You're Tired, I'm tired, Can you imagine how tired they are??

I think the adrenaline of the past few weeks is finally beginning to wane as I am having trouble putting together a coherant thought.  Serge and James called around 11 this morning from the Chicago airport.  They sounded tired.  It might have been the 4 hours of sleep or the sausage biscuits they had for second breakfast.  Their plane departed on time at 1 pm EST and should land in Beijing around 3 am.  It is possible we might hear from them in the wee hours.
Maggie and I spent the day trying to reassemble the house and catch up on laundry - no small feat after three weeks of neglect.  You have to keep a pretty steady pace to out run Julia's efforts in the opposite direction too.  Good conversations and a lot of good "girl food". 
Serge recorded a book for Julia which she enjoyed a great deal today.  Ginny is thoroughly depressed.  I think she is hoping if she continues that Golden Retriever thing, one of us will let her sleep with us.

Sticky Situation

I wanted to title this post with a cuss word and TSA, but it seemed the wrong way to start when you were planning to quote scripture later.  My friend Ginger can do that kind of thing, it looks good on her, but I am not sure I can pull it off.

The boys took off this morning.  At 6:46a.m.  Airport farewells lack the romance of days past when you could wave at them on the airplane stairs, but I saw them to security at least.  I tried to snap a few photos that didn't include random TSA employees, but that was difficult too.

Earlier we had checked the two very large and very full suitcases (thank you Cheri and Trisha).  One had been 2 pounds over the weight limit - "Quick! Grab something and put it in your carry on we were advised."  I was digging for the formula container when Serge said, "no, grab food."  We look at the granola bars - they don't weigh enough.  Wait! Peanut butter - two jars - one pound each.  We got it!  We stuffed those babies in the carry on.  Suitcase - zipped, locked, latched and loaded.

Well, my more experienced readers will immediately see the problem: peanut butter doesn't make it through security.
James texts me later to tell me so.  Bummer.

I am talking to Jesus while I drive home.  "Why? (about the peanut butter).  Why did we pick that?  We should have known better!  Couldn't You have moved our hands to something else?"
I remember - sort of - the verse in Romans 8 about the Lord and those who love Him and good things and all.
"Tell me, now, how is this good?" I ask.  I am not really angry, just asking Him to sometime show me please.  But then I get on a roll and name a few other things - "How was this, and this, and this good?"  The night I spent in the Charlotte airport last week instead of eating the celebratory meal that Maggie had planned, for example.  And - just for good measure, I throw in a biggie - "How was Philip dying a good thing?"  Because if you are going to risk being struck down by the Almighty you should just go for it all, right?

Then the patient response - the still, small voice - "I didn't say the things were good, Stewart, I said I work them for good."

Indeed.

"And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to His purpose"  -  Romans 8:28 (ESV)

P.S. I'll add a photo when "Technical Support" wakes up.  :)

Flight

It has taken most of our twenty year marriage to release the icy grip of control I have had on my life and let Serge take care of me occasionally.  At an altitude of 7500 feet somewhere between Roanoke and Charlotte, the release comes and it occurs to me - for the first time in the five days - that I might have to take care of him.
If you had asked me before, I would have matter-of-factly recited to you the statistical probability that I would outlive him by 7 years and therefore, of course, at some point be his care giver.  But from a practical standpoint I never considered it.
This is the man that while (more than once) catching the throw up of our children, did not catch the viruses.  He evades most illnesses, has never had the flu, nor surgery, nor anything else on those pesky forms.  In answer to all of the hospital questions about medical history, the answers were no and no and no.
My vision of our old age was of me sitting in a wheel chair in the sun keeping him company while he constructed the handicap ramp to our front door.

One of the most grace-filled and stunning things to come out of the past two weeks is the beautiful responses of people who love us and care for us.  It has just been humbling.  Interestingly, many others felt the same things I did - "Serge? sick? no way".

However our story ends, undoubtably not as I expect, I am so, so thankful for the friends and family who love us, and the priviledge of being married to my mostly invincible husband!

Valentines

The other night Maggie made an oatmeal cake.  It was great.  When our guests left, 3/4 of the cake was gone too. 
Sometimes I think Maggie is a really gifted cook.  She is.
The fresh ground whole wheat, the eggs from our back yard chickens, the real butter, of course.....
But the biggest difference between Maggie's oatmeal cake and the one in the Better Homes and Gardens cookbook is that she actually made it.
One cake is in a picture and the other is, or was, on our table.

With one traditional exception, I am not fond of Valentine's day.
The world celebrates a day about "love" - but only the kind that fits on a Hallmark card - not the kind that sits at your kitchen table. 
Not the kind that mixes sugar and salt. 
Or that whips through hard butter and hard hearts. 
Or that stays in the fiery furnace of life to produce something edible and good.

Valentine's cards and flowers can be sweet, but Serge making me coffee every morning that he doesn't even drink, or going to work every day to provide for our family, or going to China to pick up a baby girl, that's the kind of love you can put on your table. 
The difference between the love in the card and the love in your prewarmed car in the drive way is like the difference between Maggie's cake and the BHG picture.  I'll take the real cake, even if a messy kitchen comes with it.

Serge

"Blessed is the man who trusts in the Lord..."  Jeremiah 17:7

Serge has never been one to live life waiting for the other shoe to drop.  When we were first married I criticized that in my heart.  Only the shallow or simple would not worry I reasoned.
Now that we have a faith that calls for trust in a good God, I see it a bit differently.
"What are we going to do now?" I ask lying together in a hospital bed at 3 a.m.
"Get up and go to work in the morning." he answers with a smile.  "Only, now you'll have to drive me!"

Adoption

There will be a time to debate the pros and cons of adoption, especially international adoption.  I say that only to make clear that I know that it is not without controversy, legitmate controversy.  Just like a short-term missions trip - there are those called to go, those called to support them, and those who don't agree with the idea at all. 
We happened to have been called to adopt. 
From China. 
Or so we think, although it has been a most long time coming.  Most of my contemporaries are long done with new children, but after being suprised with Julia two years ago, all of my excuses for why we should not continue with this plan (conceived 7 years past ...) went out the window.  So here we are, with a referral, meaning we have been assigned a particular child and have a picture and a name and all of that, waiting for what is called a TA (travel approval), a document from China that essentially invites us to come to their country and pick her up. 
Elanor is 9 months younger than Julia.  We hope to go get her in February.  No doubt it will be a most difficult adjustment for ALL of us...

Jack

Friday morning at 7:30 Serge calls me to say that he has found Jack's body.  On the old, buried railroad bed below our house.  We meet with sheet and sled to move him.  He is at least a couple of days dead, but eight days missing, so despite the closure at one level, there are a hundred questions at another.

He was all dog - and never seemed to forget it.  He would do anything for food, made sure that he did not stay clean for more than 48 hours, and dragged home every interesting thing he could get his jaw around. 

I pull the sled with 110 pounds of dog in it a half mile across a wet soggy hay field while Serge makes the very steep climb back home to get the truck and meet me at the road.  It is a heavy load, but I still believe I got the better job of the two. 

We have lived a lot here, but have also buried a lot here.  Jack has been part of  it all and it seems almost wrong to look out the windows the next morning to the back yard.  He should be there barking at the deer and tormenting the squirrels.