The greatest stories ever told.

 I love a good story. Really love them. If you give me one, I will usually jump right in to the pages and often linger there between the lines.  And, it's often in these places, that the story takes me down a side road.

    Now please come back in time with me and picture Noah building the Ark.  The scholars say that it took approximately 75 years to built the boat and that it was around 450 feet long. It is however, the years of life not described in the scriptures, where I sit between the lines. I know that Noah was called by  God to do this huge and incredible task, but the people around him were not. His wife was not. His sons and their wives were not, and yet for 75 years Noah continued to do the job God had assigned him.  What did they think about that?

     And so...

     What I can't help but think about and imagine are the whispered, and maybe not so whispered, words of the people who watched Noah do this. Did they think he was crazy? Was he talked about? I think they probably did, and that he was.  "The crazy old man has been doing that for 40 years," someone might tell a newcomer when they asked about the man and the boat.

     And then that day arrived. The day the animals began to show up on the horizon. l thought about this for a very long time. Can you imagine it? Scripture says they arrived two by two and scholars say this probably happened over the course of 7 days. I picture the looks on peoples faces and the gasps they made as the creatures headed together toward the Noah's boat. Giraffe's and elephants, lions and tigers and bears, "Oh my." The town gossipers must have been sleep deprived and exhausted. 

     And then there's Jonah. He spent 3 days in the belly of a whale. He did this alone. No one was watching, but boy do I want to have a talk with Jonah about that one day.

     And then there was a King who heated a furnace 7 times hotter than usual to burn 3 Jewish men who refused to bow to his image. Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego were tied together and thrown into the flames. I'm sure many people were watching this horrendous thing unfold.  Inside the furnace, the men prayed and praised and the King saw 4 men walking around inside the flames. The solders who placed them in the fire were burned to death, so the King ordered the men to come out, and not a single hair on their heads were singed. 

     And then there's Daniel. He survived being thrown into a pit of hungry lions because an Angel came and closed their mouths. Can you imagine that moment? A stadium full of spectators waiting for Daniel to be ripped apart and devoured. I try to imagine the looks on their faces, their whispers, their unbelief.

     And then there is that Holy Night in Bethlehem where the greatest story of all begins.  I have thought about that night so much since taking part in the "Bethlehem Walk." What an incredible experience that was for me. And inside this greatest of story, I find myself settling in where the Magi finally get to meet the Savior of the world. 

     Scholars say that when the Magi arrived, they found the young child in a home and that Jesus was probably around 2 years old.  I wonder what they found Jesus doing? Was he toddling around outside playing with a stick? Was he watching his Father Joseph make a table? Was he playing with his brother James?  Maybe he was sitting in Mary's lap.  And when the Magi handed the precious gifts to the child did Jesus understand what they meant? Did he understand who the men were? Who he was? A two-year old little boy who was also God. Perhaps he did.

     And when Jesus was 4 and 5, did he climb trees and throw rocks and play sword games with sticks like other boys his age? Did Mary and Joseph worry about him like other parents do? He didn't run away to the synagogue until he was 12. Did he look and act different to the world before then? I have to believe that he did. How could he not?  And yet, wasn't he also just a little boy?

     I believe one day I'll get answers to the questions I ponder. The things that lie between the lines of the, "Greatest stories ever told." Until then, I'll continue my journey of imagining, and questioning and being in love with the stories of God. In all His power, in all His glory, He gave us the greatest gift of all. The baby born in a stable during a cold and possibly rainy night in Bethlehem that saved the world.

     Merry Christmas

I am the girl...

M lp

     I was the girl who abandoned her fishing pole if a dragonfly landed nearby, and was always shocked that no one else was beside me as I followed it down the dock and stopped each time it landed too early all 45 t 55666666rit's stunning neon beauty. 

     And I was the neighborhood girlì whoP3pi caught the toa⁰0ds. I figured out exactly how to pick thpem up so they didn't pee on you.

     I was the girl who loved the sound of crickets so much that it bpecame my ringtone. L cv6vvuji utters þþ4555k

     When I was litiiìpto0i3oʻlile, I was the girl who sat on the floor by the scrmleen door at night while June bugs bzzed outs4ide in the light. They were noisy, and often crashed into the screen. I remember the warm summer breeze coming through from outside, and their arrival on the porch always made summer absolute for me. We had a thing, me and the June bugs, it felt a little like we were old friends who hadn't seen each other in awhile. 

