Divine Wisdom from my Four Year Old

Today during the twenty minutes I had alone in the car with my four year old, I was given some pretty good insight.

I picked James up from preschool at 3:00 and while in route to pick up my oldest son and his carpool James asked me some very good questions and taught me an important lesson.

James: “Mom, how come teachers are so smart? Are they smarter than parents?”

Me: “God made teachers to teach you things parents can’t teach you. God gave certain people the job of being teachers. And he gave you good parents.”

James: “Can I be a teacher when I grow up?”

Me: “I think you would be a great teacher James, you can be anything God wants you to be.”

James: “What if I want to be a football player?” (Yesterday he wanted to be a fireman or a policeman)

Me: “James, I think you would be a great football player, you can be anything God wants you to be.”

James: “What if I want to be a football player and God wants me to be the job of a teacher?”

Me: “That is a GREAT question James. What if God wants you to be a teacher and you really want to play football? What do you think you should choose?”

James: “I think I should like to play football but be a teacher.”

This is not a blog post to just tell you that “cute story” from my four year old. Really it is SO MUCH more than the cute story that it is.

First I will have to do some telescoping out and give you a brief time line and history for you to understand why I titled this “Divine Wisdom from My Four Year Old” and not “Something Cute James said Today.”

During that car ride, prior to James timely insight, two songs had played on the radio. Lyrics to songs often speak a message to me.

Typically I will be excited about/struggling with/contemplating something and a few simple lyrics will somehow relate to me.

Quirky as it seems, I even think, “Radio, how did that song writer jump into my head, examine my heart and then write that song for me to hear?”

The first song that caught my attention was one I grew to love about 14 or 15 years ago. It is a Newsboys Song: “Shine.” It is a goofy song but I like it anyway because of the message.

It is also based on scripture and so there is some truth to it, the kind of truth I seek.

dull as dirt
you can´t assert the kind of light
that might persuade
a strict dictator to retire
fire the army
teach the poor origami
the truth is in
the proof is when
you hear your heart start asking,
“What´s my motivation?”

and try as you may, there isn´t a way
to explain the kind of change
that would make an Eskimo renounce fur
that would make a vegetarian barbecue hamster
unless you can trace this about-face
to a certain sign…

Chorus
shine
make ´em wonder what you´ve got
make ´em wish that they were not
on the outside looking bored
shine
let it shine before all men
let´em see good works, and then
let ´em glorify the Lord

out of the shaker and onto the plate
it isn´t Karma
it sure ain´t fate
that would make a Deadhead sell his van
that would make a schizophrenic turn in his crayons
Oprah freaks
and science seeks a rationale
that shall excuse
this strange behavior

 when you let it shine
you will inspire
the kind of entire turnaround
that would make a bouncer take ballet
(even bouncers who aren´t happy)
but out of the glare
with nowhere to turn
you ain´t gonna learn it on “What´s My Line?”

(Side note: the scripture reference about SHINE is found somewhere in the first 6 chapters of Matthew, enjoy looking for it and the “Cool, found it” moment if you should be so inspired to search it out—have fun.)

When that song came on it mentally took me back to my “carefree single days” when serving God “seemed easier” because there was just me to worry about, not too much to give up, time was plentiful, not as many people had not hurt me, it all seemed like a pretty package.

I vividly remember playing this song on a borrowed CD in my old, wrecked, 2 door gold Honda Civic and hitting repeat so many times that the button threatened me not to touch it ever again. Along with the repeat you would have heard a tone deaf gal who can’t carry a note singing the chorus at the top of her voice like she was a rock star. Man, I want nothing more than for my life to shine and inspire and give God glory. When tone deaf, can’t carry a note girl was singing that song I knew God heard it and it somehow hit his ears as a beautiful song.

Two funny things that happened when the song came on, first; I turned the volume up and although James didn’t agree, his mom was a rock star for a few minutes. Second; that song ended and the following song jolted me back to today. Thank you, Matthew West and your song The Motions, and thank you radio for playing it at 3:11 today, right after Shine and…

This might hurt
It’s not safe
But I know that I’ve gotta make a change
I don’t care If I break

At least I’ll be feeling something
‘Cause just ok
Is not enough
Help me fight through the nothingness of life

Chorus
I don’t wanna go through the motions
I don’t wanna go one more day
Without Your all consuming passion inside of me
I don’t wanna spend my whole life asking
What if I had given everything?
Instead of going through the motions

No regrets
Not this time
I’m gonna let my heart defeat my mind
Let Your love
Make me whole
I think I’m finally feeling something

Take me all the way
Take me all the way
Take me all the way

So, perhaps I could end this blog post and you might already get a little of the picture and how James was more than just cute.

But if I stopped writing I would leave out SO MUCH more.

From 10:30 am until 2:10 pm today someone was (figuratively) holding my hand and walking me down a path of pointed questions, reflection, insight, examination and highlighting issues I need to understand.

All this was relevant to decisions I have to make, ministry, and yes, correlating to my life and specific circumstances.

As this path was being hiked during those four hours, the Shine chorus in my life was intersecting with Going through the Motions and other parts of my life that I signed on the dotted line for:

“God I am your servant for your purposes, use me.”

“God whatever it takes, I want to serve you”

Recently, I was speaking in a class and I was telling the folks listening about these two sentences. I wrote them in my Bible on the “Occasions to Remember” page. I was inspired and offered the chance to write them in 1994.

Although I used an ink pen I pretty much wrote it with my blood. I was committed to writing it and I had examined the “Really, would you do WHATEVER it takes?” question.

Yes, I speculated about all the worst case scenarios that I could think of and I still answered: YES!

(I think sometimes folks are scared to ask the worst case scenario questions for fear that ALL of them HAVE to happen in order for the commitment to be REAL.)

Yes, if that means I have to lose someone I love. Yes, if that means you want me to live in a jungle. Yes, if that means someone might cut off my legs and I have to use a wheelchair. Yes, it that means hot acid will disfigure my face. Yes, if that means I have to remain single or childless. Yes, if that means…

Only one of the above mentioned worst case scenarios has happened to me; losing my dad…but that is an eventaul “given” in everyones life (Not to say the rest can’t/won’t.  I don’t know that the future holds, but I do know The Creator of the future.)

For awhile I mistakenly thought serving God with my life could be a pretty white papered package tied with a lovely red bow.

Going on short term mission trips was a financial strain, and a step of faith but the trips were also fun mountain top experiences.

1995-1998 Being involved in the lives of more than a hundred “poor” kids, while directing a church bus ministry was a ton of work, but really fun, inspiring work and the sacrifice of time was actually a reward.

1998: Marriage came with the vow of committing my life “till death do us part”- to my belief system of what a marriage should look like. (Pretty white papered package and a lovely red bow tied across the top. Perhaps a few trials sprinkled here and there as problems arise. A possible crinkle to the paper or loosening of the bow…) All you married readers are laughing. I hear you…

2000: Pregnancy and child number one of three. I committed my life to my belief system of what a good mom looked like. Caleb was healthy and he learned to walk at just 9 months olds…weeks and months ahead of the babies of all my friends. He never had ear infections because being among the crowd of superior moms I breastfed and it was not difficult. At three months he slept through the night, right on schedule because I read all the right books, Motherhood is bliss.

