As I sit here today on my thirty-third birthday, I've got a lot to ponder, a lot for which to be thankful. I wish I could show you every image racing through my mind of things I've experienced, people I've loved and admired, heartbreak I've endured, and every song my heart has sung, but Apple hasn't released that type of technology yet.
So many people grieve turning thirty, as if the best years of their lives have already passed them by. I feel as though life began for me, in some ways, once I got to my thirties. I may not have the neck-high perky boobs of a college tart, but mine are still hanging in there. They have given life to two children, have comforted broken hearts in an embrace, and even made a couple of trips to Hawai'i. I am healthier and stronger than ever before in my life, and I feel as though I am navigating the proving grounds of physical health that will pay off in future decades. I have learned things about myself, about others, about our world, about God, that I could have never comprehended with any clarity in the days of my "youth".
By the time I turned thirty, I was a widow and mother of two children ages 2 1/2 and 9 months. In my thirties, I have learned that being a single parent really isn't the end of the world. Being tired and frustrated with life isn't an excuse to be a jerk to your kids. If you are going to survive, you adapt. Kind of a modern twist on natural selection, and quite frankly, I'm not ready to raise my white flag. I was able to reflect on the ways in which my marriage could have been much better and what things I was so fortunate to have found in T. I listened to so many of my married friends talk about their spouses, sometimes to their spouses, and discuss marriage in general. Sometimes I would cringe and wonder if I had spoken that way to or about T., which I know I had, and I could only wish that I could tell him how sorry I was, if I only had the chance to apologize face to face. I realized how quickly married couples can overlook what they mean to each other and to their children. It has made me determined that, when R. and I tie the knot, I will remember what I have learned so that I can be a better wife to him.
I've been privileged to meet so many beautiful, wonderful people who have touched my life or inspired me in ways I didn't realize until much later. Some of these people have gone on to be friends, some have wandered off in their own direction, and I don't love one less than another. My friends are truly part of my family, and if God is taking requests the day I get to heaven, I hope God will put us all around a wonderful meal or a campfire in the mountains so I can be with all of the people I love all at once.
Travel has impacted my life in such a meaningful way, too. I told R. recently that, although I don't want to be cremated when I die, if I was cremated, my ashes couldn't just be spread in one place. I would want a little piece of me to be taken to dozens of different places that I have loved. My grandparents' farm, the cemetery where T. and all my family is buried, Mount Rainier, Waimea Bay, the beach where I've gone with my parents, Washington, D.C., the pyramids in Egypt, Rome, Kusadasi, Istanbul, Rhodes, Fort Benning, and so many other places -- I have carried something beautiful from them in my heart that I simply can't describe.
I remember my birthday four years ago: a cold, crisp autumn day in Louisiana on the back of the motorcycle with T. I had specifically asked to ride to a battalion function on the bike because he was going to deploy the following spring and wouldn't be there to take me out on my thirtieth birthday on the bike. Little did I know that almost exactly a month later he would be gone. I remember being behind him on the bike and looking at the sky, thinking that if I died that day, I would have been the happiest person in the world because my life had never been happier than it was on that day. I had a great husband and two beautiful children, my health, friends and family. As I looked up at a blazing sunny sky yesterday, it was cold and crisp and I mused at how I felt the same way then as I had four years ago, and I couldn't help but offer up quiet praise to God. I know my birthday was a good one last year, but I swear they keep getting better and better.
I don't know how to make a slideshows on YouTube, but this song says pretty close to how I feel today. I hope your next birthday brings you the peace which passes all understanding as this one has brought me today.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N7P8pPYSXhk
Showing posts with label birthdays. Show all posts
Showing posts with label birthdays. Show all posts
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Friday, December 5, 2008
Quick Reflection
"So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal." -- II Corinthians 4:18
This is the Bible verse on my desk calendar for November 30. This is a date that is etched on my heart forever. For me, it is my 9/11. That is T.'s birthdate into heaven. Really, I struggle with that day and the day before, which is when he had the accident on the motorcycle, but that's a completely different blog. This verse really captures my view of what happened that day in the surgical ICU in LSU Medical Center in Shreveport, Louisiana, and it's something I need to remind myself of more often.
