An Anniversary

Today is a special day for me.

I am never able to adequately express just how much this day means to me.

Very few people 'get it'.

Today is my anniversary
and it means more to me than my birthday.

This day has defined my life and
represents my blessings
both past and present.

On August 8, 1962
God gave me a family.

I was given a mom and a dad
and a heritage.

I was given a big brother
and a big sister and although no one knew it that day,
I was also given a baby brother.

I am ever mindful that on that day
I was also given the family I would cherish as an adult.

The journey of life as a Hargrove brought me to

my own children,
those they love and
the children of their future.

On this day I miss my mom more than any other.

I'd give almost anything to hear her say one more time,
"I'm so glad you're mine."

Anyway.

Today is a special day for me.

Just sayin'.........

Where I Am From

I am from the little brick house near-by the creek, from Nestlé’s Quick, Duke’s Mayonnaise, Krispy Kreme Doughnuts, homemade biscuits and Mama’s snow cream.


I am from the antique house that still sits behind the mortuary. The house filled with big rooms, tall ceilings and 100 years of ghosts both good and bad.


From the dogwood, the red hot poker, the pyracantha, honey suckle and the pecan tree.


I am from wassail at Christmas, celebrating adoption with anniversaries and blessing the food before it is eaten. From the Hargrove’s sense of family, the Moran’s gentle and loving spirit, the Willett’s strong work ethic and the Dixon’s temper sprinkled with a little bit of crazy.


I am from the reader and the extrovert.


From don’t sweat the small stuff and roll with the punches and from the magic words are these: excuse me, thank you and please.


I am from love the least of these, saved by grace, once saved always saved and do unto others as you would have them do unto you.


I am from the biology of Ireland, Carolina mountains and beaches and Georgia peaches.


I am from grits, homemade ice cream and watermelon.


I am from Boop Boop Dit-tem Dat-tem What-tem Shu, Skin-a-ma Rinky Dinky Dink, The Old Rugged Cross and Pass It On.


From falling in the creek, staying out past dark to play in the snow and coming home when I hear Mama and Daddy whistle. I am from barefoot at church, walking to school, a field of daffodils and dirt clod fights. I am from sweet milk gravy and toast, only one phone in the house and sleeping in unheated bedrooms.


I am from preachers, teachers, veterans and farmers. From Granddaddy’s barn, Bubber’s kitchen, Mamaw’s sleeping porch and Nan’s store. I am from notebook after notebook of family genealogy, ribbon tied letters and old leather photo albums.


I am from those who came before, those who came along with me and those who have their roots in me.


Just sayin'..............

A Face A Mother Could Love

Regular readers of this blog have surely noticed the special love I have for Chosen Babies. Those who know me in real life know that I have always wanted to adopt. Adoption wasn't in the cards for me and although as recently as October of this year I informed my co-workers that I wanted to adopt a specific, special baby it doesn't seem that adoption is in my future.

The face you see above belongs to Vanya,

an eight year old little boy living in an Eastern European orphanage.

Vanya is running out of time.

Soon he will be transferred from the orphanage he currently lives in

to a mental institution.

This is what happens to children in his country who are not adopted by a specific age.

Blogger, Adeya, of No Greater Joy Mom, has posted tons of information about little Vanya. She knows first hand, the miracles God performs to bring orphans home. She knows first hand the incredible blessing it is to adopt a child.

Please click here

                   http://www.nogreaterjoymom.com/2011/04/dream-come-true-giveaway.html

to visit Adeya's blog and learn more about Vanya.

You will love learning about her family's adoption journey.

You might even be inspired to make a contribution to a fund that has been set up to help with adoption costs for Vanya's new family.

They are out there somewhere.

Just sayin'...

Sister, Sister

Today is my sister's Anniversary.

It is the anniversary of her addition to the family my parents had begun with the adoption of my older brother, Tom.

It never fails to boggle my mind when I consider how unlikely it is that we all found each other.

But then again, God things are always mind boggling.

Some of the pictures in this post are of my homecoming day but you can see how very special our family felt about the day we each came home. 

The hand gently holding my leg and the arms wrapped around me as she held me in her lap have been there as

long as I can remember.

She is the fric to my frac and the peanut butter to my jelly.

I know she is always with me. I know her hand is always there and her arms are always wrapped around me.

 

I know this because we have a bond that transcends flesh and blood, DNA and genetics.

It is a bond that my parents built with purpose

and nurtured carefully.  It is a bond the four

Hargrove brats children have always known.

You mess with one of us, you better be ready to

deal with all four of us.

It has always been that way and it will never change.

We were chosen for each other by God.

Admittedly, we didn't always appreciate each

other.  I am sure my younger brother and I

were occasionally irritating but he and I have

forgiven the frequent abuse handed down by

the older two. 

Smile.

Oh, the stories we can tell.

Oh, the trouble we got into.

Oh the love we have always known.

Just sayin'.............

Dear Brooklyn,

A few weeks ago you made your mommy and daddy the happiest two people in the whole wide world.

You made them into a mommy and a daddy.

All babies are miracles.