A few things that I did not consider when I meant “Whatever it takes God” have challenged and allowed me to cement my commitment again.

2001: “My child, My servant, will you be the mother of a special needs child?”

NO, no, not me…I follow all the pregnancy books and I am healthy, my body can’t produce a child with a chromosome abnormality. I am only 27, not 44 I am not at an advanced maternal age and at risk for something like this. My children will all be healthy and perfect. I eat well and exercise. What will people think of me? What will they think I have done?

02/12/2002: Oh, Oh, I get it God. Yes, I will do whatever it takes to serve you.

08/26/2002: Everyone has told me to say good bye to her. God she is dying. Why did you give her to me, let me love her and care for her so much if she is just going to die so soon?

08/27/2002: God I trust you know what is best for me. I give Kimmy to you. I understand she is sick and she can be healthy and whole with you. I give Kimmy to you. I trust you to take better care of her than I ever could. Good- bye my sweet Kimmy, you have my permission to leave me. I can let God have you now; He has been the one taking care of you all this time from heaven. He is the one you have felt surrounding you and I all this time. I love you. I can only imagine what it will be like there, constantly surrounded by his glory, what will you do? You will dance…You can go be with HIM. Good bye.

8/28/02- (6 months and 26 days old, 8 hours after her third major heart surgery, not to mention all the other surgeries she had in addition, plus another 8 hours into the critical 24 hour “post op wait” period.) She is doing great? She is going to recover? God you didn’t take her? I don’t know what to do now, I said good bye to her early this morning as she wheeled past the red line that took her into the operating room. They all told me she would not survive the surgery. I really did give her over to you. You asked me to give her to you, why is she still here? Todd and I walked outside after we said good bye to her. We started making plans to live without her. You asked me to give her to you and I did. Oh. Oh… you wanted me to surrender her to you? You were asking me to let her die, but your were not asking me to really let her die, you were asking me to give her to you. To let her go…something I didn’t know how to do. Die to my desires. Thank you God, that she can be fully yours but still alive and MY DAUGHTER!

2005: Oh, so this is part of the purpose for being the mom of Kimmy

2004, 2005, 2006, 2007, 2008, 2009… God, you are SO amazing, thank you for choosing us for Kimmy. I see the gift she is. Thank you for all you have taught me and continue to teach me through her. Thank you for a ministry that I would never have imagined, much sweeter than living in a jungle. Thank you for all the amazing people I get to meet and the places I get to travel. Thank you that you can take something I didn’t want and teach me so much about WHO YOU ARE and how YOU WORK and HOW YOU LOVE.

Perhaps I am not a quick learner. I went through the process of surrendering Kimmy and it was difficult. I have learned a lot, but I forgot the process and what God was asking me to do.

So now, in the midst of a long, painful, ugly trial – the ‘reason for the trail’ is something that has taken me by surprise. (Why did I let it take me so long to “get it”?)

My AH HA moment finally occurred.

OH, so this is supposed to be hurtful and somewhat disfiguring for me…like hot acid being poured on my face but not exactly. I thought this was something else. I thought I could get out of this one eventually. God, are you asking me to do whatever it takes?

This really doesn’t seem fair. God, do you know what you are asking me to do? Didn’t you die on the cross for my sins and the sins of the people affecting this situation? Do you really want me to forgive? Do you how painful this is to bear?

Oh, so when I told you I wanted to be more like Christ, this is part of that? Not just His fun ministry stuff, but the ministry of his suffering as well?

Ok, this is really difficult you know that? Yes, you do know that…I trust you God you have never let me go. You have never let me down. I can only do this because I trust you.

This seems like a risk, but God somehow you erase those very words, “this seems like a risk” because of WHO YOU ARE.

This is an opportunity isn’t it? This is serving you isn’t it? I counted the cost in 1994, I really meant it. You knew that, you were the one asking me to do it all along. You had plans, plans I would not have imagined or wanted.

Thank you for giving me the chance to consider it again, thank you that last Thursday in a very real way you presented me with the option of backing out…I don’t want to miss ANYTHING you have for me because I have fear. I don’t want to go through the motions of following you; I want you to take me all the way. I want to shine and give you glory.

Thank you that when I don’t know how to let go you do it for me, and then I can look back and see what it looks like, kind of…I am not sure I really understand that yet…but you are patient. Thank you. I know you want me to receive a lot from this. I want to learn, I want to do whatever it takes, I am your servant for your purpose.

So, Yes James what you said to me at 3:15 was very divine wisdom. That I might want to play football, but God has a different job for me. BUT as you also said, I should like to do all the things I want, but still do the job God wants me to do.

Poached Eggs and Toast

I am not sure what to call it.  “Anniversary” is not quite the right word. 

October third was the one year “mark” from the day my dad finished fifty-eight years of earth training and graduated to Heaven.

One of my dad’s sisters, my Aunt Tina, emailed family and friends and suggested everyone walk or run a 5K in his memory.  Several families laced up sneakers and found a place to walk across the country.  My brother, Brandon ran the Saint George Marathon. (He was supposed to pace a friend in the race last year and was headed there when a late night phone call from us turned his car around. Eleven hours later he arrived sleepless in Ft. Collins to my sister, my mom and I.)  

Because of our quick trip to Haiti, I could not participate on the same day as everyone else.  I had a few minutes of internet connection and pondered pecking out a quick note to family.  Once connected I found messages from Aunt Tina and my nephew Keaton waiting in my inbox.  I didn’t read them on purpose as just the sight of them caused tears to momentarily overwhelm me. The internet signal faded and I shut my mind off to the memories and let the “busyness” of the trip distract me.

My first day home, travel weary and exhausted I spent several hours remembering and crying and feeling God’s peace about where my dad now resides.  On the airplane ride home from Haiti I had read the book “Heaven is real.”  It is the sequel to “90 Minutes in Heaven.”  Both by Don Piper.  I HIGHLY recommend both.

A new friend of mine recently buried her mom who died a slow death to cancer.  She told me her father had passed many years ago, even before she married.  She asked me what I missed most about dad.

I rattled off a short version of the long list of things I miss most about him.

She asked me how he died and I gave her the details.  Mentioning that I had talked him into running “one more” half marathon, the Denver half that we were going to run together last October 19^th.  He and my sister and I had already run two together that year.  (The first two that Jennifer and I had ever run)

He also ran a few others.  Unaware that he wanted to take a long break after the Georgetown Half in August so he could have foot surgery, I asked him to run the Denver with me so that I could keep up with the training I was enjoying.  He complained a little about the high race fees and I was going to let him off the hook.  But he signed up to run with me and later told me he needed to do the foot surgery.    

I told my new friend that dad had a heart attack following a long training run. He cut his run short when he didn’t feel good, drove home, asked my mom to rub his back and then died instantly from a massive heart attack.