I didn't blog anything on November 30, not because I was avoiding it or dreading it or planning some uber-emotional tribute. We were out at the cemetery laying a wreath that day, with the cold, damp late fall wind whipping our hair around, musing about how long it had been, how fast the time has gone and yet how it has seemed to go so slowly at the same time. I'm learning that, as Heath Ledger's widow has lamented, the longer T. is gone, the more I miss him. Strangely enough, it hasn't kept me from embarking on a deep, sweet love with R., which is God's working in and of itself. In fact, when R. showed up for the holidays, I could just feel every muscle in my body relax and my blood pressure go down. It was so comforting to see the continuity in my life that he brings and how he allows me to both go on loving T. but yet move forward with my life with him. As stressed out and emotional as I get, I know that all my complexities can be exhausting, but he loves me through it and comes back for more.
But back to Shreveport, 2005. I didn't have the extensive mental Scripture file that some of my friends have, but I knew this verse. I couldn't have told you the book, chapter, or verse, but I understood this truth in my heart. When I realized that T. was gone, not breathing, not going to open his eyes any more, not going to sit up and complain about having to eat spaghetti one more time, or fight back to good health, my thinking had to shift immediately from temporal to eternal. To consider the temporal without T. was to want to reach into his chest and pump his heart with my own bare hands to make it work again. I could not dwell on this because I would have begged for death myself. Instead, I know that God had already planted the seed of eternity in my heart -- I instantly had to look beyond where I was, standing over the body that no longer contained the soul and let him go. I actually had to tell him this, that he needed to go. In looking back, he was already gone and I would realize this when piecing together details after my brain was functioning somewhat normally later on. But for me, I had to put him into that eternal context to keep from caving in on myself.
Flashing forward to Advent 2008, I reconnected with a college buddy last night on FaceBook who had not heard of T.'s passing, and it obviously came as a real shock to him. I remember telling my friend Marily about this last year, and she was completely speechless as well. And even just last week, HisGirl was watching Super Nanny and was just floored by the episode involving a widow with a two year-old and a five month-old, which is almost exactly the ages Li'l G and Bud were when T. died. It was a real eye opener for her on what our reality is like, especially with such little ones in the picture. What's amazing to me is that I have come through any of this, and now this feels normal, if such a bland, descriptionless word could ever be used in this context. I have no idea how I have made it this long, and still have no idea how any single day in the future will transpire. All I know is this: having an eternal perspective has everything to do with it.
Consider this: Our economy is as fragile as a glass Christmas ornament. Terrorism is a constant threat. People die every day in tragic ways, and more still are diagnosed with terminal illnesses. Millions of people in our own country sleep under blankets of cardboard in sub-freezing temperatures. Children starve and are abused. In my own life, I have certain ideas on how I'd like things to play out, but there are no guarantees. To live with our focus on the temporal is overwhelming, at least to me. Even the wonderful glimpses we get of beauty and love are not enough to get me by. To live with an eye on the eternal is where I draw my strength and my hope. It helps me to get past all of the pain and hurt in the world, in my own life, and to keep walking toward the One I know to be faithful, the One constant in a world filled with variables. "How do I know this?" I have been asked countless times. To be honest, you can read your Bible or not; I don't really care about that. All I can say is that God has been there for me, revealed to me in real and tangible ways that honestly speaks louder to me than Scripture. Hang me up to dry if you want. I read my Bible as often as I can and revel in its words, but there is absolutely nothing like experiencing, really experiencing, the peace which passeth all understanding in real life. There is nothing like knowing that the same God which brought his people out of Egypt and cared for them in the wilderness for 40 years is caring for me in the midst of my wilderness. There is nothing like knowing that the same God who bodily resurrected my Jesus has my sweet T. in his care right now and has made him whole, healed his broken heart and body, and is guiding the kids and me all at the same time. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I've not read any passage of Scripture that says he will take away our pain if we just pray or come to him. What God does promise is that he will never leave or forsake us. He is there if we keep our eyes on the eternal and don't let the temporal distract us.
As I prepare in my home and in my heart for the birth of Jesus, I think of Him in a tempral perspective, and it brings a lump to my throat. This precious, soft, sweet child is our sacrificial Lamb. Those tiny little fingers and toes will end up bearing Jesus' physical weight and the spiritual weight of our sins on the cross someday. How sad! How tragic! But in an eternal perspective, it inspires awe. This baby boy, through the love and nurture of his earthly parents, grows up and maintains His obedience to the Father. The story begins with the stirrings in the womb, continues through the labor pains, infancy, toddlerhood, life as the son of a carpenter, radical ministry that ends with His death on the cross, and is still continuing at the right hand of the Father. Why wouldn't we want to focus on the eternal in this picture?