     And now, I am the woman, no longer a girl, who is well aware that when I sit down in front of Orangutan cages at the zoo, and start talking to them, that other people do not do this. But the conversation I had with a little Bonobo in San Diego zoo was nothing short of a marvel. Here's what happened. 

     I stood outside the Bonobo cage peeling an orange for Chandler who was in the stroller beside me, when suddenly a little guy appeared right up against the other side of the plexiglass. The little monkey was watching me. The partition went up about 7 feet, and then opened up to a barb wire enclosure. Inside, Bonobos played on ropes, jumped on and off a shipwreck, and chased each other around like children. But this little guy wanted something else. 

     He banged on his chest and pointed.  "Look at him, Chandler, " I said, "He pointing to the orange! He wants your fruit." 

     I called out to the rest of the family to come back and see this because they had already moved on. Now, the Bonobo was showing me exactly what he wanted me to do. He pointed to the orange, then up to the opening just above the glass. He then made a throwing motion with his arm and banged his hands against his chest again. "Come see this you guys!" I hollered again. "You wont believe this."

     By the time Michael returned, the monkey had made it very clear. Throw me the orange. Just toss it over the glass into our cage. 

     "Can you believe he's so smart?" I said to Michael, "Watch him." The bonobo showed us again what he wanted me to do. 

     "Mom, the sign right there says clearly not to feed the monkeys," Michael said. "Don't do it." 

     "But he's so smart and so darling. He just wants an orange." 

     Michael pulled me away that day, and I did not throw him the orange, but boy did I want to. And I couldn't help but smile wondering how many times that smart little guy got his way. 

      And I am the now the woman who is well aware that no one else parks beside the road when I pull over to talk to the baby cows by the fence on my way home. But the furry winter calves eventually come to me. They know my voice and my car. I believe they somehow know that their darlingness fills me with joy because my creator is also their creator.  

     I am also now the woman who waits at the railing calling to the sleeping bear. "Hey Bear. Wake up. Come see me." And I'm the woman still there, 7 minutes later, when he wakes up and does. 

     I know that I'm different than other people when it comes to creation. But I also know that God made me exactly this way for His purpose and my joy.

      I have always been awestruck by not only the majestic, but also by marching ants and lady bugs, and praying mantis, and I believe God put something in me that allows my spirit the freedom to marvel at things other people never even notice. 

     And lastly...

     I was the girl who sat on the floor right in front of the TV every time, "The Undersea World of Jacques Cousteau," came on. The Whales. For me it was all about the whales. I could never get enough of them. So I want to close this story by sharing this...

     I am the woman who God placed on a boat off the coast of, Monterey Ca. I am the woman who got a seat right next to the water with the help of her husband, and I am the woman so greatly loved by the Creator of the Universe, that He sent me a stunning Humpback. She was covered with barnacles, and when her darling baby surfaced beside her, I thought I might die. 

     They swam right beside me, alongside of the boat, for quite awhile and I wept. They were stunning. And before they dove and swam away, that Mama and this Mama had a moment. Her gorgeous, bowling ball sized, dark grey eye, came out of the water and looked into mine. in that moment we were there, together with our creator and it was magic. 

     So if you ever see me at a bear cage, or parked by the side of the road, you might want to join me for a moment of fabulous... because...

     I am that woman

     And thank you again Lord, because...

     I too, will always be that girl. 

     

     

     

  

About the Author

     Pamela Payne lives in Marietta Ga., with her husband Paul. They will celebrate their 50th wedding anniversary in June of 2027. They enjoy exploring Georgia and Florida in a new season of life. They have 3 children and 3, strong and handsome, teenage grandsons. 

     Pam loves to garden and paint and take photos when they're not exploring, and she also substitute teaches in the Cobb County school district.

The Secret

      I loved my Uncle Bill. He was my Mom's baby brother and a very young uncle. Mom was 19 when she and Dad married, and she was pregnant with Ron at the time. Bill was in Kindergarten. This made Bill closer to our age than Moms. 