Her first question to me was out of genuine concern, “Do you feel guilty about that?”

“No.” 

But I did for a brief time.  A very brief time.  I am confident that God knows the number of our days and it was my dad’s time to go.  I have peace where some might assume guilt. That comes from God alone.

But the more I thought about her question the more I realized what I really miss MOSTEST about my dad.

I can’t think of one other earthly person I know that would have sacrificed pain, delayed foot surgery and signed on to spend three months of training and run one more race for me.  Of course with that came the chance to get up early together, and talk race strategy over a bowl of warm oatmeal and a mug of coffee.

Really.  I don’t know anyone else who would say “yes” to me like that. It must have been the bowl of oatmeal and mug off coffee that sealed the deal.

What I miss the most is the bond that he and I shared as dad and daughter.  A bond that is impossible to share with anyone else. 

I feel fortunate because that bond was earned.  It was not a token thing handed out to us when my mom’s Obstetrician announced “It’s a girl.”

It was earned by effort on both of our parts. 

But I cherished our bond, I know if may not be true, but he always made me feel like I was his favorite.

I think it is fair to say that we did not have an easy breezy, “Beaver Cleaver” house growing up.  We had many rough times as a family.  Most of them I blamed on my dad.  (Which, about five or six years ago when I was dealing with some anger a Christian counselor helped me work through.)

I only mention that to say that the trials and the good times built that bond.  Both were unavoidable but necessary ingredients. It was not just the poached eggs and toast breakfasts before I was a teenager.

http://kimmyshouse.wordpress.com/2009/07/02/for-dust-you-are-and-dust-you-will-return

(Which, by the way I ate this morning in his honor.)

Hyderabad – Haiti – Home

Kimmy’s House is -a whisper – a connection – a purpose. When God speaks to us,

It begins with a whisper-

               Follows with a connection-

                                And ultimately ends in purpose. 

In June of 2008, Todd and I sat watching a documentary about Haiti.  As I was looking at the images of the Haitian children on my television screen I was pretty sure I heard a whisper…

…there will be a Kimmy’s House is Haiti.  

Just a week later at our board meeting, Carol asked our group, “When can we duplicate what we were doing in Hyderabad and build another special needs orphanage somewhere else?”  

When I listened to Carol’s question, what I heard was a confirmation.  

Fast forward to early spring of this year.  As our organization was applying for and ultimately granted the 501(c)(3) non-profit status we began to think globally for the cause of caring for special needs orphans. 

As a board, we found ourselves transforming the image of “Kimmy’s House” from a single orphanage into an organization that provides funding for special needs orphans around the globe. 

This transformation opened up a literal world of possibilities. 

What if there could be multiple “Kimmy’s Houses” in different locations….as the Lord leads?

Chapter two: Future Kimmy’s House(s)

The shifting of our emphasis from the one location in Hyderabad sent us searching for how to write “Chapter Two” in this exciting new direction for Kimmy’s House.

Would it be possible for us to partner with other organizations that are doing orphan care successfully and add in a population of special needs children and have Kimmy’s House fund their care?

 We want to find where God is already working and join Him there.    

In late June Todd and I met with Mike and Beth Fox, the founders of C3 Missions, now called the Global Orphan Project.   They have orphan projects in Cambodia, Chad, The Ivory Coast, Honduras, Liberia, South Africa, Tanzania, Thailand, Trinidad, Uganda…

…and a little country named Haiti. 

This, of course was the first place they suggested to us. 

Primarily (from a logistical and human perspective) because they have 17 homes there.   

Ultimately (from God’s perspective) because there was already a need waiting  for Kimmy’s House. 

And didn’t God already whisper that over year ago? 

We felt refreshed talking with them about orphan care.  Their model of doing orphan care lines up with the standards we at Kimmy’s House desire. 

They too desire for orphans to be unconditionally loved, well educated, taught skills and ultimately have something to give back to their community and country. 

The villages that The Global Orphan Project builds contain: multiple orphan homes, a clinic, school, church and micro-businesses all focused on providing and caring for the kids that were once left with nothing.

This trip reassured us that there will be many connections globally by partnering The Global Orphan Project and our similar heat-beat for children.

This connection, made in June led us to Haiti last week.  What we didn’t know (and what I have already mentioned in my other posts regarding the trip) was how many other organizations are catching the same “special needs vision” that God has imprinted on our hearts.

In January2010, the rest of our board (and anyone else interested in seeing it from the ground up) will travel to meet Courtney and “her” children.  (I mention “her children” because that is how she refers to them, as “hers” this reflects the commitment and love God has put in her life. The funny thing is that even thought I have not been assigned the same role as Courtney and her staff; I too refer to them as “mine” and “ours.” I suppose many of you also feel the same personal connection. Perhaps it is forming for you… I am in awe of how deep is the love of God.)

We will spend time loving the children and participating in their schedule. We will see the land and the progress there, show everyone the incredible work at NWHCM, and ideally visit some of the villages and orphanages scattered around Haiti that The Global Orphan Project has started. 

The second purpose of the trip is to scout out how KH will send teams in the future to aid and assist the work there.  We all share a common goal of wanting to globally connect folks to special needs orphans; ordinary folks like therapist, teachers, mom’s, youth, churches, groups, blue collar and while collar laborers,  anyone with time, love, desire and or skills to share. (I didn’t intend to leave anyone out of this list,  ANYONE can go.  Even if it seems like a risk to you…you can go!)

Chapter two has more: A New Hyderabad Connection

 Board members Michelle and Steve’s connection to Kimmy’s House began with a two- week-long visit to India in March 2007, visiting both our KH orphanage and the Nireekshana (Hope) HIV/AIDS Clinic in Hyderabad.

 Dr. Sujai Suneetha of Nireekshana, happened to be in Colorado last month.  During the visit I (Shannon), along with Michelle and Steve, see a growing connection to the work of Dr. Sujai.

In addition to providing medical care for HIV/AIDS patients, Dr. Sujai has a staff of committed, compassionate, humble, Godly servants who’ve spontaneously

begun seven homes to care for children orphaned by their parents dying of AIDS.

 In short, Dr. Sujai has the organization already in place to oversee the orphanages.

 We believe we see a great match of like-minded ministry partners in Nireekshana.

 We have begun exploring the possibility of adding a Kimmy’s House special needs orphanage home next to one of the seven existing homes in cooperation with Nireekshana, or to add in a small number of special needs children into the homes.  Either way, it will be exciting to see how God can change social discriminations by mixing the children and having them learn from one another.

As the chapter is being written:

• Please continue to pray for our special needs children in Hyderabad and those we need to minister to throughout the world that we have yet to meet.

 

• Pray for our trip(s) to Haiti this fall and winter, and for God’s discernment in knowing where He wants us to minister next for Him.

 

• Pray that our connections in Haiti and India and throughout the world will bear fruit and lead to the establishment of one, if not two or more “Kimmy’s Houses,” in the coming months.