This may sound crazy and hair-brained, and I'll give you that, but it has everything to do with how I understand my world, how my perspective has changed and continues to do so. I have got my eyes fixed like a laser past the end of my temporal existence to one that is eternal. It gives me hope and strength to march on with purpose in situations where I cannot comprehend uncertainty, grief, suffering, or even evil in the world. And even as I try my hardest to speak light and life and live what I believe, I still pray constantly, "Even so, come, Lord Jesus!"
May that also be our prayer as we journey toward Christmas and, ultimately, Resurrection Day!
This is the Bible verse on my desk calendar for November 30. This is a date that is etched on my heart forever. For me, it is my 9/11. That is T.'s birthdate into heaven. Really, I struggle with that day and the day before, which is when he had the accident on the motorcycle, but that's a completely different blog. This verse really captures my view of what happened that day in the surgical ICU in LSU Medical Center in Shreveport, Louisiana, and it's something I need to remind myself of more often.
I didn't blog anything on November 30, not because I was avoiding it or dreading it or planning some uber-emotional tribute. We were out at the cemetery laying a wreath that day, with the cold, damp late fall wind whipping our hair around, musing about how long it had been, how fast the time has gone and yet how it has seemed to go so slowly at the same time. I'm learning that, as Heath Ledger's widow has lamented, the longer T. is gone, the more I miss him. Strangely enough, it hasn't kept me from embarking on a deep, sweet love with R., which is God's working in and of itself. In fact, when R. showed up for the holidays, I could just feel every muscle in my body relax and my blood pressure go down. It was so comforting to see the continuity in my life that he brings and how he allows me to both go on loving T. but yet move forward with my life with him. As stressed out and emotional as I get, I know that all my complexities can be exhausting, but he loves me through it and comes back for more.
But back to Shreveport, 2005. I didn't have the extensive mental Scripture file that some of my friends have, but I knew this verse. I couldn't have told you the book, chapter, or verse, but I understood this truth in my heart. When I realized that T. was gone, not breathing, not going to open his eyes any more, not going to sit up and complain about having to eat spaghetti one more time, or fight back to good health, my thinking had to shift immediately from temporal to eternal. To consider the temporal without T. was to want to reach into his chest and pump his heart with my own bare hands to make it work again. I could not dwell on this because I would have begged for death myself. Instead, I know that God had already planted the seed of eternity in my heart -- I instantly had to look beyond where I was, standing over the body that no longer contained the soul and let him go. I actually had to tell him this, that he needed to go. In looking back, he was already gone and I would realize this when piecing together details after my brain was functioning somewhat normally later on. But for me, I had to put him into that eternal context to keep from caving in on myself.
Flashing forward to Advent 2008, I reconnected with a college buddy last night on FaceBook who had not heard of T.'s passing, and it obviously came as a real shock to him. I remember telling my friend Marily about this last year, and she was completely speechless as well. And even just last week, HisGirl was watching Super Nanny and was just floored by the episode involving a widow with a two year-old and a five month-old, which is almost exactly the ages Li'l G and Bud were when T. died. It was a real eye opener for her on what our reality is like, especially with such little ones in the picture. What's amazing to me is that I have come through any of this, and now this feels normal, if such a bland, descriptionless word could ever be used in this context. I have no idea how I have made it this long, and still have no idea how any single day in the future will transpire. All I know is this: having an eternal perspective has everything to do with it.
Consider this: Our economy is as fragile as a glass Christmas ornament. Terrorism is a constant threat. People die every day in tragic ways, and more still are diagnosed with terminal illnesses. Millions of people in our own country sleep under blankets of cardboard in sub-freezing temperatures. Children starve and are abused. In my own life, I have certain ideas on how I'd like things to play out, but there are no guarantees. To live with our focus on the temporal is overwhelming, at least to me. Even the wonderful glimpses we get of beauty and love are not enough to get me by. To live with an eye on the eternal is where I draw my strength and my hope. It helps me to get past all of the pain and hurt in the world, in my own life, and to keep walking toward the One I know to be faithful, the One constant in a world filled with variables. "How do I know this?" I have been asked countless times. To be honest, you can read your Bible or not; I don't really care about that. All I can say is that God has been there for me, revealed to me in real and tangible ways that honestly speaks louder to me than Scripture. Hang me up to dry if you want. I read my Bible as often as I can and revel in its words, but there is absolutely nothing like experiencing, really experiencing, the peace which passeth all understanding in real life. There is nothing like knowing that the same God which brought his people out of Egypt and cared for them in the wilderness for 40 years is caring for me in the midst of my wilderness. There is nothing like knowing that the same God who bodily resurrected my Jesus has my sweet T. in his care right now and has made him whole, healed his broken heart and body, and is guiding the kids and me all at the same time. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I've not read any passage of Scripture that says he will take away our pain if we just pray or come to him. What God does promise is that he will never leave or forsake us. He is there if we keep our eyes on the eternal and don't let the temporal distract us.
