Luna does not have Leukemia. Her heart isn’t irreparably damaged. We have FINALLY been assured that our wildest child is “normal” by the best of doctors. Yes, we are on the victory side of a mountain that most people were not aware we were climbing.
On April 11, my stalwart child who seldom cries, woke up in pain. I thought it might be lingering problems from a cold. Dr. Hanks happened to have an appointment that day, so I took Luna into her office for precautionary measures.
When we arrived, Luna’s blood pressure and heart rate were scary-high and could not be brought down without medicine. Within hours, we were in Tyler having an EKG, its results adding to our fears. She had blood work done, and many of the markers pointed to the worst of childhood diseases. Luna’s doctor even gave me her personal cell phone number “just in case” we needed it, which only fueled my fear.
I felt alone and scared. I prayed lots. I cried lots. Those closest to us knew what was going on, but as the mom, I still felt the sole burden of the possibilities tightening my chest and stealing my sleep. Even in the worst moments, though, I knew God held us, that His plan is best, that He is the painter of the bigger masterpiece, and He faithfully comforted this worried momma.
The first Hallelujah came when her pediatrician called to tell me that Luna definitely did NOT have Leukemia. The final Hallelujah came on Wednesday when a pediatric cardiologist ran tests on my girl’s wild lil heart and deemed it “normal”. Normal is good. SOOO good.
Other than Luna wearing an ambulatory blood pressure monitor for a day to record her stats, she was released to play sports and be the wild child that she is.
And then it was over. The “well-that-was-a-lot-for-nothing” attitude took over… and I forgot.
I forgot the prayers and the peace in the hardest moments. I forgot the fear and the weight of it all. I forgot to truly praise God for the victory. Moreover, I’m not sure I even really thanked God because my mind fooled me into thinking it was all much ado about nothing.
But it WASN’T nothing. It was terrifying. It was heartbreaking. It was devastating.
I don’t know the bigger picture. I don’t know why her EKG revealed “probable hypertrophic cardiomyopathy”. I don’t know how God worked in her little body during our unbearable wait for her appointment with a specialist. I DO know that He was faithful, even though the extent of His faithfulness won’t be comprehensible on this side of Glory.
So… THIS is my praise and thanks to my loving, faithful Abba Father, shouted from the rooftops of social media. That particular mountain is behind us. It won’t be the last one by a long shot. But we climbed that mountain WITH Him, and it made all the difference. The next mountain might make this one look like a mole hill, but He will carry us up that mountain too, and I pray that I will never fail to give Him the glory He always deserves.
UFOs. The California Wildfires. Odd aeronautical disasters. Our failing bodies resulting from vaccines. Hypnosis of the masses through subliminal advertising. Reptilian humanoids running the government. The Illuminati. (Is it even okay to acknowledge the word “Illuminati”??)
America funding our national enemies. A mass deportation that rips away friends and family. Resources being diminished by undocumented immigrants. Nazis. Growing catastrophic natural disasters. Another Great Depression. Another World War. The right wing. The left wing. Giant meteors hurling to earth (and with Bruce Willis out of commission, we are SUNK.)
Social media can be the worst. With the world literally in the palms of our hands through our mobile devices, we cannot escape the speculations that mutate from small sparks of supposition blazing into all-consuming nightmarish infernos. For me, those fears can be overwhelming. Sometimes paralyzing.
In times when I feel myself tumbling down a dark hole of shadowy tomorrows, I have my Bible bookmarked to Isaiah 8:11-13 with a colorful stickynote peeking out of its pages for rapid access:
11 “This is what the Lord says to me with his strong hand upon me, warning me not to follow the way of this people:
12 ‘Do not call conspiracy
everything this people calls a conspiracy;
do not fear what they fear,
and do not dread it.
13 The Lord Almighty is the one you are to regard as holy,
he is the one you are to fear,
he is the one you are to dread.’”
Life is hard. Sometimes impossible. There are SO many things we can fear. We scroll past posts that inject “what-ifs” – or erroneous lies – into our imaginations, thrusting our emotions into overdrive.
But truly the only thing we should fear is life away from God and His will for our lives. Living a life bent on ignoring God and His direction also shuns peace and joy and purpose and hope. And for me, that is terrifying!
In truth, our world still scares me. A lot. I don’t believe my fear makes me ungodly or unfaithful. I think it makes me human. Even King David expressed to God, “WHEN I am afraid, I put my trust in you.” (Psalm 56:3) Fear likes me. It visits so often that I have had to spend lots of time keeping it at bay while trying desperately to learn how to chase it away. I have learned from all those trials that my only hope for survival is to cheer on my shaky faith and trust God. By doing so, I strengthen that spiritual muscle that makes the next time fear comes a-knocking a bit easier to fight.