 

We are grateful for your commitment and support of Kimmy’s House. Your love makes all the difference to special needs children.

Things I Have Never Done Before

In an attempt to creatively write about the adventure in Haiti I will list off the things that were brand new to me while traveling across Haiti.  Or to put it better, a list of things I have never done before, and of people I had never met before.

1. Dine on Goat

In an effort to be a gracious guest I nibbled on a few dark brown chunks. I washed the rubbery texture and gamey taste down with some onion sauce, rice and fried plantains. Also a small glass full of some carbonated concoction of about three random sodas blended together.  I think we called a drink similar to that a “suicide” as a kid.  (Remember when soda fountain machines were first put in fat food, I mean fast food restaurant  lobbies and you would try a splash of each in your cup?)  

Goat Meat

 2. Spent 10 hours in the back of a truck

With 42 bags of supplies, suitcases, backpacks, and 12 new close friends.   98 degree weather and no cloud cover.  We layered plenty of sunscreen and deet on between layers of dust.  I think the max speed we reached was 15 mph.  Not due to the weight of the Americans in the back, but because the path we drove was remote, rocky, hilly and rough.  We also crossed many rivers.  Thankfully, the truck made it each time.  The trip from Mole de St. Nicholas to Port de Paix took 10 hours in the truck on Saturday, because we made a few stops at orphanages, feeding centers and mission centers along the way.

Our air conditioned motor coach for the journey

3. Snoozed on a roof top.

I had to explain to my kids that the roof was FLAT. When I initially told them of the arrangements they were puzzled by how we managed to sleep in a tent on a roof “without sliding off.” 

We arrived late; see number 2 above, at the Northwest Christian Haiti Mission.  www.nwhcm.org  There are two dorms on the campus, but our late arrival came after all the beds had been claimed.  I do think we had the better sleeping option however.  A dorm full of 30 women and no electricity to run a fan did not seem appealing to my olfactory system or my internal heating and cooling monitor. 

We had a tent to keep the mosquito’s out, but it was a still night and we continued to sweat.  I pondered spending the second night outside the tent, but my allergic reaction to the constant application of Deet kept me inside the safe nylon protection.

Rooftop Slumber

4. Listened to drums all night long

See number 3 above.  The first night in the tent I heard a drum beat that played the same chant like rhythm repetitively.  Along with what sounded like a festive type crowd in the darkened near-distance.  The festive noise died out eventually, but the drums played on until the roosters cut them off.  My internal radar told me I was hearing some sort of Voodoo service.

We had passed many colorful flags raised high in different villages throughout the day.  Our hosts told us a little about the Voodoo religion of Haiti.  Each flag represented a different spirit that voodoo priest can summon.  The more flags, the more spiritual power they apparently have. The flags identify how they can heal. 

The night time drum serenade didn’t allow for much sleep, rather I felt an urgency to pray for the country of Haiti. 

I faded in and out of sleeping and praying until the roosters and sunrise began my day.

Over my mug of coffee, I asked the folks at the mission about the drums.  I was hoping they would tell me it was just rowdy neighbors.  Apparently my internal radar was correct, or God was reminding me that prayerfulness accomplishes much.

5. Seen the bigger picture come together with so many connections in one place at the same time.

Sunday was my epic day.  More epic than crossing the country in a truck and surviving the elements.

It started off with Joe Knitting, executive director of www.theglobalorphanproject.org taking us down to the baby orphanage.  We spent awhile holding babies whose moms had died during childbirth (at the birthing center on the NWHCM ) who had no other family to care for them.  It was a joyful way to start the day. (The babies will be cared for here until they are big enough to move to one of the NWHCM orphanages.)

"Whoever ignores the poor when they cry for help will also cry for help and not be answered. Proverbs 21:13

The connections began when we walked over to the Miriam center.  www.kimmyshouse.wordpress.com/2009/10/06/my-passion-has-a-23-year-old-twin-sister/

As we sat in a colorful center filled with 18 special needs children of all ages and ability, equipment, toys, clothes, and amazing love.  Meeting Courtney for the first time and hearing about the center was just the beginning.

The Miriam Center

Soon her bigger vision and plans started spilling out…having more land, a facility for 100 people, built from the ground up with accessibility in the design, built to fit the Haitian landscape and by Haitian standards, run with Haitians in the community who need jobs.  The heartbeat behind it being so that the community can see how valuable the children with special needs are and how there is a mutual benefit when the two mix.

From there we drove to a church in a nearby village.  We had to cross three rivers to get there.  (Um, not by bridge.)The village is where three connecting pieces of land is for sale and after church we walked there.  Something about crossing the rivers and seeing the land gave me a “promised land” feeling.

Janiel Owens, the director of NWHCM, gave us the land cost, boundaries and the vision for the land. 

Starting with the orphanage and planting a church, a school, and a medical clinic.  People will go into the village and do surveys to find out the needs of the people and make sure the land will include the rest of the components to benefit the community at large. 

We were able to walk the land and spend some time standing there huddled together praying for God’s direction.  

What became amazing to me was the shared vision that God has given so many of us.  In our prayer huddle were people from three organizations, The Global Orphan Project, Northwest Haiti Christian Mission, and Kimmy’s House.  Missing from the huddle was Orphans Promise, a ministry of Christian Broadcasting Network. www.cbn.com/orphanspromise .  Orphans Promise has already provided a $50,000 matching grant to buy the land and start building.  (Did you just read that?)

And many of you. 

This excited me to see God connecting so many of us with the same vision and dreams.  Did I already type that?

None of us knew each other when God began this plan, He is bringing us together and uniting us with our common vision.  HIS vision.  I am in AWE and inspired that collectively we can accomplish oodles more than possible individually.

It could be seen as each of us being the ingredients. The cake can’t be baked until all the ingredients are measured out and blended together. This was Epic because it appears that the aroma of baking confections will soon fill the air.  Can you smell it?

"DO not be shaped by this world; instead be changed within by a new way of thinking. Then you will be able to decide what God wants for you; you will know what is good and pleasing to Him and what is perfect. Romans 12:2 ncv

6.  Met David

I met 11 month old David in the Port a Prince airport on the way to Ft. Lauderdale.  The “special needs magnet” in my heart was attracted to him from across the airport lounge.  Or maybe it was my “mom of a child with Down syndrome” that can pick out similar people with my eyes closed. 

David was being held by an Irish woman, Maria, and his black skin was quite the contrast in her pale arms. He was also sporting a nasal gastric tube from his nose and Maria was using a medical syringe to force formula down the narrow gauge tubing into his tummy.  A nasal gastric tube, or NG tube, was the second type of medical equipment I learned to use the first year of Kimmy’s life.  Oxygen was the first, and eventually I could have become a nurse without going to school because of the multitude of things I was plunged into learning to aid Kimmy’s sick body. 

 I wanted to know about David.  Despite the color and gender differences David reminded me of Kimmy.  I noticed how he was breathing and I suspected he had some sort of heart condition.  I remember so well the breathing and chest pulling and fussiness that Kimmy had when her heart was not functioning as intended.  Three major heart surgeries and seven years later, l still remember.

