Psalm 2012 v.128

Why must a mother's heart feel such anguish?
Why must the helpless one suffer?

Human minds try to reason with mysteries
Trying their theories on the needy, the wounded, the broken
Some things are beyond all reasoning, beyond all that one can bear
Where are You?
Are You there?

Weighty, crushing is my heart of anguish
Breathless, helpless, life suspended
Wishing, waiting, almost listless
In the stillness, so alone

You are listening, waiting, watching
Crying, grieving, heaving, sorrow
In the stillness, I hear You breathing
And I faintly see You leading
To a place - - so rare

The place of leaning, cleaving, bare
Into something beyond reason
Where - oh where -  oh where?

The place that only You can go
The place that only You can know
The place of humble resignation
And yet - without despair

My hope is found in You alone
The kindest One I've ever known
Who speaks of things I do not know
And keeps me in His care

Come meet me, greet me, in this place
And let me see Your loving face
The One who wipes away my tears
And keeps me in His care

I find my rest in You alone
I lean away from all I know
And press into Your beating heart
And find my safety there

For You are with me, breathing, listening
Touching, reaching, healing, kissing
Your child, your love, be-loved one
I - am in Your care

Now I feel You gently reaching
Loving, caring, breathing, listening
Now I know that You are here
And I am not alone

I - am not alone

Isaiah 66 - As a mother comforts her child, so will I comfort you

Looking for the whole story?

A great big thank you to the many many people who read the story of The Making Of A Miracle.

If you have just arrived and would like to start at the beginning, then:
go to this link here.  

It will be worth it. God's work always is.

The Making Of A Miracle - Part 13

Recap from last post:

* A list of dreams, desires and demands that had been written at least 3 years earlier, was right in front of our eyes. No one knew about the perfect match up but us. Us and God.

The meeting was on a Thursday. We invited John into our home and spent the next 3 hours or so talking. At the start of the meeting he thanked us for welcoming him into our homes....our lives. He let us know that he and his colleague had traveled 4 hours from the coast to see us this fall day. On the 4 hour journey, they prayed for us and our family. God had told them that Lindsay was to be the one that they welcomed into this new available bed. (who does this?)

We spent hours talking about Lindsay's unique needs, her history, etc. John listened, wrote lots of notes and asked all the right questions. He talked to us about the process of accepting Lindsay into the home and what it would require of us as a family. He spoke of being courageous. He listened to every fear and responded with answers that continued to bring peace, even though our hearts were screaming.... I'm scared!

Then he said:
I know that all the forms have changed for the government and you have not been able to fill them out, so, on the weekend I went online got the forms and filled them all out for you.
Who does that? On his day off no less?!

I filled them all out for you.

You have no idea what this means. It means hours of agonizing meetings, rehashing all that has been difficult, unique and rare about your child. This is not easy. Nope. Hard, grueling, almost torturous. It means saying: I can't do it. It makes you feel so incapable as a parent and defies the very perseverance you have leaned on all of the years.

I filled them all out for you.

Those words echoed into my heart and right down deep into my soul. Immediately the day in May came to my mind, when I whispered a feeble prayer:

God, if you want me to do this.... I need you to make this easy for me.

I burst into tears.....again.......for the zillionth time in this story.

Right then and there I told John and my husband about the prayer that I had almost forgotten. We cried and felt completely overwhelmed and humbled at the perfection of the gift that had just been offered.

It couldn't be easier than this. (except for the fact that my heart was wrenching in shock, fear and bewilderment).

This man had taken what should have been our responsibility and labor and did it for us. We didn't do anything. Just like that. It was done. All we had to do was to sign the forms. (better interpreted as let go and say yes. Or let go and let God).

Then, he said:
I have to go now because I've got another appointment now with your social worker's boss's boss and I'm going to push this. You need to get prepared. We are going to push this through. We know that Lindsay is the one that is to be in this home. 
Her personality, unique needs and joy are a perfect fit for the 3 other individuals living in the home. God told us it is to be her.

