On the Road Again

Greetings from the Akron-Canton Airport! I am officially on my way to Texas—and with it, freedom from all responsibility for the next FIVE DAYS. Freedom, people. I have no children with me, no dishes or laundry, no roles or obligations. I can do ANYTHING I WANT from now until Sunday. And I am choosing to blog with YOU. Now that's sayin' somethin'. I don't know what, but something.

As I sit here, alone with my thoughts and the other mid-week travelers who were thinkin' Arby's (I don't know why I've suddenly dropped my "g's" in my writing, but I'm havin' fun with it.), I am reflecting on my week. I won't lie to you, it's not been a good one. A lot has happened in the last few days, and this trip is MUCH needed. But God is good, and here are the lessons He has laid on my heart…

• Forgiveness is not a dot, it's a line. Just two days ago I gave this advice to a friend. I had no idea at the time that it was about to become very applicable to my own life. Forgiveness is essential to any human relationship—we are, after all, human. But because we're human, forgiveness is often not a one-time decision. Our hurt feelings don't just turn off. New issues and thoughts come up, new hurts remind us of old ones, negative interactions with someone we care about can impact the way we relate in the future. Forgiveness may have to be given—at least inside our minds and hearts—again… and again… and again. It is a conscious choice to say, "I'm giving up my right to hurt you because you hurt me." And sometimes that choice has to be made multiple times, in biting our tongues, in not allowing our minds to dwell on past hurts or "what I should've saids" or things like that. (Don't get me wrong, there are times that issues need to be readdressed. But that's a separate issue from just hanging onto hurt.)
  
• If you deal with the little leaks, you won't have big ones. I have shared before that I am a people pleaser. I don't like for people to be mad at me, to bring up things that are potentially uncomfortable or awkward. I don't like confrontation—but then again, who really does? But I have learned over the years that being upfront and honest in the short run can prevent a LOT of awkwardness and hurt feelings in the long run. Yes, there are times when we have to just let things go. But if something is bothering you and you are ignoring it, not letting it go, it will grow and grow and will eventually come out and be a MUCH bigger deal than if you handle it from the beginning. I would much rather someone be honest with me and hurt my feelings a little bit than allow something to fester and potentially destroy a relationship.
  
• We all fall short. I mentioned it before: We are all human. We are all sinners. We are all fallible. Everyone in life will at some point let us down—our friends, our parents, our children, even our spouses. So if we are hurting because of one human relationship, why do we think that another human is the place to go for comfort and solace and support? Yes, I know, it is important to be able to talk through your feelings with someone… but why aren't we quicker to turn to the One who will never let us down? The One who is perfect, who is always there, who loves us and guides us and comforts us the way that no person ever can? If I want to teach my children to not follow in my people-pleasing footsteps, then they need to see me go to my knees in times of trouble, not to the phone.
  
• We serve the same God. I heard the testimony of an amazing man named Stanley Tam over the weekend. I highly encourage you to check him out—he is unbelievable! The link I have given you is just one of many you will find if you Google him. ANYWAY, during his testimony he said that he had always admired a man named George Muller, who spent his life working with orphans. Muller would never ask anyone for money—if he had a need, he would shut himself in a room and pray for God to provide, and He always did. After sharing that tidbit, Stanley said, "Then I realized—I serve the same God that George Muller did. There's no reason I can't do the same thing." I'd never thought of it that way. The point is… it's not people who are great, it is GOD. We all have different roles in the body, but God can work just as powerfully in my life and your life as He does in Stanley Tam's or Billy Graham's or fill-in-the-blank-with-someone-whose-spiritual-walk-you-admire. It's not a matter of what you can do, but what you allow Him to do through you.
  
• Following God's will does not mean life is easy. This is the crux of my friend Leigh-Ann's ministry, but it is something that I am still learning. God has opened some tremendous doors for me in the past year or so, and I have eagerly followed. I haven't always made every right decision along the way, but I truly believe my heart is pure before Him. And you know what? Sometimes I still fail. Sometimes others disagree. Sometimes I still get hurt and struggle and worry. And sometimes that is not in spite of following God, sometimes it's just a part of the journey.
  