   Every December and sometimes in the Summer, we would go visit Grandma and Bill in Enid, Oklahoma. As Ron and I got older, we thought Bill was the coolest thing ever. Well, I did anyway, but Ron always wanted Bill all to himself. When Bill became a teenager, Ron would disappear into Bills room with him for what seemed like hours listening to music and talking. I was so jealous while I sat with Grandma and learned to needlepoint. I love the memory I have now of that special time with Grandma Ruth, but in the moment all I wanted was to be in Bills room with the talk and the music.

     Once, during a Summer visit, Bill and Ron disappeared like always, but then shortly, came back out to the living room. Bill had just gotten his drivers license and he asked Mom and Grandma if he could take Ron on a drive. A drive with Uncle Bill! My heart raced. "Can I go too, Bill? Please?" But Ron wasn't having any of it. "No!" He said quickly. "Bill asked me to go."

     "Please?" I was begging, but didn't care. 

     "No!" Ron said again. 

     But Bill had a soft spot for me in his heart and I knew it.  "It's okay Ron," Bill said, "Pam can come too."

     Ron was really mad. I could see it all over his face as he stomped off back to Bills room. Bill followed him, but a few minutes later they both came back out and Grandma gave Bill some money to get us a treat at the gas station and we left.

     Ron was still stewing when he climbed in the front seat next to Bill, "You ruined everything." he said snarling. I didn't understand what he meant, but I didn't really care either. I was just glad to be with them. 

     Bill pulled into the gas station and the three of us went in for ice cream. As we were leaving, Bill stopped Ron and when I got to the car I saw them talking by the entrance door. I couldn't hear them, but I could tell it was a serious conversation.  A few minutes later, the boys climbed back into the front seat and Bill turned around to speak to me. "Pam, do you think you could keep a secret if I asked you too?"

     "Yes." I said immediately, "I can keep a secret."

     Ron was staring at me now too. 

     "You can't tell Aunt Mary, Uncle Elmer or Mom?  Bill said. "You can't tell anyone." 

     "Okay." I said, "I understand." I did start to feel a little nervous though. What was this secret? 

     A few minutes later, Bill pulled over and parked by a field. "I have some left over fireworks from 4th of July. Ron and I are going to shoot some off. You can tell anyone about it because we aren't' supposed to fire them after July 4th."

     Fireworks? Okay, I thought. I loved Pop Bottle Rockets and sparklers. This will be fun.  "Cool," I said, feeling relieved as I hopped out of the car. "I love fireworks." 

     But the sack that Bill took from the trunk did not have any Pop Bottle Rockets in it. The fireworks he pulled out were the kind that hung high on the wall at the back of the open trailers during pre 4th shopping. They were not for kids. Dad would never buy any of those. You had to use a flame to ignite them, and Bill used an old Bucket to set them on. I watched Bill light the first one. It shot high into the sky whistling and popped with an explosion. Oh Wow, I thought.

     "You can do the next one Ron," Bill said handing him the lighter. "Stay as far from it as you can when you light it," he told him, "then move away fast."  

     I could tell Ron was excited but also a little bit scared. These fireworks were nothing to mess around with. The second one whistled and popped just like the first one, and Ron now had a story to tell his friends at school.

    Now it was Bill's turn again. But this time, sparks started spraying from it right after it was lit, and it went up, but not very far, and then fell back to the ground on fire. Bill ran toward it, hoping to stomp the fire out, but it was spreading fast in the hot dry field.

     Bill came back running. Get in the car, he yelled, we have to call the fire department. This was around 1967 and Bill drove straight to a phone booth. He was sweating bad when he came back to the car.

     "They're coming. " he said, "But when they asked me for my name I hung up. Oh God." 

     Bill started the car. "Look," he said and pointed as we drove away. "There's the smoke." 

     We didn't go right home, and we heard the siren. 

     I started to cry. "Stop crying!" Ron said, "Mom will know that something is wrong."

     "I'm sorry, Pam." Bill said, "It'll be okay. "The firemen will put it out. I didn't think anything would happen."  

     I tried hard to pull it together, but I could tell that Bill was still pretty rattled. 

     "Do you think anyone saw us?" He asked.

     "I don't know," Ron replied. "I don't think so."

     The fire was put out quickly that hot summer day, but how the three of us arrived back at the house looking like everything was fine I'll never know. 