Oh, and by the way. This home is an adult home and Lindsay is still a youth. We've never taken a youth into an adult home. It just doesn't happen. There are different funding umbrella's, requirements etc. It's a lot of red tape. We've never done it before, but we are going to cut through that red tape and make it happen.

My husband and I just stared at each other. We were speechless.
 
We didn't know how to respond. Laugh, cry, scream, wail. What?!

How can you even express when a miracle is standing right in front of you?
Part of you is wondering if you are dreaming.
Part of you says, this is uncharted territory.. don't do it. NO... this is too fast. NO, I can't!

We thanked this man who had now become our advocate extraordinaire.
We had no words to express our gratitude AND our fear of letting go.
So, we just said thanks and closed the door.

Insert BIG SIGH.
Now what?!
What if this whole thing was a bad idea?
What if it was just wishful thinking?
Or was it a set up......... a master plan?

Our eyes of faith were becoming less blurry.
We could see custom designed answers that only God could know.
ONLY GOD could know.
This kept us moving forward.......scared.

We turned to our sweet pea and wept some more.
Meanwhile.... she smiled and giggled, enjoying all the attention of her two favorite attendants.
She was (and always is) oblivious to the anguish, to the tearing. All she sees is love and adoration.

Thoughts kept whirling in and around our mind for days. We had to talk to our kids about it.
That was a major process in itself. They had their own fears and anguish to deal with.
They were fiercely protective of their sister and thought that the only perfect place for her was home.

We let them process, just like we had. We took them to the place, we listened and we went on with life as usual.

A few short weeks later, John called and informed us that it had been approved. Now we needed to set up a date of arrival for the princess.

I was getting REALLY anxious now. I needed to know that she would be understood. That she would be cared for perfectly.

He offered to let me create a manual of care for Lindsay and said that I could go to the home as much as I needed and train all of the staff. That brought me some relief.

The next few weeks were a whirwind of activity.
I had a lifetime of experience to write down on paper. I had a book of signals and unspoken words and movements to interpret into a language that the staff could understand.
I created "what to do if" lists, and "don't do this" lists.
I created a "what to wear" and "what not to wear" recommendations.
I taught them how to do her princess up do's and hairstyles. I was not willing to settle for anything less. And they, in turn, became willing learners, eager to give the princess what she rightfully deserved.

It was H-A-R-D.
I needed to find a way to celebrate this, instead of making it into a mourning process.

So, I decided to paint her room.

I went all out.

Princess power was the theme.











  I wanted it to be bold and bright and convey a message to the staff that they were taking care of royalty.

Taking care of Sweet Pea was no ordinary job. This was highly specialized work that required the extraordinary human beings. I wanted them to feel it as soon as they entered her room.

I wanted them to see what I saw. What God saw.

I painted a favorite verse on her wall that said:

I am fearfully and wonderfully made.

I brought Lindsay to the home each time I painted and used the weeks of preparation to slowly get her (and more importantly me) used to the new environment and new people. Every chance I got, I would teach the staff another new tidbit about the princess. They graciously listened, I mean, REALLY listened. We grew closer together. Trust was building.

One day in December, as I was painting her new room, I was talking to God about this whole process. I was letting Him know how afraid I was.
I had chosen to be thankful for the unexpected gift and decided to just move forward - afraid. I had no trouble letting Him know my thoughts and fears. That's what best friends are for.

It was still heart wrenching. I was facing my greatest fear of letting go.
I needed something more to get me through this. 
God help, this is really hard. Is this really You?

As I swished the brush onto the wall, I remembered the October the 13th date.
Huh! I thought. That's weird. 

My mind wandered to the entry in my husbands calendar.
It wandered to the actual day and it's events. So weird. Doesn't make any sense.
Huh....... I wonder....... I wonder if......

Then......I don't know why, but I walked out of the room right up to the manager of the home and said:

I know this seems like a crazy, weird kind of question.......
But did anything happen here on October the 13th?

She just stared at me, looking kind of startled and shocked.
She pulled me aside.
Well, yes. she said in a quiet, whipser like voice.