As I prepare in my home and in my heart for the birth of Jesus, I think of Him in a tempral perspective, and it brings a lump to my throat. This precious, soft, sweet child is our sacrificial Lamb. Those tiny little fingers and toes will end up bearing Jesus' physical weight and the spiritual weight of our sins on the cross someday. How sad! How tragic! But in an eternal perspective, it inspires awe. This baby boy, through the love and nurture of his earthly parents, grows up and maintains His obedience to the Father. The story begins with the stirrings in the womb, continues through the labor pains, infancy, toddlerhood, life as the son of a carpenter, radical ministry that ends with His death on the cross, and is still continuing at the right hand of the Father. Why wouldn't we want to focus on the eternal in this picture?
This may sound crazy and hair-brained, and I'll give you that, but it has everything to do with how I understand my world, how my perspective has changed and continues to do so. I have got my eyes fixed like a laser past the end of my temporal existence to one that is eternal. It gives me hope and strength to march on with purpose in situations where I cannot comprehend uncertainty, grief, suffering, or even evil in the world. And even as I try my hardest to speak light and life and live what I believe, I still pray constantly, "Even so, come, Lord Jesus!"
May that also be our prayer as we journey toward Christmas and, ultimately, Resurrection Day!
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
I Heart Joe(y) McIntyre
Please, ladies, we're all grown ups here. Please refrain from getting out your old BOP posters and throwing your panties at the computer screen. Really. So juvenile.
My friend recently went to this concert and I'm SOOOOO insanely jealous! I will say, however, that she redeemed herself:
I nearly peed in Cracker Barrell this morning at breakfast upon receiving this birthday gift!
I swear, this whole day has been full of flash backs. Birthdays are among some of the logical days in one's life to look back and reflect on days and years gone by. Ten years ago today I was more than likely celebrating my 22nd birthday with T. down at Texas A&M where we went to college together. Less than a month later Aggie Bonfire would collapse upon 12 fellow students and change our lives and the traditions of our dear school forever. Twenty years ago today I was turning 12 and trying to figure out who I was, being in the 6th grade at Travis Middle School. I looked up to those big 8th grade girls and their tidal wave bangs, thinking there was no way I would ever look that cool. The bathrooms constantly smelled of Aquanet hairspray, and we begged our parents to let us carry Esprit purses filled with fruity lip gloss, a myriad of pens and pencils, and sacred feminine supplies that most of us wouldn't need for another three or four years. Our lives were filled with cute, scrawny boys in ill-fitting football uniforms, side pony tails, longing to be popular and have a boyfriend, passing notes, and pouring over copies of BOP magazine to gaze adoringly into the eyes of our future husbands, for me, it was baby-faced Joey McIntyre of the New Kids On The Block. Oh, heavenly days! Would it be possible to find a boy that could ever pour out his heart to me to the words of this song? How I pined to slow dance forever in the arms of my Boston boy!
At any rate, just wanted you all to flash back with me. And hey, if the next time I see you all and one of you is wearing your jeans rolled up to proudly display your colored slouch socks and your t-shirt tied off to one side, I totally won't judge you. :)
Poems, Prayers, And Promises
There are so many thoughts floating around in my head today. I have been showered with love and blessings from my children, R., friends old and new, and family alike. My heart overflows with gratitude to my gracious heavenly Father and to all of you who have wished me well. You are all the example of grace to me -- a gift that I cannot deserve.
I've had a good time flashing back today. Between the silly photographs, the New Kids On The Block CD that my friend, "Marily Considine-McIntyre", gave me, and the wishes from people I haven't talked to in a good twenty years, I cannot help but thank God that he allowed me the chance to be here, in his kingdom on earth. The journey has been beautiful, excruciating, confusing, exhilarating. I think year 32 will be the best one yet.
