When Sharon Came Out of Her Shell~An Adoption Story

          A very special friend accepted my invitation to guest blog during Adoption Awareness Month. Sharon Fieker Cummins, co-founder of Adoption Triad of the Ozarks in 2003 (a peer support group for lives affected by adoption decisions) and co-facilitator of the Birth Parent Peer Support Group for Adoption Knowledge Affiliates, has connected with many on their adoption journey.

          Why is Sharon so involved with adoption? She can tell you best…

          “I recently attended a Concerned United Birthparents Retreat. We were asked to tell our stories, starting with: “If only I had said…”

          Here’s what I shared: “If only I had said: Mom, would you and Dad let me move back home with my baby until I can get a job and settled again?”

          My Adoption Awareness began in 1969 when I learned I was pregnant. My boyfriend's reaction? "I don't care what you do; it's your problem." He left, and I haven't seen him since.

          I felt adoption was the only option so my baby could have both a loving mother and father. I went to Kansas City, Kansas, to live with my oldest brother and his family until my baby was born.

          I hemorrhaged, almost died, and received blood transfusions after my daughter's birth. I didn't see her. Signs on the doors prevented her from being brought to my room, and I wasn't allowed to leave mine.

          A social worker told me to go on with my life like this didn't happen. I tried to do just that, smiling often so no one would notice how I really felt on the inside.

          I was raised in a Christian home but strayed from God because I felt so unworthy. I returned to Springfield, Missouri, after my daughter's birth and worked as a legal secretary.

          Five years after her birth, I began employment at the local police department in a non-sworn capacity. Four months later, a lady named Jeanette started working there.

          A former co-worker told me, "You're going to have a new employee. She's a birth mom. She gave up her baby for adoption. Can you believe that?"

          I changed the subject and didn't discuss it further—not even with Jeanette, the first birth mom I ever met. We worked side by side 21 years before I told her my story.

          In 1993, I reunited with Jesus Christ.

          On February 2, 1995, I received a phone call that quickly got my attention:

          "In 1969 you gave up a baby girl for adoption; she wants to see you now."

          I started crying.

          She told me, "Your daughter's name is Lori, and she was raised in Kansas City. Can she call you later tonight?"

          "Yes!"

          Lori called, and we were reunited nine days later.

          The past 29 years, I attended Lori's wedding and later became Grandma Sharon twice. Nineteen years ago, I married for the first time. Lori and her family were there for Roger and me, along with his 2 sons. I also became Grandma Sharon to Roger’s grandchild. I was happier than I ever thought possible!

          Because of how my life changed, I wanted to help others. I published a book, co-founded a local peer support group in Springfield, and vowed to help adopted adults in Missouri be able to request their original birth certificates—like Lori did in Kansas.

          Jeanette and I retired from the police department the same day after 28 years. Lori and her family came to our retirement party. I asked Jeanette to join me on several trips to Jefferson City to talk with legislators. It took many Missouri volunteers 16 long years, but we got the laws changed!

          While in Jefferson City, Jeanette met a lady named Heather who later found her son—a sheriff in another Missouri county. They met for the first time at an informational meeting my local group held near his city to bring awareness to the change in Missouri’s adoption laws. She attended her grandson's wedding last month.

          I spent 20+ years helping adopted adults and birth parents find each other.

          I’ve been called “The Turtle Lady” because of my turtle collection, started almost 50 years ago. I use the analogy of a turtle going into its shell when danger approaches and staying until it’s over to demonstrate keeping my secret for 25 years. Roger and I have matching turtle wedding bands!

          The past 29 years have been amazing. Why would I want to change any of it?

          Don't hear me wrong. I am thrilled Lori had such a beautiful life: Everything I always wanted for her. I just didn't realize how difficult surrendering my baby would be.

          Still yet, sometimes, I wonder what would have happened if only I had said, "Mom, would you and Dad let me move back home with my baby until I can get a job and settled again?" We cannot go back and change anything in our past, but we can change our future.

          My favorite Bible verse is Jeremiah 29:11: “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, plans to prosper you and not to harm you; plans to give you hope and a future.” And my favorite song is…

…Because He Lives!