So there's my heart this morning. Wow, God's really working on even more than I realized in me. Have you ever read Max Lucado's book On the Anvil? I think that's where I am right now. God's hammering away, and sometimes it hurts, but it's shaping me into who He would have me to be. Amen, Lord. Have Your way in me.

Well, I'm down to a mere 1 ½ hours before my flight, and I have a full 20 feet or so to walk to my gate, so I suppose I should rush right over there. J By the way, the Akron-Canton Airport has a really nice kids' play area full of Step 2 stuff! It's so cool, I almost wish my kids were here to play with it. Almost.

I'll be working on my next Family Forest post on my day o' travel, too, so you'll be hearing more from me soon.

God bless.

Katy’s Family Forest, Part 2

Welcome back! Before I talk about 1997, we have to back up a bit to the fall of 1996. I don't want to digress too far from the main story, but this is important—both to my adoption story and just in general—so please bear with me. It is likely that this entire entry will deal with something completely separate from my adoption, but it really does have a lot of bearing on the story, at least in my mind.

It was a Sunday afternoon in early fall when we found out that my brother and his wife were expecting their first child. And not just their first child, but the first grandchild for my parents—the first niece or nephew for me! It was such an exciting, elating announcement for us all! Of course, we were all torn because we also knew that my brother and sister-in-law were planning to move to Colorado the following year. L So we began to prepare for both of those big changes.

And then came January. That's when we got "the visit" from my brother and his wife. The one that immediately followed their ultrasound. The one that I can still remember like it was yesterday. My mom, who is an elementary school teacher, was still at work, but my dad and I were home. They weren't able to wait until she got home—they needed to talk about it right away. Something was wrong with the baby. He had a condition called Hypoplastic Left Heart Syndrome. Oh goodness, I can't even begin to explain what exactly that means, but basically everything worked fine in the womb; but within a few days after the baby was born, his heart would no longer function correctly. To this day I feel like I've been punched in the stomach when I think about it.

Over the next few months, as I was studying, preparing for graduation, and trying to select a college for the fall (which I didn't do until April of my senior year!), Kurt and Mary were busy researching HLHS—treatments, hospitals, life expectancies, etc. They decided to have the baby at University of Michigan Hospital, because they had a strong success rate with this condition, which was wonderful because it was only 3 hours away. The baby would need 3 surgeries in the first 2 years of his life, the first one shortly after birth (anywhere from a few hours to a week, depending on how well he was doing when he was born). They also turned down her job in Colorado, because the altitude may have caused a problem for his condition. They bought a house close by, since they had been renting but now knew they would be staying local.

Finally, the weather started to get warmer, and with it our hopes all started to rise. My sister-in-law graduated with her PhD in something-rather-complicated-but-I-think-it-has-Neurobiology-in-there-somewhere. (I'm pretty sure that's not the official title, but that's basically it in layman's terms. J) I graduated as Valedictorian of my high school class, and got to enjoy the fun perks of that. (Seriously. We got to do some really fun things!) I was also very involved in Bible Quizzing, and was preparing for Internationals—the Christian & Missionary Alliance's championship among all of the districts. It was my final year, and I was determined to do well. I spent anywhere from 4 to 8 hours each day studying the book of Matthew.

We got the call that my sister-in-law was in labor on Saturday, June 21—early on Saturday. We all packed our bags and headed for Michigan, hoping that we didn't miss the arrival during our three-hour trip! We didn't need to worry! J Logan hung out in his mommy's belly for a few days, not making his arrival until Monday (evening!), June 23. It was a long weekend, full of a lot of fast food and card-playing at the Ronald McDonald house. J We were ecstatic to see him, and the doctors said he was doing amazingly well.

