had hand surgery, several ear surgeries, and eye surgery. She has participated in physical, occupational, and speech therapy. She has struggled against social and other anxieties. But she continues to triumph through it all.</span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">She is a very typical autistic child, She has overcome much though. She is walking and running with some limitations, and even rides a bike. Though her comprehension lacks, she reads pretty much at age level. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">She still has emotional outbursts, but not near as many as she did at 2 1/2 years of age. She can be sorely bashful and yet talk your ears off at the same time. She obsesses over some of the strangest things, yet can remember even the smallest details years down the road.</span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Alexis too is an overcomer. When we first brought her home, she could not even look a person in the eyes. She would have frequent meltdowns in crowds and strange situations. She was an emotional basket case. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Over the years though we have seen her grow though. She never ceases to amaze us.</span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> She signed up for basketball this year and has been practicing without incident. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">The real shocker came recently when she signed up as greeter at church. She obsessed over her upcoming turn for weeks. She met our guests with a smile and a handshake....and without incident.</span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><font color="#454545" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOnfbiRDM4V2OKnFptZFWqJRzg4hpSnq6oUI76_6SjtKBZgemSDcj-tqtku6VtCsmjx3YhjsM5qa72TnKdD3PuvxYLbgphLZZGO_jIE5Ahyw33ao2FLHA3tYIa71__BJWanFaptR-U25Ip/s640/blogger-image--1702040939.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><object type="application/x-apple-msg-attachment" data="cid:78999C72-63FB-483D-A870-D8862C8CEBF5@mobilenotes.apple.com"></object></a></font></div></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Alexis continues to grow and develop. We always worry, is she going to stop maturing at some point? But at this point she matures a little more each day. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">She has a tremendous heart. </span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> When she learns that somebody is sick, she checks up on them regularly and prays for them daily. She also likes to make cards for those going through hard times.</span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We don't know how much further she will develop. This one thing we do know, even if she were not to develop a day beyond where she is, she will always be a special young lady who is sure to touch your heart....if you give her a chance.</span></div></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">HANNAH CAN</span></div><div><br></div><div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi377dqKDeAZZcpdmLN6msf1t4rMMc4oDbyg-5kBCecpee9QHq9WeVPXthgb6xqlMgOOKivTLQiC20arbDV6Vlqx2MLrCnXOnE8HVqoJqLHN6mnkiHGE7WQd-9upl8rt9GKFleqZfSVtp8Y/s640/blogger-image--1938995434.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><font color="#454545" style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><img src="cid:A1A72F1B-A3A3-46AC-B043-7BD39FB6F412@mobilenotes.apple.com"></font></a></div></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">One day Hannah and John were on one of their periodic walk and talks.</span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> They were discussing heaven. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">John pointed out, "You know, Princess, in heaven we won't be like this. We will both be whole." She questioned him, "What do you mean by whole, Daddy." He answered, "I won't be so clumsy with Parkinson's anymore and you will have legs." She stopped and pondered a moment, then replied very thoughtfully, "You know, Daddy, I think I am pretty whole just the way I am."</span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimqu3Uq7ZAku-PBeQ3PRaoJfVCYwiRjxAr1gtc8VgUtE0ks920Je82xG2gjAzCzehHutMszz8_4eazLmJ3zfhrymu7LVD6ngIVWYXcsb5RSNjxmlxiJHf23eKb3Kl7JaTXyo2kl6E975S-/s640/blogger-image-316001995.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font color="#454545"><img src="cid:D0569E53-139C-449B-A943-7FC00D9219EB@mobilenotes.apple.com"></font></a></div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">That is the kind of attitude she has had from day one. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We learned of Hannah while John was attending an Adopt US Kids Summit in Washington DC. He was in a crowded hotel lobby with over 1000 attendees scarfing down a standup sack lunch around little round tables. One lady moved over and gave him the one spot apparently available. She was a social worker from a local adoption agency. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">She shared Hannah's story with him and how desperate they were to find a placement for her. They primarily placed healthy white babies and some healthy minority children, but they had no prospects for a child like Hannah. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Hannah's biological mother was 14 when Hannah was born. She had come to this agency for help pretty much at the last minute. They agreed to find a home for her child, but had second thoughts after she was born. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">She was born without the Tibia (shin bone) in both legs, six fingers on one hand and no thumb on either, and both elbows fused. She needed to be placed in a home that would have access to the needed medical care and she needed to be placed fast. The home needed to be pretty much adoption ready.</span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvGVofolwjMGViPAUdjQ96d59674QEjZDglFc20H1d8N0VbOom_FoAFc4BrOFukl-SjZgrtL9RjGCOd92lKjd2visvREorKRUMQWwXcZGcjoapk1X3MxwlkzzW8PmWVUudozETwQNgrhIB/s640/blogger-image-1326202732.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font color="#454545"><img src="cid:45A7E0F2-722C-42A5-93F9-C67B1A11F281@mobilenotes.apple.com"></font></a></div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">John called me and shared Hannah's story. We began making calls to people who had expressed interest in adoptions of us. None either met the criteria or had the desire for a child with such issues. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Most people don't want "damaged goods". They want only the healthiest, happiest, and prettiest babies. In so many ways Hannah met that criteria. Oh well, their loss. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">After John returned home from the summit, we continued praying for and trying to find a home for this precious child. Remember, our family was complete now....so we thought. We had prayed for four children, two boys and two girls, and that's what we had been given. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">After several attempts at finding her a home we began to realize it was to no avail. It was after one of these failed attempts that John looked at me and asked, "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" I responded in tears, "I fear so."</span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We made the call and began the process. Like Lexi, this was an intrastate adoption, but it was also a private adoption, so we had to deal with two states and a private agency. It was twice the paper work as well as the expense. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">The agency waived its normal fees but we were responsible for paying the foster care expenses as well as the court costs and such. Maryland promised us a $13,000 grant to reimburse our costs. Due to a legislation change though we never received the grant. God provided though....through the graciousness of family and friends.</span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAGFy2ay2UhWqT18ncCNc2bi7qUONJeWq9xvaT9unH_hhoEuq7TWA-eV-NcESO6z2rum-0q_TEwjWLkpH8xjlMITzKt-d2wSLrMUuI0e4yjNWCqengY1dgNl7li0Ija-u7RmFcDzBukd9P/s640/blogger-image--7840225.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font color="#454545"><img src="cid:1AD46195-E93F-43AB-8B2C-51EEB77B5B42@mobilenotes.apple.com"></font></a></div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We went over as a family to see and get to know her at about 6 weeks. I flew back by myself 3 months late</span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">, spent a week with her in her foster home and brought her home.</span></div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWBIfUSZsOxD3CniqJoDoIluYIa2DOFkOrECZn4YW_QFKUTjhNfz73Xlo_uNsfQc0ieEqrDxFiVt1lG0CKnbyIFu5RaSPDzNX-j2M3VN42LfbYar5Uzd4gaccOQGZ2XwOAWw-TDrZHJfZb/s640/blogger-image--1411906426.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font color="#454545"><img src="cid:9DA74D59-B26E-48C0-AC86-BA6A70986BAD@mobilenotes.apple.com"></font></a></div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div>Hannah went through multiple surgeries over the next several months. <span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">She had her amputation at about nine months. She also had several reconstructive surgeries on her hands</span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">She was walking by the time she was eighteen months. She was running competitively by the time she was four years old. The past four years she has qualified for the National Junior Disability Championships and medaled there. She has dreams of participating in the 2020 Paralympics. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">She also plays able bodied soccer and basketball. Her soccer coach admitted recently when he first saw she was on his team he was apprehensive. He then exclaimed through tears he would pit her against anybody on the team in talent, determination, and knowledge of the game. She may not cover the field like the others, but if an opponent sells her short and tries to force themselves past her, they're liable to end up on their butt.</span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Did I mention she reads on an adult level and writes with a pencil between her fingers. She is eleven and in seventh grade. You know what, come to think about it, she is pretty whole just the way she is...</span></div><div style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">OUR LITTLE AFRICAN BOY</span></div><div><br></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">As you recall, our plans were for four children, a well balanced family of two boys and two girls. We had been blessed with just that.....plus one. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">I was 46 and Kim was 44. We were no doubt done....so we thought. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">Michael was attending Hillsdale when he decided to serve as a short term missionary in Uganda. He teased before he went over that he planned to bring back a little black brother for Hannah. At least we thought he teased.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">Almost immediately Michael began to write, email, and message us about a little boy who had stolen his heart. Emma was found abandoned on the streets oF Kampala at about 18 months of age. He had no record of origin, no birthdate, no birth certificate.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">Well, as you might have deducted, we fell in love with Emma as well. We cannot tell you why. He was very shy and non expressive. There was and is something very special about him though.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">We contacted the orphanage director and he said Emma was available for adoption. He also told us of another child, Ephraim, that was adoptable. Jacob and Sarah Myers teamed up with us to adopt him. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">We estimated the adoption expenditures for both children to run over $30,000, including travel and administrative costs. It would end up being more than that but that was a good estimation. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">That was a lot of money for a couple preachers to raise. We didn't know how, but we knew God would supply our need though. He did too, never a second too early nor a second too late.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">As the time approached, we began to stress a little. We knew we were receiving the call any day. When we got the call, we would have to be in Uganda for court within a few days. If we didn't ,we could lose our babies.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">We had raised about $15,000 to cover legal fees and such, but had not covered our air fare yet. We needed another $15000 and we needed it fast.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">We went to church one Wednesday night with intentions of making it a matter of public prayer. John was met by a lady before church. Her husband had died recently and she wished to make a donation. She wrote out a check for $15000 that night.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">We flew over soon after that to get our babies. The men stayed about a week then left us ladies to fend for ourselves.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">It was the roughest two months of my life. We lived on our own in a third world country that really did not value women nor children for that matter.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">That precious little boy was well worth the hastle though. He has been through so much. He has come so far.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">Emma has adapted fairly well. He still has some attachment issues. Much of what he faced and experienced we will never know nor does he. It's very clear though by his nightmares and various issues, he went through much. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">Emma was four when we brought him home. He is nine now. He still has a bit of an accent which I hope he never loses.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">He is active in church and in sports. He loves electronic games and Legos. He was saved and baptized a couple years ago. He is very smart but he hates school. He dreams of being a police officer engineer astronaut and a professional soccer player. Pretty typical nine year old boy.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">What is untypical about him is his servant attitude and his determination. He seriously works and pushed himself physically like a man. He is the first to help his daddy to tie his shoes or crawl out of his chair when his Parkinson's is flaring.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">OUR CALL TO SURRENDER</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">We are both fairly certain there will be no more. We have reached out a little immigrant friend of the family who is having her second child at eighteen. We also have a precious little grandchild and are sure to have many more. Our hopes are to focus our love and attention on them.</span></div><div><br></div><div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We read in Romans 12:1-2,</span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">"I beseech you therefore, brethren, by the mercies of God, that ye present your bodies a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable unto God, <i>which is</i> your reasonable service. (2) And be not conformed to this world: but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind, that ye may prove what <i>is</i> that good, and acceptable, and perfect, will of God."</span></div></div><div><br></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I was asked to speak on surrender. From the beginning we set out to live a life of total complete surrender to God. In our minds this meant great things were going to happen. John was going to win thousands and I was going to be by his side. Together, w</span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">e set out to change the world.</span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">To be quite honest, by our own standards, we have been complete failures. We have not won thousands. John hasn't even pastored one church for more than four years. We have seen maybe dozens saved, but definitely not hundreds, let alone thousands.</span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div>But we are ok with that. Somewhere along the way God changed our plans to do something great for Him to Him doing something good with us.</div><div><br></div><div>James 1:27 says, "Pure Religion and undefiled before God and the Father is to visit the orphan and widow in their time of affliction."</div><div><br></div><div>No, we have not changed the world in some mighty way, but we have touched the lives of these six precious children. They have most definitely changed our world and are sure to change the world for many others in years to come.</div><div><br></div><div>We surrendered doing something great for God to instead allow Him to do something good through us. What good thing are you willing to surrender yourself to do for God?</div></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07518588072172543204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5727311222045740880.post-33054323187102438012016-03-05T16:29:00.001-08:002016-03-05T17:44:47.593-08:00MY DAD, A HUMBLE BUT PROUD MAN<div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">My dad was a very humble but proud man, if that makes sense. He had grown up under very meager beginnings. His dad was an alcoholic and his mother very simple. </div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">He told me they never lived in any one place more than a few months. They would move into a rental home and stay until they were evicted, then move elsewhere and do the same. He said he would always have the bus drop him off maybe a mile from the house. He didn't want anybody to see where he lived.</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">He bragged Grandpa cared for them though. When he got paid for whatever odd job he had done, he would buy groceries for the family before he bought beer. </div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Grandpa died when I was just a few weeks old. He evidently turned his life around for the Lord several years before he passed away. During those last few years, he was in church every time the doors were open and loved by everybody. </div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">My earliest memory Dad was probably me attending a Billy Graham crusade with him in California. I remember there was snow on the ground and we had to walk quite a way up hill to get to the stadium. We traipsed through the snow up a long hill only to discover the crusade had been cancelled due to the weather.</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">This was symbolic of the life my dad lived. He lived his life trying to prove he was somebody. There was probably not a more righteous and caring man than my Dad. Yet, he never could accept that he was good enough to be loved by God.</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Growing up, he did not go to church often. Mom would drag him there on occasion, but mostly he resisted. He was a godly man though. He never drank, smoked, or cussed to my knowledge. He thought us to love and respect God as well.</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">He finally did start going to church when I was about 17 years old. His spiritual struggle became evident then. He would go to the altar often praying for God's forgiveness. He would leave empty though, declaring he just was not good enough. </div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">He did find acceptance in Christ just a couple years before he passed. He prayed through night with the pastor and discovered the grace of Jesus. </div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Like his dad, his last days were spent on fire for the Lord. He was loyal to church and went visiting with the pastor on s regular basis, declaring to others the grace and forgiveness of Jesus. </div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">At age 67, when I was in my early 40s, Dad suffered a massive heart attack and went to meet the Lord. This was a shock to us all. </div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">I had just spoken with him the night before bragging that Michael, my oldest boy, had made the all county football team. The last words I recall hearing from Dad were very befitting of a man who loved his family, "Tell that boy I'm proud of him."</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Though Dad lacked confidence, he far surpassed his own expectations. He spent the biggest part of his adult life in traffic management. He never made millions, but he was a good father to his children and a good friend to those whom he knew.