Because He Lives - Grace Larson

 

Sharon’s website is https://ichoosethisday.org.

Her book, I Choose This Day: Mournings and Miracles of Adoption

by Sharon Fieker is available at Amazon & AbeBooks as a pre-owned book.

She’s also a public speaker, sharing her story.

 

#adoption #birthmother #adoptionlaw #adoptees #reunion

#Missouriadoptionlaw #birthcertificateaccess #Novemberadoptionawareness

Photo credit:

freepik.com, online book cover photo, & S. Cummins 

To Our Veteran Sons

          Today we went to the polls to vote. You were on our minds. Why? Because we’re conscious how we vote for several reasons—one of those being you volunteered years of your lives and even the outcome of your well-being by serving in our military.

          I think the way our country’s gone since the time you fought to preserve our freedom must make you sad, if not angry. Maybe you feel like we wasted your service. I think I’d feel that way if I were in your shoes. Your boots.

          No one made you go. You volunteered. In fact, you did so at a time the United States suffered the worst terrorist attack ever on our soil. You could’ve just gone on with plans for college, but you didn’t.

          You were boys turned men in an instant.

          I must say this wasn’t the coming-of-age method we’d envisioned. Ever. But here you were, dressed in camouflage.

          Oh, you’d done that in your youth. You know, those crazy paint-ball parties you had that also made me cringe, but this?

          This was different.

          Way different.

          Our hearts were in our throats all those years—intensified times three when the Military called you into active duty with overlapping deployments.

          Seven in all.

          I remember when you all went at once. I couldn’t grasp the magnitude of this ripping away. We hurt to the nth degree. Both of us.

          Your dad cried. He didn’t do that often, but he did every time you left and now let tears flow times three. And his parting words to you, our toweringly tall sons? “Don’t forget to duck.” That made us smile—blanketing our fears.

          I recall phoning a friend to tell her you’d all be in the warzone at one time. I remember my idiotic statement, which I likely screeched in a higher pitch voice than usual. “I can’t take this! I feel like opening the window and jumping!”

          “Sarah, don’t you live in a ranch-style house?”

         “Yeah,” I cried.

          “Then all you’ll likely do is sprain an ankle. And you really don’t want to hurt yourself. Right?”

          “No, but I just don’t know how to handle this!”

          When my wits were about me again, I cried hard.

          Long. Agonizing tears.

          And I prayed, asking God to protect our sons, and—if it be His Will, that we’d have no gold stars to put in our window. Ever.

          Then I prayed for the ones who did. Grieving parents who’d never welcome home their soldiers.

          I remember the times you were able to call from overseas—Afghanistan and Iraq. We’d be in the midst of a conversation when you blurted—“Gotta go!” and we heard BOOM before the connection failed.

          Please, God, protect our sons!

          The wait until the next phone call seemed endless, not knowing if you’d survived the blast we’d heard in the background. After three weeks, we half expected someone in uniform to knock on our door. We dreaded that thought.

          Then another call would come from you, and we’d heave a sigh of relief.

          Thank You, dear God!

          Although you returned with marks of war—some that will never go away, some that will—you did come home. You fought honorably. Served well.

          To you, our sons, we thank you. Honor you. Love you. What you sacrificed can never be yours. That’s gone now. In the past. But what you gave changed the times we lived in during that period of history.

          Sons, warriors, we thank you. We salute you.

God Bless the U.S.A. — Lee Greenwood

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yH61hFsma24

 

 

Dedicated to three amongst thousands who served in this century’s wars—

Michael, Nathan, & Stephen,

in honor of all who served & are still serving in the United States Military,

and in memory of our fathers—

Thomas Archer Burns & John Richard Hampshire! (World War II)

 

 

#vote #elections #Veterans #war #Military #terroristattacks #serve #volunteer #sacrifice #deployments

#tears #prayer #PTSD #disabledveteran #elections #UnitedStates #freedom #GodBlesstheUSA

Lipstick and the Economy

          Well, folks, you’ll probably think I’ve totally lost my mind when you hear what I do when a president is elected whom I believe will be destructive to our economy. I buy lipstick! Two, three, or more. I call it my “lipstick stash.”