     Neither Mom nor Grandma suspected anything out of the ordinary as we settled back into the normalcy of a day at Grandma's house.

     I did eventually tell my Mom what happened that day, but it was many years later. I had told my Uncle Bill that I could keep a secret. I had promised, and I wanted him to trust me. It was a much bigger promise than the one it started out to be, but all was well in the end.

      I never did tell Grandma.

A baby boy, a pink onesie, and a miracle.

          A family trip to Ecuador changed everything. And now nothing feels the same as it did before.
          A couple from our home church in California quit their jobs, sold their home, and moved with their two children to Ecuador to start an orphanage and save babies. We joined the church after they were already gone, but we heard all about them and their home for children in Ecuador,  called "Fathers heart."  Their very first baby died in Melinda's arms, but when we arrived at the church,  we were told the orphanage was now flourishing, and a new home was being built on the property for special needs children. 
      A couple years later,  after God did many things, too many to share for the sake of this story, Paul took our family of five on a mission trip with our church to Father's Heart orphanage in Quito Ecuador.
     During our 10 day trip, my oldest daughter worked with a team of young adults, while the men and boys made concrete and helped with construction of a therapy pool for their handicapped children. That left my youngest daughter and I to work in the Orphanage with the babies. Their precious care givers loved it when extra hearts and hands showed up to help them. Their jobs were long, and hard, and most of these women had families and little ones at home to care for as well.  

      And so...we  loved on the babies. We fed them, changed them, rocked them, and took them in front packs whenever we went into town to shop. The baby I bonded with was named James. He was four months old and had trouble keeping formula down. He had to be fed slow or he would throw it all up. He was finally growing though, finally thriving, and now he waited for his forever family. He was beautiful. His smile made me melt, and within a few days, I loved him. 

     One day, my daughter and two of her friends from our church asked if we could all take our babies to an outing at the mall. Surprisingly, the people in charge said, "Sure. When do you want to go?" So the next day, that's exactly what we did. 

     The Mom of one of the other girls from our church helped load the four of us into a van with 2 strollers and 2 front packs and off we went. 

     After arriving at the mall, we settled the babies into the carriers and strollers, and waved goodbye. "I'll pick you back up in about an hour or so," Heidi told us, "There's a place where you can sit not to far from these doors. I'll look for you there." So with smiles and diaper bags and babies, the girls and I headed inside. We walked around and window shopped and the girls bought treats. Then two of the girls babies needed changing, and another one needed to be fed. Then one began to cry. It was about this time that the 11 and 12 year old Mommies realized this thing they were doing was harder than it looked. When all the babies finally            settled down again, the girls asked if they could pop into a store we saw and try on some clothes. "Please?" They begged with folded hands and the sweetest of smiles. "We'll hurry. We promise." 

     "You can't leave me here with four babies." I told them. "I'll take Marinella, Mom," my daughter told me, patting her baby girl through the pack on her chest. " And Heidi will be here soon. We'll hurry, Okay." Then they blew kisses and waved as they hurried off. 

     Things were fine for awhile, then two of the three babies in my care began crying. One wailed so loud, that I had to take her from the stroller and hold her. I bounced her snuggled up beside James in my front pack, while I pushed the stroller back and forth with my foot hoping to sooth the baby inside that. 

     When Heidi arrived in the mall and saw me with all the babies she picked up her pace, and I couldn't help but laugh by the time she reached me. She took the crying babe from my arms. "The girls just went to try on some clothes,"  I told her. "They changed them and fed one. The babies were happy as clams when they left."

     Heidi was laughing now too. "Of course they were." 

     When the girls returned with packages, my daughters baby was fussy in her front pack, but all the others had settled down. I told them about the state Heidi had found me. "I probably looked like a cartoon character," I said, and the girls apologized through their giggles.  But the girls learned a lot that day about taking a baby to the mall. It was quite an adventure. 

     The next few days, we stayed on site. I had James with me all the time, and I knew Paul could tell that something was happening in my heart. "Will you come with me when I put James down for the night?" I asked him. "I want to talk." So as I tucked the sleeping boy into his crib, Paul asked me what was up. "I'm in love with this baby." I said as tears fell onto my cheeks. "I think I want to take him home." Paul stared at me. "You mean adopt him?"