</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">He may not have recognized his own accomplishments but he took great pride in the accomplishments of others. His wife was the most beautiful woman in the world. His kids could do what they did better than anybody and he didn't mind telling you. His hometown was the best place to live and his friends the best.</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">He was a Razorback fan like none other. No matter how bad a season they had, they were the best in his book.</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">At his funeral, over 400 friends, family and loved ones packed our little FWB Church in Greenwood Arkansas. His entire surviving Senior Class of over 40 was there. As I spoke a short eulogy on his behalf I was able to say words not many can say of their father, "There are no regrets."</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07518588072172543204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5727311222045740880.post-20781099641615571742016-01-25T06:59:00.001-08:002016-01-25T06:59:30.522-08:0010 Random Facts about Me:<div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">1. The Christian Rock Group Petra opened for me and a group I was singing with in the early 80's. Well, my college ensemble was double booked with Petra at a High School. We were shocked when we heard them rocking as we entered. Needless to say, the kids found out renditions of 'Charleston' and 'Danny Boy' a bit of a let down.</span></div><div><br></div><div>2. I was ADHD when ADHD wasn't cool. At the end of my Junior year in HS my GPA was a whopping 1.65. By the end of my senior year I had redeemed myself to the point that all I lacked to graduate was one semester of English. I actually graduated with a GED.</div><div><br></div><div>3. I went to college on a vocal and instrumental scholarship, studied music for four years, but graduated after seven years with a BA in Social Studies. I sang both bass and 1st Tenor in college choir.</div><div><br></div><div>4. I have been happily married for over 30 years but have six children by six different women conceived four states and on two continents. My wife and I have one biological and five adopted children.</div><div><br></div><div>5. I was commissioned as an officer in the Army in 1985 and served a total of six years in the Army Reserves.</div><div><br></div><div>6. Over the years I have made ends meet by serving as a security guard in pig slaughtering plant and a pickle plant. I paid my way trough college mostly cooking and delivering pizza. I have been in the ministry for thirty years, pastoring fifteen of those. I also drove school bus for about five years.</div><div><br></div><div>7. I once met and greeted Garth Brooks as well as socialized with his wife Trish for probably an hour or so and didn't even know it.</div><div><br></div><div>8. I made a public profession of faith at ages 8, 13, and 16. When I look back to when my journey began with Christ I see the commitment and involvement beginning at age 16. I was actually baptized after I answered the call to preach.</div><div><br></div><div>9. I went back to school about 12 years ago and graduated with an MS in Counseling and have been counseling for about 10 years. I now have a private practice in Tahlequah and an agency in Adair County.</div><div><br></div><div>10. I have made a lot of mistakes, hurt a lot of people, and at times been a total disgrace to God, yet HE has managed use me anyway. As Paul once said, "By the Grace of God I am what I .</div><div><br></div><div><br></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07518588072172543204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5727311222045740880.post-35971861789294461182016-01-20T22:41:00.001-08:002016-01-21T03:34:04.519-08:00The Easter Brawl at Buddy and Evelyn's<div><br></div><div>I'm thinking it was Easter Sunday, 1981, 34 years ago. I was 17 years old. The Canada kids, Bill, Bobby, and Lois, were all home at Uncle Buddy and Aunt Evelyn's and us Hewetts were visiting. </div><div><br></div><div>Now understand, this was a grand event for us Hewett Kids, even now that we were all grown up. We just about idolized our older cousins growing up. Uncle Buddy was our 'cool' uncle. He was a Wrestling coach and his boys were all tremendous athletes. And Lois...,well, she was Lois.</div><div><br></div><div>We had eaten and were just hanging out. Lois and a young boy (escapes me who) took her dog for a walk around the lake. </div><div><br></div><div>I was in the living room by myself watching tv. Lois' little friend came running in saying Lois' dog had bit another dog and its owner was following her down the road crazy mad wanting to fight. </div><div><br></div><div>Being the macho teenage boy I was, I went to my cousin's rescue. I stepped outside and saw Lois walking down the road with a half crazed lunatic following on her heels yelling at her.</div><div><br></div><div>He wasn't wearing a shirt and was pretty buff looking. He was likely in his low to mid twenties. I am pretty certain he was strung out on something. Regardless, he was crazy angry!</div><div><br></div><div>I ran out to meet them and the fellow turned his attention on me. I do not recall much what was said, but I do recall this fellow wanted to fight.</div><div><br></div><div>After a bit, Dad came outside to try and defuse things. There was no defusing anything. He just squared up to Dad and said bring it on.</div><div><br></div><div>Eventually, two men came walking down the road. One was evidently his brother and the other big burly guy his father.</div><div><br></div><div>Dad yelled up at them, "Would you guys come settle this fellow down before someone gets hurt?" The burly dad yelled back down, "We're not settling anybody down. We're coming to scrape up the pieces!"</div><div><br></div><div>Well, by this time we had attracted quite a crowd. Buddy had joined us along with Bobby, Bill, and my older brother, Billy.</div><div><br></div><div>Of course, Uncle Buddy took over now. He told everybody to settle down. I recall him at one point saying, "Fellows, we need to watch our language. There are ladies present." (Which he soon forgot). To this Lois responded, "Dad, let's just leave. These people are the scum of the earth."</div><div><br></div><div>Well, that's when it happened. The original scum guy gave Lois a right hook across the chin. At that, all hades broke loose.</div><div><br></div><div>Buddy and the Canada boys of course all converged on Mr Scum. This left me, Dad, and Billy to deal with Big Brother and Burly Daddy.</div><div><br></div><div>From here on out the facts are a little blurry. Of course the facts wouldn't be as interesting as my story anyway.</div><div><br></div><div>I jumped on Burly Daddy and pulled him by the beard and somehow ended up laying on my back with him on top of me. While I was wrestling with him, Buddy was wrestling with Mr. Scum to my side while Bobby and Bill were I believe kicking the guys face in. </div><div><br></div><div>Burly Daddy was just fixing to punch me when Evelyn came running over yelling, "Don't you hit him! He's a minor!!!" At that she reached under his armpit and pulled out a handful of armpit hair.</div><div><br></div><div>While this was going on, I could see Daddy and Billy duking it out with Big Brother across the road in the ditch. Actually Daddy was wrestling around with the guy while Billy was banging the guy on the back with his fists.</div><div><br></div><div>Well, evidently Evelyn got distracted. I think she started running around yelling at everybody to break it up. Anyway, Burly Daddy decided to start punching my face again. Just as he was about to make mincemeat out of my face, Lois came running, jumped up, and planted her heels in his back. He let out a groan and rolled off of me.</div><div><br></div><div>That was it. It was over. For whatever reason we all got up and went our separate ways. At least that's all I recall.</div><div><br></div><div>I'm not sure who won. I'm pretty sure Mr Scum wished he hadn't punched a Canada girl, Burly Daddy had to regrow some armpit hair, and Big Brother had bruises on his back for a while.</div><div><br></div><div>I'm also sure of this, the Canada crew is one tough bunch. You mess with one of us, you mess with all of us!</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07518588072172543204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5727311222045740880.post-37479787400837814962016-01-20T21:42:00.001-08:002016-01-20T22:10:40.458-08:00OBAMAS Cell Phone Conspiracy...<div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">I know that cell phones are dangerous and can be distracting in the vehicle. The fact is thousands of people have lost their lives due to texting and driving. That fact I do not dispute.</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">That is not the whole story though. People lose their lives while eating fried chicken and driving as well. </div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Why, just the other day I was casually cruising down the interstate at about 127.5 miles per hour. I took my hands off the steering wheel, looked down, and picked up a piece of hot chicken and took a big bite of it. </div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">It was some of that spicy Cajun Chicken from Popeye's by the way. That stuff is good. If I didn't like KFC better, that's where I would get all of my chicken.</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Speaking of which, I really like chicken. I raised chickens when I was a kid. I did it as an agri project. I just about killed them though and failed agri.</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Anyway, when I bit into that piece of chicken it burned my tongue. I let out a yelp and dropped it in my lap...then I yelped again, 'cept this time I yelped a little bit higher.</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Well, I finally got my wits about me, looked up and discovered I was on another highway, in another county, in another state. I had no idea where I had been, what I had done, nor how I had gotten to where I was. Thank goodness for cruise control!</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">The fact is, chicken is dangerous too. I wonder how many people have lost their lives eating fried chicken. I mean, you could choke on a bone, get clogged arteries, or if you eat Church's Chicken, there is no telling what might happen! This is all aside from the dangers of eating chicken and driving.</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">You see, the truth of the matter is, the government doesn't want us having cell phones, because we use them to talk to each other. I mean, you see something happen while vacationing in DC, what do you do? You call your friends in Oklahoma and tell them about it.</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">OBAMA doesn't want us knowing the truth. He doesn't want us to call and tell others what's going on in DC. He seriously wants to take away your cell phone!</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">You see, the cell phone is the reason Obama can't eat at McDonald's any more. Nobody even knew OBAMA ate at McDonald's until a fellow caught it on his iPhone. I saw it in Facebook, so I know it's true.</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">This fellow walked in McDonald's and saw the president standing at the counter ordering. He was was all made up to look like Stephen Tyler, but this guy knew better. Everybody knows Stephen Tyler doesn't wear a bow tie! </div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Anyway, Obama ordered a triple cheeseburger, a small fry, and a medium Dr Pepper. He then leaned over and whispered to his security guy (who was dressed up like one of Santa's Elves), "You can order your own. Oh, and by the way, you tell Michelle, you'll be in the unemployment line with most of my other supporters."</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Here's where it got weird. They didn't make the president's burger like the rest. NOO! They gave him real hamburger meat. </div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">I know this because I saw it on facebook. They brought up a bull out of the back room and cut a piece of flesh out of him and led him back to the back room again. Then they pounded out the piece of flesh until it looked just like the other stuff they serve. </div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">That's what they served the president. They also cut up fresh French fries instead of serving those frozen things.</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Then, low and behold, in came Donald Trump dressed up like Elvis. They weren't fooled for a second though. They knew who it was. </div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">I know this because what they fed him wasn't at all like what they fed Mr Obama. You see while Trump wasn't looking, they gathered all the dead mice out of the mouse traps and beat them into ground yucky meat type stuff. That's what they fed Donald.</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">That's why the president wants your cell phone. He doesn't want stories like this to leak out. The last thing he wants is for Michelle to find out he eats at McDonald's!</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07518588072172543204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5727311222045740880.post-44457199396676589432015-10-25T07:10:00.001-07:002015-10-25T07:10:49.322-07:00The Journey through Life<div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">A journey through life we all do take; on a mission, a change we hope to make.</span></div><div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">It begins in the cradle and Mom's caring arms, but out of the crib faces alone life's threat of harm.</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Sometimes through valleys of pain, yet other times over mountains of gain.</span></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">The road taken is uniquely selected, twists and turns like none other erected.</span></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">For some it is mostly joy and success, for others sorrow and distress.</span></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">There is a choice for which trail we travel, but no predictor whether our path is rough or level.</span></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We best journey according to God's plan, for no matter whether rough or level, He is in command. </span></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Regardless the sorrow, Regardless the pain, life lived for God and others is not in vain.</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">We weather the storms and move on further, We find comfort in knowing we have helped others.</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Until we reach our peak we progress fairly well; As we move forward a change we can tell.</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Our movement through time seems to slow, as time itself does faster flow.</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Those who have accompanied us slowly disappear, over the horizon our own end does appear.</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Life's matters we continue to attend; we struggle on until we reach life's end.</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">The details of our journey's end we may not see; yet we know that if lived right we find peace in eternity;</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"> </div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">We may have lived a life of sorrow and pain, Yet if we lived for God and others our life was not in vain.</div></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07518588072172543204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5727311222045740880.post-71356810801627212522015-09-30T17:09:00.001-07:002015-09-30T18:03:04.461-07:00You might not be a Christian if...<span style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">...you can sit through an adult rated movie and not feel uncomfortable.</span><br><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><div><br></div><div>...you feel that there are many ways to God and they are all equal. </div><div><br></div><div>...you're not offended when somebody uses God's name in vain.</div><div><br></div><div>...you figure going to church is optional.</div><div><br></div><div>...your idea of Sunday Afternoon Roast is roasting the pastor over the dinner.</div><div><br></div><div>...somebody from work or school were to visit your church they would be shocked to see you there.</div><div><br></div><div>...you figure you have been good enough.</div><div><br></div><div>...you're glad you're not like one of them.</div><div><br></div><div>...your heart is not broken at the thought of 1000's of unborn babies being killed every day in the US.</div><div><br></div><div>...you figure the plight of the orphan, hungry, and the less fortunate is not your responsibility.</div></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">...you've never been snubbed, made fun of, or persecuted for your faith.</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">...your children have never heard you pray.</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">...your only confidence in eternity is a prayer you said sometime back.</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">...you figure you have an agreement with God. You won't bother Him unless you need Him and He'll do the same for you.</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">...you figure premarital and/or extramarital sex are ok.</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">...you've never invited somebody to church nor told somebody what it means to be a Christian.</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">...you are more concerned with your kids getting good grades, succeeding at sports, or succeeding in life than you are them making it to heaven.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07518588072172543204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5727311222045740880.post-47039690060096770182015-08-17T04:28:00.001-07:002015-08-17T05:07:28.761-07:00Brother Jack<div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Brother Jack was a deacon at my first church. He was a good deacon and a jewel of a man. </span></div><div><br></div><div>Now understand, Brother Jack wasn't a talker. He stood about 6'2" or so, almost always smiling from ear to ear, but hardly ever said a word. When he did talk his voice would crack from lack of use.</div><div><br></div><div>Here's the deal though, Brother Jack was a friend when a friend was in need. Why, I reckon I could call on him today to come help me in a jam, if that jam consisted of something needing fixing, and he would come running. </div><div><br></div><div>Of course, sister Gloria would most likely be with him. That's ok though. Her and I could probably find something to cry or laugh about while we watched Jack fix whatever it was he was fixing.</div><div><br></div><div>This one particular time, my central ac wasn't working right. It wasn't kicking on when it should. </div><div><br></div><div>My father-in-law (a whole other blog) had looked at it. He said the relay switch wasn't working. He took me out and showed me how to trigger it with a rubber handled screw driver and told me Brother Jack would know what to do to fix it.</div><div><br></div><div>Well, I took Jack over after church one Sunday morning to show him what needed fixed. I didn't have a screwdriver though, so I took out a car key that had a plastic grip and triggered it with that.</div><div><br></div><div>Of course as soon as the relay made connection, I received the shock of my life. Everything turned white and I was knocked back about three feet sprawled flat on the ground.</div><div><br></div><div>As soon as I had my wits about me again (as if they existed before), I looked up at Brother Jack and said, "Brother, if you were ever going to hear a preacher cuss, that would have been the time." Brother Jack looked down at me grinning from ear to ear and said, "That was stupid."</div><div><br></div><div>Brother Jack may not have had much to say. What he did say though was pack full of wisdom.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07518588072172543204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5727311222045740880.post-64118080180912273272015-08-08T16:58:00.001-07:002015-08-08T18:34:44.583-07:00My Top 10 Not So Bright Moments...<div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">10. I was singing in front of 200 college classmates and was just about to get irritated with two hecklers in the front row when I realized they were trying to tell me my pants were unzipped.<br></span><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">9. When I was dating Kim, she hollered from across a parking lot for me to toss her the keys, so I reared back and threw them. She missed but I didn't. The keys literally stuck into her forehead. When I got to her they were seriously dangling off her head.