          You see, I told my husband years ago, “If the economy crashes, I’m at least going to be able to rosy up my lips and use spots of that rubbed onto my cheeks to give me that natural look!”

          I’ve gotta tell ya, my husband just laughed, shook his head, and silently wondered (I think because I don’t read minds) if his wife was one brick short of a full load.

          This has gone on since the 1990s. Being the conservative, Bible-voting gal I am, I’ve bought more lipstick these decades than might be usual—at least for me who normally buys two basic shades.

          Low ’n’ behold, not too long ago an article by a prominent publisher appeared on-line backing my lunacy (if you think it’s that and not just careful planning).

          So, I went right away to my husband with the good news. No, not the economic. That’s not good! But I had to tell him, “Apparently, I’m not the only savvy wanna-be-beauty out there. There are others. Maybe a whole following!”

          “How did you come to that conclusion?” the skeptic asked.

          “An article popped up on my computer confirming, when there’s a recession, lipstick sales go up.” I gave myself a proverbial pat on the back. “And ya know what?”

          “Do tell,” he answered not looking overly impressed.

          “There’s even a name for this phenomenon,” I replied, feeling quite proud of myself.

          “A name?”

          I whipped my pointer finger straight in the air and announced, “The ‘lipstick index!’ See? I’m not nuts! Not about that anyway.” I thought a moment then added, “This reminds me of the sons of Issachar.”

        Now I had Brian’s full attention. You see, hubby may not be lipstick-minded, but he is sons-of-Issachar mindful. Here’s how that came about:

          While studying end times, Brian discovered a Bible verse, catching his attention. 1 Chronicles 12:32 …“the sons of Issachar, men who understood the times…” These sons of Issachar were wise men “…with a knowledge of what Israel should do…”

          They were in tune with God and prophecy. They knew what and when the Israelites needed to do because they totally “got” the times in which they were living. Precarious ones!

          So, what was happening that these men understood? That King Saul no longer sought God, led the nation away from Him, and was bringing about the end of his rule and lineage. For Jonathan (Saul’s son and heir) died in battle, and Mephibosheth (Jonathan’s son) became maimed during his escape from the opposing army under David’s command.

          From Issachar’s four sons descended (at that point) over 200 men who fought with David—the one God anointed to be the next king, the warrior victorious in battles, and the leader who’d see the Ark of the Covenant returned to Jerusalem—the Ark being God in their midst.

          These sons of Issachar, this tribe descended from Jacob, fought on the side of God.

          Now, back to our present times—also precarious for our nation and world.

          With an election imminent and two diametrically opposed candidates running for President, do we have good, wise understanding of the times we’re in? Do we comprehend what will happen if a dangerous person wins? Is it clear that evil in command could likely destroy our country for ages to come if not for all time?

          Is there enough money in the bank to buy the amount of lipstick needed to cover the years in jeopardy? I’ll wait until after the election to decide how many I’ll need on hand … if I can afford any then.

          But the whole point of my seemingly silly lipstick story is serious, and I pray we’ll be wise when going to the polls, like the sons of Issachar, because we understand the deeper calamity that could befall us, and we know what to do.

          Yet—no matter what the outcome—don’t lose Hope, all ye who love the Lord! No matter what happens in the future, as long as we trust the Savior, we’ll have all we need to face whatever comes.

In Times Like These by Ruth Caye Jones

(written to give hope and encouragement to people during World War II)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j3jK3x3iMOM&list=RDj3jK3x3iMOM&start_radio=1

 

#lipstick #economy #elections #President #sonsofIssachar #KingSaul #Jonathan #David #Mephibosheth

#endtimes #lipstickindex #recession #future #hopeintheSavior

 

Photo credit:

png.play & freeimages.com

Don't Sell the Harp!