I sat down next to Maria and asked if she was adopting David.  The story is much more exciting than that.

Before she told me his story she needed to excuse herself to the ladies room and asked if I could hold David for her.  (I had shared briefly about Kimmy with her, so I suppose that built a trust level among the three of us, all from different countries, but with some connection.)

Ahh, did she know that holding him was my desire all along from the moment I laid eyes on him?

Maria has been in Haiti for three years, working at an orphanage. She came from the University of Ireland after graduating and decided to stay for a few years.  She is in route back home for a short visit.

Little David was in route to Texas to get heart surgery.  Maria had a layover there and would be handing David off to a host family who will take care of him through his surgery and then a nurse will accompany little David back to his mom.

You see his mom recognized something was different about him and she brought him to Maria’s orphanage for help.  Not to leave him but to get help.  Maria told me that the mom was very happy that he would get his heart surgery but was very concerned that people in the United States would not understand that he was different. She was worried that people wouldn’t know how to hold him properly or treat him nicely.

While Maria was in the bathroom, I told David about the little boy David in the Bible who did big things for God.  I looked in little David’s eyes as he was struggling through his heartbeats, and whispered to him that I suspected God was going to use him for big things too. 

What an amazing gift this young child is.  A mother who loves him unconditionally, an orphanage and clinic in Haiti who has been able to give him care, a woman from Ireland, a plane ride, a hospital full of people in Texas, a host home…all going to learn about what God cares about through a broken hearted Haitian baby with special needs.  What a journey he will have.  What an experience all those that meet his will have.

My Passion Has a 23 Year-Old Twin Sister

What are the odds?  I was born in 1974, Courtney was born the year I got my learners permit to drive.

The journey that put a “special needs shaped passion” in my heart began in 2001, with an ultrasound showing our daughter would have Down syndrome and significant health issues. 

Courtney has a much different journey.  http://web.me.com/courtneympierce/Happy_Dance/Home.html

 Yet our passion is identical.  

I had a whisper in June of 2008 that Kimmy’s House would go to Haiti.  

Coincidentally, Courtney was moving to Haiti to start her internship at Northwest Haiti Christian Mission (MWHCM).  She met some children with special needs that changed her world.

 We met in Haiti this weekend surrounded by 18 gifts.  Those gifts being the children God sent that she cares for at the Miriam Center in Port de Paix, Haiti. 

The rooms in the center are bright and colorful.  As are the faces of the people working there.  Wheelchairs and beds that fit the size of the children were being used.  Puppets and various toys for play and learning were scattered on foam tiles covering the concrete floor.  A storage area with toys labeled for fine and gross motor skill use, files and pictures of the kids chronicling their growth, development and progress… 

All put together by a young woman fueled by her vision and passion.  She, like me, did not go to school to learn how to care for kids with special needs, but rather learned because of where God took her. 

I was amazed to hear what was being done there. Her heart desires to show Haiti that Haiti doesn’t need to discard or hide children with special needs, but rather to let the children teach Haiti. 

I believe the children will teach Haiti more about God, and what God cares about. Just as I see God teaching me through my own daughter. 

 She hadn’t ever read the goals and dreams that are Kimmy’s House.  Until the night before we arrived, she didn’t even know who we were.  She looked at the new banner on the kimmyshouse.com website that reads “A Kimmy’s House Orphanage is opening soon in Haiti” and asked, is that with us? 

Yes, silly, but only God knew it.  Just like only He did when he began to whisper about it to each of us.

And to others. 

The reason our passion is identical is because God put that vision there.  I love confirmations.  I look for confirmations and things that look like coincidences.  This is where I see connections and purpose and know they are from God and not myself.  

***I will continue to journal about Haiti over the next few days.  There is so much more to tell. I have different topics to write about.  If you have the chance to read them all, they will tell the story of this trip, special needs children, the next chapter, and a huge purpose.  Look closely enough and I hope it tells about YOU as well.  I will file them all under Haiti in my categories

Haiti Packing List

I just hung up the phone with Cathie, she is the one coordinating our trip to Haiti for us.

I’ve added Dramamine, a pillow, flashlight and batteries to my packing list.

Dramamine because one of the areas we are traveling too is kind of remote.  Two chartered six seater planes will get our group there.  Last time Todd and I were on a plane that small we were circling Mt. McKinley in Denali.  Between the two of us we filled quite a bit of brown paper bag space. 

A Pillow to cushy the tushy. The second destination is approachable by something resembling a road, only no real asphalt or road engineering was applied.  The vehicle of choice to get us over the terrain is a 4 x 4 truck.  We get the back.  I have enough Dramamine for this part too.

Flashlight and batteries, because electricity is something I am going to learn to live without for a few days.  Good thing I won’t be drinking too much water because late night trips to the squatty potty might give me the heebie jeebies.  Hmmm….perhaps I could try on Depends forty years too early.

Deet.  Check

Malaria Pills.  Check

Sunscreen, sunglasses.  Check

Adventure and Excitement.  Check

Acknowledgement that I would never have imagined I’d get to do something this amazing.  Check

Thrill to be following a whisper from God, a connection to global orphan care and a purpose larger than I expected. Check

Ready!

“I’s and H’s”

I just now changed the tagline on my blog.  Hyderabad – Haiti – Home

I kind of chuckle as I notice that the letter “H” is the predominate letter.

I only chuckle because among the books I read this summer; “Eat, Pray, Love” by Elizabeth Gilbert was suggested to me as a way of understanding value systems and decision making in other cultures.

So I waited to read it until I vacationed in Mexico.

The book is interesting and I very much like the creativity and symbolism she used to divide the one hundred and eight chapters into three segments each correlating to the time she spent in Italy, India and Indonesia. 

Gilbert nicely chronicles her year long journey of seeking pleasure, devotion and a balance between the two.  While I found myself not liking the choices the author made.  (A few times my husband caught an ear full of my personal commentary.) I did find that reading it caused me to examine myself.

She abandoned her struggling marriage, the boyfriend that came next, house, and career (well sort of, she is a writer and was prepaid for the book she was writing so indeed she did not abandon her career or means of financial security, no sacrifice really) to travel and seek personal fulfillment. 

I found it rather narcissistic.  And even the author points out that coincidentally Italy, India and Indonesia all start with the letter “I.”

There is no “final” when one is seeking only self fulfillment. What happens when the “final” gets old, has challenges and no longer fulfills?

I say bah-humbug to that and instead suggest that seeking truth, devotion and a balanced life in the midst of trials, struggles and  failures is where contentment rests.  A Bible verse comes to mind as I write this.  (Ahhhh, to only have these words truly mastered in my own life)

“I am not saying this because I am in need, for I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do everything through him who gives me strength.”  Philippians 4:11-13

Then the pursuit changes from self or “I” to “H” or Him.  By Him I am acknowledging God, our creator and one in charge of the universe. 