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div></div><div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">8. I walked by my grandmother as she was bent over and I slapped her butt harder than I had intended. She let out a holler and blurted an expletive. This was the only time I ever heard my grandma swear and I made her do it.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div></div><div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">7. In an early pastorate, Michael was acting up as I was addressing the church early in the service. He ran up on the stage and as I reached over and grabbed him, the seat of my britches ripped out. I preached my entire message with the seat of my pants ripped out.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">6. We were at the Phoenix Zoo and a sweet young caretaker took special interest in me and my kiddos. She was showing off a miniature deer that she was evidently especially attached to. I couldn't hold in my stupidity any longer. I piped in, "You reckon it tastes good?" The sweet young lady wasn't so sweet after that remark...</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">5. I took Nate camping when he was about 10 and I was obviously having bladder problems. After about my 10th trip to the outdoor toilet, Nate informed me in all seriousness, "Daddy, they have this stuff on TV called Flomax..."</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">4. I had been particularly interested in a very hot female in my college World History Class. I didn't know she was behind me one day as I was walking through a doorway and my backpack caught in the door. As I held the door to free my backpack she began walking through thinking I was holding the door for her. She flirtatiously said as she walked through the door, "Oh wow, chivalry is not dead!" About that time I freed my bag and the door popped her in the face. Chivalry might not have been dead but my chances with her were!</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">3. I was sitting waiting on my pizza at Little Caesars and gas began to build up to the point of being painful. I decided to release it quietly a little bit at a time. I exploded gas instead. It echoed through the crowded room as it ricocheted against the hard plastic chair. I immediately put my phone to my ear and said "Hello dear. Which one of the kids has been messing with my ring tones?" It apparently worked.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">2. I was meeting Kim at our regular meeting place after class in a big crowded gathering room. I saw her from across the room talking to a friend, snuck up and set beside her and reached around to plant a wet one on her lips, only to discover it wasn't her. Instead it was some unsuspecting stranger with a look of shock on her face. As I stammered to explain myself I noticed another look of bewilderment from across the room followed immediately by a look of rage, as Kim observed my escapade. That took some serious explaining.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">(Drum Roll)</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">1. As a teen i had a heat rash in a very delicate location of my body. After scratching it raw through the night, in the wee hours of the morning I became desperate for relief, so I grabbed some lotion not knowing what it was and applied it, only to discover it was Bengay. I commenced to screaming and running through the house throwing my clothes off until I was completely naked. I initially ran into the kitchen to the sink and began splashing cold water on it. I then ran through my mom and dads room into their shower and found some relief. I don't think my family ever laughed so hard.</span></div></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07518588072172543204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5727311222045740880.post-84905554575531335652015-07-30T05:21:00.001-07:002015-07-30T05:56:26.590-07:00Let me tell you a story...<span style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 23px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Let me tell you a story, a story about so many, a story about you, a story about me, a story about nobody particular. It could be a story about a family member, a friend or nobody you know. It's a story about two boys or it could be about two girls. For the sake of clarity we will reference our story to two boys named Pete and RePete.</span><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 23px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 23px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Pete and RePete's Moms were very close....sisters, cousins, or friends. Pete and RePete were born in the same hospital just a few months apart. From the beginning these boys were close, separate for nothing and enjoying each other's company always. If one did it so did the other. <span style="line-height: 19.5pt;">They played together, fought together, took naps together, and even got in trouble together. </span><span style="line-height: 19.5pt;">They went on family trips together and went to the same daycare. When school started they even went to class together. </span></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 23px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="line-height: 19.5pt;"><br></span></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 23px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="line-height: 19.5pt;">Of course they were always into some sort of mischief. They chased the girls at recess, threw paper wads in class, and snuck peaks at the forbidden magazines at the general store after school. They were what many might call, 'double trouble'.</span></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 23px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="line-height: 19.5pt;"><br></span></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 23px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="line-height: 19.5pt;">As they grew older though the mischief grew to delinquency. Their choices went from bad to worse. They skipped school, snuck out late at night, and even shoplifted. They went to the parties, drank the liquor, and even smoked weed from time to time. They were good ole boys sewing wild oats, enjoying youth, living careless. </span></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 23px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="line-height: 19.5pt;"><br></span></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 23px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="line-height: 19.5pt;">As time went on though things began to change. Pete began to get into more and more trouble every day. RePete on the other hand began to reconsider the direction he was going. He began to make wise choices that put him on a path to improvement. He went to church and even found religion. Pete was forging a life of destruction while RePete forged a life with positive destination.</span></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 23px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="line-height: 19.5pt;"><br></span></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 23px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="line-height: 19.5pt;">Well, their choices pulled them apart, as often happens. While Pete continued down the path of ill repute, RePete began to study and even attended church. They remained friends for a while but eventually lost touch. Pete continued life living for the moment. RePete lived each day preparing for the days ahead.</span></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 23px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="line-height: 19.5pt;"><br></span></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 23px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="line-height: 19.5pt;">Over time things did change.....at least for RePete they did. He graduated from high school and went on to college. He got a good job, married, and had kids. His life was a good life.</span></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 23px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="line-height: 19.5pt;"><br></span></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 23px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="line-height: 19.5pt;">He didn't see Pete anymore, though he thought about him often. He wondered what had come of him, if he was married, what he was doing for a living, how much he had changed? He often thought he would love to see his old friend again.</span></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 23px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="line-height: 19.5pt;"><br></span></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 23px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="line-height: 19.5pt;">Well, they did finally meet up again, after many years and life experiences had passed. It was a sad meeting for RePete. Not much had changed for the good for Pete, but much had changed for the worse. He had continued down the path they once travelled together, reeking havoc everywhere he went, never considering the consequences of his choices.. He determined no matter the detriment, he would continue his chosen path.</span></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 23px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="line-height: 19.5pt;"><br></span></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 23px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="line-height: 19.5pt;">With those choices taking their toll, Pete was no longer the happy go lucky guy he once was. He seemed sad, distressed with life, and even resentful. He claimed life had not dealt him the same hand as RePete. His hand was one of loneliness, struggling, and hopelessness, while RePete's was of family, success, and optimism. Pete claimed life just was not fair. He never considered it's not always about the cards you are dealt, but instead how you choose to play them that determines your life's effect and result..</span></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 23px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="line-height: 19.5pt;"><br></span></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 23px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="line-height: 19.5pt;">Well, they parted their ways once again, RePete going back to his career and family and Pete returning to his life of self fulfilling ways and total dismay. RePete lived to a ripe old age, enjoying life to its fullest each and every day. Yes he had rough times as well as he did the good. He always tried to make good choices though that often resulted in the bad leading to good. </span><span style="line-height: 19.5pt;">Pete on the other hand lived life much the same throughout his life, choosing to blame God and the world for the pain he reaped from his own chosen ways of selfishness and instant gratification.</span></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 23px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="line-height: 19.5pt;"><br></span></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 23px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="line-height: 19.5pt;">The boys eventually passed from this life into the next. RePete took his last breath in his home wrapped in the arms of his wife and in the presence of his children. Pete died alone in a homeless shelter where no one was watching and nobody cared. The story doesn't end there though. Each left a legacy as well. Among RePete's lineage were doctors, lawyers, and missionaries. Pete's consisted of druggies, convicts, and hobos.</span></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 23px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="line-height: 19.5pt;"><br></span></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 23px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="line-height: 19.5pt;">I know this story may seem strange and not so totally true. I assure you though it is not so unique at all and it's truths apply to many, including you. Each of us are found in this story, at least to a degree. The choices we make today effect the lives we live and the impact we make tomorrow. So be careful with your decisions, counting the costs and considering the impact. Choose to be a blessing and not a burden. If so, you wilt depart from this world fulfilled in the end.</span></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 23px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="line-height: 19.5pt;"> </span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07518588072172543204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5727311222045740880.post-49154859728396148002015-07-23T07:06:00.001-07:002015-07-31T10:21:44.298-07:00The Chosen Family: It All Began with a Smoking Hot Car<span style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 23px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Before I started my fourth year of college (the first of five senior years) I decided that it was time to find my life mate. I just simply felt I was ready and it was time.</span><div><font color="rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.7019607843137254)" face="UICTFontTextStyleBody"><span style="font-size: 23px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></span></font><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 23px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I even made a list of qualifications. She was to be brown haired, petite, smart, Christian, preferably FWB, and willing to follow me in the ministry.</span><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgGBpvpQWmNcWC1zME4P89RqFlvi-jbxPgMZxrg-T4ZcZKK7295dsh5OYMJwbwHeXlko8tKV4gwTTMbSFktKVdzioYs6-2h2zWpKQWqJ-IqbDKZscxPpGfCheBIXBhS9-ARpxOPIbFAr1m/s640/blogger-image-1755535382.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgGBpvpQWmNcWC1zME4P89RqFlvi-jbxPgMZxrg-T4ZcZKK7295dsh5OYMJwbwHeXlko8tKV4gwTTMbSFktKVdzioYs6-2h2zWpKQWqJ-IqbDKZscxPpGfCheBIXBhS9-ARpxOPIbFAr1m/s640/blogger-image-1755535382.jpg"></a></div></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">For several months, I had been casually dating Cindy, a sweet girl that met all those pre-requisites except for maybe the last two. She was far from Free Will Baptist and I'm not sure what her thoughts were on the ministry. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div>A couple days before classes began, some of us upper class-men were helping freshmen girls move into their dorm rooms. I know....how thoughtful of us. I confess, I was checking them out! The pickings looked pretty good too, if I recall correctly.</div><div><br></div><div>Before long, something hot really did catch my eye. An old Plymouth Station Wagon pulled in sputtering and smoking. This appeared to be a distraction from what I was there for, but being the gentleman I am, I offered a hand.</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKT2mFZRtCvkkDXslVTm44IXsLmJAKA1uD18vuoB9wmBiyvnxAUR8UNV8SzqcdNl3ezNtHbnGuREMyG2JfwmsijrLqu7QeHVi7yaZMuXGCrf_z7Aj6IKP81kgzIxnK-_UQBf2zNhzMcsRZ/s640/blogger-image--1783457859.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKT2mFZRtCvkkDXslVTm44IXsLmJAKA1uD18vuoB9wmBiyvnxAUR8UNV8SzqcdNl3ezNtHbnGuREMyG2JfwmsijrLqu7QeHVi7yaZMuXGCrf_z7Aj6IKP81kgzIxnK-_UQBf2zNhzMcsRZ/s640/blogger-image--1783457859.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><br></div><div>Kim and her mother got out, rather frustrated and embarrassed. We talked a little then I introduced them to Herbert, a friend with a bit more mechanical knowledge than me.</div><div><br></div><div>I didn't see Kim again for a couple weeks I think. In the mean time, I continued seeing Cindy.</div><div><br></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I went to the BSU (Baptist Student Union) Back to School Retreat I think a couple weeks after my original encounter with Kim in the parking lot. We were in the same small group together. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">My interest was being stoked a little, but I was convinced she was too young. I mean, after all, I was like three years older than her. She definitely returned my interest though.</span></div><div><br></div><div>The topic of discussion for our small group that night was what we planned to accomplish in the upcoming school year. I shared my marital plans. I am pretty sure this scared the heebbie jeebbies out of Kim.</div><div><br></div><div>We did hit it off that night though. We went for a walk together in the woods and held hands for the first time. We did not kiss though. I still had my reservations.</div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Move forward a week or two. I had a date set up with Cindy at the BSU for a movie event one night. I had continued seeing Kim, but I was convinced I was more like a big brother to her, though she most definitely saw it differently.</span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Well, Kim evidently became tired of my playing games. She made her move. She showed up that afternoon at my house and offered to fix supper. There was no way I was turning down a home cooked meal! </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><img src="cid:95B08C0D-A31B-4193-A052-DA66914D06AA@mobilenotes.apple.com"></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">The problem was she also came prepared to attend the movie with me. This was like a Brady Bunch episode. I had two dates show up at the same place at the same time. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I really liked them both, but one of them wasn't going to be too happy with me after that night. I was horrified. I didn't want to hurt either.</span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><img src="cid:FC7707AF-FCEA-4F0A-AEBA-722588FBC22B@mobilenotes.apple.com"></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I ran to a very wise friend of mine, actually someone that had been in our small group. I shared my predicament and asked for advice. After a moment of uncontrolled laughter, she replied:</span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">"What did you just recently say you were looking for this year in small group? You asked that we pray that you find the right girl. You even described what that girl would be like. In that description you emphasized faith and ministry. Which one of these two girls did you ask God for? Which Is most likely to support you in the ministry? Which would you rather spend the rest of your life with?"</span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I do not know how much I hurt Cindy that night. I'm not sure she was even that interested in me to begin with. I do know I made the right decision though.</span></div><div><br></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I chose Kim. This would prove to be one of the wisest decisions of my life.</span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_s82E2AacSKlZK6erHJfASaU8IYXgPjSQrbvnxrB4F9QLP4Zxs2HYagq-iwErht3tItMYV0Ni5d_-tsrWAyZPxYlHYNCMqwptGIuPybdDkWyEBdHeQW9QwdQVM4GQyiuFefvlEErZWJ1G/s640/blogger-image--482793807.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_s82E2AacSKlZK6erHJfASaU8IYXgPjSQrbvnxrB4F9QLP4Zxs2HYagq-iwErht3tItMYV0Ni5d_-tsrWAyZPxYlHYNCMqwptGIuPybdDkWyEBdHeQW9QwdQVM4GQyiuFefvlEErZWJ1G/s640/blogger-image--482793807.jpg"></a></div><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Kim was the one that would pray with me on a daily basis as we encountered the daily struggles of the ministry. She would pack our bags and move with me across three states as we travelled where God led. It was Kim that would raise my six children in the nurture and admonition of the Lord. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div>There is so much more to share about our life. This was only the beginning and I'm not even sure we had kissed yet. It would happen soon though....</div></div></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07518588072172543204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5727311222045740880.post-61644369562718989832015-07-20T08:18:00.001-07:002015-07-31T10:21:44.303-07:00The Chosen Family: Emma, Our Ugandan Adoption / Part 1<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We really did figure we were done this time. I was in my mid-upper forties and Kim....well, I was beyond my childbearing years. We really did think we were getting too old for adding more. I mean, to add a newborn at this point would put me at retirement before the child completed high school. We had pretty much made a pact, no more kids.</span><div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">About this time Michael, our then 22 year old, felt led to go to Uganda and do some missionary work. I helped him schedule some services to raise needed funds, and we actually did some services together. He would tease (so we thought) as he presented something to the effect of, "I think I might bring back Mom and Dad a little African boy so he can make my little dark skinned sister feel more at home." We had no idea how prophetic his jest was.