An Angel in Jeans

I am a pretty sluggish person by nature.  My husband and I joke that if my blood pressure was much lower I would be in a constant coma.  I combat this with a good multivitamin, and coffee.

I've tried different brands of vitamins over the years, and rejected them for one reason or another.  Then a couple years ago a friend told me about these, and I LOVE them.  They have a lot of B vitamins in them which help with energy, and enables me to handle stress well.  I don't like to ever be without them.

I can buy them locally, but if I purchase them online they are half the price--so I get four or five bottles at once.  I knew that I needed to reorder them soon, but in the back of my mind I was sure I had one more bottle.

On Saturday morning I tossed down my vitamins, threw away the empty bottle, and went to the cupboard to get the new one.  Imagine my irritation when I remembered that I had sold a friend a bottle, and it was my last one. 

I immediately ordered more online, but typically it takes about four days for them to arrive.  My husband kindly offered to buy a bottle in town that afternoon, and I breathed a sigh of relief.  

Due to a number of delays by the time he reached the health food store they were closed.   I was frustrated, but resigned myself to wait for my order to arrive.

On Sunday night my baby started coughing and running a fever, and by Monday afternoon I knew she should see a doctor.  In our town there are no 24 hour clinics so the only option is the emergency room.  I made the required call to my caseworker, and waited for my husband to come home and watch the other children.

By now my lack of vitamins was catching up with me.  I felt like I was wading mud, and I threw up a desperate prayer that the health food store would be open on Labor Day--

It wasn't.  

Then I remembered that my friend takes the same vitamins, and I called her to see if she had an extra bottle.  She did, and we agreed to meet when I got done in the emergency room.

When you live in a small town--with no walk in clinic, and you take your baby to the emergency room--on a holiday you will be there

 a

 looooong

 time. 

 Four hours later I walked out of the hospital and gave up on the vitamins. It was too late to meet my friend.  I will just have to be tired for the next four days I thought.

I drove home, fixed a bottle for the baby, and settled in the corner of the couch.  

My dear husband had fed the other munchkins, and tucked two of them in bed.  

My laundry sat unfinished, there were dishes waiting in the sink, and my baby was still sick.

As I sat there thinking of everything I needed to do yet there was a knock at my door.

My son opened it and there stood my friend, and her husband, with the bottle of vitamins in their hands.  

To fully appreciate this story you should know that my friends husband is a tow truck driver.  He had worked two 24 hour shifts over the week-end, and was finally heading home to sleep.

He drove out of his way to go home and get the vitamins, and then come back and bring them to me.

He looked terrible--his eyes were bloodshot--his shirt had been slept in, and his jeans were dirty.

But to me he looked like an angel.

When I Couldn't Pray

I told you last week that we had a court date coming up for our foster children.

I also mentioned that this was a pretty pivotal hearing.

To be a little more specific it was a hearing to terminate birth mom's rights.

My way of handling stressful situations like that is outward calm with lots of inner turmoil. (and stomach ulcers )

Our social worker had warned us that termination hearing's are usually quite long 4-5 hours or more--so we were heavily fortified with prayer, and some "clench-jawed" determination.

What we weren't prepared for was the animosity from the birth family toward us.

I guess it makes sense--we have their children--hence we are the villains.

It doesn't make it easy to deal with though.

The hallway that we were waiting in prior to the hearing was filled with a lot of profanity, and angry comments--all directed at us.

I was stressed out enough that I couldn't even get my thoughts together to form a prayer in my mind.

I tried repeatedly, and finally gave up--hoping that

someone

somewhere

was praying for us.

As we were preparing to enter the court room I felt almost opressed--I wondered how I was going to survive 4-5 hours of this.

We found our seats, and an odd feeling of calm surrounded me.

I felt almost peaceful.

I felt protected.

Like SOMEONE had put their arms around me.

The feeling lasted through the entire trial.

Which, by the way, only lasted  45 MINUTES!!

Later when I told my friend about this she asked when the hearing had started.

I told her it was almost an hour later than scheduled.

She chuckled and said,

"I looked at the clock--thought you were an hour into it, and prayed you would feel God's presence."

Written In Blue

I'm really enjoying these Memorial Box Monday's. 

My Mother-In-Law gave me permission to share this story with you.

Several years ago she read in a daily devotional book that if you are doubting God's love you should ask Him to specifically show His love for you in a certain color. 

This idea stuck with her, and so she asked God to show her his love in the color BLUE.

The day proceeded without any special circumstances, and she did her housework.  Frequently she would wonder  "Had God heard her prayer?"

As the day was drawing to a close her heart felt heavy--she hadn't seen anything unusual in the color blue, and she felt sad.

About this time my father-in-law came to the door and urgently called her to come outside. 

They have a beautiful pond in their back yard, and he hurried her toward it.

.....And there beside the pond



was a whole mass of Japanese Irises.....



in the most vibrant shade of blue she had ever seen.

Hearing HIS Voice

There have been moments in my life when God has spoken to me in a still small voice.

 There have been moments when he has shouted my name.

 But the moments I love best are when He speaks through circumstances that can not be explained away.

As I've mentioned before my husband is adopted. One of the things that is unique to adoption is that sometimes a child has their name changed when they move to their new home.  In my husbands case this was true--he actually got to choose his new name, but that's a whole other story.  Anyway, not many people know his birth name, but he told me what it was when we were dating.  I didn't think too much about it at the time--just stored it away in my memory.

When we pursued adoption for the first time we prayed that God would somehow let us know when "our" baby came along.  We would get calls about a particular baby, and we always prayed that same prayer.

Then one day we received a call about a little 9 month old boy.  My heart pounded as the social worker gave me details over the phone.  She told me about his background--the foster family he was with--what he looked like, and the name the foster family had given him.  Then she spoke some words that froze me in my tracks.  She said, "his birth name is............."  I must have gasped audibly for she asked what was wrong. 

"That was my husbands birth name" I said, and that's when I heard it.

"This one is YOURS!"