That's the day the bed (the spot for Lindsay) became available.
How did you know? She said.
I didn't. I said.

I went on to explain the crazy story of the message from God almost a year earlier.

We just stared at each other.
This meant more to me than she could or would ever know.
Once again, I was speechless. (as you can see by my lengthy posts, this is a feat in itself).

All of the months, all of the unexpected meetings, all of the various people involved, all of the asking, all of the seeking, made sense.

I was completely dumbfounded and overwhelmingly grateful all at the same time.
This was the answer I needed to let go.
I needed to know, beyond a shadow of a doubt that "this place" was "THE place".
 
It didn't matter if anyone else understood this or got it. I got it. We got it.

We had been the recipients of a miracle in the making.

God knew that I needed extra assurance that this was the right thing, the perfect thing, for our princess.
I needed one more sign, one more word, to silence any doubts both here and in the future.
This was it.
On October the 13th I am going to do something for you.

And He did.
Beyond what any one person could orchestrate or imagine or configure.
The above and beyond all you could ask or ever imagine kind.
The kind of miracle that is custom made for a princess.

It took a whole host of people to implement.
It took the Master hand of God.
AND it took a willingness to wait, to be bold, to ask for more, to hope, to be willing to be willing, to say yes and face the fear.

Often I look back and wonder....

• what if we tried to move to Kelowna in our own way.. not God's way?
• what if we never moved to Kelowna?
• what if my dad hadn't stopped at Bethesda?
• what if my husband thought he was hearing things, and wrote off God's voice?
• what if I hadn't made a phone call?
• what if John didn't take the time to care about us as a family?
• what if I hadn't asked for what I wanted?
• what if we were too afraid and just said no?

The possibilities for a different ending are endless. It's a miracle in the making that I will NEVER forget. (and now will have in print forever).

Looking back,  I have learned that I never did let go. I never gave up. I never lost anything.
I gave over to the best.
I gained a new family and more time to have fun with her.
I got to choose to invite others into the privilege of caring for our precious princess.
She's too spectacular not to share.

She needs the team at Bethesda, but more importantly, they need her.
They need her healing smile, her infectious giggle, her simple outlook on life. We all do.

My heart is daily filled with gratitude at this miracle, these people, this place, this princess and this miracle, given by God.
I will be forever grateful. October the 13th was the day a miracle happened that I will never forget.

Thanks for reading the story, taking the journey with me, and celebrating this miracle in the making.

What story is waiting to be written just for you?

The Making Of A Miracle - Part 12

Recap from last post:

* Life as I knew it was swirling upside down. I had years of Lindsay's severe health issues turn my world upside down (over and over) and I had learned to ride that wave. But this..... this.... I had NO grid for. This was uncharted territory of a foreign land. It scared me.

A few days later, John left a message on our phone.

Seeing as we are coming next week and we serious about this, I think you need to go and see the home before we have the meeting.

Woah, slow down! This is going way too fast. I thought.
I can't do that! I don't want to do that. 

Nothing, aside from building the "perfect home" for Lindsay would ever match my expectations.
This princess can only have one kind of castle, and it would have to be perfect..

John left the name and phone number of the manager at the home and asked me to book a visit.

Woah... slow down Mister! I thought.
Now my heart was pounding in my throat.
I picked up the phone and called my husband immediately.

My husband has always been a black and white kind of guy. It often takes me time, consideration, and a ton of verbal processing to come to a conclusion. Not Sid. His response was almost instantaneous.

Ah... NO! He said very bluntly.
Underneath his words was this rage like a wolf protecting his young. Ain't nobody gonna touch my baby that I have nurtured and cared for daily for 17 years!

We are not ready for this. I'm not ready for this.

It's very nice of them, but I can't do it. I'll talk to John. He said very matter of factly.
The conversation was done. 
My heart moved back down into my chest and I could breathe again.

He's right. We aren't ready. We don't HAVE to do this. I told myself.

But inside I had this wild curiosity about this man, this place, this call, this opportunity. The curiosity did not lessen, it only intensified.