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Well, Michael raised his needed funds and flew to Uganda. Communication was limited, but he had some access to Skype. He pretty much immediately began Skyping about a 3 year old child he met in the orphanage that had stolen his heart. This little boy was named Emma and had been found abandoned on the streets of Uganda at about a year old. He had no identification, birth certificate or anything to tie him to any family. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVndEizBzjVJqFlRQKn5np6snoHe-alrEd2tBN0xGrSUtE_5rmm2TZn-i7N51Yps82e6eO7mLLgN3PLV40BIxn6U1333V6_L9zNo3BtocInT17Q-GgbuqhEvGxC1CTfQsxziEzT41Hmd-Y/s640/blogger-image--222461476.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font color="#000000"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVndEizBzjVJqFlRQKn5np6snoHe-alrEd2tBN0xGrSUtE_5rmm2TZn-i7N51Yps82e6eO7mLLgN3PLV40BIxn6U1333V6_L9zNo3BtocInT17Q-GgbuqhEvGxC1CTfQsxziEzT41Hmd-Y/s640/blogger-image--222461476.jpg"></font></a></div></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Uganda is one of the poorest nations in the world. The average Income is about $2 a day or less...for those fortunate enough to find employment. For a country with a population of thirty million, there is reported to be over ten million orphans, the highest concentration of orphaned children in the world.. In reality i believe they use that term rather loosely. Many of these children are not orphaned in the truest sense. Their parents are simply too poor to raise them, so they abandon them on the streets hoping someone with better means will come along and rescue them. Subsequently there is a high infant mortality rate. As best we could figure, even in the orphanage these children were only being fed once a day a meal of maybe beans and/or rice. The average life expectancy in Uganda is about forty years of age.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIOfZCIQGomlQIP5CJ-h6A2aA0Vrm_vM2CV_90PWD47DlIGNM1ZZEKskGBE43gzvTm3cWZELAnHMY4pBHFI9l31qBjh-l1NWbCvjblPb6rTm6BoEU4PIFVrld4YnxGbEGf0Y4uLLGoBlRR/s640/blogger-image-278036313.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font color="#000000"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIOfZCIQGomlQIP5CJ-h6A2aA0Vrm_vM2CV_90PWD47DlIGNM1ZZEKskGBE43gzvTm3cWZELAnHMY4pBHFI9l31qBjh-l1NWbCvjblPb6rTm6BoEU4PIFVrld4YnxGbEGf0Y4uLLGoBlRR/s640/blogger-image-278036313.jpg"></font></a></div></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Anyway, Emma was evidently one of these children. The police and the orphanage both did a search for family members to no avail.. Nobody knows what his first year and a half was like. He was no doubt traumatized though. He had night terrors even after we brought him home. When he was first taken in by the orphanage he was very sickly and malnourished. They nourished and cared for him to decent health though. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3Frlsr1RwCCAWb08SEH25KshXdKvF2fK5SZd0xfflHXX1LTk1HflMbl3OMKkSqp-pE77RptvSPv7weV_UaxttB-WiMQseOyYNbcCh81c8sCZ6aih_QgRCbvWfPx8L_iIvAVqwaFI-n1Aq/s640/blogger-image-617965242.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font color="#000000"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3Frlsr1RwCCAWb08SEH25KshXdKvF2fK5SZd0xfflHXX1LTk1HflMbl3OMKkSqp-pE77RptvSPv7weV_UaxttB-WiMQseOyYNbcCh81c8sCZ6aih_QgRCbvWfPx8L_iIvAVqwaFI-n1Aq/s640/blogger-image-617965242.jpg"></font></a></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Well, we ended up deciding to contact Wilfred, the orphanage director, about the possibility of adoption. I am seriously not sure what overcome us. I do not recall a revelation moment like we had with Hannah. We just did it. We seriously had no idea what we were getting into, but we just knew we should do it. The director said he was clear for adoption, so we jumped in head over heals.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I could only wish it were that simple, but it wasn't. I stand corrected in my earlier statement equaling Hannah's adoption to it in complication. We decided to adopt directly from the orphanage in order to save money and time. It did save money and maybe saved time, but I would not recommend that approach to anybody. We were totally at the hands of the nationals. They were awesome, but there was most definitely a cultural and communication gap between us that was difficult to forge at times..</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Like no other adoption, this adoption was most definitely a process. We had the legal aspect to take care of, both in the US and Uganda, eventually securing a lawyer in both locations. We had to have another home study done. We needed shots before making the trip over. That would cost several hundred dollars each by the way. We both needed passports. We also needed to purchase airfare for the trip over and back for both of us and the the child. We could not purchase airfare in advance though. The courts would eventually make a decision and give us just a few days notice before we had to be there.. Anyway, we had to figure on about $2,500 each for airfare. We figured a total expense of in the neighborhood of $15,000. That figure was most definitely conservative.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I mention the money because we were broke. We had no savings and no available credit. We knew though, if God was in it, he would provide for it. We would basically have to rely on Him and donations.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Oh, did I mention what my wife did? She went to church on a Wednesday night and requested prayer for needed funds. After the service a young lady approached her and said she had always wanted to adopt a child from Africa. It was Sarah Myers daughter of career African missionaries, Darrell and Lyla Nichols. I don't recall Kim asking my opinion, but she volunteered to bring them on board. I seriously jest. I cannot imagine this endeavor without the Myers at our side!</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We called Wilfred and shared Jacob and Sarah's story. He was excited and knew of just the child for them. Ephraim was about two with a very similar story to Emma's.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Did I mention The Myers were in the ministry as well and pretty much living from paycheck to paycheck. Now the total funds needed was about $30,000 and we had about 6-8 months to raise it. We shared our story with our church family and friends, and I plugged the need from church to church around Oklahoma for the next several months..</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">You know, God provided exactly what we needed when we needed it. It seems the money was never there early. We would see the need, sometimes panic, always pray, and then he would provide. He did that for us right up to the very last moment.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We started this whole process in about March of 2010. We were told by our Ugandan lawyer we could figure on going over to get the boys some time around the following winter. We plugged along taking care of one need at a time until about November, when we received a warning call, informing us that we would be called over for our first hearing within the next 2-3 weeks. To be quite honest with you, this pushed our panic buttons. God had provided what we needed when we needed it all along, but at this point we were broke. We needed about $15,000 and we needed it quick. If they set up our hearing and we didn't have the money to fly over, we would very likely lose our boys...</span></div></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><i style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">To be continued...</i></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07518588072172543204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5727311222045740880.post-32628706143493825132015-07-20T08:15:00.001-07:002015-07-31T10:21:44.280-07:00The Chosen Family: Emma, Our Ugandan Adoption / Part 2<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We went to church that Wednesday night with intentions of requesting prayer for funding and maybe asking for a special offering. We were hoping to maybe come away with a few hundred dollars and a small start on the $15,000. We had no idea where we were going to get the rest. Instead, I was met by a lady before church who asked me how much we needed. She wrote out a check right then for the full $15,000 in memory of her recently deceased husband. Once again, God provided exactly what we needed, when we needed it, not a second too soon, and not a second too late.</span><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I am serious when I say the rest of the journey is almost a blur, but I am going to try to chronicle it as best I can. We did receive our call and had less than a week to appear before the judge in Uganda with the boys for the initial hearing. I would love to say everything was smooth sailing from there, but not so. The first obstacle was getting a flight in time. We had all the money on one card and could not get the amount approved for the total purchase of several thousand dollars for the four tickets. We ended up having to borrow the church's card to purchase the tickets. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">It started with that then went south for the next couple days. We were trying to get arrangements settled with scheduling and paperwork in Uganda right up to the morning of our flight out. I actually ended up calling our Ugandan lawyer at home at about 2:00 AM Uganda time to straighten out some issues for us. Thank God for Isaiah's graciousness.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">On the way to the airport we got tied up in traffic and were rear-ended. We finally made it to the Tulsa airport where we caught our flight easily but were delayed in our Chicago flight going to Istanbul. This was scary as there were only two flights a week into Entebbe, Uganda. We hurried between flights and made it though. We were in flight.for a total of over 24 hours. When we finally arrived in Uganda we were extremely tired. We made it though and what we found at the airport was worth every bit of the hassle, stress, and discomfort it took to get there...</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhf1Wj92tEDSvnbBgOcyksuXQkxyMyWVcRX2GTBDYxRu3KnpoCinc6zREt48J7i_jA4yCx7Vd7BsD27KazSEIF9LAsKdJ77wGWIi0UgUyjS-qIv-cUoqXwgF-GUPxu3BfxH6NFTLjHS_lz/s640/blogger-image--544622209.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font color="#000000"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhf1Wj92tEDSvnbBgOcyksuXQkxyMyWVcRX2GTBDYxRu3KnpoCinc6zREt48J7i_jA4yCx7Vd7BsD27KazSEIF9LAsKdJ77wGWIi0UgUyjS-qIv-cUoqXwgF-GUPxu3BfxH6NFTLjHS_lz/s640/blogger-image--544622209.jpg"></font></a></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggxI0AyKuXL6H9qJeYb_kc3lP23xci6iE5MZ0lVMLNG78LkUZjGQoLzNGaW1bfbf1jAS9AQyBPbgvbpVCMh9AY1LeKHXTKzGSxotjz0GabV4iERCxixBk50I_G492NAAbNG4yk2cN3zdR2/s640/blogger-image--959256605.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font color="#000000"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggxI0AyKuXL6H9qJeYb_kc3lP23xci6iE5MZ0lVMLNG78LkUZjGQoLzNGaW1bfbf1jAS9AQyBPbgvbpVCMh9AY1LeKHXTKzGSxotjz0GabV4iERCxixBk50I_G492NAAbNG4yk2cN3zdR2/s640/blogger-image--959256605.jpg"></font></a></div></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We were met at the airport by Wilfred along with our two boys. I promise you, this was one of the most exciting moments of my life. We went through so much to get to this point. The boys were excited to see their American Mommas and Daddies, as was their little friend who came along for the ride. We struggled much over the next days with the other children vying for attention and hopes of maybe going to America as well. You just didn't know how to respond when a sweet 4-5 year old little girl stretched her arms out and says "America" or "Daddy".</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimpw1WlGpZjvfC9XKXB2uaRQqY1aGvHPm0ZRLmTx06qzqbJsVMtKAv7AEmG1rsJOGjq3TDc2N78Kukpp-4thtjj2DunwFVX_6H7LKsX_TuaZcTOkUOFtvxLvm_sIqaJTRkct3mT_7Gb_QU/s640/blogger-image--640125127.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font color="#000000"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimpw1WlGpZjvfC9XKXB2uaRQqY1aGvHPm0ZRLmTx06qzqbJsVMtKAv7AEmG1rsJOGjq3TDc2N78Kukpp-4thtjj2DunwFVX_6H7LKsX_TuaZcTOkUOFtvxLvm_sIqaJTRkct3mT_7Gb_QU/s640/blogger-image--640125127.jpg"></font></a></div></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We left the airport and ran some urgent errands that took much longer than we anticipated. We finally took the boys to eat what was probably their first and only meal of the day at a local restaurant around three in the afternoon. We were troubled as they didn't even take an order for the boys. We were told they could eat off our plates. We fed them most of what was on our plate then ordered for them as well. We were so enjoying watching them enjoy their food. We thought what we did was a good deed.....until BOTH boys vomited all over the restaurant floor. Too much of a good thing is still too much.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We then went to our hotel, spent some time there with the boys, and they were shuttled off back to their home as we got some needed rest. The next day the rat race continued. We were picked up early and taken to Wilfred's house while Jacob and Sarah went for their court hearing with Ephraim. All went well there.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">This was an interesting day for me. It was holiday time for the orphanage staff, so Wilfred had a bulk of the kids staying at his home. I believe he had in the neighborhood of 30 children staying at his house. He was going to court with Jacob and Sarah and his wife asked Kim to accompany her to the doctor with one of the children. I was left at the house all day long with thirty something children ranging from infant to eighteen years of age. They didn't soeak English and I didn't speak Luganda (native tongue), but we survived and actually communicated fairly well. Well, the older kids made good of the situation.. They would look at me while talking then giggle out loud. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZTh7YJO3p2guFo13FU7Laz8jukp3zgLKcg5VjQsvcKjKCfGS7H1-Dy-tbe3kf4DhrrKcPna6Iz3rFzM8OHyf1m74dsP5xiXIOkkJPq8vy_x823vGhyphenhyphen2r4SVsuKAmw71tc5PdXi8geuMWk/s640/blogger-image-1133305713.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font color="#000000"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZTh7YJO3p2guFo13FU7Laz8jukp3zgLKcg5VjQsvcKjKCfGS7H1-Dy-tbe3kf4DhrrKcPna6Iz3rFzM8OHyf1m74dsP5xiXIOkkJPq8vy_x823vGhyphenhyphen2r4SVsuKAmw71tc5PdXi8geuMWk/s640/blogger-image-1133305713.jpg"></font></a></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Emma was attached at my hip the entire day. I was his "American Daddy" and he made sure everyone knew it. At one point Emma grabbed me by the hand and drug me about a mile and a half down a path and showed me a well where they went to get water. He smiled from ear to ear, pointed, and said "See". It evidently was a favorite place of his and he wanted his daddy to see it. I mentioned the long walk to Wilfred later and he replied, "That is not a long walk. This is prime property. See those houses over there?" He ponted to houses on a hillside likely several miles a away. "They get their water from this same well," He said. "They are poor."</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">The next several days were a comedy of errors. We wanted so bad to get everything completed and our boys home by Christmas just two weeks away. This turned out to be an impossible order. We had our hearing with Emma on Thursday and the courts closed down Friday until after the holidays. We rushed around and had the boys medical' check ups and such as that. We had a couple scares there but all turned out ok.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Well, Jacob and I left our wives and babies in Uganda as we returned home to care for our families at home. This was extremely difficult as we did not know how long it would be and we knew we would be spending Christmas apart. Somebody had to return though and both of us had jobs and bills to pay. Ugandan culture does not value the female culture quite the same as Western culture does and this bothered us. We found comfort though in knowing that we basically would be meeting Michael in the air. We had purchased him tickets when we discovered we would be leaving the ladies behind. He was familiar with the culture and capable of caring for our families. Our plan was he would be there within twenty-four hours of the time we left. Something we learned during this adventure though was, nothing goes as planned...</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><i style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">To be continued...</i></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07518588072172543204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5727311222045740880.post-9330599853841505042015-07-20T08:08:00.001-07:002015-07-31T10:21:44.320-07:00The Chosen Family: Emma, Our Ugandan Adoption / Part 3<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Well, here's my part of the story...</span><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Jacob and I made our flights ok, with the exception of a couple close calls on short layovers. Oh, yeah, I think we did miss our flight out of Dallas to Tulsa due to customs and such. We arrived right as they were closing the door. They would hear nothing of letting us in. No biggy, but we were tired and wanted to get home to our kiddos.</span><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGK2Ue719MXxkh30XWKQRc1Uf2z0Ku4HautreUEdPdOP2OsfK_EdvXh3BQaXPI-hiBc37PTp-BAeGqUOfRT0gc8hljhz3NlPyNLjYUdRU5p9aj2HqdkxiZe59_Bsa5vA7OF_i8qA73syUh/s640/blogger-image-1560541122.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font color="#000000"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGK2Ue719MXxkh30XWKQRc1Uf2z0Ku4HautreUEdPdOP2OsfK_EdvXh3BQaXPI-hiBc37PTp-BAeGqUOfRT0gc8hljhz3NlPyNLjYUdRU5p9aj2HqdkxiZe59_Bsa5vA7OF_i8qA73syUh/s640/blogger-image-1560541122.jpg"></font></a></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> Me thinks the booking agent was a comedian!</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We finally made it home though. I had my first experience with lost baggage, but it was eventually recovered. The kids were excited to see us. Dawn and my Mom had been taking care of them. They did awesome, but my kiddos missed their daddy. Big Sis was greatly appreciated. She would continue to help out quite a bit over the next 6 weeks as we waited for Kim to return with baby brother. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg66SDaPHzD21fsBa4_7X48wrtq6u0VP0QltnSKU9OWSLvxd_4NQUrHSfus1A8wulXcMrXxd06lIGC2SDyiUlE5AN_17R_uEhS8l43V6pe-SglWj5D43-AYvIyHapstlAU7NGzahpjvZ7Zf/s640/blogger-image-1355570338.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font color="#000000"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg66SDaPHzD21fsBa4_7X48wrtq6u0VP0QltnSKU9OWSLvxd_4NQUrHSfus1A8wulXcMrXxd06lIGC2SDyiUlE5AN_17R_uEhS8l43V6pe-SglWj5D43-AYvIyHapstlAU7NGzahpjvZ7Zf/s640/blogger-image-1355570338.jpg"></font></a></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Jacob and I each strapped on our aprons and took on the task of House Dads. I promise you I realize the next few weeks weren't as sacrificing for us as they were for the ladies back in Africa. But hey, this was new territory for us too. The kids pitched in and such though. I was still working full time during the day so it really was tough. I know,"Waah!"</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuL6ONJeD865um5JVtWtVjvCYx3GnREH8yNiQOMJS_FDxFnGrkOy5g_vHj4gMN-tLSYl-vh-2MoqRRctB_PpOUxS9WDawDbISgJD_P7qjolDUqdo_IF1iyupqqxRFG3ZrFdyJCTnpH-6su/s640/blogger-image-1825558818.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font color="#000000"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuL6ONJeD865um5JVtWtVjvCYx3GnREH8yNiQOMJS_FDxFnGrkOy5g_vHj4gMN-tLSYl-vh-2MoqRRctB_PpOUxS9WDawDbISgJD_P7qjolDUqdo_IF1iyupqqxRFG3ZrFdyJCTnpH-6su/s640/blogger-image-1825558818.jpg"></font></a></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">The girls pitched in and folded clothes.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Honestly. These were some of the hardest weeks of my life. I managed the house stuff ok. Though I must admit Jacob and I both hired somebody to clean up our mess just before the ladies got home. It was hard to keep up with the kiddos too. But those weren't the big deal. My kids missed their momma and so did I. We had Christmas without them and everything. I wanted my family back together.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgswfhlUpT-6hEP9TEG5Got1MbF2B0xaD3UZAIfxFe9mvTsw-YiwiD3IMwlPbHDePKElaeDBdsNEt5jvr__MfkaxNo-hx67Q_89TYu1V_aTA9EmOfHaC03ZqkbBRgoqy_AjcdFUg84dDI8H/s640/blogger-image--1569269328.