Just thinking about a tiny little being coming into existence, growing inside a womb and finally exiting to become a person who has it's own personality is....well... it is unimaginable, incredible, incomprehensible. 

At least for us humans.

It took a wise and wonderful God to figure all of that out.

Perhaps the most miraculous of all is that God knows each of us before we are born.  His Word tell us that he knows each of us before our bones are knit together in our mother's wombs. 

That passage has been one that has uplifted, comforted, consoled and given me confidence all my life. To know that God knew all about me before I was born proves to me that He loves me. He loves ME.  Not just a generic human.....but the me that I am.

He knew you too, Brooklyn. 

He knew you before anyone else in the whole wide world did.
And He has loved you every single moment.

God knew who you were as you grew from something smaller than a speck to a seven pound baby girl with two arms, two legs, ten fingers and ten toes.  God knew your name, the color of your eyes and how beautiful your hair would be when you were born into this world.  God knew that you would have long fingers and toes and that you would squeak instead of instead of crying. 
God knew one more very important detail.

God knew that you belonged to your parents.  And to us.  Smile.
But, beyond the miracle of your existence is another miracle.  It is one that you and I share and it makes us very, very special! You share this miracle with your father, your grandfather and your maternal great aunts and uncles.
You see, Sweetie, sometimes...God has to work a little harder to be sure that babies get the right mommy and daddy.Brooklyn, you are a Chosen Baby.

God chose you for Mommy and Daddy and He chose them for you.
He knew that the three of you belonged together and so...
He made you all a family. 

We have all known we were meant for each other from the day we heard you were on the way.

On Friday, October 1st.....it was made official for the rest of the world!

I love you Brooklyn Grace!
I think I always have!

Just sayin'.............

Love, love, love,

Aunt Ann

PS-Don't forget what I told you last time.....I'm your favorite.

So Glad You are Mine

It's been a rough day today.

The tears have fallen more than once.

Every other August 8th I have gotten a 

phone call early in the morning. I tried for

years to be the one to call them but my mother

always beat me to it. Smile. She and Dad always

said, "I'm so glad you are mine." And I always said, "Me too!"

My father has

dreaded this month.

They would have celebrated

their wedding anniversary next weekend.

The

anticipation

of that painful day

must be awful for him. I

called my father as soon

as I was sure he would be

out of church. It broke my

heart to realize that he dreaded

August 14 so much that he forgot August 8.

It's okay though.

That's the kind of

thing that grief does

to you. It is like trying

to find your way through

a dense fog.  It blurs your

eyesight so that it is all you

can do to keep your feet on the

pathway of life. I know that Mom

would want me to make my daddy's

world as okay as I can. So that is what

I tried to do. Hopefully, my voice was just

as happy and as cheerful as I wanted it to be.

As many of us as are

able will gather together

August 8, 1962
The day I found my family

at the restaurant that Mom

always chose for their anniversary

dinner. We have gathered there many

times before to celebrate one thing or another.

I hope that

it helps us all.

Tonight, when all the

kids are in bed and I finally

stop working on lesson plans

I will whisper to my Mom.

I'm so glad you chose me.

Just sayin'.............

Chosen Babies

I came home August 8, 1962.

I was a Chosen baby. In fact, I am one of four Chosen Babies.
I have known all my life that I was special.

I knew I was special because my parents told me so.

From as far back in my memory as I can search, I have felt
nothing other than pride in how I came to be a part of my family.

I knew to feel pride because my parents taught me to.

My parents read books to us and one of our favorites was a book named The Chosen Baby. After all, it was all about US and how we became a family. (I remember how surprised I was when I learned to read for myself and discovered that the children in the book were named Peter and Susan instead of having the names of my older brother and sister.) Being a Chosen Baby meant that God worked extra hard to give us to the family that would be perfect for us.

I knew to feel extraordinarily blessed because my parents told me I was.  

My parents did not tell me to feel sorry for children who joined their families in the regular, plain old, boring way.  But I did anyway. 

After all, my parents CHOSE me.

My parents told me that out of all the other babies in the world they wanted me the most. In my mind, they must have walked up and down row after row of cribs looking for the best for the best. I imagined them hugging each other while looking at me and shouting, "She's the one!"

I knew that only the best babies got to be Chosen Babies because my parents told me so.

Only Chosen Babies celebrated an anniversary. Nowadays many families like ours call them Gotcha Days. Shorthand for-The Day We Gotcha.  Mom and Dad called them Anniversaries and we celebrated four of them each year. Anniversaries were similar to birthdays but instead of one kid getting all the presents we all got one. To a child betting presents is the BEST.

I felt sorry for my friends who were always jealous...as they should have been.

I knew that they were right to be jealous because I told them so.

Yes, I wonder about the man and the woman who first gave me existence and then gave me up to give me a LIFE. I wonder what they look like and what brings them joy. I wonder where the red hair I was born with came from and if someone has green eyes like mine.

The one thing I never wonder about is who my REAL parents are.

I know that their names are Billy and Harriett. 

I know that they loved  me from the start because they told me so over and over and over.

And, I know that I came home on August 8, 1962.