Poems

My dearest friend in the world sent me the following story and I must share it with everyone. As the mother of a special needs child and soon to be mom of another special needs child, I was deeply touched by this story. Thank you, Nessa, for all you do and for loving Elijah as we do!

BLUE ROSES

Why do I always have to be the one that starts to do laundry and there’s no detergent? Well, I guess it was time for me to do my store run, which included light bulbs, paper towels, trash bags and Clorox. So off I go.

I scurried around the store, gathered up my goodies, and headed for the checkout counter only to be blocked in the narrow aisle by a young man that appeared to be about sixteen-years-old. I wasn’t in a hurry, so I patiently waited for the boy to realize that I was there.
This was when he waved his hands excitedly in the air and declared in a loud voice, “Mommy, I’m over here.”

It was obvious now, he was mentally challenged,
and also startled as he turned and saw me standing so close to him, waiting to squeeze by. His eyes widened and surprise exploded on his face as I said, “Hey Buddy, what’s your name?”

“My name is Denny and I’m shopping with my mother,” he responded proudly. “Wow,” I said, “that’s a cool name; I wish my name was Denny, but my name is Hal.”

“Hal like Halloween?” he asked.

“Yes,” I answered. “How old are you Denny?”

“How old am I now Mommy?” he asked his mother as she slowly came over from the next aisle. “You’re fifteen-years-old Denny; now be a good boy and let the man pass by.”

I acknowledged her and continued to talk to Denny for several more minutes about summer, bicycles and school. I watched his brown eyes dance with excitement because he was the center of someone’s attention. He then abruptly turned and headed toward the toy section.

Denny’s mom had a puzzled look on her face and thanked me for taking the time to talk with her son. She told me that most people wouldn’t even look at him, much less talk to him. I told her that it was my pleasure and then I said something I have no idea where it came from, other than by the prompting of the Holy Spirit.

I told her that there are plenty of red, yellow and pink roses in God’s
garden, however, “Blue Roses” are very rare and should be appreciated for their beauty and distinctiveness.
You see, Denny is a “Blue Rose” and if
someone doesn’t stop and smell that rose with their heart and touch that rose with their kindness, then they’ve missed a blessing from God.

She was silent for a second, then with a tear in her eye she asked, “Who are you?”

Without thinking I said, “Oh, I’m probably just a dandelion but I sure love living in God’s garden.”
Please the next time you see a BLUE ROSE don’t turn your head and walk off, take the time to smile and say Hello. Because by the grace of GOD this mother could be you. This could be your child, grandchild, niece, nephew.
What a difference a moment can mean to that person or their family.

From another old dandelion.

Live simply. Love generously. Care deeply. Speak kindly.

Leave the rest to God.

~Author Unknown To Me~

Categories: Poems
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Who will cry for the orphan boy who is lonely all his years
Who will cry for the orphan girl whose eyes have run out of tears

Who will give an orphan child the things they really need
Like home and love and family, yes who will hear and heed

Who will love an orphan child, the Bible says we should
Who will give an orphan child a loving home for good

Who will love an orphan child, the Bible says we must
Who will give an orphan child a sense of belonging and trust

We live in a culture that has it all, but tells us we need more
Will orphans without home or love ever see our door

What use is faith that fails to love the orphans as we should
God gave us wealth so we could give an orphan a home for good

What use is faith that says to a child who desperately needs a home
“Go in peace, be warmed and filled,” but then leaves her all alone

How can I tell an orphan child of a God who loves them so
They’ll never understand God’s love if my love they don’t know

How can I tell them Jesus died to take away their sin
They won’t care that Jesus died when they are dying within

God said we’re all orphans here, and sent Jesus to pave the way
And if we accept His gift of love, we’re a Child of God today

Adoption is God’s proof of love according to His Word
Adoption is the word of love the orphan has never heard

Adoption is God’s gift of love, the love that we all need
Adoption is the orphans cry, but who will hear and heed

Who will cry for the orphan child, it’s something they cannot do
But, who will cry for the orphan child? If they can’t, Will you?

Families who visit orphanages often report being shocked to discover that most orphan children never cry because their crying is ignored. Figuratively speaking, their eyes have run out of tears.

Copyright 2005 by Gerald D. Clark Home For Good Foundation www.hfgf.org

Categories: Family News, Poems
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Dear Mommy and Daddy
by Susan M. Ward

This hypothetical letter is written from the perspective of a newly-adopted older child. The ideas covered in the letter have been taken from books, therapists, and children who have shared their feelings from those early days when they first got to their forever families.