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font color="#000000"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgswfhlUpT-6hEP9TEG5Got1MbF2B0xaD3UZAIfxFe9mvTsw-YiwiD3IMwlPbHDePKElaeDBdsNEt5jvr__MfkaxNo-hx67Q_89TYu1V_aTA9EmOfHaC03ZqkbBRgoqy_AjcdFUg84dDI8H/s640/blogger-image--1569269328.jpg"></font></a></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">The kids all got scooters for Christmas but no Mama.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">The kids all got their hair fixed for Mom as we prepared for her and Emma's homecoming...</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhln82VEbHcBoYhbG4a0ISMhfULyJfeg-ceolJj-yuhUnBF59AGdmpCgTUiEiXzjchFuQqURkg0EkvD6AioOsWSZQlpc0gQ6piZ7WFvaQrhD04QKyiqc-3sJEtxBtaGcX1EQsJodfjd0UdZ/s640/blogger-image-452863283.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font color="#000000"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhln82VEbHcBoYhbG4a0ISMhfULyJfeg-ceolJj-yuhUnBF59AGdmpCgTUiEiXzjchFuQqURkg0EkvD6AioOsWSZQlpc0gQ6piZ7WFvaQrhD04QKyiqc-3sJEtxBtaGcX1EQsJodfjd0UdZ/s640/blogger-image-452863283.jpg"></font></a></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkwY7HROTrAwIFqHwZYDsunkuAEJ-aHP_xt92Ytr6F1RuS4QioW974X-IS65Zt8rV8u6rT7AydDIEGIQvvN1thfwNcXS0hi2aFjF3PXQDufEIG_g58Zkrt9jE-5IrrM788XoYMOUogKhfr/s640/blogger-image--1027772343.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font color="#000000"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkwY7HROTrAwIFqHwZYDsunkuAEJ-aHP_xt92Ytr6F1RuS4QioW974X-IS65Zt8rV8u6rT7AydDIEGIQvvN1thfwNcXS0hi2aFjF3PXQDufEIG_g58Zkrt9jE-5IrrM788XoYMOUogKhfr/s640/blogger-image--1027772343.jpg"></font></a></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBB1kV2vI3p13Hv7BKQ8A8dj6rQcVukdn0_huKuYHwRMhY995Ixk1M4s__QioTyveZqBWbx35Z3HGEJr4hxFRaUt8s5bminedk5w_YpVz6T6tB5Gjg2p4MoP6c4705abJRS2edQ-AX8kEH/s640/blogger-image--2024483826.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font color="#000000"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBB1kV2vI3p13Hv7BKQ8A8dj6rQcVukdn0_huKuYHwRMhY995Ixk1M4s__QioTyveZqBWbx35Z3HGEJr4hxFRaUt8s5bminedk5w_YpVz6T6tB5Gjg2p4MoP6c4705abJRS2edQ-AX8kEH/s640/blogger-image--2024483826.jpg"></font></a></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvhW5WlO5gw1YDgH8CggHOvtvgCPVwl0j6tcv_7XubdCUDMEobNnLXckGkh2cq9VYZDafKWz0Cp9DsAwtu-K7BVmOs58oPZ-Xpg5xS8jK_-OlRKdIZF11Dcx6HTNTZ2TDa3DDMjb2pKMBo/s640/blogger-image-689933478.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font color="#000000"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvhW5WlO5gw1YDgH8CggHOvtvgCPVwl0j6tcv_7XubdCUDMEobNnLXckGkh2cq9VYZDafKWz0Cp9DsAwtu-K7BVmOs58oPZ-Xpg5xS8jK_-OlRKdIZF11Dcx6HTNTZ2TDa3DDMjb2pKMBo/s640/blogger-image-689933478.jpg"></font></a></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Even dad did a little stylin'</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Oh well, I have bored you enough with my days as a house dad. I survived and it was good for me. Meanwhile, back in Africa...</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><i style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">To be continued...</i></div></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07518588072172543204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5727311222045740880.post-45808232727494926042015-07-20T08:03:00.001-07:002015-10-06T10:56:22.878-07:00The Chosen Family: Emma, Our Ugandan Adoption / Conclusion<div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Well, as we enjoyed the conveniences of American society, our wives were left to fend for themselves and our <strong>boys in </strong>Africa. We had intended that Michael, our adult son who was very well versed in the African culture, would be landing in Entebbe just after our departure. He would be there as male protector of our families. Women's liberation hasn't quite took hold in Uganda at this point. Well, Michael's arrival was delayed a few days and he ended up leaving a couple weeks before the girls were ready to leave, so the girls were without male protection for much of their stay. That was a trying experience in and of itself. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyPp3d9cuVNRkET7fTUEt63_3MrgLq2RAtFTQycnEcF2wZrn0uTiXwXXl58AEVn-oAqE7RFTcb4kl64xBPvaDzGnudKKH3fvNB4FDza2xR6vhZhxRyiK9-1uopJkiYxrOurchkB9L-myvB/s640/blogger-image-1171016628.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font color="#000000"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyPp3d9cuVNRkET7fTUEt63_3MrgLq2RAtFTQycnEcF2wZrn0uTiXwXXl58AEVn-oAqE7RFTcb4kl64xBPvaDzGnudKKH3fvNB4FDza2xR6vhZhxRyiK9-1uopJkiYxrOurchkB9L-myvB/s640/blogger-image-1171016628.jpg"></font></a></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br>If they went to the store or town for some reason they were reliant on either the orphanage staff or public transportation. I promise you, you haven't experienced public transportation until you have ridden a taxi in Kampala. A taxi was a van a little bigger than a min-van with a legal limit of I believe 15 passengers. If they thought they could get by with it they would cram in more. This could be a very compromising situation without male companionship, especially if she was white and did not understand their language.<br><br>Then there was the general frustration of dealing with the cultural gap. The official language of Uganda is English, but their culture is far from Western. They are good proud people in their own right, but what is good to them may not be so good to us. Honestly, that is mostly one of those things I simply must qualify with, you would just have to experience it for yourself.<br><br>They were in an accident in which they discovered their driver was unlicensed and uninsured. Then they expected Kim and Sarah to pay the penalties and insurance since he was kind of sort of in their hire. It was then that we were fortunate that Michael was there. They didn't pay it, but this victory didn't happen without hurt feelings. They were also pulled over and almost arrested on one occasion. Bribery is a common practice of coping with authority there of which they learned all too well.<br><br></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWCwrz9KGEIwlbo8-83nJMHvD8dQGMv2BbDHrf-gKdlaKggUudpL0Luy4pmj2zn2eGZtejyZfpV5tDOQ0yxtY_JteZcSKcsTvkwDvFYbRznvQTbXIeKwSpSc8hCDCS73oOAgZgGiPL6VQh/s640/blogger-image--1376918415.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font color="#000000"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWCwrz9KGEIwlbo8-83nJMHvD8dQGMv2BbDHrf-gKdlaKggUudpL0Luy4pmj2zn2eGZtejyZfpV5tDOQ0yxtY_JteZcSKcsTvkwDvFYbRznvQTbXIeKwSpSc8hCDCS73oOAgZgGiPL6VQh/s640/blogger-image--1376918415.jpg"></font></a></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br><br>The immigration process for the boys was a nightmare. Emma's medical test raised questions, which scared us parents much. That worked out but was scary for a bit. Too much went wrong to recall in detail. When it came time to come home, much like going over, phone calls were being made. in the wee hours of the night to the American embassy to get the boys cleared to come home to the US.<br><br>You know what though, as frustrating as the process was, God did provide. The ladies made it home with our boys. We remember all the negative, but the good from that trip far out weighs the negative. We are now blessed with one of the most precious seven year old boys in the world. He has mostly mastered the American language and culture. He still has a heavy accent, but loves steak and baked potatoes. He is a soccer whiz and cant wait to start basketball maybe next year. He dreams of being a police officer. Over there that has an resonance to it, but here he has learned that police officers are to be trusted.<br><br>Can you imagine the shock this boy who had hardly ever experienced temperatures of cooler than 65, when he got off the plane in subfreezing weather and saw snow on the ground for the first time ins his life?! That was what Emma exited the airport to. It was dark, cold, and late, but he would not get into the van until his new big brother Michael had thought him how to make his first snowball.<br><br>The trials have continued. We did not imagine what it would be like to bring in a fourth child (into the home), especially an older four year old, and then, other than that, had been abandoned by his mother and raised in an orphanage. The adjustments have been much for him and us, but the reward is great.</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07518588072172543204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5727311222045740880.post-30683370794697046402015-07-20T06:50:00.001-07:002015-08-03T16:54:56.319-07:00The Chosen Family: Hannah, Hannah Can<div><br></div><div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi377dqKDeAZZcpdmLN6msf1t4rMMc4oDbyg-5kBCecpee9QHq9WeVPXthgb6xqlMgOOKivTLQiC20arbDV6Vlqx2MLrCnXOnE8HVqoJqLHN6mnkiHGE7WQd-9upl8rt9GKFleqZfSVtp8Y/s640/blogger-image--1938995434.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font color="#000000"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi377dqKDeAZZcpdmLN6msf1t4rMMc4oDbyg-5kBCecpee9QHq9WeVPXthgb6xqlMgOOKivTLQiC20arbDV6Vlqx2MLrCnXOnE8HVqoJqLHN6mnkiHGE7WQd-9upl8rt9GKFleqZfSVtp8Y/s640/blogger-image--1938995434.jpg"></font></a></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Hannah and I were on one of our periodic walks and Father/Daughter times. It had not been long since I had been diagnosed with Parkinson's. Of course she was wearing her runner prosthetics. We were meandering over the bridge between our house and town. I was holding her hand as always to keep her from falling on the uneven payment. Anymore though, I think she was holding me up as much or more than I was her. For whatever reason we were talking about heaven this particular father-daughter time. I pointed out, "You know, Princess, in heaven we won't be like this. We will both be whole." She questioned me, "What do you mean by whole, Daddy." I choked back the tears and answered, "I won't be so clumsy with Parkinson's anymore and you will have legs." She stopped and pondered a moment, then replied very thoughtfully, "You know, Daddy, I think I am pretty whole just the way I am."</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimqu3Uq7ZAku-PBeQ3PRaoJfVCYwiRjxAr1gtc8VgUtE0ks920Je82xG2gjAzCzehHutMszz8_4eazLmJ3zfhrymu7LVD6ngIVWYXcsb5RSNjxmlxiJHf23eKb3Kl7JaTXyo2kl6E975S-/s640/blogger-image-316001995.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font color="#000000"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimqu3Uq7ZAku-PBeQ3PRaoJfVCYwiRjxAr1gtc8VgUtE0ks920Je82xG2gjAzCzehHutMszz8_4eazLmJ3zfhrymu7LVD6ngIVWYXcsb5RSNjxmlxiJHf23eKb3Kl7JaTXyo2kl6E975S-/s640/blogger-image-316001995.jpg"></font></a></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">That is the kind of attitude she has had from day one. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We learned of Hannah while I was attending an Adopt US Kids Summit in Washington DC. I was in a crowded hotel lobby with over 1000 attendees scarfing down a standup sack lunch around little round tables. One lady moved over and gave me the one spot apparently available. She was a social worker from a local adoption agency. She shared Hannah's story with me and how desperate they were to find a placement for her. They primarily placed healthy white babies and some healthy minority children, but they had no prospects for a child like Hannah. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Hannah's biological mother was 14 when Hannah was born. She had come to this agency for help pretty much at the last minute. They agreed to find a home for her child, but had second thoughts after she was born. She was born without the Tibia (shin bone) in both legs, six fingers on one hand and no thumb on either, and both elbows fused. She needed to be placed in a home that would have access to the needed medical care and she needed to be placed fast. The home needed to be already pretty much adoption ready.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvGVofolwjMGViPAUdjQ96d59674QEjZDglFc20H1d8N0VbOom_FoAFc4BrOFukl-SjZgrtL9RjGCOd92lKjd2visvREorKRUMQWwXcZGcjoapk1X3MxwlkzzW8PmWVUudozETwQNgrhIB/s640/blogger-image-1326202732.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font color="#000000"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvGVofolwjMGViPAUdjQ96d59674QEjZDglFc20H1d8N0VbOom_FoAFc4BrOFukl-SjZgrtL9RjGCOd92lKjd2visvREorKRUMQWwXcZGcjoapk1X3MxwlkzzW8PmWVUudozETwQNgrhIB/s640/blogger-image-1326202732.jpg"></font></a></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I began making calls to people who had expressed interest in adoption as I traveled the state. None either met the criteria or had the desire for a child with such issues. I have discovered that most people don't want "damaged goods". They more than not want only the healthiest, happiest, and prettiest babies. In so many ways Hannah met that criteria. Oh well, their loss. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">After I returned home from the summit, Kim and I continued praying for and trying to find a home for this precious child. Remember, our family was complete now....so we thought. We had prayed for four children, two boys and two girls, and that's what we had been given. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">After several attempts at finding her a home we began to realize it was to no avail. It was after one of these failed attempts that i approached Kim in the kitchen as she was preparing a meal and I asked her, "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" She responded with tears in her eyes, "I fear so."</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We made the call and began the process. Like Lexi, this was an intrastate adoption, but it was also a private adoption, so we had to deal with two states and a private agency. It was twice the paper work as well as the expense. The agency waived its normal fees but we were responsible for paying the foster care expenses as well as the court costs and such. Maryland promised us a $13,000 grant to reimburse our costs. Due to a legislation change though we never received the grant. God provided though....through the graciousness of family and friends.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAGFy2ay2UhWqT18ncCNc2bi7qUONJeWq9xvaT9unH_hhoEuq7TWA-eV-NcESO6z2rum-0q_TEwjWLkpH8xjlMITzKt-d2wSLrMUuI0e4yjNWCqengY1dgNl7li0Ija-u7RmFcDzBukd9P/s640/blogger-image--7840225.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font color="#000000"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAGFy2ay2UhWqT18ncCNc2bi7qUONJeWq9xvaT9unH_hhoEuq7TWA-eV-NcESO6z2rum-0q_TEwjWLkpH8xjlMITzKt-d2wSLrMUuI0e4yjNWCqengY1dgNl7li0Ija-u7RmFcDzBukd9P/s640/blogger-image--7840225.jpg"></font></a></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We went over as a family to see and get to know her at about 6 weeks. It was about 3 months later when Kim flew back by herself, spent a week with her in her foster home and brought her home. In retrospect, this was most definitely the most complicated adoption. Kim may disagree, but I would say it even surpassed the international adoption we went through later. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I was arguing once with the state of Maryland over the promised grant. I was informed that nobody was forcing us to go through with the adoption. To be honest with you, I have spent more than $13,000 on a new car or two. If you have ever met Hannah you will know we got a pretty good deal for the dollar. She is most definitely a winner.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWBIfUSZsOxD3CniqJoDoIluYIa2DOFkOrECZn4YW_QFKUTjhNfz73Xlo_uNsfQc0ieEqrDxFiVt1lG0CKnbyIFu5RaSPDzNX-j2M3VN42LfbYar5Uzd4gaccOQGZ2XwOAWw-TDrZHJfZb/s640/blogger-image--1411906426.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font color="#000000"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWBIfUSZsOxD3CniqJoDoIluYIa2DOFkOrECZn4YW_QFKUTjhNfz73Xlo_uNsfQc0ieEqrDxFiVt1lG0CKnbyIFu5RaSPDzNX-j2M3VN42LfbYar5Uzd4gaccOQGZ2XwOAWw-TDrZHJfZb/s640/blogger-image--1411906426.jpg"></font></a></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I will elaborate on her surgeries and accomplishments likely in subsequent blogs. Let me brag a little here though. She had her amputation at about nine months, was walking on her nubs by the age of eighteen months. She also had several reconstructive surgeries on her hands. Hannah was running competitively at the Endeavor Games in Edmond, OK by the time she was four years old. The past two years she has qualified for the National Junior Disability Championships and medaled there. At the time of this writing she holds the National Record in the 100, 200, and 400 meter sprints. You know what, come to think about it, she is pretty whole just the way she is...</span></div></div><div><br></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07518588072172543204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5727311222045740880.post-85789076719206899342015-07-20T04:48:00.001-07:002015-07-31T10:21:44.311-07:00The Chosen Family: Nathaniel and Alexis, The Forgotten Prayer<div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Not too long after we brought Alexis home, Kim was cleaning out her purse and found a scribbled note that read:</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><i style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Boy, blonde hair, blue eyes. </i></div><div><i style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Girl, brown hair, brown eyes.</i></div><div><i style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">By Christmas 2000. </i></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">It took her a moment to recollect what it was about. Then she remembered. Several years before I was preaching on prayer. I instructed everybody to write a prayer request down on a piece of paper and basically give it to God. Save the piece of paper and give God the praise when the prayer was answered.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">She had forgotten all about that piece of paper and I had long forgotten that sermon, but God had not forgotten the prayer. Nathaniel Shane Hewett was born on April 1, 1999 and Alexis Michaela Ranae Hewett was born on June 2, 2000.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW92AjIC1f722vjg_5ZB5KvJJDquTDmD6TtI-ewkNNrW0hOvrENsheQh1EjAqAWDZPmzoKOgfxEqq8binTIIL3s0YHJTJIXWqZBk7irC78O6JEIOL48Xm15vsGyujLhv0Ks8st04rCxhSv/s640/blogger-image--2128450052.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font color="#000000"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW92AjIC1f722vjg_5ZB5KvJJDquTDmD6TtI-ewkNNrW0hOvrENsheQh1EjAqAWDZPmzoKOgfxEqq8binTIIL3s0YHJTJIXWqZBk7irC78O6JEIOL48Xm15vsGyujLhv0Ks8st04rCxhSv/s640/blogger-image--2128450052.jpg"></font></a></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqh_snePFjjmrlEoWG891d05SEyHFbyesojxKtf2A256d7F6kbm7zo1RSEk6n3X-ErF76QY5f53Zs-o30Hpg3krOr7mszmLEZ0LA5Bu5FFFnxgpYO5doJReMLmyJs3bqFF-6Tyo7Vxw9Di/s640/blogger-image--1536333083.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font color="#000000"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqh_snePFjjmrlEoWG891d05SEyHFbyesojxKtf2A256d7F6kbm7zo1RSEk6n3X-ErF76QY5f53Zs-o30Hpg3krOr7mszmLEZ0LA5Bu5FFFnxgpYO5doJReMLmyJs3bqFF-6Tyo7Vxw9Di/s640/blogger-image--1536333083.jpg"></font></a></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">There were several lessons learned from this experience. One, God remembers even our forgotten prayers. Two, my wife does listen when I preach. And three, those two previous children were no doubt a gift from God.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9GfLhG6mz5z_Qnh3QfwwLEAtZ-IbCgty8GkQPwUhQ0Ib5dnvKgTztPui2ijSZclMFAeiQQfnFHTr_VZog8_5gKqGzu56npEOSHRDfJICeuzfgBCQzpoA6g_csWHWzgAkTFs_ng26J8Cka/s640/blogger-image-952575465.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font color="#000000"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9GfLhG6mz5z_Qnh3QfwwLEAtZ-IbCgty8GkQPwUhQ0Ib5dnvKgTztPui2ijSZclMFAeiQQfnFHTr_VZog8_5gKqGzu56npEOSHRDfJICeuzfgBCQzpoA6g_csWHWzgAkTFs_ng26J8Cka/s640/blogger-image-952575465.jpg"></font></a></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Honestly, this prayer was no new prayer. We had said we were having four children, two boys and two girls, when were engaged and newlyweds. We had prayed over this long before it came to pass. We had no idea the path we would take to get there, nor how long that path would be. Here we were though. We had our four children. God had been so good to us. Our family was complete....so we thought...</span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07518588072172543204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5727311222045740880.post-86012122303948127952015-07-20T04:45:00.001-07:002015-10-05T07:46:12.036-07:00The Chosen Family: Alexis, Our E-Babe<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Nathaniel was two years old when we moved to Tahlequah where we now live. Dawn and Michael were both teenagers. To be honest with you, I was content with the three we had. We began doing foster care again and that seemed enough for me. Not so much for Kim. She wanted that little girl I had promised her!