But do you want to know what makes me MOST afraid? Living life without God. Trust me. It’s not pretty!
Someone needs to hear the words ‘Don’t fear what they fear. Don’t dread what they dread’. Fear cannot keep us from dying, but it can certainly keep us from living.
2024 was the best of years. 2024 was the worst of years.
Illness and death. Life and love. Suffocating darkness and breathtaking beauty.
None of us will ever get over the loss of my sister-in-law Trayona, and quite frankly, I don’t think we should get over it. She was extraordinary, and if it takes the grief of all of us to keep her memory alive in our lives, then so be it.
My mother-in-law wore the worst of Trayona’s illness, but as I watched her give absolutely everything she was to Trayona these last two years – every last breath of her life – I was blessed to watch what the depths of love truly looks like. What it takes. What it gives. My mother-in-law poured out everything within her, and though it weakened her health and crushed her heart, watching that boundless love strengthened our whole family.
Love isn’t always warm fuzzies and flowers and foot massages and laughter and excitement for a better future with another.
But sometimes love IS about those things. Sometimes love is exciting yet peaceful, hopeful, right. This year, we got to experience that kind of love too.
2024 took Trayona from us, but it gave to us as well. Ben and Stefanie and Jo and Mason gifted our family beyond what we could have asked. God knew it would take the best of people to help mend our broken hearts, and with these four exceptional individuals, God showed off BIG TIME. We have known Ben for over a decade. We have known Stefanie for a moment in time. Both became family right when we needed them most. I love Ben and Stefanie and their little ones like my own. [PLUS I FINALLY get to pretend I’m grandma to two fantastic lil munchkins. ‘DeeDee’ is a much better name for me than “grandma”, don’t cha think?]
There were so many other blessings from 2024 too:
West and Opie found new purpose and great friends. Jay is growing into a good man and a kind person (though admittedly some ROCKY days spattered themselves across our calendar). Dante was gifted a tiny taste of being big-man-on-campus through a bit of football razzmatazz and a cute girlfriend. Margo is still my miracle child, focused and determined to learn and grow and love. And Luna? Well, we are struggling through some hard days right now, but she will never be able to climb giant mountains if she has no practice scaling the smaller ones. Plus, that little cutie is learning how weak we may be yet how strong God is.
The biggest lesson I learned this year was how powerful a mom’s prayers can be. I prayed and prayed and prayed for my children this year. I poured out my fears and my hopes into the heart of God like never before. God blessed my cries by removing obstacles, planting hope, gifting my kids with lessons learned, and showing up in miraculous ways in their lives. Oh, I realize my intercession didn’t make a single thing happen, but God allowed my pleas to entwine with His plan so that I could be a small part of His will in their lives. He listened to my cries for protection. He eased my worried heart. He answered my prayers.
Our family entered 2024 knowing it was going to be a rough one, wondering if we would survive. I leave 2024 choosing to see the best – and worst of it – as a gift. Life will never be the same without Trayona, but quite frankly we hit the jackpot long ago by being able to call her ours in the first place.
2025 brings lots of unknowns like each new year does. Lots of hopes. Some nagging fears. Only God knows the trials and the triumphs, the mountains and the valleys, the blessings and the uncertainties. People will stay, adding life and love to our world. People will go, leaving behind memories and lessons learned. Hopefully, we will choose to allow every moment to grow us into who we are supposed to be.
Our one constant, the ONLY thing we can count on though, is that God was with us yesterday, He is with us today, and He is already waiting for us in our tomorrows, longing to help us conquer this thing we call life.
On a visit to San Augustine, Texas, way back in our blissful empty-nester phase, Clay and I went to breakfast at a cute little cafe with my mother, my sister, and my brother-in-law. It was one of those endearing places where every spare inch of wall and floor space is covered in humorous sayings like “Practice thanking God for more than elastic waistbands”, pop art paintings of large-headed cows, and knickknacks of every type of whimsical fun.
San Augustine is a tiny town of maybe 1000 people so far east that it’s 23 miles from the Louisiana border. It is the type of small town where everyone knows everyone, and because my brother-in-law had returned to San Augustine after playing professional baseball, he remained the hometown hero. Entering that cafe with him was akin to playing the entourage of someone famous: invisible because of his presence yet important through association. We were escorted to a table quickly as he made his rounds shaking hands and kissing babies.
On the floor, not two feet from my chair sat the cutest decorative concrete pig. He was about a foot tall, he had a smile that warmed my heart, and out of his shoulder blades sprouted dainty angel’s wings. He was the very best companion while I ate my omelet, smiling up at me from his permanent place on the floor, and we bonded.