My husband called John and had a lengthy conversation. They chatted about the opportunity, the meeting, the place and most importantly the princess and the deep love that he had for our sweet pea.
He told John of Lindsay's unique needs and the load that it had placed on our family. He thanked him for this gracious offer, but let him know that we just weren't ready. He just couldn't do it.
The conversation was done.

That evening, after the kids were asleep, we laid in bed chatting and somewhat praying about this crazy phone call.
Our emotions bounced all over the place until we became exhausted, prayed a bewildered prayer to God for clarity and relented to sleep.

The next day John called back.
He insisted that we go see the home and have the meeting. He had been praying about it and asked if we would just take this step.

Ingredient #8 for a miracle.

You're never done, unless you choose to be done.

Accepting a miracle in the making can mean saying yes when you want to say no.
Be willing to be willing.

Am I dreaming? I thought. This is Ridiculous. Impossible. Crazy. 
Breathe Cheryl. Just breathe. Just take the next step. 
No one is forcing you to do anything. 
Besides that, it won't be what she needs, it probably won't be a good fit or measure up. Nothing ever has.

That evening I told my husband about the call from John and his request. I told him that I said yes.

You can go then! But I'm not! My husband said in a flustered huff.

That's when the same courageous (who is this woman) kinda surge rose up in me again, just like the day I had asked for Bethesda. 

Well, I'm NOT going by myself. You are coming with me, or we're not going at all! I sputtered.

Fine! He blurted.
Fine! I blurted back.

On we went with our normal routine of the evening. Dinner, homework with our son, feeding Lindsay, bathing her, diapering and putting her to bed. The chores drowned out our racing emotions.

The day of the viewing arrived.

By then I had this vague recollection of a list that we had created when we were back in Ontario.
Years earlier, we had met with families for months. We all dreamed of building a home for our kids that would suit their needs perfectly. At the meetings we all decided to write a list of "non-negotiable's" for our child. These were unique, one-of-a-kind provisions that had that had to be present for our children. Absolutely non-negotiable. Completely custom made lists that would only matter to them... to us.

We pulled up to the driveway. Both of us were a bundle of nerves.
We were surprised to discover that it was only 10 minutes from our home was nestled into a quiet street that backed onto a gorgeous popular green-way that extended throughout the city.

We rang the doorbell, and tried to calm our breathing.

Rita, the manager opened the door and greeted us warmly.
She invited us in and started showing us around.
My eyes and nose were on high alert. I don't like homes that smell like hospitals.

Sniff, sniff. Hmmm. It smells like a delicious roast beef dinner in here. Certainly not what I had imagined and experienced before.

As we wandered around, from room to room, my vision became blurred, with overwhelming tears.
After viewing the "empty room", we both stopped and began to weep, uncontrollably.

Only God and the other families in Ontario knew what our list of non-negotiable's were.
This place had EVERY ONE of the things on the list. Right down to the fact that Lindsay needed 2 blinds on her windows to block out any early morning sunlight.

We had always dreamed of having a kitchen as the central place in the home with hallways all around it so that Lindsay could walk and wander safely to her heart's content. They were here. There were windows all around the kitchen so anyone could peer in and see what was going on, without being exposed to the dangerous stove.

The floors had no carpet. Another non-negotiable.
There were loads of windows pouring in sunlight.
There was a covered deck to keep the sun's heat away.
There were only 4 beds and fantastic one on one care, tailored uniquely to each individual.

Our non-negotiable list was VERY long and detailed. (almost impossible to achieve)

This place had EVERYTHING ON THE LIST. NOT ONE THING WAS MISSING. I kid you not.
Not only that.. there were a few other items added that we didn't even know we wanted.

I'm not sure how the meeting ended. It's all a blur now. All I know is that we both walked away empty of tears, flushed, flustered and completely undone. Now we were really messed up.

What was going on?! We had no clue.
All we knew is that a secret list was matched perfectly with this place called Bethesda.

This alone gave us enough faith to go into our meeting in a few days.