</span><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I wasn't all that supportive, but she figured I didn't need to be. Whereas in times past you went to adoption parties and such to check out the kids, now you could do it online and had the pickings of the entire country through such avenues as Adopt US Kids. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Kim looked at several children, but she kept coming back to one particular child who happened to share her Daddy's birthdate. That child was Alexis, a special needs child in Portland, Oregon.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF8SCj9gzQMzyIBolaZP2CTizcRVugmYcynBgIRzu6tlqd9KQZw1X2ix99PGVpOf8nlz4E9kni947C9ByIxDxfwMlf_LghFyVxEozGwQWsJ78Whd82NXtNkY5fIlaUZW8jOjvsJFCQnDdy/s640/blogger-image-535035109.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font color="#000000"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF8SCj9gzQMzyIBolaZP2CTizcRVugmYcynBgIRzu6tlqd9KQZw1X2ix99PGVpOf8nlz4E9kni947C9ByIxDxfwMlf_LghFyVxEozGwQWsJ78Whd82NXtNkY5fIlaUZW8jOjvsJFCQnDdy/s640/blogger-image-535035109.jpg"></font></a></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Alexis was 2 1/2 years old when we got to know her. She had been through one failed adoption, but had been with the same foster family since birth. She was removed from her biological mother immediately following delivery, as she tested positive for meth. Alexis was a meth baby. At 2 1/2 she was nonverbal and barely walking and would not be potty trained until 6-7 years of age. She was born with abnormalities in her hands and arms, as well as a cauliflower ear and profound hearing loss in both ears. For whatever reason though, Kim fell head over heals in love with her simply by looking at her picture and bio on the Internet.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We contacted the state of Oregon and let them know we were interested. We were one of three families they were considering. It was nerve racking as we awaited their decision, but we finally did get their call after several weeks. By the way, by this time Daddy was fully on board and she would eventually become a major Daddy's girl.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">The first time we met Alexis was when we drove up the driveway to her foster home in our rental car just after we got off the plane. As we pulled into the driveway, she stood on the deck of her home with her foster mom smiling from ear to ear. Remember, she was nonverbal and had only made indistinguishable sounds to this point. Her first discernible word in her life was as Kim stepped out of the car and began walking up the driveway. Alexis reached out her hands and said very distinctly, "Ma". She melted our hearts!</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8YjEaHsiouISYn0RMA_Cs8eCmmhrL_86xWULBQIkD9KRFUPAhY-aqhq3Hggcry3k-uSJGof5GQQ4VKkaoHBcckMJPXHvIKqJpKBBbmTkktaDk8G6Pcg7DRWT3rQIzjRib1TBSvfVXYa6n/s640/blogger-image-670466561.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font color="#000000"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8YjEaHsiouISYn0RMA_Cs8eCmmhrL_86xWULBQIkD9KRFUPAhY-aqhq3Hggcry3k-uSJGof5GQQ4VKkaoHBcckMJPXHvIKqJpKBBbmTkktaDk8G6Pcg7DRWT3rQIzjRib1TBSvfVXYa6n/s640/blogger-image-670466561.jpg"></font></a></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We spent a week getting to know Alexis in Portland then returned home with her as ours. She has had much to overcome, but has steadily progressed forward from the first moment we met her. She has had hand surgery, several ear surgeries, and eye surgery. She has participated in physical, occupational, and speech therapy. She has struggled against social and physical anxiety. But she continues to triumph through it all.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">She is a very typical autistic child, though we are certain her autistic symptoms are a direct result of drugs in her system at birth. She has overcome much though. She is walking and running with some limitations, and even rides a bike. Though her comprehension lacks, she reads pretty much at age level. She still has emotional outbursts, but not near as many as she did at 2 1/2 years of age. She can be sorely bashful and yet talk your ears off at the same time. She obsesses over some of the strangest things, yet can remember even the smallest details years down the road.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Alexis is often overshadowed by her younger more social standout sister. Everybody is amazed at Hannah's determination and strength to overcome, as well she is an amazing girl. Alexis too is an overcomer though. When we first brought her home, she could not even look at you in the eyes. She would have frequent meltdowns in crowds and strange situations. She still struggles with crowds, but has performed frequently with her church's children's choir. She also enjoys playing with her siblings and their friends. She sits through church as well without incident.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOnfbiRDM4V2OKnFptZFWqJRzg4hpSnq6oUI76_6SjtKBZgemSDcj-tqtku6VtCsmjx3YhjsM5qa72TnKdD3PuvxYLbgphLZZGO_jIE5Ahyw33ao2FLHA3tYIa71__BJWanFaptR-U25Ip/s640/blogger-image--1702040939.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font color="#000000"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOnfbiRDM4V2OKnFptZFWqJRzg4hpSnq6oUI76_6SjtKBZgemSDcj-tqtku6VtCsmjx3YhjsM5qa72TnKdD3PuvxYLbgphLZZGO_jIE5Ahyw33ao2FLHA3tYIa71__BJWanFaptR-U25Ip/s640/blogger-image--1702040939.jpg"></font></a></div></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Alexis is most definitely an overcomer. She continues to grow and develop every day. We always worry, is she going to stop maturing at some point? But at this point she continues to mature a little more each day. She has a tremendous heart too. She loves to pray and make cards for those who are sick and in crisis. I don't know how much further she will develop, but this one thing I know, even if she were not to develop even a day beyond where she is, she will always be a special young lady who is sure to touch your heart....if you give her a chance...</span></div><div style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07518588072172543204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5727311222045740880.post-42122795733193113742015-07-20T04:40:00.001-07:002015-07-31T10:21:44.290-07:00The Chosen Family: Nathaniel, Our Little Man<div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">As you recall, our dream was for a somewhat large family. We were hoping for a balance of two boys and two girls just like mine growing up. Well, after adopting Michael, several years transpired before we had the opportunity to adopt again. We had discussed it, but just were not given the opportunity. We actually started the process toward doing foster care to adopt at one time, but the church I was pastoring in Southeastern Arkansas would not allow us to do foster care in the parsonage, due to prejudice within the congregation (whole other story).</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2itnJJl-6zmvSmr6kQdGMpWtgnmhNYsGZ76CAVkcC_0j62dDzLDa0Wp3lVymF9aTzFGFxO04zFaTaGvZ7eRs4xbSIYgNeUdgxr9crDXH-FOceUC9qvsX2gcj8pyBGzu4pLdTWF6eQ8qcb/s640/blogger-image--1762651194.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font color="#000000"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2itnJJl-6zmvSmr6kQdGMpWtgnmhNYsGZ76CAVkcC_0j62dDzLDa0Wp3lVymF9aTzFGFxO04zFaTaGvZ7eRs4xbSIYgNeUdgxr9crDXH-FOceUC9qvsX2gcj8pyBGzu4pLdTWF6eQ8qcb/s640/blogger-image--1762651194.jpg"></font></a></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Well, we didn't hang around that church long before we packed our bags and moved to Guymon, OK. The church there was very open to the idea of foster care, so we began the process again, I am guessing Michael was about 12 and Dawn was about 14 when we completed PRIDE training for foster care. We cared for one baby for several weeks before we learned of Nathaniel.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Nathaniel was about 10 months old when he came into our lives. He was born into foster care. His mother was raped at I think at about 15 years of age and was in foster care for several months before giving birth to him. He spent the first few months of his life with her then was placed in a seperate placement. All indications were she was a very caring person. She just couldn't deal with the responsibility and emotional trauma of raising him conspidering the circumstances surrounding his conception and birth.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDa6BzCrxuyY3JV34oeDSvrfV3adaR46JAXSlDVFNNi-Q5GrQwztPUK661EgxWN62WKW6SpZOlF7s9SzUSHxmgwhQ0hgtWZfwMPjPOTLSOBQzj-HuoAvwDUhvZiq6TifOLtCByxse0P7f3/s640/blogger-image--1341002774.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font color="#000000"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDa6BzCrxuyY3JV34oeDSvrfV3adaR46JAXSlDVFNNi-Q5GrQwztPUK661EgxWN62WKW6SpZOlF7s9SzUSHxmgwhQ0hgtWZfwMPjPOTLSOBQzj-HuoAvwDUhvZiq6TifOLtCByxse0P7f3/s640/blogger-image--1341002774.jpg"></font></a></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We had a very supportive case worker who had basically hand picked us and Nathaniel for each other. It was a fairly traumatic experience when we first met him. He was just ten months old but weighed close to thirty pounds. He was a blank page emotionally. His only movement or expression was when he seemingly got excited he clapped his feet together. We loved him at first sight but it was scary. We had no idea how he would develope.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTLEBBN-DBtKiaVttBOWqEWNT0zn7TVajB225OjRH_c1m3Q4lHLz8qeD-mfUrEeLrnz0WXbBHEpIvwpZPqNaxi0UIHs2GoK3gD1CkYOLwuQWb5SV7n2Dea14r8dMfCxbJtF4jZQ_ftx4wS/s640/blogger-image--1218386165.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font color="#000000"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTLEBBN-DBtKiaVttBOWqEWNT0zn7TVajB225OjRH_c1m3Q4lHLz8qeD-mfUrEeLrnz0WXbBHEpIvwpZPqNaxi0UIHs2GoK3gD1CkYOLwuQWb5SV7n2Dea14r8dMfCxbJtF4jZQ_ftx4wS/s640/blogger-image--1218386165.jpg"></font></a></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Of course it was a process to make him ours, but everything moved fairly quickly. We had already been approved as foster parents so there was not a lot to do there. His mother had already signed her rights away and his bio father of course was not even given the option, as he was in prison.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">The Guymon Church was awesome! They embraced him like he was their own. Brother Red, our song leader, would sit in front of him at church and harass him, trying to get a response. Honestly it didn't take long until he get him to respond. Nathaniel would see him and smile from ear to ear. I followed Red's lead and would have screaming contests with him. He got pretty good at it. Mom has not forgiven me for that one. One of the Deacons, Bill Dawes, insisted on shaking his hand every time he saw him. We were at the church for about three years after Nate came into our lives, before we moved on. By the time he was two or three he was insisting on shaking hands with everybody in the congregation before church started. He became to be known as the little man. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR6izfqQ5WY1-cZPQYYOZ6OOHADQh7ThPjT1g-7UrPwCYV82A92IbYqS3ElpRA9zAZdSBCvIwPJnwoH4JEwE4gDivo-fcsMJlV07Fu4jVMyO4x3-YKO7T1nztxy7juDrjT8PyydqS-0K2Q/s640/blogger-image-129666961.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font color="#000000"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR6izfqQ5WY1-cZPQYYOZ6OOHADQh7ThPjT1g-7UrPwCYV82A92IbYqS3ElpRA9zAZdSBCvIwPJnwoH4JEwE4gDivo-fcsMJlV07Fu4jVMyO4x3-YKO7T1nztxy7juDrjT8PyydqS-0K2Q/s640/blogger-image-129666961.jpg"></font></a></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">He still meets that criteria today at 14. He has developed normally. He has some academic issues and some minor issues with his motor skills. He plays basketball though and refs soccer, and is learning to play the guitar. He likes to hang out with his dad when he does his disaster relief ministry and such. He is also a regular and dependable usher on our church of around 300. He is known for his politeness by preachers and Christians throughout the state of Oklahoma. And he's still a hand shaker. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcH0HIG0BGUl9432C-VNq1rIX2PNb2Gwb_gYP9SZeOjTRK_x-zhotePRQPLPUPNJQ9Ur_nytpbhG3e8ewHuERznAXA9lgo74DN5FOc358y064575Z7t35LHS4Ze9heSonPCGhtVd4WjS68/s640/blogger-image-60395115.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font color="#000000"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcH0HIG0BGUl9432C-VNq1rIX2PNb2Gwb_gYP9SZeOjTRK_x-zhotePRQPLPUPNJQ9Ur_nytpbhG3e8ewHuERznAXA9lgo74DN5FOc358y064575Z7t35LHS4Ze9heSonPCGhtVd4WjS68/s640/blogger-image-60395115.jpg"></font></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I'm not sure where Nate is going in life. It probably won't require a great amount of academic prowess, but I am sure of this, He will touch lives everywhere he goes. By the way, I still think of him as my little man....even though he is now about 5'8" and growing every day...</span></div><div class="separator" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; clear: both;"><br></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07518588072172543204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5727311222045740880.post-80794031681336611462015-07-20T04:36:00.001-07:002015-07-31T10:21:44.307-07:00The Chosen Ones: Michael, It Was All Aunt Shirley's Fault<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We had always said we wanted a big family. Four children seemed like a good number....two boys and two girls, just like my family growing up. We had talked about adoption, but never seriously until after Dawn was born. The doctors really gave us no other option. That was ok to us. We were kind of excited about "choosing" a child. We didn't expect to be making that choice so soon though...<br></span><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpdwZEeZXs7LJMkvxzxoLri-W0xUhFfcWmdhTPkt7-VpiIM-vsPOGrHP1CPQpCLMpsXbp5pH0eJyjDcddnUUa_gTAE291ccQuMl9NPGI6JWVDD0fNJ4rRHw4SKl9P1aIYzhN2MYYg5RSvy/s640/blogger-image--1952454694.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font color="#000000"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpdwZEeZXs7LJMkvxzxoLri-W0xUhFfcWmdhTPkt7-VpiIM-vsPOGrHP1CPQpCLMpsXbp5pH0eJyjDcddnUUa_gTAE291ccQuMl9NPGI6JWVDD0fNJ4rRHw4SKl9P1aIYzhN2MYYg5RSvy/s640/blogger-image--1952454694.jpg"></font></a></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">The call came just eighteen months after Dawn was born. It was Kim's Aunt Shirley. She knew of a single Mom carrying a little girl that needed placement for her child quickly. The baby was due in just two weeks. The mom was already involved in custody issues over her one year old. Abortion had been advised, yet she had decided to give the child a chance at life. As the due date approached, she knew she could not give the child the care it deserved, so she began searching fur prospective families. She was determined to ave her baby outside DHS involvement..<br><br>I'm not sure how Aunt Shirley came to hear of the situation. I am guessing she had received a call asking if she was interested. Her and Uncle Loyd have adopted I believe eight children in their life time. They have been a tremendous influence on our lives. When we are particularly put out with one of the children or simply put out, our signature phrase is, "It's all Aunt Shirley's fault!"<br></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGIbx3Oel85ktRMcPlyWRlyJsoLPQIIF_QjpGMU_T99gyl00rHXyukD2PRyLocCfn-1x47u96ZtwWcKtXAa1XbM-A7dfiaBvEmlj-cBftnB02ETIQKtSVB4iBUNqHG5sja3-6PTIkWEr_I/s640/blogger-image--1327581627.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font color="#000000"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGIbx3Oel85ktRMcPlyWRlyJsoLPQIIF_QjpGMU_T99gyl00rHXyukD2PRyLocCfn-1x47u96ZtwWcKtXAa1XbM-A7dfiaBvEmlj-cBftnB02ETIQKtSVB4iBUNqHG5sja3-6PTIkWEr_I/s640/blogger-image--1327581627.jpg"></font></a></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br>Anyway, we had to make a decision and make it fast. Honestly, we really weren't' ready. We were broke and there would be much expense involved....court costs, lawyer fee, home study, and the medical costs for the mom and child. I was working a regular full time job now and had insurance, but the likelihood of it covering an adoption seemed rather unlikely. We had also only been married a few years. I wasn't even finished with school so we were still living in school housing. Our home was a three room drafty concrete block shell of an apartment, probably about 300-400 square feet in size.<br><br></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkgQRZyRRD3vojE8mz0PF39ZypLFz_4-iWwk_3VmQ3LPzo7SKZUugGAD_W9GIQlEItHma2AJbpsOEYuua1GO9dpEckanMDnL00547QK3CV5g2EhRbMFCTexgz9YNxRMg93H9aL7rcb7HjL/s640/blogger-image--139188403.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font color="#000000"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkgQRZyRRD3vojE8mz0PF39ZypLFz_4-iWwk_3VmQ3LPzo7SKZUugGAD_W9GIQlEItHma2AJbpsOEYuua1GO9dpEckanMDnL00547QK3CV5g2EhRbMFCTexgz9YNxRMg93H9aL7rcb7HjL/s640/blogger-image--139188403.jpg"></font></a></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br><br>Well, it's pretty obvious what our decision was. We went through the facade of praying over it for a few hours and seeking counsel from our friends and family, then called back a little later and told Aunt Shirley we would take her. She of course wasn't surprised. I am sure she knew we weren't ready as well, but I recall her saying somewhere in the process, "Just remember, these opportunities don't come often, maybe once in a lifetime at best."<br><br>Once again we were excited and anxious. We had just two weeks to prepare for our new baby girl. We cleared out a spot in Dawns closet and put a crib in it for the baby. The room itself was no bigger that a utility room. We were relieved clothing was not an issue. If the baby wasn't too big, she could wear hand me downs from Dawn. We weren't rich but we had it all planned out. We even had her name picked out....Emily Renee.<br><br></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGdjyrqLkJk5-Kx_RFAwA8G6ohY1BX7PHdovWc6obEkrewzkZioMOO7KJtrmz9rVUPccyM0fH_lHj8_IBVunbYbsA5QAss1feIN9zwD2uS9m6nedtOTN9HS7eUzoHU9VUUPz6_szmxDQ7K/s640/blogger-image--972236480.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font color="#000000"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGdjyrqLkJk5-Kx_RFAwA8G6ohY1BX7PHdovWc6obEkrewzkZioMOO7KJtrmz9rVUPccyM0fH_lHj8_IBVunbYbsA5QAss1feIN9zwD2uS9m6nedtOTN9HS7eUzoHU9VUUPz6_szmxDQ7K/s640/blogger-image--972236480.jpg"></font></a></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br><br>The next couple weeks weren't without obstacles either. We had the financial aspect to concern ourselves with. All together we were looking at about $10000 for medical and legal fees. I wasn't making much more money than I did that first year either. This was also an extremely high risk adoption. The mother did have second thoughts even up until a few weeks after the baby was born. We were ignorant to the risks though, excited about our baby, and looking forward to bringing her home. As it turned out, the costs were not near the obstacle we feared. My lawyer cousin represented us, we were not required to have a home study (I know, strange), and my insurance covered the bio mom's expenses as well as the baby. Our judge was very adoption friendly as well. God was most definitely in control.<br><br>Those two weeks seemed like an eternity. But the day finally came. It was 6:14 in the morning, December 20, 1987. The phone awakened us. We raced into the living room and Kim answered and of course it was Aunt Shirley. Watching Kim's.face during the call, she became extremely excited, then shocked. I had no idea what was going on, then she began to laugh. She looked at me and said, "John, I think we are going to have to come up with a different name..!" I was shocked now. First thing that came to my mind was, we don't have room for one child, let alone two. Then she added, "Unless your comfortable naming a boy Emily!?" </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsK-9Trogg_OCmWrkAgLH305_XmexFPA2GPgFaueN5_JY0YvWAhRDmjUdkCSZCvKzeeTTsFqXj3JzXmLSaOJr8ykuKvOGuMQHG37unQaZJsAoTwkkhF2ESUAcW1-tCicgOxJ3ul-MGjhGM/s640/blogger-image-206125027.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font color="#000000"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsK-9Trogg_OCmWrkAgLH305_XmexFPA2GPgFaueN5_JY0YvWAhRDmjUdkCSZCvKzeeTTsFqXj3JzXmLSaOJr8ykuKvOGuMQHG37unQaZJsAoTwkkhF2ESUAcW1-tCicgOxJ3ul-MGjhGM/s640/blogger-image-206125027.jpg"></font></a></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I was ecstatic! I mean I would have been ok with another girl, but hey, we already had one of those! I let out a yelp that even the neighbors two blocks over could here. Actually I'm not too sure which I was more excited about, having a boy, or the clarification it wasn't twins. We made him a junior and call him by his middle name, Michael.