The ONE who can gives us strength to do everything through Him. Regardless of our own happiness/unhappiness, successes/failures and rest/struggles.

So why did I chuckle at the letter “H” in my tagline? 

Had I not read the book and noticed the “I” in her journey, it might not have occurred to me to think more about the “H’s” above.  And therefore would have no reason to write this blog entry and confess my own struggle with selfishness and pride.

Did you happen to notice I kind of hid that last sentence at the end of a paragraph and not out in the front?  I suppose someone reading this might pass it by and never notice I put it there.  Then I can go on and not be accountable for it. I can keep hiding it.

Except of the mere fact that I am convicted of it daily.  God is constantly reminding me to think less of myself and more of HIM.  Focus on Him, GOD.  How He allows  and works  to accomplish. Not at what I am able to do.

Really, what am I able to do anyway without Him?  Nothing.

So, I chuckle.  God is good all the time.  He caused me to notice the “H” and think of Him and not “I”.

His goodness was gentle this time.

(A few weeks ago I tripped over a knee-high gate carrying a cooler full of hotdogs.  Before I tripped I was caught up in thinking about how great “I” was for organizing a certain hotdog project for the homeless.  As I was falling I was, not so gently, reminded that pride comes before a fall.  In this case literally) God is good all the time.

So as I notice the “H’s” above, I am reminded to look to Him, because this is not about me. 

In my eagerness to open a Kimmy’s House in Haiti, I find rest in waiting and listening to Him. 

And of course, because of how my mind works, wonder which location will be next and will it start with an “H” also?

Perfectly Fine

I was supposed to be a perfect mom with perfectly behaved kids in a perfectly cleaned house with a perfect husband.  What happened?

I am tired!  I am not in a good mood anymore.  I am going to confess that I am nowhere near perfect and sadly my supermom cape is thread bare these days. 

Did Kimmy  wake up this morning with plans to knock over the display at the store, disown her new favorite pair of flip-flops, use up all my energy before eleven and break my finger and knock the diamond out of my wedding ring?

Today is day seventy eight of summer vacation.  I ran out of energy somewhere near day fifty eight.  I have heard the word “mom” three million, one hundred and thirty two times since June first. That is too many times.  I have tried changing my name and not telling anyone what the new name is.  But they still use “mom” to get my attention. 

Thankfully a vacation to Mexico at the beginning of the month broke up the insanity for nine days.

I am not one of those moms who will lie to you and pretend to be sad that school starts in three days.  I am quite honestly elated.  In fact in approximately 63 more hours I am going to get up early to start doing the happy dance.  Really, I am.   I will have the door closed in my room so the kids won’t see me of course. 

Sometimes Kimmy has these “moods” that she can’t shake.  I have tried tracking them to see what brings them on.  They are perplexing because do not have a particular pattern.  Now if they occurred every 28 days and lasted five to seven days then it would be a no brainer, seven year old pre-pms? 

I may have shared some of the tendencies before.  Sometimes she has a compulsive need to lick and taste things.  Things like dirty cars, the cabinet doors, floors, people’s arms… sometimes she constantly touches E-V-E-R-Y-T-H-I-N-G.  The past few days have been out of control with the touching.  I question if it is behavioral, related to having mental delays, parenting, intentional, or something that might be medicate-able? (Not a subject I am personally ready to think about yet.)

Today’s saga, which is much easier to laugh about, now, started at Office Depot getting the obscure school supplies that Wal-Mart and Target don’t carry.  I purposefully put Kimmy in the shopping cart because I knew that was a close to controlling her need to touch as I could manage.  Tying her hands behind her ears with red duck tape crossed my mind, but thought someone might not agree that is was a good parenting tool. Plus she was wearing pink and the red tape would have clashed.

She did manage to pull down a display of yellow #2 pencils while I was distracted price comparing four packs of red ball point pens.  “I need this,” was her excuse.  A quick slap on the hand to remind her that she needs to control them caused her to sulk a little.

Sulk a little and quietly scheme how to ruin the rest of mom’s day.

Her next ploy was to try out the ole “flipping off of her flip flops trick”.  They flipped off once.  Here is where I went wrong.  I was actually stupid enough to give her another chance.  She already knows the rules about shoes and shopping carts and “Making your shoes fall off is not allowed.  (Not allowed because it drives mom crazy. I exercise regularly thank you very much, I don’t need to spend my shopping time bending down and standing back up, bending down and standing back up while I am pushing a shopping cart.

 But I wanted to show a little Grace.  Because nice mom’s give out grace.  I want to be a nice mom once in awhile, so I tried it.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.  That is a bad word in our house by the way. I don’t let my kids say it.  But I am not showing much restraint right now while I write; I am in a bad mood, so I am typing bad words. 

Plus my kids don’t go on the internet so they will never know mommy uses bad words.  I have had confusing looks before when Caleb has shouted out,

 “Mom, James said the “S” word.”  Sometimes I take the time to redeem myself and explain that in our house the “S” word is six letters not four.  Other times I rationalize that I will never again see the stranger who overheard us and don’t need to waste my time trying to look better than I really am too a complete stranger who has already judged me wrongly.  Let them go home and feel better about themselves because their kids don’t use the “S” word. 

Ok, back to the story.  I gave her shoes back to her once.  Miraculously she kept them on.  Well she did until I told her, “No.” when she asked if she could get out of the cart and walk.

“Fine,” she said giving me the evil –I –dare- you – to tell- me –no-stare. And then promptly flipped her flops off into the aisle.

Giving her the same response and evil stare in return seemed rational, but since I am twenty eight years older than her I decided to refrain.

Instead I said;

“So sorry that you decided to do that Kimmy. The shoes will have to stay there now since you don’t want them. I hope some deserving obedient child who knows how to obey her mommy finds them to keep.”

Honestly, I am glad flip flops are cheap.  This is probably the fifth time we have left shoes somewhere because she does this.  I really thought after the second time she would never ever-ever do it again.  I was wrong.

The last time it happened someone with more mercy than me picked them up and gave them back to her to her.  She might have had more mercy but not much common sense or compassion for ME!

As to not let Kimmy win, I told the merciful woman that I was sorry but Kimmy decided to kick off her shoes to disobey her mommy so she had to leave them on the floor.  Confused and not sure rather or not I was sane she just put them in the back of my shopping cart and said, “Oh.” 

I threw them in the trash can on the way out the door as Kimmy was screaming “My flip flops, my flip flips.”  I made a mad dash for the car in case mercy woman was lurking about ready to retrieve them and throw them at my car.

That was the last time.  SURELY that should have cemented the DON’T FLIP OFF YOUR FLIP FLOPS rule into her brain.  Apparently not.  Oh, and in case you are wondering.   Todd buys her more flip flops, not me.  He did get them for 75% off at Walgreens.

Next stop was the library.  Caleb meets a reading tutor there on Mondays.  This summer Kimmy and James and I did the summer reading activities and then read books and played Dora or Clifford on the computers while we waited. 