     "I don't know." I said honestly, "But I think I want to." 

     Paul squeezed my hand and a long silence followed. It was a big ask, I knew. And we were busy people and raising kids was hard, what was I thinking. And yet, I couldn't stand the thought of leaving this baby behind. 

     We spent the next few days praying about it and then Paul said he was willing to ask some questions concerning the possibility, so that's what we did. Melinda said she'd look into it, and so we waited.   

    

     A few days later, we all piled into Vans. The day had come to go to the dump and feed the people who lived there.  The babies did not go with us that day.  I knew that we were doing this. People from our church had done it before, and we had been talking about it since before we even left the states. What I did not know, however, was what I would see, what I would feel, and what God would do.  

     Everybody had been assigned jobs before hand. We had several drawstring bags of soccer balls for the kids to give away and play with. The children who did not want to play soccer, were given large bags of animals cookies to pass out. Another group, mostly adults and young adults, were equipped with jugs of water, shampoo and toothpaste to wash hair, and brush teeth. 

     I had not been assigned a job that day. I said I didn't want one, and wasn't really sure I would even go. I was a bit overwhelmed with feelings and possibilities and really just wanted to stay at the orphanage with James. But my husband and kids wanted me to join them, so I went.  The people at the dump knew we were coming. We had been told that when they saw the vans pull in, the people would appear and line up with cups or jugs or whatever they had to put soup in, and then we would serve them. Before we left, the biggest pot of homemade chicken soup I'd ever seen was loaded in to the back of one of the Vans, alongside a very large box of bakery buns, and we were off.

     My oldest daughter was part of the crew that would feed them, so she rode in the back holding onto the hot soup pot. 

     When we arrived, everyone climbed out of the vans and carried off what they needed for their duties, so I followed them. But, but when I stood on the ground of that place, what unfolded in front of me, was something I was not prepared for. 

     I not sure you could, actually, ever be prepared for it, as woman and men and children climbed out of cardboard boxes, broken lean-tos, and stood watching us. I couldn't move.

     I thought my heart, already swollen tight with love for a baby I'd met just days before, might break in two at the sight.  

     There was no running water at the dump so these people couldn't bath. There clothes were filthy. Their hair matted. Their teeth rotting. Their hands and fingernails... 

    I didn't feel present watching the movement around me. I saw our kids kicking soccer balls with the dump children.  I watched, disconnected, as my friends mingled with people in the line to get soup and bread. I saw children passing out animal cookies. But there were so many people here, they just kept coming. I didn't see how we could possibly feed them all.  

     Everything in my life had changed so quickly, and now this... what was I supposed to do with this?  

     Oh Lord," I cried to myself, "This is too much for me. I can't handle it." 

     About then, a friend saw me standing there, and took the time to come over and give me a hug. "I can't do this." I told her. "This is horrible. No one should have to live like this."  

     "I know, " she said sweetly. "But they're getting hot soup and bread. Some are getting there hair washed. Their children are laughing and playing with ours." She paused. 

     "There are parents that need help carrying soup back to their children." She paused again. "You can help do that?"

       I knew she was right. I could help do that. So I took a few deeps breaths and walked toward the line of people. I said hello. I pasted on a smile. 

     "Ask that lady if you can hold her baby."  I knew the words I heard were not audible. I realized soon enough, that God that put those words on my heart, because then, I saw her.  A mother in line had three children. There were two, each wrapped around one leg, and in her arms, she held a baby in a pink onesie. 

     She was doing her best to move forward while juggling the baby and a dirty chopped off milk carton  to hold the soup in.  I walked toward her. I don't speak Spanish, but I knew she understood me when I stretched out my arms and said, "Can I hold your baby for you?"

      As I took the baby and held her to my chest, there was a odd sound. There was something inside the onesie. Something crunchy.  The baby was content and happy as I unzipped her onesie and looked inside. Animal cookies. The baby was stuffed with animal cookies. A smile came over my face. And then I found myself laughing with joy as something broke off of me.  I walked around and showed her to people as the Mother moved through the line. "This baby is stuffed with animal cookies," I said, smiling  through tears.  