“By the rivers of Babylon,

There we sat down, yea, we wept
When we remembered Zion.
We hung our harps
Upon the willows in the midst of it.
For there those who carried us away captive asked of us a song,
And those who plundered us requested mirth,
Saying, ‘Sing us one of the songs of Zion!’
How shall we sing the Lord’s song
In a foreign land?
If I forget you, O Jerusalem,
Let my right hand forget its skill!
If I do not remember you,
Let my tongue cling to the roof of my mouth—
If I do not exalt Jerusalem
Above my chief joy.”
 
Psalm 137:1-6 nkjv

   

Rivers of Babylon

Jeff & Sheri Easter - Rivers of Babylon [Live] - YouTube

 

Dear Reader,        

          The Psalm above shares the cries of the Jewish people held in captivity. Ripped from their homeland, they sorrowed to the point they couldn’t sing the songs of God that lived in their hearts, so they hung up their harps, not imagining they’d ever use them again.

          To make matters worse, their captors tormented them to sing, knowing full well how distressed they were.

          Yet, in time, the captives hearts were restored, their joy returned, and they took down their harps and lifted their voices to the Lord.

          Have you ever been so hurt you cannot fathom healing? Have you, too, “hung up your harp?”

          Although I may not have been through the same hurt as you and definitely haven’t experienced the level of the hurts our world is enduring now, all grief holds something in common.

          Decades ago, my husband and I hung up our harps. Weighed down by the circumstances of our grief and pain, we literally could not sing. Not a note. I wouldn’t’ve dreamt then that we’d ever sing again when we could barely face the next day.

          But eventually we did. It didn’t happen overnight. In fact, the healing took decades as the Holy Spirit ministered to us in our brokenness and eventually led us to the willow tree where we’d hung our harps.

          There they were. Waiting.

          Reader, your weeping may endure for a night—or countless nights. But Joy does come in the morning! Psalm 30:5 That’s promised!

          So, dear one, please consider these words:

1)     Don’t sell the harp! It’s okay for it to hang in the willow tree for all the time you need to move forward in your healing journey.

2)     When you’re ready, take down that harp. Dust it. Tune it. Run your fingers across the strings. Pluck a few. You may try playing a simple song, most likely hesitate, then try again.

3)     Now add your voice. That takes great courage, but you can do it! Tears will fall, but you also might find you get through a stanza.

4)     The next time, you may yearn to sing more than one verse. Try looking to Heaven as you lift your voice. Tears may still well in your eyes, but you’ll notice you feel some better. Good job!

5)     It might very well catch you unaware when one day you realize mid-song that Joy harmonizes with you, lightening your heart—something you never expected when you hung up that harp so very long ago; something you would’ve never realized if you’d sold it.

          There’s a great secret—maybe not so secret—that some don’t know, but you will learn now. Here it is:

          When a song’s been restored after brokenness—after the incident that made you hang up your harp—it possesses a richness, a depth of purpose it didn’t have before you were hurt. Before you grieved.

          The song lives, and so now will you. Your song will never be the same. It’ll be better.

          And you just may find yourself saying, “I’m so glad I didn’t sell my harp!”

Turn Your Eyes Upon Jesus

Cynthia Clawson - Turn Your Eyes Upon Jesus [Live] (youtube.com)

 

 

#captivejews #hangingupharps #lostsong #grief #pain #sadness #music #Godrestores #Joy #sing

 

(Disclaimer: I’m not a professional counselor. My advice simply comes from

what I’ve gleaned during my own grief journey & walk with God.)

 

Photo Credit: creazilla.com

Aurora's "Talking" Rocks

         As summer draws to a close and autumn leaves blanket the landscape, I’d like to share about a girl who gave happiness to our town and a lady who sparked this adventure.

          The girl’s name? Jozie! Her idea? To start a caterpillar downtown but not an ordinary crawly! This one made from painted rocks. “I thought it would be a fun way to bring our city together after seeing how everyone really liked finding Lisa’s painted rocks.”

          Jozie and her folks thought of the perfect place to call “home” for this caterpillar—outside the Chamber of Commerce caboose (who granted permission). It didn’t take long for this to blossom as Jozie came up with ideas for signs, and her dad (a welder by trade) made those to place by the Aurora caterpillar.

          So, who’s this Lisa that Jozie mentioned? One of our resident painted rock-hiders! How ’bout I let her introduce herself!

