Memories - Old and New

Last night I worked in the nursery at church. It was a fairly easy time since most of the children seemed a bit mellower than usual and the normal nursery time was shortened by a baptismal service that was planned for 7:45.

I was enjoying the time chatting with my friend, Stephanie, and as we watched the kids play, Stephanie got up to get something and her precious son, Hudson, went running across the room after her. Watching his little feet patter across the floor transported me back 21 years. The way his feet hit the ground as he hurried across the room looked just like my oldest son, Jeremy, when he was that age. It's weird, how the years can just melt away with the funniest things carrying you to another time and place.

Jeremy, 2 years old

We have a new memory to add to the bank from last evening. Our youngest child, Kara, was baptized last night. It was a sweet time. Kara asked Jesus to be her Savior last summer. We have had several baptisms at church since that time but because it meant putting her face under the water, she was hesitant to "take the plunge". When our pastor announced that there would be a baptism service in January, Kara decided she was ready...no prodding from us.

As we prepared for last night, she never mentioned anything about putting her face in the water, so neither did I. She went into the whole thing with such an excitement and joy and I was equally excited for her. She had to read her testimony in front of the church beforehand and my heart could have burst as I listened to her and marveled over the change that God has wrought in this little one's life over the last 5 years.

For those of you that don't know Kara, or haven't known her since we brought her home 5 1/2 years ago, let me explain what she was like in those early months and even years. When she was placed in my arms in China on July 6th, 2005, she immediately went into an emotional shutdown . For the first few days, I was a little concerned about her blank stares and lack of any definable emotion. I knew that this was a normal reaction under the circumstances but it was still disconcerting to be watching it lived out right in front of me.

Slowly, very slowly, over that first week, I believe she began to understand, as well as an 8 month old can, that I was not a bad person and that she could "trust" me to take care of her needs. She began to show me brief glimpses of the little soul behind the blank and distant stares. Oh, the memories of those early days still tug at my heart. Those bittersweet moments of loving her so deeply and wondering desperately what I could do to convey that to her and let her know that she was now safe and would be ours forever...that she would never have to be alone again.

When I brought Kara home, she was afraid of a lot of things, one of the most apparent was men. And I brought her home to a house full of them. She formed a fairly quick attachment to me and if I was in the room she was usually attached to my hip. She could function without me, if she couldn't see me, but there was no comfort in that for her. She was markedly detached whenever she was held by Keith or one of the boys in those early days.

If anyone at church tried to talk to her, she would bury her head in my shoulder and act as if she were thinking "I'm not really here, please just ignore me". As the months passed and she got a little older, as soon as the worship service was over on Sunday morning, she would immediately pick up my stuff and hand it me and say "Can we go home now?" Home was her favorite place...her comfort zone. Everything else was a walk on the wild side to her and it was obvious that she wasn't very fond of the wild side.

Kara never seemed to enjoy the nursery at church. I usually ended up staying with her, or she came with me to Adult Sunday School and worship. Just before her 3rd birthday she moved out of the nursery and started going to a program called Patch the Pirate on Wednesday evenings at church. She could go in with Emma so there was some comfort in that for her. After the first week of Patch she was eager to go back. After a few weeks, she would go on her own without me having to walk her to class. I don't really understand what caused the changes we were about to see in her, but I am confident that it was a work of the Lord.

Slowly, over the next 6 months, we watched the butterfly emerge from her crysallis. She found her wings and began to fly. Actually, I'm not sure that even describes the transformation we witnessed. It was like watching a flower bloom, each petal unfolding...one at a time...manifesting a thing of beauty with the sweetest aroma.

The first time I saw her crawl up into Keith's lap voluntarily, and then saw the look on his face, I could have wept for absolute joy. She was learning to trust in our love and it was such a beautiful thing. When he picks her up now and she wraps her whole body around him with a big old bear hug...well, I don't even have words for the thankfulness that wells up in my heart.

God has done a work in her. She is an amazing creature...created by a God that loves her and loves us. And we are blessed to call her our own.

I share all of this so that you can understand my amazement, joy, and utter gratefulness to God as I stood there last night and witnessed her read her testimony aloud to the whole church, climb into the pool, and conquer her fear of the water covering her face. She did look a little nervous as she clung to our pastor's arm because she couldn't touch the bottom of the pool; but, oh, the smile of sheer delight when she came up out of that water... buried in the likeness of Christ's death...raised to new life in Him. It doesn't get any better than that!