Our Beloved Serge

 

I write this with tears streaming.

Our beloved Serge has given his life for his country.

He didn't have to. He had his American citizenship. He could have left and sat safely on this side of the ocean.

But he loved Ukraine.

So he entered the trenches with all the other volunteers, and he is gone.

We loved him. 

Without him we would not have Aaron. Pure and simple. He fought like a grisly bear and got our boy out, and I will be eternally grateful to him.

He oversaw all three of our crazy adoptions.

When our second one almost derailed, he sat in a coffee shop with us for hours while we grieved.

He was gruff and had his detractors, but he helped facilitate thousands upon thousands of adoptions.

He went to bat when no one else would.

Just weeks ago, when a family was turned away at the airport - he marched in with lawyers and got them safely home.

He was a fighter.

In every way.

We loved him.

The first American citizen to die for Ukraine.

A pointless, cruel, unprovoked war.

Please pray. We know so many others throwing Molotov cocktails at Russian tanks.

My heart bleeds this morning.

Our People

 My heart has been so broken the last few days.

I scour the news. Every 10 minutes. I keep tabs on my 'peoples' over there.

I have shed a lot of tears.

This is a bit of what we know about some of "Our People" over there. People who matter to us and to God. Precious souls caught in a war that was totally unprovoked. 

A group of precious souls in a ministry we support - Bible Orphan Ministry - is in the capital with a large group of children and youth - hiding out in a church facility. The terror they face is real. They are forced to comfort the small ones, holding their ears against the sounds outside. They wanted to get out yesterday, but they were unable to move as they couldn't find a driver. I'm praying they can find a way today. The bridge to the west has been blown up making escape more difficult.

Another ministry - Jeremiah's Hope - has lost contact with a group of 10 children and 3 staff members. That same blown-up bridge has made it impossible to get to them. The village is surrounded on all sides. 

Other dear dear friends - Wide Awake International -are in their homestead two hours from the capital. Their place bursting at the seams as they open the doors for those in need and care for the ones inside. They have so many lives in their care, and they are praying for wisdom in this time.

Two of our powerhouse adoption facilitators are in a village that is not far from the capital. They are making Molotov cocktails and standing ready to defend their land. I love those fierce women so deeply!

Another facilitator posted video yesterday of an empty city square. His was the only car on the road. That area is NEVER free of cars. EVER. It's a place we have walked hundreds of times - it's like home to us. I watched the video and wept. I cannot stand the thought of bombs being dropped there.

Down in the south are more of those we love - Heritage Ukraine. It is quiet there for now after the first day of bombing. Eerily quiet. They are watching and waiting and praying. Their area is dangerous. A place long coveted by Russia. They too have many people in their care. 

One missionary family from John's area got over the border this morning after a stressful 24 hours with small children in tow. The line of those wanting out of the country stretching for miles and miles. Those in the villages along the route who are choosing to stay are carrying bits of food and drink to those waiting in their cars. No money. No thank you. God speed.

I've sent messages to anyone and everyone. 

To John's birth family. Letting them know they are not alone. We are praying for them here.

I could go on and on. We know so many. We love deeply this adopted country of ours.

I am not alone in my obsession. I go on my Facebook feed and see all my friends waving the blue and yellow flag and grieving alongside of me.

We share the same story. This is our children's heritage - their birth home. There are thousands of us who are standing for Ukraine along with their children.

My boys are in shock. This is their people. Which has made them Our People. It's hard to process. It doesn't seem real.

Their birth country is being taken over and there is nothing we can do to stop it.

All we can do is watch and pray.

We can send out words of encouragement. Let 'Our People' know they are not alone. 

Watch and pray some more.

And pray some more.

My Heart Bleeds

 When war happens across the ocean in countries where I have little knowledge, I feel sorrow for the people, but it's not soul crushing. This morning as I hear reports of bombs going off in cities where I have traveled and where three of my children were born, it's like a blow to my gut. 

I had to go back in my files to find a sweet picture of my three in their native dress. 

This is their home country that is being bombed.

Numerous cities.

This is not just a small operation. Do you see the map? 

I've been to a number of those cities. 

Aaron's institute - filled with precious helpless boys sits right near where bombs dropped this morning. 

Mary's institute was near another. 