          “My name is Lisa, but around Aurora lately I’m referred to as ‘the Rock Lady.’ It all began last summer when I learned about painting and hiding rocks. I love artsy things, so I gave it a try.

          A year later, and here we are! Over the past several months I have hidden or given away hundreds of rocks.

          People messaged me to paint them special rocks for various reason—businesses. Also, several individuals contacted me to paint for someone who was in an accident, another for someone … sick, a child and a soldier’s headstones, a memorial rock for an animal that passed away, a special needs child, for autistic children, and more.

          One lady said that I was an angel.

          I said, ‘No, not at all. But the Bible says to be good to people because you might entertain angels unaware.’

          Someone also said I have a unique ministry. I cannot say that I ever considered it a ministry, but you never know what kind of seeds are planted by the smallest acts of kindness.

          If taking 30 minutes or an hour of my time to paint a simple rock brings joy and happiness to all these various people, it was worth it.”

 

          Lisa paints all types of images on her rocks, but I really love seeing the ones that “talk.” No, not out loud, but they do convey a message of hope.

          I confess. I checked our town’s Community Connect online page often to see updates on both Lisa’s “talking” rocks and also how Jozie’s caterpillar was growing. It’s added smiles to long, hot days and given joy, seeing kids in our town so excited to find these special rocks.

          I thought, What a nice activity for the kids! And there isn’t anyone who can’t take part because it’s all free. These kids must feel like they’ve discovered treasure!

          Parents posted photos of their children smiling ear-to-ear, holding the rocks they found.

          One child was so excited to find her rock at a local bank, but she didn’t keep it! Instead, she wished to add it to Jozie’s caterpillar. Other children delighted in finding hidden rocks but re-hid them so others could share in the adventure as well.

Show A Little Bit of Love and Kindness by John W. Peterson (1974)

Show A Little Bit Of Love and Kindness | The Collingsworth Family | Official Performance Video (youtube.com)

 

 

         I love that the painted rocks in our town bringing excitement and happiness to so many through their “talking” message, but what about the possibility of “shouting” rocks!

   

       When Jesus rode through Jerusalem, the crowd praised Him shouting with joy, “Blessed is the King who comes in the name of the Lord!”

          The pharisees rebuked Jesus! (Imagine the gall to do that!) To put it bluntly, these pompous leaders wanted the people to shut up.

          But Jesus had an answer for them. “I tell you that if these should keep silent, the stones would immediately cry out.” Luke 19:40

          Now, have you ever heard rocks speak up? No? Well, Jesus said they would praise Him if all the people were silenced.

         Do I believe this is possible? If God says it, I believe it because with God all things are possible. But I don’t believe God wishes this to happen. Why? Because if rocks are needed to proclaim He is Lord, that means all the people are silent.

          I hope we never reach the day when there are no people praising the Lord. That would be a sad, sad day indeed.

          We are living in difficult times. Thankfully we have those among us who want to show kindness—even through the giving and sharing of rocks—helping to brighten the hearts of those who discovered the hidden ones and to those who added to Jozie’s caterpillar.

          And in these hard days we face, we can ultimately be thankful for the Rock of Ages—Jesus—Who can be found by those who seek Him and can be shared by those who love Him.

          Praise the Lord!

Evangelist Sammy Tippit

The Stones Will Cry Out (youtube.com)

 

#paintedrocks #Auroracaterpillar #childrensactivity #hidingrocks #therocklady #community

 #kindness #angelsunaware #praisingJesus #rockscryout

 

Photo credit: J. Hargus, L. Murphy, J. Garoutte, R. Maravilla, & B. Graham

P.S.--NOT ALL ROCKS PICTURED IN THIS BLOG POST WERE PAINTED BY LISA. OTHERS IN OUR TOWN CONTRIBUTED TO THE HIDDEN ROCK ADVENTURE TOO! HOORAY, ROCK PAINTERS AND HIDERS ALL! YOU INDEED ROCK!

Happy Book Birthday!

          Min, can you believe your memoir is 1 year old this week? Wow! And God has already used it in the lives of so many of your readers.