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Well, we got dressed immediately and headed off on the three hour trip to the hospital he was born in (Washington Regional, Fayetteville, AR). We rushed in to see him. We went immediately to view him in the nursery. He was a beautiful big round chubby kid with a head full of coal black hair. We then went to the nurses station and asked to see him. For whatever reason that didn't fly. Even though the adoption had been finalized (sort of) and and our name was on the crib, they said we had no legal right to see the child. I might point out they ended up having the sheriff talk to us about it.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYml3wCqguYFi97jTMHR9q5q3AMj-uGHrkv0wcp5I-Vdw3WmBKQzdmhzURzfQGr0zH09H1_hu6KUhLhwXuiDxE0e0r_L3XJ0BKpZQrEGeVVJc8WL92UYywNB_ySUotElzL3KzLWU7FDB9h/s640/blogger-image--1818451652.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font color="#000000"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYml3wCqguYFi97jTMHR9q5q3AMj-uGHrkv0wcp5I-Vdw3WmBKQzdmhzURzfQGr0zH09H1_hu6KUhLhwXuiDxE0e0r_L3XJ0BKpZQrEGeVVJc8WL92UYywNB_ySUotElzL3KzLWU7FDB9h/s640/blogger-image--1818451652.jpg"></font></a></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We didn't get to hold him that day, but we did get to see him. We went back two days later and picked him up. He was ours! There were some legalities we had to take care of. Things even got scary for a short bit as the mom vacillated. All in all, things went pretty well though, considering we had no idea what we were doing, our lawyer had never handled an adoption before, and it was such a high risk adoption. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">There is so much more to share about Michael. I am sure you will read future blogs about him. He was definitely a difficult child. He was extremely strong willed, independent, and rebellious. He always had an air about him though. He was adored by just about everybody he came in contact with and pretty much still is. He led us to multiple trips to ER, the principals office, and even the police station. Within one month during his second year at Bible College he was voted student body president and then kicked off campus for rule violations. </span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">That was Michael though....and he has turned out ok I promise. He did complete his bible college education. He has answered the call to the ministry and is currently serving as an area manager for Young Life in the Dallas area. He is happily married and they are hoping to have a houseful of kids soon. He has spent much time on the mission field, leading other groups as well as serving on his own. It was through one of his trips to Africa we were connected with Emma, who would become our fifth adoption (another story).</span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFLddcDz7UpBcio0OnsHAbnwNWn2cXrDPQeWKO2njglWp7y8Dcu5YyUX_d-dlXiAez86sNQq3X3hrMEgcNB-IE1fc4dvHEgKqTbTcAHMvKh8KUoMuARJMk8fYDx3OIRD3xn4duoCpr3hbh/s640/blogger-image--1047478811.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font color="#000000"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFLddcDz7UpBcio0OnsHAbnwNWn2cXrDPQeWKO2njglWp7y8Dcu5YyUX_d-dlXiAez86sNQq3X3hrMEgcNB-IE1fc4dvHEgKqTbTcAHMvKh8KUoMuARJMk8fYDx3OIRD3xn4duoCpr3hbh/s640/blogger-image--1047478811.jpg"></font></a></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">It is amazing how God works these things out. We could very well have said no to that phone call. We didn't have money, time, or maturity. We could have given up very early, but we didn't. People often tell us what a blessing we are to these children. I promise you, Michael, as well as his sibblings, has been and continues to be a blessing to us and those around them...</span></div><div><br></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07518588072172543204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5727311222045740880.post-41587896510980696352015-07-20T04:29:00.001-07:002015-07-31T10:21:44.285-07:00The Chosen Family - Dawn, The Child that Wasn't Supposed to Be<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Crisis is the breeding ground for miracles and praise. We had only been married for less than six months when we encountered the beginning of what would be our first great challenge as a married couple. </span><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Kim was pregnant. We were broke and had no insurance. I was a fulltime student, interim pastor at a small rural church, and worked part time as a delivery driver for Domino's Pizza. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpHTmbL5ci_Ity8G38axjeyNwujqGXse3wYIeADLoLDVrGE0bhqGLXgWfhlR6FeNFc9W58n14UUOz93mDRJ6onumzQZ3XGGFluRLL-ayWlPsD5DHZr94ykeR1GrWb7AaCEP-7YkdhSZH3v/s640/blogger-image-1952885202.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font color="#000000"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpHTmbL5ci_Ity8G38axjeyNwujqGXse3wYIeADLoLDVrGE0bhqGLXgWfhlR6FeNFc9W58n14UUOz93mDRJ6onumzQZ3XGGFluRLL-ayWlPsD5DHZr94ykeR1GrWb7AaCEP-7YkdhSZH3v/s640/blogger-image-1952885202.jpg"></font></a></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I believe we grossed less than $9,000 during our first full tax year together. Logically speaking, we had no business even being married, let alone having babies.</span></div><div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We were foolish and excited though. We had no fears. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I cannot say so much about my Mother-in-law. We called and shared the news with her and she was very concerned and was very outspoken with her concern, as was her norm. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Who could blame her? We were not ready. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4UmjJ9t0rQ_Sct9sLXhcoW3N1qChXUQhK7gaG_rv6rOErQ47QpIK7t-jSaxpcwwdYlytIu-pDYPd1bV_tK_nmKPuwtCxvncQWxIQB2CUk-3p1r6NeDanT0hF-rlWagIHXyN73R40IIte6/s640/blogger-image--1493220005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font color="#000000"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4UmjJ9t0rQ_Sct9sLXhcoW3N1qChXUQhK7gaG_rv6rOErQ47QpIK7t-jSaxpcwwdYlytIu-pDYPd1bV_tK_nmKPuwtCxvncQWxIQB2CUk-3p1r6NeDanT0hF-rlWagIHXyN73R40IIte6/s640/blogger-image--1493220005.jpg"></font></a></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I actually had words with her and we did not speak I believe until about time for the baby to be born. My thoughts were, we could handle it without her anyway. Little did I know...</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Well, things went along fairly well for the first six months, then Kim started having BP issues. (this was one of her mom's fears by the way) She ended up having to quit work and take it easy. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We survived that way for a little bit, then at about 29 weeks Kim developed an excruciating headache and drove herself to the doctor. At the doctor's office her blood pressure read 220/170. Of course they hospitalized her immediately. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWHkR95YMINFgqI9zx9VaxvMVfUEbRUD2ntuSLo-_d-KB33v1FuplZZuphlghtyqcxUahkz0oV4xInbb1SKqkWpRep_dwbZhUhKBaNeKOqs_gZORuHr_oItlG7MskQlzuFPnYe0CxuRw8k/s640/blogger-image-888388917.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font color="#000000"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWHkR95YMINFgqI9zx9VaxvMVfUEbRUD2ntuSLo-_d-KB33v1FuplZZuphlghtyqcxUahkz0oV4xInbb1SKqkWpRep_dwbZhUhKBaNeKOqs_gZORuHr_oItlG7MskQlzuFPnYe0CxuRw8k/s640/blogger-image-888388917.jpg"></font></a></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Her mom came and stayed with her in the hospital room while I continued to work and go to school. By this time I was a full time security guard at a plant about fifteen miles out of town. Her mom and I still weren't talking, but that would soon change.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I was at work when I received the call. It was Nancy, my mother-in-law. She was livid. The doctor had come in and said there was nothing more they could do. I believe his exact words were, "We are going to have to terminate the pregnancy." </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I'm not sure what Nancy's words were, but I probably wouldn't repeat them anyway. The same meddling mother-in-law who had ticked me off with her bold words earlier very possibly saved my baby's life with that same boldness. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">She requested an immediate transfer to Baptist Hospital in Little Rock, about 65 miles away, where there was an NICU. When they called me, Med Flight was already on the way.</span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlwmBZDc4I6YTsgW0jolSpQD-QMrSDfREJNS57gWxxNbt9Gdu_8FLTvciI2DgCQUfnlgrL_137FJmUWuiTRuL8tqEqpDgWA3sh9hRLKekUOM4PG3353jncLXdrF9UTKH-SEz8c_MQdgozl/s640/blogger-image-1110644459.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font color="#000000"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlwmBZDc4I6YTsgW0jolSpQD-QMrSDfREJNS57gWxxNbt9Gdu_8FLTvciI2DgCQUfnlgrL_137FJmUWuiTRuL8tqEqpDgWA3sh9hRLKekUOM4PG3353jncLXdrF9UTKH-SEz8c_MQdgozl/s640/blogger-image-1110644459.jpg"></font></a></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I don't remember much about the trip from work to the hospital. I know it went fast. The helicopter arrived about the same time I did. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I kissed Kim good bye and then rode with Nancy the long 65 mile stretch between the hospitals. She insisted on driving due to my state of mind. She drove pretty fast herself. We beat the helicopter. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We had time to talk though. There were no apologies, just an unsaid understanding that there were more important matters at stake than our petty differences.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Well, we got to the hospital and I was immediately met by hospital personell and began signing my life away. I was worried about my wife and baby and they were just making sure they got paid. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDRojKsTlD7qurPxwmLK3zWF-NRrnQf6LFkC34Qxo_giz51Z1DSU1ZpA5jgLkU-mkCLxwK8CMbpol3idAynVQy66hg34_47-x50MT6GUxRi1rnBhvfR1h_S55mSKWcIckqhf0o6OfYzJO1/s640/blogger-image--2013046305.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font color="#000000"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDRojKsTlD7qurPxwmLK3zWF-NRrnQf6LFkC34Qxo_giz51Z1DSU1ZpA5jgLkU-mkCLxwK8CMbpol3idAynVQy66hg34_47-x50MT6GUxRi1rnBhvfR1h_S55mSKWcIckqhf0o6OfYzJO1/s640/blogger-image--2013046305.jpg"></font></a></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I remember looking up at my father-in-law and asking should I be reading what I was signing. He responded, "Why? What are you going to do if you don't like what they say?" Good point.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Well, while I was signing, Kim was rushed into surgery and Dawn was born at a whopping 3.5 lbs. I really didn't know if either would survive. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Immediately after the surgery I was escorted back by nursess to see my newborn baby. I remember thinking, "She is beautiful, but is my wife alive?" The nurses around me had no clue. All they knew about was the baby. I kept asking and they kept saying they didn't know. I sincerely feared my wife had not survived.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I finally met up with somebody who took me back to see Kim. She was still struggling with her BP but was alive. It was a long road for both. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Kim's BP continued to skyrocket for days until once again Nancy spoke up. Kim had not seen the baby. She was not sure we weren't lying to her about The baby even surviving. When Nancy finally got her way and Kim was able to see her baby, her BP finally leveled out.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">It was a long recovery for both, but both eventually got better. Kim was released after about five days. Dawn dropped down to as little as two pounds thirteen ounces within the first couple days, but improved from there on out. She was expected to be in the hospital for eight weeks but went home after five. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">When Kim was released she moved in with her parents close by the hospital, while I continued to work and go to school. It was exhausting but we survived. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Our bills ended up totaling over $100,000 yet we were only held responsible for a few hundred. There was no "ObamaCare" then but we were taken care of somehow anyway. God is good.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">That little baby the doctor wished to "terminate" is now happily married, serving God in the ministry, and teaching public school....oh, and planning to have a child of her own some day in the not so far future. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8JjaVMhxLBXu-4KrKkNCBfBH0zNgDAUGs4x3VNDZM8xQV0htxLXcjEmhAJGKMgKEd9VDQpUy3eHPHtSnkDrxhh3ap_NHGmTQ0cXp573UxLUbvhIsMzUHRYdZNhLjTTBVv_nu4ghvkJI9I/s640/blogger-image-1631909802.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font color="#000000"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8JjaVMhxLBXu-4KrKkNCBfBH0zNgDAUGs4x3VNDZM8xQV0htxLXcjEmhAJGKMgKEd9VDQpUy3eHPHtSnkDrxhh3ap_NHGmTQ0cXp573UxLUbvhIsMzUHRYdZNhLjTTBVv_nu4ghvkJI9I/s640/blogger-image-1631909802.jpg"></font></a></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Nancy ended up struggling for several years with colon cancer until she finally did succumb to it several years ago. We would have many more spats over the years, but we always managed to get past it. Her brassness did rub me wrong, but I learned to live with it. In retrospect, I'm glad she was who she was.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I guess I could look back and note the pain we went through those many difficult days and wish we would have done things differently. If we had though, things would likely be different now. We maybe wouldn't have had that precious little girl that has grown to be such a blessing to so many. What about the next five God brought into our lives. Where would they be? Where would we be? </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW69KuTER9BGEKXrKeRWtmbqmszVKP3WQ4tbISX5jdBG3Q5ROthyXtKw_N61Abj5a-D-6kbiyH0IX5IuCQk9MMKHSu067HdgCjk6i4CAiq6Ap5jUAdjXxd40aO8y_kEOOLtkKKRgZf2mDa/s640/blogger-image-1905688415.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font color="#000000"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW69KuTER9BGEKXrKeRWtmbqmszVKP3WQ4tbISX5jdBG3Q5ROthyXtKw_N61Abj5a-D-6kbiyH0IX5IuCQk9MMKHSu067HdgCjk6i4CAiq6Ap5jUAdjXxd40aO8y_kEOOLtkKKRgZf2mDa/s640/blogger-image-1905688415.jpg"></font></a></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Yes, at the time the pain seemed unbearable to us I'm sure. Out of that pain sprang not just one but many miracles. In at.least a small way, our temporary trial changed the world and ultimately made it a better place. Thank God for the miracle of life!</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></div></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07518588072172543204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5727311222045740880.post-61950256464074737422015-07-07T14:39:00.001-07:002015-07-07T16:28:12.671-07:00Seven Secrets to a Marriage Guaranteed to Last<div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 33px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><div><img src="cid:161DF60E-BA08-4C13-9B17-52ADFC05C904@mobilenotes.apple.com"></div><div>I just spent the most awesome time of my life with the most wonderful woman in the world. My wife Kim and I celebrated 30 years of marriage with a week long vacation in Hawaii. It was a very special week, a once in a lifetime joyous experience.</div><div><br></div><div>Pardon our self indulgence, but if anybody deserved such a treat, we probably did....well, at least she did. After all, thirty years of marriage is no small feat these days! </div><div><br></div><div>I am often asked how we have managed to make our marriage last. I am no expert I admit. Being married thirty years has given me maybe some credibility though. That, and I have worked with couples as a minister and counselor for about that same amount of time. I do believe I have some secrets that if applied will just about guarantee any marriage a success.</div><div><br></div><div>So, I am going to give it a try. Here are our secret(s) to marital bliss and longevity. Today we will start with secret number one, then we'll address additional secrets in the days to come.</div><div><br></div><div>Secret One - Choose the Right Partner </div><div><br></div><div>I know that is easy for me to say. I hit the jackpot! You can find that right person for you too. The key is taking your time and doing it right. </div><div><br></div><div>Here are some important steps to help you do just that:</div><div><br></div><div>1. Make sure the CHEMISTRY is RIGHT</div><div><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);"><br></span></div><div>I know this one can almost go unsaid. Chemistry is important though. <span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);">If he/she doesn't make your toes tingle now, he/she probably won't in 20-30 years either.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);">There was something special about the time I first met my future wife. I remember the tingling I got the first time we touched....the flood of emotions the first time we kissed. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);">Those are are as important down the road as the are now. Make them count.</span></div><div><br></div><div>2. COURT before you COMMIT </div><div><br></div><div>Take time to get to know each other. I'm not talking physically either. The longer you put that off the better it will be when it finally happens....I promise.</div><div><br></div><div>Start off by just hanging out together with friends. Then maybe get to know each other's families. After that, then start dating and spending time alone.</div><div><br></div><div>Developing a relationship is like cooking a pot roast. If you turn the burner up, you might get to experience it sooner, but you probably won't enjoy it near as much.</div><div><br></div><div>Guys, treat her like a lady. Girls, be a lady. If you don't treat each other with respect now, you certainly won't ten years down the road.</div><div><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);">3. Look for CHARACTER</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);">Chemistry is important, but it isn't everything. Is this the kind of person you want to spend the rest of your life with? Will he/she be a good parent to your children? Will he/she stick with you through thick and thin? </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);">Remember, what may seem cute now could haunt you in the future. You can't count on your mate to change. Make sure you are marrying him/her for who they are, not for who you hope they may become.</span></div><div><br></div><div>4. Make sure you have COMMON INTERESTS</div><div><br></div><div>Do the same things make you smile? Make sure you have ar least some shared hobbies and/or interests.</div><div><br></div><div>You definitely won't like all the same things. Make sure there are some things you enjoy together though. </div><div><br></div><div>5. SHARE a COMMON CAUSE</div><div><br></div><div>This is probably the most important step to a good start. Going the same direction will help cover much of the other. You can disagree on the route maybe, but you better have the destination down right.</div><div><br></div><div>Do you share the same dreams? Do you share a like faith? Do you envision the same future for your family? These questions are important to discuss before you embark on the relationship journey. </div><div><br></div><div>You will not likely have this all down pat in the beginning. Make sure you are going the same general direction though. Make sure your goals do not conflict. Make sure you at least have the same destination.</div><div><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);">Well, that's how you get started anyway. Starting off right doesn't guarantee a successful marriage. Starting off wrong though does just about guarantee struggles down the road. Start off as I have outlined here and you will definitely have a head start on a long and blissful relationship.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);">Be watching for more secrets that guarantee you a marriage that will last...</span></div><div><br></div><div> </div></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07518588072172543204noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5727311222045740880.post-41934054839524438542015-07-02T22:35:00.001-07:002015-07-15T08:57:12.461-07:00Just Making Ends Meet<div>