John's orphanage a few hours from bombs in several directions.

There are faces to my prayers. People we dearly love. Ministries that we support. Orphanages. Institutes. 

There are families in the process of adopting who are there now. Despite the warnings they went because NOTHING keeps a Mama away from her child. 

There are adoptive families grieving here as they are now cut off and unable to go back. They are in the middle of the process. The children waiting for them. Dear Lord!

One family starting the process was leaving tomorrow. Can you even imagine? Their bags packed. The call of their boy screaming in their ears. 

So far, from e-mails we've received and watching Facebook, those we love over there are safe. Some woke this morning to their homes shaking from the bombs, but they are safe. 

But many have already lost their lives. 

And more will be lost in the coming days.

It's beyond real. My heart bleeds for a country that has been struggling for so long to get its bearing. 

I was there during the Maiden Revolution. I saw the fierce desire of the people to live in a country that is free. Free inside and out.

No matter what you hear in the news - they don't want this. Most of them may speak the language of the invaders but that doesn't mean they want to be invaded.

They are proud. They are fierce. I am praying with all my heart that they are not overcome.

Predators in Our Midst

She came up to me at the end of one of my sessions last year.

Something I said had struck a chord and she wanted to talk.

In private.

At first, we chit chatted. Small talk. About homeschooling and our children.

And then the floodgates came.

Her daughter.

Her 13-year-old daughter had been groomed by a predator. 

Her 13-year-old homeschooled daughter whom they tucked into bed each night had been carefully and meticulously manipulated by a man in their neighborhood. 

She was a quiet girl, insecure. She struggled with self-esteem issues. He posed as an older boy on social media. He craftily developed a relationship with her. He lavished praise and words of love on her. He made her feel valued and important. 

She agreed to meet him.

But before the meeting, her parents found out. 

They called the police.

The man was caught. The girl was safe.

But not really.

Since nothing happened, he was released.

And still in her neighborhood.

The girl was angry. Not at the man, but at her parents. She was thoroughly and completely convinced that the boy/man loved her. She didn't care that he was older. He loved her.

The police talked to her. Counselors.

She wouldn't listen. He loved her.

The family was caught in a nightmare that wasn't going away.

They had to watch her all.the.time. 

They never thought it would happen to them.

-----------------------------------

Trafficking, predators - not in our neighborhoods, right? We think we are safe. We live in the suburbs. We live in the country. We homeschool. We do all the right things, right?

Adoption has forced me to confront the ugly world of trafficking. Predators.

My children came from a system where many of the young girls and boys are groomed even in the orphanages. So that when they are given their suitcases at age 16, they go right from the orphanage and into the pit of hell.

Of course they think they are going into a better life. With promises of a good job and all the bells and whistles that go with that.

Other girls are taken before they even leave the orphanage. Men pay directors money and take their pleasures with them. It happens to the boys too. 

They are the least of the least and when they disappear into the underworld - no one goes looking for them. They are lost to a system that will chew them up and spit them out when they are done with them.

I started reading books about it.

And my eyes were opened.

Trafficking isn't just about sex although it is a huge part of the industry. It's also about labor. Exploiting the poorest of the poor with promises of a job. Instead, they become slaves in a home or a farm or a factory. Forced to work inhuman hours under horrible circumstances with no chance of freedom.

But not in our country, right?

Not in our neighborhoods.

The more I read - the more I know that it is everywhere. A hidden world of modern-day slavery. Men  and women preying upon the weak, the outcast, the one that no one is going to go looking for.

And I have asked myself. What can I do? 

How can I help?

How can I take part in a human tragedy that grieves God's heart deeply?

------------------------------

Last winter my son Ben met a sweet girl and the two fell promptly in love.

 We have a wedding happening this year.

That just doesn't seem real.

We are thrilled - don't get me wrong. But it's hard to wrap my brain around the fact that my firstborn is getting married.

He's got great taste though.

She's a keeper!

We love her.

We also love that she has a heart for the vulnerable.

Anna has a ministry called Transformation Freedom Initiative.

Rather big words.

In simple English - It's a ministry to raise awareness about human trafficking.

Did you read that?

I sure did a double take when I found out what she did.

Here I am - reading books and praying and trying to figure out how I can get involved and the Lord just kindly drops Anna right in our laps.