          Oh, the heartaches and tears, frustrations and anger, laughs and funnies that went into the 2 years I worked with you at our kitchen table!

          I remember Day 1—July 12^th, 2021. We had no clue how or where to begin, so we prayed.

          Then we pulled out letters and mementos of your life. It wrecked me when I shared with you about your abandonment paper from South Korea. That broke your heart too, but it also ignited the spark that began your story.

          First sentence: “I am number 93-89” … and it took off from there.

          But from the moment you first expressed wanting to write your story (January 2021) you desired to use your given name in honor of your birth mother (who likely chose it for you).

          Do you remember the day we laid out Cheerios and colored a very small percentage to help you understand how many South Korean orphans ever find a birth parent?

          Do you recall telling me you thought you’d write much better if we had a handy supply of chocolate candy?

          And how ’bout the Rubik’s cube* to help fidgety you cope with stress? That didn’t even survive Day 1!

          I also remember your agent asking how we planned to tell backstory. I had no clue until one night when I suddenly awoke with my lips actually saying out loud, “Letters!” I thanked God, climbed out of bed, headed into the living room, and jotted down thoughts pouring from my mind and heart.

          In the morning, I shared the letters idea with your dad, and he came onboard.

          No, it wasn’t always a smooth ride, but there were treasured, revealing moments. And you, son, were a brave soul to bear it all for the sake of this book’s birth. Remarkable! Your story and you!

          Being your scribe and chief editor was a privilege. No, not easy—either task, and sometimes I had to be the “tough guy,” making you take time-out walks to regroup, acting out parts of your story you couldn’t piece together, drawing diagrams and time lines. Oh, those pesky timelines!

          And your dad? Key! Our computer genius—the one who got us through the tears and frustration of laying out the book with Ingram Spark, filing for all the needed numbers and permissions, and umpteen other things that went into your story becoming an actual book.

          And it was your dad who was so sure God wanted the audiobook version out there and that Jim Hodges** must be your reader. Jim wasn’t sure until he read your story, then he expressed he had to do it. (Here's an audiobook sample: https://youtu.be/PYQL5T7UQuE)

          You raised the money to hire Jim, just like you raised the funds for a professional editor and cover designer. More than $2,000 worth! In and of itself an amazing feat!

          Min, you’re indeed a masterpiece! So is your story—all known by God before you were born. You had a story worth telling because God shared His. And because of the completed work of Christ, you accepted His gift of salvation, obeyed His command to write your pain and joys, and now offer Hope to all who read A Home for Min Soo~Putting Together the Pieces of My Life.

          Happy book birthday, precious son!          

A Home for Min Soo~Putting Together the Pieces of My Life—

Benjamin Hampshire (a.k.a. Kim, Min Soo) shares about his book

(with Brian & Sarah Hampshire playing I Need Thee Every Hour).

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PjCNhRRI93E

I need Thee ev’ry hour, most gracious Lord;

No tender voice like Thine can peace afford.

 

Refrain: I need Thee, oh, I need Thee. Ev’ry hour I need Thee;

Oh, bless me now, my Savior, I come to Thee.

 

I need Thee ev’ry hour. Stay Thou nearby;

Temptations lose their pow’r when Thou art nigh. (Refrain)

 

I need Thee ev’ry hour, in joy or pain;

Come quickly and abide, or life is vain. (Refrain)

 

I need Thee ev’ry hour. Teach me Thy will;

And Thy rich promises in me fulfill. (Refrain)

 

(from the hymn I Need Thee Every Hour by Robert Lowry, 1872, public domain)

 

 

Min’s memoir is available through major booksellers online

in paperback, audiobook, and e-book formats.

You can also purchase it at a reduced rate through Ingram Spark—

by using this link:

https://shop.ingramspark.com/b/084...

 

#writingabook #bookbirthday #memoir #orphan #SouthKorea #birthparents

#fostercare #adoption #UnitedStates #neurofibromatosis #Aspergers

#specialneeds #cancer #Godsplan&purpose #Heaven

 

Photo credits:

book cover design owned by author

*needpix.com image

**used with permission

other photos personally owned