<span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 23px;">The following started as just a project to see if I could actually recall every job I've ever worked. I had no idea how extensive a project it would be. It grew into a testament of Gods grace. I have fumbled and faltered all my life yet God has provided. If you know me, you know I can easily lose focus, that I am a bit of an adhd adult. It becomes very evident in this recount of the various secular jobs I have held. I have learned something from every one of these jobs. It's amazing how God chisels away at us, using our failures to form us into His perfect work of art.</span></div>
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Somewhere around this time, probably before, I helped my brother Billy sort bottles at the IGA Store. I'm not sure how much I helped and when I did this. I think he might have bought me pop for helping. He got like two cents a bottle, but it was like the first job any of us had.</div>
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My first REAL job was at Planter's Peanuts unloading boxcars at the ripe old age of 13. I was way too young for this job. It was very much manual labor. To be honest with you, a lot of men would shy away from it. We unloaded 2-3 car loads a night full of 90-100 lb bags of peanut. I begged my dad to get me that job so he finally caved and did, thinking I would quit after the first day. The thought never even crossed my mind. </div>
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I came home after the first day with my fingernails worn off and fingers bleeding and worn to the bone. Dad at first told me I couldn't go back, but I insisted I continue what I started. I thank him today for allowing me that growth experience.</div>
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My undeveloped muscles would throb with pain almost to the point of tears. At break time i would rush to the water fountain and run ice cold water over my arms to relieve the misery just long enough to go back and unload some more. </div>
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I started that job toward the end of my eighth grade year in jr high and worked there until the beginning of my freshman year in high school. I worked at it again for several months while I attended college. It was not an enjoyable experience, but it was a life changing experience that I have valued since. That job helped mold me into a man.</div>
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Well from there I sacked groceries at Country Boy Market for a short bit and cooked burgers at I think Beacon Drive-inn....or was it Sonic? These jobs were short lived. I worked a seasonal job along side my brother again at K-Mart. This was the only job I ever actually got fired from. I wasn't the best at counting money. My ADHD was likely a factor there. </div>
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Through my later teen years I worked at a series of three restaurants owned by my parents. Well, it started with me working along with my brother at Ken's Pizza in Fort Smith. My parents kind of got the pizza bug and ended up buying the Pizza Barn in Greenwood. The old adage goes you've got to have money to make money. I love my Daddy, but he just didn't borrow enough to make a go of it. We lasted a little bit then sold out to a family who still owns it to this day. </div>
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We tried our luck at a couple other restaurants around this time with basically the same fate. Daddy just really wasn't a businessman. He wanted so much to provide well for his family, which he did, just not how he imagined.</div>
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Those 3-4 years were trying times for our family. We all worked hard trying to make a go of it, only to be disappointed by failure. I learned much during that time though. I continued to develop my people and management skills. I learned how to accept failure and keep moving forward. I also learned I had no desire to run my own restaurant.</div>
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The summer after I graduated high school I worked doing KP at Fort Chaffee while the reservists trained there. This was a pretty good experience. This is probably what wet my appetite for the military.</div>
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Somewhere during this time I worked for about nine months at a Hardee's. My primary job was to run the roast beef and ham slicer but pretty much handled the kitchen much of the time. My main recollection is the manager was pretty much non existent. Well, I also remember the annoying sound of the drive through bell. I would be running ragged trying to keep up with the inside orders and then that crazy bell would ding. AAAAAHHH!!! I honest to goodness would finally get a night off and would wake up hearing that stupid thing in my sleep! One particular night I was by myself in the kitchen going crazy to keep up with orders when that bell started ringing. I looked outside and cars were backed down the road. I looked in the office and the manager was kicked back napping. I kindly knocked on the door. He popped up opened the door. I handed him my gloves and instructed him to have an enjoyable evening. I left to never return.</div>
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After attending a couple years of Westark Community College in Ft Smith I transferred to Arkansas Tech University in Russellville. That summer between schools I signed up for the Army Reserves and ROTC. I spent the summer at my Officer Basic Course in Fort Knox Kentucky and then attended ROTC classes for the next two years of college, along with serving the next six years in the Army Reserve.</div>
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I answered the call to ministry my junior year of college. I dreamed of maybe being a chaplain in the army. I chose the infantry as my branch though. I figured if I could handle being a foot soldier I could handle anything. </div>
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I learned much during that time. I learned to take orders as well as give orders. I learned to endure hardship and keep moving ahead. I learned to respect those who chose to protect our country as a career. I also learned I was not cut out to to serve in the military. I made First Lieutenant and was promotable to Captain before I gave up my dreams at a career as an Army Chaplain. I married the woman of my dreams, had two children, and decided I preferred staying close to home and my family. After my six years of reserve commitment I opted out.</div>
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When I started school at ATU, I went to work at Ken's Pizza and worked there until after I married two years later. This was the first job I ever worked in which I did not like my boss. He was young himself and drank a lot. Well, I was scatter brained too, which didn't help. I would mess up an order and he would throw a fit or he would throw a fit simply because he was in a bad mood. We had several altercations but I survived. </div>
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The day I returned from my honeymoon I went in to check my schedule and discovered he had scheduled me Sunday's. In retrospect I figure he did that knowing I would quit. It worked. I was newly married and unemployed. I don't recall ever stressing over it though. I'm not sure if it was faith or stupidity. It all worked out though.</div>
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The first place I applied following losing my job at Ken's I was hired on the spot. I worked one whole day at a convenience store. I was so excited to have the job, I didn't even consider what it entailed. There was no way my conscience would allow me to sell cigarettes, alcohol, or dirty magazines. I explained that to the manager and she was actually very understanding. I'm not quite as dogmatic today as I was then, but I still couldn't hand someone a porn magazine with a clear conscience. Remember, I had just gotten married. We needed the money. Not sure how it happened, but we never missed a meal. God does provide.</div>
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Well, I eventually went to work delivering pizza for Dominos. I worked there for close to two years. Not much to say about it. It was a job and paid the bills. I did get my brother a job there and he ended up working there for like 25 years before he went to delivering school busses cross country full time. Well, I did learn to balance urgency with safety while working there. You were tipped better the earlier the delivery, but that didn't help much if you ended up getting a ticket. </div>
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After my stent delivering pizza for Domino's I landed a job guarding pickles at Atkins Pickle Plant in Atkins, AR. That's right, guarding pickles. This was actually a pretty good job with benefits and all. I was mostly a gate watchman, lining the cucumber trucks up outside the gate for delivery. This was my first job with any kind of real responsibility.</div>
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From there I went to IOBC at Fort Benning, GA. This was about five months of intense infantry officer training. This really was an eye opening experience for me. The infantry is not a way of life for those who truly succeed at it. It is life. We would spend several days in the field and then come in just to spend several days in technical training and testing, then return to the field. My wife and two young children were there with me but I saw them very little. I faltered tremendously at the technical aspects. I succeeded at strategy and actual battle technique where my adhd reckless abandonment apparently paid off. Where I failed the most was though was I didn't like being away from my family. Might remember at the end of my training I had the opportunity to sign up for active duty. I was fresh out of college, jobless, and very tempted. Reason ruled though and j said thanks but no thanks.</div>
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From Benning we moved to Memphis for me to attend seminary. I worked at a grocery warehouse until I started seminary. I found a job pretty quickly landscaping and then a job sorting car parts at a Ford Auto Parts Distribution Center. I worked there for a short time while attending seminary. I actually liked that job but ended up getting a full time job working at Hyster Forklift. </div>
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I worked at Hyster as a parts clerk about a year. We went from a manual inventory to a computerized inventory during this time. I got the blame when the inventory was totally messed up, even though it was messed up when I got there. I was the scapegoat. I went to the manager, whom I attended church with, and told him what I thought they were doing and his response was basically thats probably true but he had to do what he had to do. That was a valuable lesson in human nature. The only thing that kept me employed there was the union.</div>
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We moved from Memphis to Mansfield, Arkansas for my first full time pastorate. Well, I say full time tongue in cheek. I had to find employment immediately in order to feed my family. The church simply furnished housing with no salary. </div>
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God took care of us as usual. I went to work within a couple weeks as a temp at Therma Tru Door Factory hanging doors on the paint line. It wasn't glorious, high paying, or even permanent, but it put food on the table until I found a full time job.</div>
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After a few weeks I went to work at Saint Edwards Hospital as the Shipping Receiving Clerk. It was a pretty good job with decent benefits. I received everything from bone screws to body parts to high tech lab equipment. </div>
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My wife and 5 year old daughter Dawn would pick me up everyday at closing time. They would get there about the time I finished sweeping the floors, took out the trash, and locked the doors. One day on the way home from work I was feeling a little discouraged and was complaining about something. Dawn piped in, "Gee, Daddy, I think sweeping the floor and taking out the trash is a fine job." After about 18 months I transferred to the psych hospital as a Psych Tech. I guess that was my first exposure to to working in mental health. It definitely was eye opening.</div>
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When we left that church I didn't work secular employment again for several years. I went to work driving a bus after I resigned the church at Yorktown. I would drive school busses off and on for the next decade or so. I enjoyed everything but the chaos. I always had my kids that I connected with. I still run into them as adults today. Many of them have families of their own now.</div>
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While in Guyman, other than driving a bus, I worked at the Beaver Express Dock. I would go in about 3 AM and load trucks. My boss was a recovering alcoholic and crazy. I seriously wanted him to fall off the wagon and start drinking again. He probably would have been much easier to get along with.</div>
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I left Beaver Express to go to work for Seaboard Farms as a Security Guard at a Pig Slaughtering plant. I had come a long ways in a couple decades. I went from guarding pickles to guarding pigs. This was third shift and I just couldn't handle it. I was pastoring the church and rubbing the church's school all day and working all night. It was a decent job. I just couldn't handle the sleep deprivation.</div>
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That brings me pretty much up to date. I drove a bus in Tahlequah for several years I guess right up to when I started counseling. That's pretty much my secular job history. I know it sounds bad, but it really wasn't </div>
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as bad as that. My focus always was my education and ministry. I just would do what I needed to do to pay the bills. By the way, I left out working one day at Burger King and a couple weeks at a donut shop while attending college. </div>
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Oh yeah, Kim and I delivered newspapers at one time or another just about every where we lived. One of Dawn's fondest memories is driving around town in Star City with our windows down throwing papers in twenty something degree temperatures, eating ice cream.</div>
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That, my friends, is the job resume of ADHD adult...</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07518588072172543204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5727311222045740880.post-26646790704935417252015-06-30T16:31:00.001-07:002015-06-30T16:31:09.325-07:00The rest of the story about the Prejudice Church from my daughterMy dad wrote about one of the most difficult times in my family's life. He left out a lot of details for the sake of being concise, like how the church insisted we be homeschooled because we lived in the black school district, "you don't see white birds and black birds flying together," the community split into two townships so that the black side of town and white side of town could have legally segregated schools, my church friend had never heard the song "Jesus Loves the Little Children," walking into the sanctuary to see whispering women stop talking and stare me down like I was the most disgusting thing to walk the Earth after word got out I played with a black boy in the backyard of the church (I bet they would have skinned me alive if they knew Michael and I brought our friends inside the church to get a drink from the water fountain!), the feeling of guilt that I was the reason my dad was in so much trouble... And my family's experience doesn't come close to what blacks in that area and others have to experience throughout their lifetimes! If you're wondering why I have such strong feelings about some current issues, this is a huge reason. There are plenty of things that any grown child thinks their parents could have done differently, but this isn't one of those things. I could not be more proud of my parents for how they handled the issues that confronted us in Southeast Arkansas. I'm so thankful that God allows us to go through difficult trials and redeems those trials for His glory.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07518588072172543204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5727311222045740880.post-6514875120831739472015-06-28T11:57:00.001-07:002015-06-28T11:57:12.382-07:00God Loves the Homosexual<div>I hope you will bear with me as I weigh in on the recent court decision concerning gay marriage. Believers, understand this, God loves the homosexual. He loves everyone (John 3:16) and He is no respecter of persons. Yes, He hates sin, but He loves the sinner, regardless of their choices, mistakes, or even outright depravity. He expects the believer to love unconditionally just the same. As a matter of fact He says if we do not love, we do not belong to Him, because He is Love. Folks, there is no room for spite in the Kingdom of Heaven. </div><div><br></div><div>Though it does say in the bible to love everyone regardless of their race, skin color, gender, and yes, even sin, nowhere in the bible does it say that we are to accept them for who they choose to be or what they choose to do. Jesus met the woman at the well and loved her when no one else would, but He did not accept who she chose to be. He told her to go and sin no more. Peter preached, "repent" as did Paul and the rest. Sin separates man from God. It is not necessarily hate or prejudice that causes one to oppose sin. God hates sin for what it does to the sinner. If one truly loves another, he will despise the sin that </div><div>weighs that person down and leads to destruction. Pointing out ones sin in that perspective is therefore an act of love not hate.</div><div><br></div><div>Yes all sin is equal in that it all separates man from God. As far as societal sins though Paul says when men lie with men and women with women, that society has reached the epitome of total depravity (Romans 1). It is not to say that the homosexual is any more a sinner than the adulterer or liar. It is simply an indicator of the depravity of the society that approves it. </div><div><br></div><div>The Supreme Court has not said its ok to lie, cheat, commit adultery, or murder (well, except for in Roe v Wade). The church is not campaigning against those other sins because society has not put their stamp of approval on them. The Supreme Court has for whatever reason though redefined sin in this instance and has taken upon themselves to proclaim homosexuality is not sin. They have usurped Gods decree with their own assumption. It is not necessarily that the Christian is saying the sin of homosexuality is worse than other sins. They are simply saying it is sin and no amount of legislation or judicial rulings can change that. The church has not singled out the sin of homosexuality. The judiciary has. </div><div><br></div><div>As far as a persons right to choose their own lifestyle whether it be right or wrong, the church is not necessarily arguing against that either. The argument is against the government sanctioning it. The government doesn't sanction adultery or child abuse, but it does now sanction homosexual marriage. </div><div><br></div><div>Marriage was not created by man. It was created by God. Man therefore has no authority to define it let alone redefine it. The church had been sanctioned by God and the government for that matter to oversee and officiate marriages, therefore the church has a vested interest in this ruling. They are not overstepping their bounds by opposing the Supreme Court ruling. Marriage is very much the business of the church. </div><div><br></div><div>Now all that said, I'm not as shocked nor bothered by this ruling near as much as many others. This world is ruled by Satan, therefore this is to be expected. The world is not bound by Gods law. It is bound by the devil's. </div><div><br></div><div>Though I understand and even defend the church's rational for its opposition to homosexual marriage, I do not personally support the strategy of many. I believe the battle we fight is a spiritual battle, rather than a fleshly one. Politics does not influence society as much as society influences politics. Politics does not influence society's spiritual state as much as reflects it. This battle is not going to be won at the voting booth or on the picketing line. It will be won in the prayer closet and at the altar of repentance. Yes, I will vote my conscience and even campaign it, but that is not the answer. This country needs a spiritual awakening much more then a political revolution.</div><div><br></div><div>That was for what it's worth....</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07518588072172543204noreply@blogger.com0