Wednesday, March 01, 2006

I haven't been faithful.

To this blog.

No, it's not another blog...

It's me.

I've been, um... lost in my own mind. (It's a big, empty cavern.)

I promised the view from my window. But, I've pulled the shade.

Here's the truth. I may have the opportunity to meet my bio family for the first time in 27 years. I may have the opportunity to share the gospel with them during that short visit.

How do I feel about it?

Mmmm... ambivilent. Unsure. Dunno if it will actually happen. I've become somewhat of a skeptic these days. IF I get there... I will share the gospel. That I know for sure. The gospel is the reason I'm alive - inside and out!

Does my family know?

Yeah. They know. They're excited for me. Which is cool. They know I run no risk of returning to the old family or their way of life. This has been the tragedy of brothers and sisters past.

I have been able to switch that excited button on and off for a few weeks. Excited when I think of the possiblities. Skeptical when I think it might be just a dream. I visualize me telling them all about how God saved me. How God loves me, in spite of me. How God used me, utilizes me. How God has wonderful plans for them too. His offering of grace, forgiveness and goodness. I hope, HOPE that God allows me this opportunity to share with them. He may say "no" or "not yet"... but I pray that the time comes before I lose opportunity to tell my Grandpa Ben.

Grandpa Ben. Hehe. He's an old man. 81. He's short and has patches of white skin... which look funny on an old Indian. I used to wonder if he was white or Indian - seeing as he was spotted. He is gentle, patient. He is a trapper and still prefers to work up north on the lines. Grandma, when she was alive, used to take his furs and make them into mukluks. I have a pair that I treasure. Grandpa also has a fondness for liquor and women. You'd think in his old age...

Doreen. She's my mother. I look just like her, but I'm white with curly reddish brown hair. She's Indian. From what I can tell, she's a floater - never really settled down. She makes a lot of demands on those around her. Grandpa especially. She works hard when she wants something, but she doesn't want consistency. She's a gambler. Bad. She had an older son, David. The brother I grew up with. He lived a violent life and was murdered in her front yard two years ago. He was tall and handsome. I have a younger brother, Gerald. Spitting image of me - exept tall and handsome too. It looks better on him. He was taken from her at birth, through a set of difficult circumstances. She prefers to call it a sort of abduction, but I think someone was looking out for that baby. I met him in my adoptive home when he was nine. What a trip that was!

I don't remember much of anyone else. Cousins galore, but I couldn't name them or place them 27 years later. Everyone seems to remember me. I was the green eyed, blonde Indian that was taken from Doreen and John.

I remember the day I was taken. We were living in those dark brown apartments in Prince Albert. It was dark. I was watching TV with John on the couch. Police lights flashed on the wall in front of me. I don't know who answered the door. Doreen was out getting Kentucky Fried Chicken. I remember sitting in the back of the police cruiser. I was calm. Doreen's face was tear-streaked. John was gone. In cuffs, somewhere. I don't remember a lot of noise. I don't remember caring. I was relieved. Was there snow? Was it cold? I think so.

My first foster-home - at least the first one I remember - was a farm. I had a room upstairs. The lady loved to do my hair. She bought me nice clothes... a first for me. I even had "Fruit of the Loom" underwear and undershirts. I felt so grown up. The school was far away. But, I wasn't there for long. They had a Down Syndrome boy. He went too close to the fireplace once, and I slapped his hand. I was promptly spanked with a spoon. They were good to me. I think they loved having me. There was a lot of quiet there... order... peace.

I remember pulling up the long driveway to the Williams' home. I clenched my paper bag of clothes. It was April. The social worker helped me out of the car. I could have gone anywhere. But, God brought me here. The house was full, but the parents were willing. I was nervous, but I was greeted by who would become my little brothers and sisters who promptly showed me the house. We played on the green carpet in the rumpus room while the social worker talked with mom and dad. Susan was home. I think it was her birthday. She would be the older sister who shared a room with me, was motherly to me. Susan died two years ago.

I am overwhelmed by the thought that I could have gone anywhere else. Adopted - or never adopted - and never have known God! Hot tears of gratitude stream down my face, as I think of my God-fearing husband, and my sweet, christian children! I thank God for rescuing me, leading me to a home that would guarantee an opportunity to know Him, love him and share Him. My prayer is that I can boldly go back to where I came from and share Him with them.

Forgiveness happened so long ago. It wasn't a sudden, dramatic moment. It was gradual, and easy when I realized that I, too needed to be forgiven by God. Satan used weak people to try to destroy me as they did my brother David. And, who knows why God rescued me? What purpose do I have? All I know... is that I need to share it...

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