If I died tomorrow and you all wondered what I would have to say reflecting back on my life, I can think of no better way than to sum it than John Denver did in one of my most favorite of his songs, which I leave you with now, "Poems, Prayers, and Promises." Enjoy that as you flip through the album below...
"Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be terrified; do not be discouraged, for the LORD your God will be with you wherever you go." --Joshua 1:9
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Happy Birthday, Dizzy Gillespie
When I think of jazz and what the good Lord intended it to be, I immediately think of a short list of musicians. Partly that is because I am a relatively new fan of this genre of music, but also partly due to the fact that the greats in this area are just so incredibly talented that they seem untouchable by so many other very skilled musicians. In the category with Dizzy I definitely put Miles Davis, my personal favorite, Charlie Parker, and John Coltrane. But there is just something about those cheeks, right?!?To a musician who is so tied to the notes on the page, as S4J can attest, it is unfathomable to me how jazz musicians can simply pick up a line and run with it in the middle of a song. That fact alone truly blows my mind. I also love the fact that jazz is probably one of the only genres of music that you could say truly began in America.
Upon doing a little reading about Dizzy today on what would've been his 91st birthday, I learned that he moved to Philadelphia as a young man in 1939, and eventually played in Cab Calloway's band, another guy I really enjoy, but more in the big band category. I also learned that he grew up in a musical household and that he has been immersed in a home culture of music since birth, being the youngest of nine (!) children. You never see a picture of him where he isn't smiling the most laid back, relaxed and groovy smile you've ever seen, and as you watch him perform you can see how he really transcends the present and puts his whole mind and body into each note coming out of his famous trumpet.
One of the things I love most about any type of purely instrumental music is that you don't need words to convey a message. Whether it's Beethoven's Symphony No. 7 in A, Opus 92, Allegretto (one of the most intense, emotional classical pieces you will ever hear in your life), to Dizzy playing "A Night In Tunisia (which will make you want to get up and salsa dance), to the carillion in a church's belfry playing "Joyful, Joyful We Adore Thee," there is raw emotion and energy in each note. No words are necessary to take the listener to places of quiet meditation, release of emotion, or the need to get up and move their feet. Each time I pick up one of my instruments I marvel at how God gave humans the knowledge of music in the world. Composers write music as intricate in design and instrumentation as the design of the cells in our bodies. How did we ever discover that, by pulling a string tight and pushing our fingers down on it at different places, or by forcing air through constricted places using metal and wood, we could make such elaborate expressions? I'm in as much awe over the miracle of music as I am an eyelash on a newborn baby or the lacy pattern of a snowflake. God is soooo good.
So on this day, to celebrate the life and musical gift given by God to our brother Dizzy Gillespie, I give you one of my most favorite jazz pieces, "A Night In Tunisia."
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Here I Stand!!!
You all have 54 more shopping days until I turn a mere, tender 32 years of age. If you haven't done your shopping yet and plan to give me something other than a hard time (certain praise band piano players... hehe...), you can begin your shopping search here in general or here specifically (ahem, Chicas...) Or if you're feeling bold, surprise me with a little something special from this reputable online establishment. Heck, they might even accept a post-dated check, yo.
I know I owe you all a couple of accountability posts, which I will likely condense into one given my insane schedule and complete inability to scale down my life. I've also just finished an amaaaaaazing book and really want to review it properly. Did I mention I STILL have papers to finish?!? Good grief... Once the meth wears off and I'm thinking clearly again, I'll get caught up...
JUST KIDDING! (About the meth, that is...)
I know I owe you all a couple of accountability posts, which I will likely condense into one given my insane schedule and complete inability to scale down my life. I've also just finished an amaaaaaazing book and really want to review it properly. Did I mention I STILL have papers to finish?!? Good grief... Once the meth wears off and I'm thinking clearly again, I'll get caught up...
JUST KIDDING! (About the meth, that is...)
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Baby Mine
As I sit here typing tonight, I'm sipping a beer, my stomach is flat, and my body feels pretty good considering I've been travelling for the last month. Five years ago, the picture looked a little different...