Dear Mommy and Daddy,
I’m scared. I’ve always wanted a forever family,
& they told me you’re my new mommy and daddy…but I’m scared.
Where I used to live…I ate, played, and laughed…
now I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do.
The people who took care of me said I’ll be “better off” with you,
but I don’t know what that means. Your voices are different.
The food you feed me is different.
Everything smells different. Even the clothes feel different.
Please help me not to feel so scared.
I’m sad. I miss my friends, my other toys.
When I’m very silly, or I cry, or I don’t play with anything, or I don’t eat, or I’m too loud,
it might be because I’m sad.
Can we write a letter to the place where I used to live?
Can I look at pictures of those people?

I have lots of other emotions inside me, but I can’t share them.
You’re my new parents, but I don’t know you.
I don’t feel comfortable sharing everything with you yet.
Maybe I will soon.
I think it would be good if you smile a lot,
tell me nice things over and over,
and cuddle me even if I act like I don’t want you to.
Maybe that will make me feel better.

From,
Your son,

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AN ORPHAN’S PRAYER

I am waiting…somewhere far…far…away on the other side of the
world.
I may not know who you are or what you look like,
But some how deep in my heart I know you are out there.
That one day you will come and find me.
It’s a long journey, and it takes a lot of time…
I wish it could be easier.
But I know that the ones who come for me will not count the cost.
They will only see the joy of finding me.
For now I abide in the fields of the fatherless.
Day by day wondering why I was born here and not somewhere else?
Asking…why my life couldn’t have been different?
It is so lonely…
Even though I am surrounded by hundreds of other children,
I know that something is missing…I know in my heart that I need a
place to call home.
My arms long to be wrapped in a father’s embrace…
I long to be saved by a mother’s love…
Gazing out of the orphanage window, I offer a prayer of hope,
“Oh God please help them come quickly.”
Even as I lay in the darkness each night somehow I feel assured,
That no matter how lost I appear I am not alone.
Holy hands guard my steps, sacred fingers wipe my tears, touching my
lonely heart.
The one who made me,
The God that knew me before I was born,
Hears me every time I call.
He whispers His promises in my ear.
I listen with hope to His voice.
But what I worry about most is that no one wants to look for me.
The fields are vast and there are so many scattered all over the
earth.
I wonder how one little child, so lost, can be found?
Yet He calms my heart and assures me that He will find you.
That He will make sure that you hear His voice clearly.
He has promised me that He will make a way through the fields,
That He will personally cut a path, and lead you right to my
orphanage door.
My prayer is…
When He speaks…Please don’t forget to listen…
When He calls don’t be too afraid to go
For I am waiting….somewhere, far…far…away
On the other side of the world
To come Home.

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THIS IS OUR DAUGHTER.
We adopted her,
but we will NOT be
referring to her as
“our adopted daughter.”
She is simply “our daughter”.

THIS IS OUR DAUGHTER–
and the niece of her aunts and uncles,
the grandaughter of her grandparents,
the cousin of her cousins,
and the sister of any future children
we add to the family
by biology or adoption.

THIS IS OUR DAUGHTER.
There is no “return policy”
on an adopted child.
The whole idea of adopting
is a lot like marriage.
You make a lifetime
commitment to a person
with no biological
relationship to you.
You promise to “love and cherish”
for “richer, for poorer,
for better, for worse,
in sickness and in health-
as long as we both shall live.”

THIS IS OUR DAUGHTER,
and we ARE her real parents.
She has birth parents
(sometimes called
biological parents),
but we are her Mom and Dad,
and always will be.

THIS IS OUR DAUGHTER,
and we love her.
We hope that you will too!
THIS IS OUR DAUGHTER.

Copyright 1998 Jill Work

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I saw a greeting card with the words
“The Angels Danced on the Day you were Born.”
and I wondered what kind of music was playing
as they danced for you.

Was it a woeful sad ballad that spoke of the
confusion, violence and addiction that surrounded your birth?
Was it a marching song that told of your persistence
and strength to overcome and conquer?
Was it a beautiful lullaby that helped you to sleep
in a world that was not very nurturing and soft?

Was there an orchestra full of trumpets and cymbals
majestically announcing the arrival of a special child of God?
Maybe the song had a wild rock beat,
the kind of song that you now love to dance to,
and maybe the angels twirled and giggled as they danced
much like you do now.

I wondered if they danced again
on the day you entered foster care.
Or the day we adopted you.
I know that I danced on that day.
I danced to your song
a song that only you can play,
a song that God allowed me to hear
but that not everybody hears yet.

Your daddy and I love to dance to your song
and we will keep inviting others to dance with us.

Your song is your gift to us
and we are blessed to be able to hear it.
It was your beautiful song that the angels heard that day,
wasn’t it?
Keep playing, sweetheart.
They are still dancing!

Copyright 2004 by Kari Fletcher

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