Anna's ministry is designed to stop trafficking before it starts.

To educate.

To teach the kids and the parents about how a predator operates.

Predators operate in the neighborhoods, malls, schools and on-line. On social media. In chat rooms. 

Here's an important fact - Sex trafficking rarely begins with a violent abduction (although this does happen too). It begins with someone the victim knows and usually trusts or loves.

And if you think that it ONLY happens on social media, and by keeping your children away from electronics that you will keep them safe, think again.

Traffickers/Predators can be found everywhere. Anywhere. Even in church. 

Anna's ministry is a community effort. The goal is to bring awareness, prevention, detection, rescue and restoration. Anna speaks all over the area - to children, adults and to whomever will listen. 

It's a humble ministry.

By a humble lady with a big heart and a lot of passion.

Why am I sharing this?

Because I love her, and I love her heart.

And also, because TFI (her ministry) is having a 5K run in our area, and I want all my local peeps who love to run or are willing to walk - to come out and join in.

February 18, 2022 - 9:00 am - Newcomb Course - Charlottesville, Virginia

It only costs $35.00 to enter.

John and Aaron and I will be there as volunteers.

I am so hoping that some of you will come join us.

To run. To walk. To volunteer.

Come on out. For a great reason!

If you aren't in my area or are not into the run/walk thing -then you can donate to the cause!!

Win. Win.

Raising awareness to keep even one vulnerable child safe is so worth the time and effort.

CLICK HERE to run or walk!

CLICK HERE to donate! 

 

COVID. Snow. ZOOM. BiblioPlan.

 Wow this blog has been quiet for a while!

Not that it's been quiet in our little house on the hill.

On the contrary.

Between a very MILD COVID assault over Christmas... that confined us to quarters for 10 solid, very noisy days....

And a snow blizzard that kept us off the roads...

Followed by another snowy mess a week later that again confined us inside....

We have been bouncing off the walls and driving a certain mom a bit crazy!

I'm beyond glad for no snow days this week!

So that the noise in our house can go outside for a bit.

Last year at this time I was drowning in teaching ZOOM classes through our local homeschool co-op. 

I was teaching five different classes (history and writing) and was going crazy writing lessons to keep all my students engaged.

I vowed I would never ever ever in a million years do that again as long as I so lived.

Okay - Maybe I didn't vow quite that much but I did say quite a few times (with tears rolling) that I would never do ZOOM again if I could help it.

And here I am.

A year later.

Team teaching five ZOOM classes (history) through our business with Ben as my fun side-kick.

I'm drowning in writing lesson plans. And wondering how in the world I could ever have been so crazy to do this again!

Don't get me wrong. I LOVE my students.

We have the BEST group of kids imaginable. Every single class has been a blast. We could not have been more blessed with the students the Lord gave us this year. They are enthusiastic and fun to teach and from all over the United States! We even have some sweet girls from Britain in one of the classes!

But writing the lessons... that's another whole ball game.

Last year, I taught two of the three time periods we are now doing.  

Since I taught two of them - I figured... it can't be that hard. Just write one more time period this year and we are good to go!

Except that we also decided to put all the lessons in a more professional Power Point format.

And my first 25 weeks from last year were ROUGH and needed MAJOR revisions. 

Mainly because I didn't decide to do ZOOM through our business until I was on week 25ish which meant that all the earlier lessons were written with NO THOUGHT of tomorrow.

So yeah - they were a bit rough. 

So that means I am basically writing all three lessons again each week.

Each lesson takes me one to two days ... even more when there are bouncing kids who are confined in the house.

And to top off the insanity... Rob was working on his own intense project and needed my input. 

I willingly jumped in thinking it would take me a week. I spent two solid months drowning in his project. We finished it during our COVID Christmas with a definite, "We have been run over by a train" look in our eyes.

After peeling myself off the train track, I went right back to writing my ZOOM lessons and mumbling under my breath about why I ever thought this was a bright idea.

My only consolation is that next year... I have NOTHING to write for ANY of the current three time periods.

They will be done.

Fully finalized. Team teaching allows me to test the lesson and refine it.

So done is done!

But we have FOUR time periods.

So I have one more to write.

Modern History

I can do ONE next year.