On Tuesday, my parents and I made the drive back home. Of course, we didn't want to leave EVER, but my dad had to get back to work, and it looked like Logan wouldn't need his first surgery for a few days, so we planned to head back up the following weekend. By Thursday morning, my mom couldn't wait any longer and went back up without us. My dad and I were supposed to join her the next day. Unfortunately, that never happened.

I don't remember if it was my mom or my brother who called, but I remember answering the phone and I remember knowing that something was wrong by the sound of the voice on the other end of the line. I handed the phone to my dad. And when he got off the phone, all he could say was, "Logan's not going to make it."

Early morning on Friday, June 27, just four short days after we welcomed him into the world, Logan went home to be with his heavenly Father.

The days following that phone call are a blur of family and tears and… so many things. But I need to stress here that although this is one of the hardest things I have ever experienced—not only for my own grief, but because I watched my brother and sister-in-law and parents grieve as well—it was also absolutely amazing to see how God worked through it all. He brought my brother and sister-in-law closer to Him. He brought them closer to each other, and closer to my parents. He allowed them the sweet joy of getting to meet that little boy, and also spared them the pain of raising him for 2 or 3 years, only to lose him to HLHS then, as happened to friends that they made during their stay at the Ronald McDonald House. Logan's story is sad for us, but glorious for him, as he got to be loved so dearly on earth, and got to go home to heaven so quickly. And he touched so many lives in his four short days, I do not doubt that God used him in many ways that we may never know.

Wow, that got long and heavy, I know. I apologize again for seemingly getting so far off-track, but it's important that you know all of this to know my mindset when my 18^th birthday came, just a few weeks after Logan died. But I think I've given you enough to chew on for one day. I'll pick up there soon.

On a personal note…

I can't help but write a more personal entry today, as this weekend has been a rather big one for me. In fact, as I sat down to write what was on my heart, it became more than just a little post. So I was inspired by my friend Erin (who, in turn, was inspired by The Pioneer Woman J)—who is writing out the story of how she and her husband got together—to write my own story for you all. Not my love story, but the story of how I, at 28 years old, came to meet my father for the first time.

I hope that you will all enjoy this little piece of me, as I know it will be helpful for me to write it all down and share it. It is an amazing testament to God's goodness and the love of a family.

And so, without further ado…

Katy's Family Forest, part 1

I don't ever remember being told that I was adopted—I've just always known. And I don't mean "I've known" like it was some sort of childhood suspicion that no one ever talked about. It was just a normal aspect of my life. It's a part of who I am, like having brown eyes or being left-handed. I'm adopted. The woman who gave birth to me knew that she couldn't provide the home and love that I needed, and she found a family for me who could. End of story.

In fact, it was so normal for me that I couldn't imagine life any other way. In elementary school kids used to ask me what it "feels like" to be adopted. I would ask them what it felt like to not be adopted. It was just life for me, nothing unusual. My parents brought me home from the hospital when I was 72 hours old—I'd always been theirs, and they had always been mine. My brothers, like it or not, were fully mine as well. J My adoption was a source of humor in my family—"You're such a dork! I'm glad I'm adopted!" or "Aren't you glad I inherited that from you, Mom?"—but never, not once, was it a sore spot or source of division. My family was my family.

Not that I wasn't curious. I had no idea who—or even where—my biological parents were, and sometimes I would see people on the street… at the fair… even on a bus when I was visiting my brother in Seattle… and wonder, "What if I'm related to that person?" Even people I knew—especially single relatives and family friends—were objects of my curiosity. It was a fascinating daydream for me, but not a sad one. I knew what a wonderful family I had, biological or not, and I have always been thankful to my birth mom for giving me what she knew she couldn't provide.

Along with being very upfront about my adoption, my parents always made it clear that once I was 18, I was free to explore as much (or as little) as I wanted into my biological family tree. They would provide as much information and help as they could, and they would support me as I did any additional digging on my own. I always knew that, and I always planned to do it starting on July 13, 1997 (my 18^th birthday).

Little did I know what God had planned for me in 1997.

Stay tuned for more……………..