The schedule was a little different today because summer reading program is over. (Over because school starts in 65 hours!  HIP HIP HOORAY!) 

This change threw Kimmy off a bit not to have the same expected routine.  This coupled with her already funky mood made the hour a nerve racking one.  I used more energy than humanly necessary to help her remember library manners, reminding her she is not the librarian yet and she cannot go to the workers only area and bang on the keyboards and shuffle papers.  I did heroics to keep her from hurting herself or someone else. Like, the two year old perfectly quiet little boy that Kimmy wanted to hug and carry around like a baby doll. 

When she is having her moods she cannot sit still or stay on task for more than a few moments.  This really sucks the energy out of me. Did I mention I am tired?

So we suffered through the hour.  I tried to maintain my cool.  On the inside my blood was boiling, I was telling myself NOT to cry or yell or scream or throw a temper tantrum myself.  Hopefully to onlookers only saw a calm cool collected super mom wanna be.

Thankfully the librarian knows Kimmy well and was merciful and graceful to Kimmy and me. 

The hour ended, I thanked Caleb’s tutor and we made a quick exit to the car.  On the way Kimmy decided that second graders can run in the parking lot and don’t need to hold mommy’s hand any longer. 

I won.  Second graders who are not obeying their mom’s DO have to hold her hand.

So back to her bag of tricks.  She did the drop-your-body-on-the –pavement-while-holding-hands-so that –the-dead-weight-makes-mommy-stop trick. 

She did it twice and earned two spankings once we were in the minivan.  Spankings on the bottom are given in the minivan and not in the parking lot because parents who don’t spank children and raise them to be unruly or surveillance camera’s might accidentally observe a mom giving a spanking to a child who needs one and call the child protective services and report child abuse and take the child away….take the child away?  Hmm, how long will they keep her?  And will they reform her?

So, after the two spankings I turned around to see Caleb’s tutor had followed us out to bring something he had left in the room.  Slightly embarrassed and not sure if she agreed with spanking or not I quickly said thank you and opened my car door to load up my stuff. 

The side sliding door was already opened and as I was leaning into my door, I noticed Kimmy was picking up her booster seat to throw out the open side door.  (I imagine she was thinking second graders don’t need booster seats anymore either.  Well technically most don’t but Kimmy is the same height as my four year old and only weighs 41 pounds. She still needs one.)

In an effort to keep the flying booster seat from hitting James I leaped back from my door, placed my left hand on the frame and reached out with my right to catch the car seat.  (I was not aware of the whole, where my hands were, until after the fact…)

I saved James and was about to lose my cool on Kimmy’s second grade behavior when Kimmy’s guardian angel saved her butt and made the car door slam on the left hand that was still holding the frame. (Ok, I don’t know for sure how the car door slammed but it did and I can’t imagine why I was the one in pain when I didn’t deserve it.  It must have been to save Kimmy from my boiling blood pressure.)

I did mention above that the “S” word in our house has six letters.  Well sometimes, like when mommy gets her hand slammed in the car door, it still has four letters.  I yelled it.  It was under my breath that I yelled it but it was the first word that popped into my head.  Why is that anyhow? I have not actually used the word in over a decade.  I am pretty disciplined and didn’t need to teach Kimmy a new word she might think a second grader needs to use.

Anyhow, I momentarily lost interest in Kimmy’s behavior and retrieved my throbbing hand.  Well actually just my ring finger was doing the throbbing.  The ring’s setting kept the rest of my fingers from getting smoothed.  This was great and all but my wedding ring was now missing the center diamond, the six prongs were flattened and the actual ring was crushed into my finger in an oval shape and my finger was rapidly swelling and turning purple. 

I had a brief second of “not sure what I should do.”  Cry, yell, scream, look for the diamond, maintain my cool somehow?  I turned to Kimmy and very loudly and sternly told her “SIT DOWN. YOU BROKE MY FINGER AND MADE ME LOOSE MY RING, DON’T MOVE.”

It worked.  Painful way to get my point across, but she didn’t move for about twenty minutes.  She just took deep breaths and prayed she wasn’t getting another spanking.

I found some lotion in the glove compartment and miraculously managed to wiggle the mangled, now oval shaped mass of smaller diamonds, prongs and gold off my swelling purple finger.

Then the boys and I began searching.  After about five minutes, Caleb found the center diamond under the car next to ours. Diamonds are tough.  I think Kimmy was cut from a diamond.

I sat in the car and cried for a minute.  I looked up and saw a women sitting in her car watching me.  Good grief, what must she have been thinking? 

We drove in silence to the jewelers.  The sweet woman who I have come to know over the years looked at it and then me and asked, “How in the world did this happen?”

How did this happen?  I was supposed to be a perfect mom with perfectly behaved kids!

(And my finger is not actually broken, just bruised.  And as tough as motherhood is somedays, I love the gift of all my kids, even if they will never be perfectly behaved!)

For Dust You Are and Dust You Will Return.

…Somehow I imagined the ashes to be soft and airy.  I was surprised at how rough they felt as I rubbed them between my thumb and fingers.

Last year at this time there was a clearly worn path down to the large sitting rocks at the fishing pond.  The rains that poured out of the skies this June produced thigh high weeds and overgrown wildflowers, covering evidence of past footsteps.

This morning, Todd the kids and I made our way to the very spot that held magic 365 days ago.  (http://kimmyshouse.wordpress.com/2008/10/26/grand-memories/)

Today, memories and tears hung thick in the quiet air.

Todd handed the small white box to me.  He asked each of the kids to share Papa Kirby memories out loud.  He took snapshots of them holding up the specially framed photos of each of their first fishing trips with papa. 

I didn’t have a frame to hold in my hands, just the mental step back in time of my first experience fishing with dad.  I was the same age Kimmy is now, seven.  My first fish was small but the recollection of feeling the fish tug on my line and the excitement of dad helping me to land it seemed enormous. 

When you think about fishing you are somehow able to “feel” the familiar sensation of a fish biting your line.  I think it feels a lot like the tug on your heart when it aches.

I smiled as my kids spontaneously recalled something to share. 

I think Caleb is a bit like me.  Mentally if he doesn’t want to deal with a strong emotion he will “turn a page” in his head and think of something else, damning up the flow of grief that wants to run its course. 

Talking about bugs suddenly became interesting to him once he blurted out a quick thought.

We walked on too a patch of rocks above the water’s edge.  One by one I had them take a pinch of ashes and silently think of something special they loved about my dad and then let the ashes go on the water.

Todd took a turn.

After long hugs he took them on back to the condo.  They went to work making a special cement stepping stone to place at the pond later.

 

letting go

I was left to let go.

I sat for a long time thinking of as many good memories as I could.  Somehow too many “should-ofs” snuck their way into my thoughts. 

I “should –of” got up and had breakfast with dad last August when I stayed at their house. Todd was out of town for a few days and so I escaped the long hours of parenting alone and made the drive to Ft. Collins to stay two nights. 

Before I went to sleep the second night I told my dad I wanted to get up early and have breakfast with him before he went to work. 