After having labored for 36 hours, I finally delivered my first child, my daughter, Lil' G. I was quite overdue and impatient to meet this mystery baby, as we had decided to find out if she was going to be a "she" or a "he" until her birth. I remember buying a gallon of milk that expired on August 3, 2003, and I commented to my mother, "By the time this milk expires, I will have already had the baby!" *Insert dreamy sigh here* Almost two weeks later, all I had was rotten milk and no baby. I sat in her little room, the last time it would ever be spotlessly clean, baby jungle animals suspended in mid-air over the crib, and just breathed in the smell of adorable onesies washed in Dreft, meticulously folded and put away in the drawers. Why, God, why? Why must you be so cruel?!? All I want is to finally become a mother, finally meet this person who has already changed my life! Oh, the agony... Five years later, I'm wondering why I didn't go out and get a pedicure instead of sitting there kvetching about not being in excruciating pain with idiot nurses telling me how to breathe and that I had to wait for my epidural, but then again, isn't hindsight 20-20??
I remember her soft, delicate cry, the way she was hungry yet curious about her surroundings. I remember her plump cheeks and tiny fingers and toes. I remember feeling that finally my life had meaning, and there was, in fact, a reason why God had put me here on this earth. I remember calming her by singing, "You've Got A Friend," by James Taylor, which she certainly heard enough of in the womb and probably recognized. I remember T. beaming as he held in the arms the love of his life, how he never left her side, and how close they were even until the last moments of his life.
Now that Lil' G is five (going on fifteen, I swear), I look at how she has gone from a bald, butterball baby to a sassy, sneaky, strong little girl. How could anyone ever desire to go through life without the love of a child in their lives? And I don't mean as the favorite aunt or uncle, but as a parent, the one person who knows their child better than even they know themselves. I can't say for sure, but I think that adoptive parents experience this even though they did not give physical birth to their child. In fact, I would venture to guess that their bonds are even more intense, adding on the years of longing, the hardships of going through the process of searching, matching, and finally meeting. Birth parents and adoptive parents gestate love in their hearts, and ultimately it is love that overrides the importance of DNA.
This picture is the first one taken of Lil' G after she was born. I'm fairly certain that T. was the first person she laid eyes on in this world. I keep it in a Harley-Davidson picture frame that I gave T. as a gift after she was born. On the frame reads this quotation: "The best part of any journey is the people we meet along the way." Happy birthday, Lil' G -- we love you!
After having labored for 36 hours, I finally delivered my first child, my daughter, Lil' G. I was quite overdue and impatient to meet this mystery baby, as we had decided to find out if she was going to be a "she" or a "he" until her birth. I remember buying a gallon of milk that expired on August 3, 2003, and I commented to my mother, "By the time this milk expires, I will have already had the baby!" *Insert dreamy sigh here* Almost two weeks later, all I had was rotten milk and no baby. I sat in her little room, the last time it would ever be spotlessly clean, baby jungle animals suspended in mid-air over the crib, and just breathed in the smell of adorable onesies washed in Dreft, meticulously folded and put away in the drawers. Why, God, why? Why must you be so cruel?!? All I want is to finally become a mother, finally meet this person who has already changed my life! Oh, the agony... Five years later, I'm wondering why I didn't go out and get a pedicure instead of sitting there kvetching about not being in excruciating pain with idiot nurses telling me how to breathe and that I had to wait for my epidural, but then again, isn't hindsight 20-20??
I remember her soft, delicate cry, the way she was hungry yet curious about her surroundings. I remember her plump cheeks and tiny fingers and toes. I remember feeling that finally my life had meaning, and there was, in fact, a reason why God had put me here on this earth. I remember calming her by singing, "You've Got A Friend," by James Taylor, which she certainly heard enough of in the womb and probably recognized. I remember T. beaming as he held in the arms the love of his life, how he never left her side, and how close they were even until the last moments of his life.
Now that Lil' G is five (going on fifteen, I swear), I look at how she has gone from a bald, butterball baby to a sassy, sneaky, strong little girl. How could anyone ever desire to go through life without the love of a child in their lives? And I don't mean as the favorite aunt or uncle, but as a parent, the one person who knows their child better than even they know themselves. I can't say for sure, but I think that adoptive parents experience this even though they did not give physical birth to their child. In fact, I would venture to guess that their bonds are even more intense, adding on the years of longing, the hardships of going through the process of searching, matching, and finally meeting. Birth parents and adoptive parents gestate love in their hearts, and ultimately it is love that overrides the importance of DNA.
This picture is the first one taken of Lil' G after she was born. I'm fairly certain that T. was the first person she laid eyes on in this world. I keep it in a Harley-Davidson picture frame that I gave T. as a gift after she was born. On the frame reads this quotation: "The best part of any journey is the people we meet along the way." Happy birthday, Lil' G -- we love you!
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