I don’t collect pigs on purpose. My very small pig collection was given to me by my sister and mother – one pig at a time – as a joke to remind me of the time Clay gifted me with a pot-bellied pig a week after we had replaced the flooring of our first home. I did NOT appreciate Clay’s gift as its hooves scratched across my new linoleum, and he (the pig, not the husband) was sent back before we could name him.
But that concrete pig with wings? I fell in love with that pig. Before we left the restaurant, my sister asked if we could buy it. It was not for sale, and the owner couldn’t remember where she had purchased it. I had to leave my pig friend, but that charming concrete pig had nestled itself into my heart.
For the next couple of years, I looked for a pig just like that one. It became a game with a bit of obsession sprinkled on top. The price didn’t matter (well, a somewhat REASONABLE price anyway). If a store we passed looked like there might be a remote possibility that they would sell concrete flying pigs, we stopped to ask. No luck. The online shopping world at my fingertips didn’t help, either. Amazon may sell live tadpoles but not my particular concrete flying pig.
When your family and friends know you’ve been looking for a concrete flying pig for two years, you are gifted all kinds of flying pigs. Flying pig mugs and socks and iron paperweights and Christmas tree ornaments and tote sacks. My mom even found me a flying concrete pig, and though it was adorable, he wasn’t “the” pig. Time ticked along, and the tug of that concrete flying pig settled into resolution: That chubby, smiling, winged concrete pig wasn’t mine to own.
The long journey from the first day I met Margo at my school until the day the kids moved into our home lasted almost two years too. I NEVER would have fathomed that she and her siblings would be ours one day. If someone had told Clay and me that we would start over with four children birthed by strangers, our reply might have been something like, “When pigs fly!” (but probably something much more colorful).
From the first “what-if?”-glimmers of the kids, the path Clay and I journeyed was done with the tiniest baby steps. We were clueless about what we were doing. We didn’t want to change our world. We didn’t want to give up the plans we had nurtured for years that started with the phrase “When our kids are grown and gone, we will (fill in the blank). In retrospect, the best way to describe it was that God placed a curtain in front of us, allowing us to only see, question, react to, be obedient to, and prepare for what was right at our feet at any given moment. Saying we inched our way forward would be inaccurate: We millimetered our way forward.
Can we handle four new kids? Do we WANT to forever change the trajectory of our lives? Do we really want to give up our current, peaceful, fulfilling life and pour chaos on top? Are we okay with the deaths of so many of our dreams? Moreover, are we the best parents the kids can get?
Our answer to every question could have been answered, “When pigs fly!”
The kids were living in their group home when the seed of maybe was planted within us. I was merely their old school librarian who brought them pjs and books. I knew there was no way they could come live with us. I had looked up home specification requirements for fostering, and though our house was large, we did not have enough bedrooms for legal foster care. God’s answer HAD to be “no”. Right?
But then, at the encouragement of the kids’ court-appointed advocate Kari, the kids’ lawyer Vicky called and asked if she could visit our home. I said yes, no harm, no foul. I told her that I had researched the rules, and my home wouldn’t work.
But she visited anyway, and she told me otherwise.
I told her we had no foster license.
She suggested approaching the court as “fictive kin”. Fictive kin has close, personal ties with uprooted children even if they are not related.
I reminded Vicky that I was only their librarian from a year ago. She brushed me off and said the court could decide.
I could have said “no” when Kari asked if I would buy them new shoes and deliver them to the children’s home. I could have said “no” when Vicky asked to visit our home. I could have said “no” when she mentioned fictive kin. But I did not. At that point in the process, Clay had left everything in my hands because, ultimately, that man is up for anything I drag him into. If I wanted to purchase a zoo, he would make it happen.
Every day I prayed for wisdom and for signs and for any solid answer I could embrace. More decisions came our way. The possibility of inviting those children to live in our home became more real every day. Clay’s opinions and decisions became necessary. GOD’S decisions became necessary
Please, God, show us! Scream your answer into my spirit. For the sake of these kids, I NEED TO KNOW your will! We cannot – we WILL NOT – let any of this go any further if you do not give us an answer! Give us a sign, God! A sign we cannot ignore!
About a week before the day the kids would eventually arrive at our home, my sister called me. The strangest thing had happened. When she opened the front door of her home, my winged pig – THE winged pig, was sitting on her porch, staring up at her with a smile. Two years after I sat beside that pig at breakfast, the owner of the restaurant – a complete stranger who I had never met – remembered how much Pam Winfield’s sister loved that pig. She left that pig on my sister’s doorstep for me and refused a dime of payment.
How is that for a sign? An unmistakable sign announcing to Clay and me that pigs were flying and that we were inviting four new children to live in our home.
Flying Pigs 