     

     God gave me something I needed in that moment and he knew exactly what it was. He knew that the darling baby stuffed with cookies would bring me joy. I pictured the Mom unzipping it as the kids brought the cookies around because she had no where else to put them.  

     I waited until my daughter and her team had filled the woman's dirty container with soup, and watched them give her little ones bread to carry back. Then I joined her and followed her back to their home. Their cardboard box at the dump. I handed her back her baby. I knew she was grateful. I could see it in her eyes. And her children were already eating the bread.  

     I went back to the line after that and helped a few more families carry things, butt as I did, I heard talk in the Van about the food. 

     "It's going so fast." 

     "So many people still in line."  

     "Still more coming." 

     It wasn't until many hours later that we all talked about the miracle. Every person serving food in the Van shared their perspective of what happened that day when we gathered together later. Each one of them believed they were going to run out before everyone got fed. But they just kept serving. They started breaking the bread in half. But the soup pot always had one more ladle of soup in it. And the box of bread had five pieces left, then four. Then they gave some away, but there were still four pieces in the box. 

     We also found out  that not only was everyone fed, but some people had come back for seconds.  

     It was like the miracle of the fish and loaves with Jesus on the mountainside, but instead it was a miracle of soup and bread at the dump in Ecuador. 

     We found out the next day that we couldn't adopt James because of our age. Ecuador wont let people over 40 adopt. I guess Melinda wasn't sure about the age cut-off when we discussed adopting James, but a part of me was already prepared to hear the answer. As much as I loved that baby, and wanted to take him home, he wasn't supposed to be ours. But the love God put in my heart for that baby changed something in me. And I knew that it was something good. Something I could take home.  

     I cried myself to sleep that night as Paul comforted me. 

     I had to leave James behind, but he had been greatly loved in my arms. And all those people at the dump were still going to live in cardboard boxes and be dirty and hungry. Oh Lord, I thought, there's still so much that I don't understand. 

     The day before we left, Paul took me shopping so I could buy something special for James. I bought him a sheepskin blanket for his crib. And I wrote him a letter. 

     "I love you, baby James," It said. "I wanted to take you home with us but we couldn't adopt you because of our age. You are beautiful and I will pray that your forever family finds their way to you soon. We bought you this blanket. I hope it keeps you warm and covers you with our love." 

     Paul and I taped the letter right on the wall right by his crib, kissed him one last time, covered him with the sheepskin, and said goodbye.  

    

     Years later, I got a letter from Melinda, the woman who started the orphanage. 

     In the letter was a picture of James. He was about 3, I think. He was sitting on a tricycle.

     She wanted me to know that he had found his forever family. 

     She wanted me to know that the sheepskin blanket I bought him was in his arms as his forever Mother took him into hers. 

     She wanted me to know that the letter I wrote him was also placed into her hands. 

     

     My tears that day were tears of joy. I had thought about that sweet baby boy so many times, and the gift I got that day from Melinda healed something inside me.   

     My youngest daughter went back with our friends the next year and got to be with the babies again. 

     I can't think too much about the people who live at the dump because it hurts. But I can pray for them. And I am filled with love and awe remembering the miracle God preformed that day we fed them, and the way the baby stuffed with cookies brought me joy  in the midst of great sadness.

     I know that God sees the people in the dump in Ecuador every moment of their day. 

     I know that He loves them.

     I know that James  found his forever family and I picture him snuggled underneath the sheepskin blanket we bought him, and I pray that he feels warm and greatly loved.

     For now... that is enough.        

           

     

 

     

     

The vision of the curly headed boy in the grass.

     My daughter and son-in-law moved back to Mammoth from San Diego after Garrett had taken a job as an engineer for Mono Co. I was so excited about having them close. I was extra excited because I knew they were ready to start a family and I couldn't wait to become a grandmother and have a baby in my arms again. 

     Shortly after this, a good friend of our family got pregnant. And not long after that, I had a vivid dream. Actually, it was a vision. It was simple and beautiful picture, yet very clear.  

     A little boy with dark curls sat down in green grass. His back was bare, and the sun highlighted him just so. That was it. That was the whole thing. But I knew that God had shown it to me.  