Right??

Easy Peasy.

Right??

Except we may add high school classes next year.

On Zoom.

Lord help me!

And that is a bit of why this little blog has been a bit quiet.

COVID. Snow. ZOOM. BiblioPlan.

The end!

P.S. We start enrolling for our fall ZOOM classes in April. Come join us!

Look In His Eyes!!

 

DID YOU SEE????

We are smiling over here in Virginia...

Presley has 5,000 in his grant account!!

Oh yes he does!!

And if you were one of those who gave - thank you so very much!! (If you didn't give yet - please do - the more he has - the better it will be for his future family!!)

Even though we reached our goal, the work is not done.

Because Preslley needs a family.

Please someone SEE that little boy.

He's LITTLE.

He's got SO MUCH POTENTIAL.

Please don't see his diagnoses and get scared off.

We would have missed so much had we based our decisions on words on a piece of paper.

YES the unknown is scary!!

But Please...

Look in his eyes... 

He is worthy of someone taking the risk, jumping the cliff and saying YES.

PRESLLEY

He has 5,000 in his grant account. That's a HUGE start to what is needed to adopt him.

He Cannot Talk

 He cannot talk.

Three simple words on my little Preslley's profile.

It sounds so final.

The end.

A non-verbal child.

Mute.

And maybe he is.

Maybe they are right.

But even non-verbal children have a whole lot to say.

Aaron came to us virtually non-verbal.

Yet, I've never seen a child who was able to convince you to give him whatever he wanted without uttering a word.

His eyes spoke paragraphs.

He used his non-verbal mouth to point with his lips at whatever it was he wanted.

He'd focus his eyes on the desired item.

He'd look at us with those pleading eyes and adorable dimples.

Non-verbal my foot.

He could get a piece of candy without saying one word.

He could get anything without saying a word.

Mary came to us virtually non-verbal.

The words she did speak would have made a sailor blush.

Yet she had us so twisted around her little finger without uttering a word that we never knew what hit us.

Non-verbal children can speak volumes.

Non-verbal children notice things. They watch. They see what the rest of us miss. They are patient. They know how to wait. 

They get what they want.

I don't know how.

But I know I have been manipulated more times than I can count by the two most proficient non-verbal children in the world.

My two non-verbals talk up a storm now.

They were non-verbal because of physical reasons. 

There were non-verbal because of developmental reasons.

They were non-verbal because of trauma.

They were non-verbal because no one took the time to talk to them. Ever.

They were non-verbal because no one took the time to listen to them.

They were non-verbal because they were diagnosed non-verbal.

They were non-verbal because it was the one thing they could control.

We never treated them as non-verbal.

We talked to them from day one as if they would one day talk back.

We cherished the simple words they began to speak. 

We gave them time to speak.

We expected them to speak.

We required them to speak.

Simple words.

Good morning.

Hello.

Goodbye.

Baby words.

For one year.

Two years.

Three years.

Neither spoke in more than one to two word sentences for three years.

We of course wondered if they ever would.

We of course worried that they never would.

We of coursed longed for language to blossom out of their lips.

It's still a work in progress.

Little girl has been home four years. 

She never shuts up.

She is now speaking in short sentences. Some of the time. 

She struggles to pronounce words so that we can understand.

But she talks. And talks. And talks.

At night after we tuck her in bed she lays there and talks and talks and talks.

"Go to sleep, Mary!!"

Non-verbal my foot.

Aaron is eleven years home.

He never shuts up.

He still struggles to pronounce two and three syllable words.

Remembering nouns is difficult.

His sentence structure is rough.

But he talks. And talks. And talks.

He loves to chat away with anyone who will listen.

He loves when you listen.

He talks because he now has someone to listen.

He has so much going on inside his head. 

His words don't come close to portraying the intelligence he carries inside of him.

He's a smart young man.

With oh so much to say!

"Preslley cannot talk," say the powers that be.

I doubt it.

I really do.

He possibly is non-verbal because epilepsy has damaged his language centers.

He possibly is non-verbal because trauma has stolen his words.

He possibly is non-verbal because no one has ever talked to him.

He possibly is non-verbal because no one has ever listened to him.

He possibly is non-verbal because he has been diagnosed non-verbal.