From the time I was about ten, I quite often got up early in the morning to make my dad poached eggs and toast before he had to go to work.  It was our special time.   I loved boiling a pot of water and mixing instant Sanka into his mug and milk in mine as we sat and shared the few minutes of morning all by ourselves.

For some reason last year I thought that would be fun thing to do again.  However,  James, scared of the noises in the night had come to sleep in my bed across the hall.  This resulted in not much sleep for me.  While the sun rose I could hear my dad getting ready.  Instead of getting up I chose to stay in bed and capture a few more winks.  “Next time,” I thought as I closed my eyes. 

Dad called me later that morning and told me he had made extra noise hoping I would wake up and come join him.  Instantly I regretted not getting up and mentally made a note to do it on our next sleepover at their house. 

I am certain the idea that had entered my mind that night before was a Gift for one more special breakfast with my dad that I was supposed to have, but chose not to unwrap because I was tired.    

Stupid sleep.

I sat on that rock a little longer.  The box of ashes in my hand, I talked out loud to God and asked Him to tell dad that I am sorry I missed our last breakfast and was looking forward to our next one. 

I still don’t know how the whole heaven/earth –  life/death relates or not to one another from my limited perspective. 

But I know I love a BIG God and if I ask Him to please give my dad a hug from me, it is possible.  I also know my heavenly Father gives me hugs when I need them.

This was the first time I held ashes of someone in my hand.  Somehow I imagined the ashes to be soft and airy.  I was surprised at how rough they felt as I rubbed them between my thumb and fingers.  I suppose it has everything to do with bones.

Somehow the time seemed appropriate to let go.  I poured out the heavy ashes into the water below me.  The dust painted swirls in the water as they slowly sank. 

I can’t remember ever watching something with such fascination.  The reality of my dad’s ashes resting at the bottom on the pond captivated me.  I watched the entire process in detail. Dust and water reacting to one another. 

A few small fish were swimming near the rock and moved around in the dust.  After a few minutes some large bubbles made their way up.  What made them?  A bigger fish?  The dust settling?  I regretted letting Todd take the camera back with him.  It really was pretty the first few seconds the dust swirled into the water.  I would’ve liked to have captured it.

When I finally looked up it was because I heard a little boy crying. 

My hug from heaven greeted me when I spotted the reason.  A grandpa and three grandkids, two boys and a girl, each with a pole in hand were headed my way.  The younger boy had stumbled and hurt his knee.  Grandpa was comforting him.

When they got closer I choked out a hello to the grandpa and told him seeing him take his grandkids fishing blessed me.  He kindly asked me if I was ok and I managed to tell him about last summer, my dad passing away nine months ago and what I had just done. 

After all it was not a mere coincidence that they had come to fish at that time. I didn’t think it would be right to just let them pass without saying hello.  I talked with the kids for a minute.  The little girl asked her grandpa why I was crying, he told her I was sad because my dad had died. 

She looked at me sweetly and told me “When he comes alive again, he can take you fishing.”  I smile and her grandpa told her, “No, her dad is in heaven.”

He invited me to sit and fish with them.  I declined but watched as they walking to the magic fishing spot to make some memories of their own.

 “Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked I will depart. The LORD gave and the LORD has taken away; may the name of the LORD be praised.” Job 1:21

The fishing Pond at our place in Grand Lake

Approved for Change!

This blog possibly started out as a place to write stories and highlights about the orphanage in India that cares for special needs kids. 

I say possibly, because I wasn’t handed a set of official instructions about what I should write once I was welcomed onto the worldwide web of blogging with the name Kimmy’s House.  

This has become more of a personal space for me, Kimmy’s mom, to share about life here in Kimmy’s Colorado house. (Of course Todd, Caleb, James and I live here too. Kimmy doesn’t totally dominate the place, although she thinks she does.)

But today, this post will highlight Kimmy’s House. Not our home in Colorado.  Not the place in India.  But “Kimmy’s House” as a means to care for special needs orphaned and abandoned children globally.

 

Date: May, 27, 2009

Dear Applicant: (Kimmy’s House c/0 Shannon Neel)

        We are pleased to inform you that upon review of your application for tax exempt status we have determined  that you are exempt from Federal income tax under section 501 (c) (3) of the Internal Revenue Code.

(few more paragraphs of government stuff…)

Sincerely,

xxxxxx

What reliefs to have this letter finally greet me at the mailbox! 

When the application was sent in a year ago we were told it would take up to 90 days to hear back and determine if information beyond the initial application would be needed.  In April, two tad-bits longer than 90 days, we did hear back from the IRS.  They needed more information.  12 paragraphs with specific questions for further explanation to determine rather or not our organization and our purpose met the criteria of this particular section of the IRS code. 

It was also obvious that the way we originally had things set up needed a few changes.

Imagine that.

Coincidentally things are changing for us.

It is true that there is an orphanage near Hyderabad, India, that cares for special needs children who have been orphaned or abandoned.  It is run solely by hard working Indian Nationals.  It has been given the honorary name of “Kimmy’s House” because of the initial investment Kimmy’s family made to purchase the land and build a home. 

The vision to care for the children was in the heart of the Indian Director, Timothy, long before Todd visited India in 2005. 

The idea of forming an organization here in Colorado to fundraise and find monthly sponsors to feed, clothe and care for the children came in 2007, shortly after the capacity of the original buildings was overflowing.

The organization, like the orphanage, was named Kimmy’s House.

So, as required, a Board of Directors was gathered so that we could be recognized as a Colorado non-profit, then apply for our 501(c)(3)

At our first official meeting, Carol, the mom of an adult child with traumatic brain injuries, asked the rest of us when Kimmy’s House would duplicate and open more orphanages.

The same suggestion has always existed in my mind, but was purposefully silenced until much further down the road.  Just in case it seemed too big to everyone else.

I am just thankful it was placed on Carol’s heart to ask.

Confirmation of something to come.

At the time of that meeting, our application was still in the drafting stages.  Gerald, our Secretary was learning the process as he was filing it out. 

There was still a least a hundred decisions to make about our current status.

“We can take it slowly before we think about replicating”.  (We didn’t have a successful model yet to duplicate.) 

Sometimes those things may not matter.

Since we are unable to control time, change, and plans that are not our own, we have to remain flexible and willing to maneuver onto unfamiliar paths.

And that is where Kimmy’s House is today.  Approve.  Approved for change. Flexible and willing.

Kimmy’s House has a “Chapter Two.” It has already been written, even as I type this. 

I am typing this blog post, not “Chapter Two”.  Don’t get confused.  I have limits.  The Author of “Chapter Two” does not.

So far only the opening paragraphs of that chapter are clearly seen by all of us.    But we have begun to think of Kimmy’s House as beyond the land and cinderblock confines near Hyderabad, India. 

Kimmy’s House as an organization, officially approved two weeks ago, will operate to fundraise for the care for orphaned and abandoned special needs children globally.

More will follow.  Just needed to share the BIG news.