     Abby and Matt, (our friends who were pregnant), went to church with all of us. They both had very curly hair. Abby's was blonde and Matt's was dark. I don't think they knew the sex of their baby, so I told Abby, "I think you're having a boy.  I had a vision of a dark curly headed boy sitting in the grass, and I don't know anyone else who is pregnant."

     Nissi was born shortly after. A beautiful and perfect little girl with straight blonde hair. It had not been Nissi in my vision. 

     When ReAnnon got pregnant, my heart swelled. I couldn't wait to hold their baby in my arms. I remembered the vision God had given me. They both have dark hair. ReAnnon's is thick and straight, but Garrett's is very curly.  It's their baby. I thought with joy. It has to be. 

     Jude Paul Higerd was born about 6 months later. He was big and blonde. His hair was straight. He was not the boy in my vision either. But not of it mattered because I was so full of joy. My heart burst with a new kind of love, and life went on. As it did, the vision of the boy with the curls in the grass drifted away.    

     After Jude was born, ReAnnon and Garrett has two miscarriages. When she got pregnant for the third time, ReAnnon's doctor told her to prepare for the worst. She spoke at a woman's conference at our church during this time about their struggles, and I remember weeping over her declaration of Faith. She stated that she and Garrett would be thankful for the baby in her womb for every day God let them have it. There were tears. 

     Our church was also open during this time for evening prayer. So Paul and I went one night. I remember laying prostrate on the floor and begging God to let them have this baby. "Please, Lord." I cried. 

     I had forgotten all about the vision during this season of sorrow until God showed it to me again that night. As I prayed, the vision returned. He showed it to me again that night as I lay on the floor at church. There he was. I saw him. The little boy with the curly hair sitting in green grass. I had a renewed faith as I left there that night, but I held tight to my vision. I kept it inside my heart alone and thought, What if I was wrong. What if it wasn't from God? What if it was just a silly dream?

     But in my spirit, I cried.  "Yes, Lord. Yes!"

    

    Reed Phillip Higerd was born about 7 months later. He had dark hair. The first time I saw him his tiny curls were stuck to his head. Our family was so full of joy. I was crying when I saw him. "He has curls," I said, "He has tiny curls."

     It's funny how the things of God, so powerful and full of truth at the time, can fade away with the process of day to day life. If we don't plant those memorial stones, if we don't go back and rest on them, if we don't remember and tell their stories, they can simply disappear.  

     I knew after Reed was born that he was the child in my vision and my praise to God for that truth was full and deep. But it wasn't until I saw it, the exact picture, the image in my vision, that I realized how big and real God truly is. 

      

     Reed was about two I think, and Jude was four. ReAnnon was pregnant with Gideon. It was summer. It was hot. We were playing outside. It was late in the afternoon. 

     I think the boys were spending the night and I remember being tired. They were running around in the back yard, and I was thinking about dinner. 

    And then, suddenly, Reed sat down in the grass. His bare back was facing me. His dark curls shining as the sun hit him just so. In that moment, I fell to my knees. I fell to me knees and I cried. 

     Right in front of me was the promise in a vision God had given almost five years before. And in that moment I so full of love and gratitude and knowing. God had showed me something long before it's time. But in God's perfect time, it was everything.  

     I learned some things through this season of my life. One of them was this. 

     I don't ever want to miss out, or discount, or forget something God has said to me or showed me. His timing may be different than ours, but His reasons and His love and His care are perfect. 

     

     ReAnnon's and Garrett's story goes far beyond this one. There was much more heartache. More babies in Heaven. Gideon, their third son, was my husband Paul's redemption story and I know that God has been inside all their heartbreak and tears, and I believe their story will be shared by them one day.

     I cant know, but I can imagine, as ReAnnon's mother, the loss and heartache she and Garrett suffered when I look at the necklace she wears. It is filled with the birthstones of all the babies they lost. The ones they'll meet and hold in Heaven. 

     Until then, they are living an incredibly full and busy life parenting the three most amazing young men in the world with wisdom, love, and Grace. Their boys are strong, smart, funny, talented, athletic and amazing. Paul and I get to see them soon. 

     Until then, I will hold tight to who God is, what He does, and how He loves. Because ReAnnon and Garrett are planting their own memorial stones. They are walking through their own redemption stories.         And I...

      I will get to hold all their babies  in Heaven too. 

        

         

The last 15 Pictures.