He may truly be non-verbal.

But even so... I guarantee he has a whole lot to say.

If you would give him the chance.

Listen to him.

Find the little boy inside the silent eyes.

Please - someone HEAR Preslley.

He may not be able to talk but I guarantee, he has a whole lot to say!

To all those who have given to his grant account. Thank you.

You have kindly given $510.00!!

We are $990.00 from reaching our MATCHING goal.

Please help me.

Share him.

Give to him.

Let's make it easy for his Mama and Papa to HEAR him!

CLICK HERE TO DONATE TO PRESLLEY!!

A Year Gone By

 

There's something about looking back.

Looking through pictures. Sharing stories.

Laughing. Crying.

It's a gift to look back. It's a gift to remember the stories - the events - the people.

It's a gift to walk through those moments.

They represent the life we have lived.

The good. The bad. The sad.

It's our story. Our life. Rich. Full. Challenging.

 

We can sit surrounded by pictures and memories and remember.

Our cups overflow with those memories - the sights, the sounds. All of it.

"Do you remember when?" 

We have shelves filled with albums. My phone overflows with pictures and videos. All around the house are mementos that speak of stories of the past. 

I love looking back. I love seeing pictures of my babes when they were younger. I love chuckling and remembering. I cherish the rips in my heart over those who are gone. 

They signify life. Love. Relationships. 

And then there's Preslley.

A year has gone by.

His album is empty.

He has no new pictures.

Just the same two pictures from a year ago.

He has no memories apart from the dreary day by day life in an orphanage where sameness is the rule.

He has no mementos hanging around his bed.

What is his belongs to everyone. Nothing to call his own.

And saddest of all.

He has no family chasing across the ocean to get him.

I yelled for him a year ago.

I am yelling again this year.

I am a broken record for a little boy living in a broken system.

I am again raising money for his grant account.

I know. Broken record.

I am again trying to raise awareness for him to find a family.

Another broken record.

It's easy to get bored by the sameness of it all.

Julia's yearly cry for the orphans across the ocean.

Julia's yearly plea for donations.

And life goes on.

And it has.

For a little boy lost in a system that doesn't care.

A year gone by.

An empty photo album.

Preslley.

He has a matching grant of 1,500.00.

That's 500 more than what we try to raise each year.

He's worth every penny.

His grant account needs to reach 3378.00 and another 1,622.00 will be added.

The goal is to get his account to 5,000.00.

Help me.

Not just raise money but get him seen.

He has two little pictures in his album.

They are over a year old but it is all we have.

Share them with your neighbors and friends.

Share them with your spouse.

Share them with your heart.

Share them.

PRESLLEY

Mary's Make A Wish

Make a Wish...

A dream come true organization.

You make a wish and BOOM - you get your wish.

How cool is that?

I have several boys who wish they could Make a Wish.

But there's a catch.

It's not for everyone.

It's a program for children who are considered terminal. Children who are fighting for their lives.

Children who face a grim future.

It's a program to bring a smile to their faces.

Give them laughter in the midst.

Give them hope.

Make a Wish in the midst of their hard...

Let that Wish bring a bit of Joy.

I didn't ever consider one of my children would make the list.

I didn't ever want one of my children to make that list.

Mary did.

When we were told she qualified I felt like my breath had been knocked out of me.

NOOOO....

Not my girl.

She's too tough.

She's too resilient.

She's oh so fragile.

Her roller coaster of seizures keep us constantly on edge.

Just when we think we have them figured out - they change.

Just when we think we have beaten the beast back in one area - it pops up in another area. 

When things are going well, we count our days by how many have passed without status.

When she is tanking, we count our days by how many hours without status.

Up and down.

The seizures have damaged her language centers. They make learning difficult. 

We have had to come to terms with the reality that she's not going to advance in school like our other children.

She has the official 'intellectually disabled' diagnosis.

She is untamed and wild. Parking lots add gray to my hair. She flits here and there - we can never rest when she is out and about.

She is quick to love and quick to rage in anger when she doesn't get her way.

We call her impstress and tyrant and crazy girl.

She says what she thinks and bosses like she owns the world.

She wins hearts with her impish grin. She hugs big and loves her peoples with passion.

We count our blessings over her. 

She doesn't suffer with the 50+ body slamming drops she did a year or so ago. 

Some days the little seizures that plague her all day disappear.

Other days - like yesterday - she begins and ends her day in status. 

We rescued her last night in the parking lot at UVA after watching the men play soccer. 

It's a never ending never ending.

She's a Make a Wish child.

She couldn't tell us what she wanted so we wished for a playground for little girl...

A place of adventure and imagination.

A safe place to climb and play without fear of falling.

A place where she can make some fun memories.

We made a Wish for a Little Girl.

And her wish was granted.

Thank you MAKE A WISH!!

A Comedy of Errors

I am an awesome mom. I went to Alaska and bought my kiddos COOL Alaskan shirts!!

Points for me!

Did you know that an airplane uses a pogo stick in the back to keep its balance when it is sitting in dock?

Okay - I am probably not writing that correctly but the captain did say to us that the 'pogo stick' was missing.

Yep.

On my flight to Georgia after a wonderful experience in Alaska I learned all about pogo sticks. 

I was in ROW EIGHT. Like - the BEST seat behind first class seating. 

I did something on this plane I never ever do -  I paid a bit extra so I could get OFF that plane quickly! 

And after being on that plane for an hour and a half LONGER than was originally promised... due to 'A Comedy of Errors' (the captain's words for why we were so late leaving/arriving)... I REALLY wanted to get off that plane.

But they lost the pogo stick. Or couldn't find it. Or something.

So we could not get off in the normal, orderly, first class seating leaves first and then my row eight a few rows behind them gets to leave. Nope. 

Without that important pogo stick holding down the plane in the back - we had to disembark from the back of the plane to the front. So that the plane wouldn't flip up like a seesaw.

You learn something new every day.

I learned about pogo sticks, and I learned a LOT of patience as I watched the 10,000 people behind me S.L.O.W.L.Y. make their way to the front of the plane... looking for their luggage that had been stashed here and there when they first got on because by the time they boarded, all the overheads above their seats were full. 

So one by one they walked up and down the aisles searching in all the different overhead bins for their lost luggage. I really wish there was such a thing as a GPS tracker on luggage. We could have used it on that plane for all those poor people.

Here is something I noticed... just about everyone in the back of the plane owned black luggage. And none of them had added any special tape or tags to differentiate their luggage from anyone else's luggage. And just about every other piece of luggage in the overhead bins is black. Finding their luggage was a bit like finding a needle in a haystack. Some poor souls had to give up hope until the plane emptied!

It took 45 minutes to finally leave that plane because of a missing pogo stick. 45 very very long minutes.

I wanted off because a certain husband of mine and three of my littlest were meeting me at a restaurant for dinner.

That certain husband had not counted on having to drive his three littles all the way to Georgia from Virginia. He had not counted on setting up for a convention. He was in the middle of FINISHING an 800 page book. He didn't have time for 9 hour van rides!

But my poor helper was sick (NOT COVID) and could not make the trip and so from Alaska I was organizing the troops to get everything packed up, food made for Mary etc. etc. so Rob could bring the materials down so we could sell at the convention.

The greatest part of the week (and Alaska was pretty great) was when I came walking into the restaurant (exceedingly late) to find my family. The cutest part was when Mary saw me. She was shocked, surprised and beyond happy. How her Mama got to that restaurant was beyond her comprehension but her world was righted when I walked in. 

On the plus side of having Rob there, I got to be with my bestest friend in the world at a convention. On the down side, we barely saw each other. I worked hard at talking to customers, speaking and  keeping Mary contained so Rob could FINISH the book. The boys helped me with such great attitudes!! I don't know what we would have done without them! Mary did amazingly well until Saturday afternoon and by that time Rob had finished the lion's share of the work and could take her with him.

Sadly, seizure-wise - Mary had a rough rough time. Driving home was a bit of a nightmare. She kept tanking - seizures and status stacking up on top of her all day. 

By Sunday night we had rescued her six times over a 24 hour period.

We have a call into the neurologist's office as we need to sort out what is going on with her. 

But the book is done in spite of the utter crazy last week.

It is heading to the printers today and the e-book is now available on the website!!

Praise the Lord!

Now we just need to write all the supplements that go with it!

Sigh.

BIBLIOPLAN