Oh Boy! Oh Boy!

We have an announcement to make. . .

“The Call” happened on August 8. It was the day before we left for our Colorado vacation. We would actually be heading to the airport in the middle of the night. We rescheduled our trip the week before so we could be here for Pappy’s funeral and flight pickings were slim for 6 seats together on such short notice. But our girls are easy travelers and there’d be plenty of time to make up for lost sleep once we got there. The bigger challenge would be getting everything done and being ready to go.

It was a crazy day at work. The days before a trip always seem to be. Lots of loose ends to tie up and balls to get out of my court. My first day back in the office after vacation would be the final day of the due diligence period for a shopping center acquisition—the biggest project I’ve handled yet at my new job. My schedule was filled with meetings, phone conferences and drafting documents. From a work perspective, the trip seemed poorly timed, but this far into the summer there wasn't really an alternative that wouldn't require the big girls to miss some school. I would be taking some work with me and would need to finalize title and survey objections and negotiate an amendment to the contract while traveling.

I escaped for a lunchtime rendezvous with D at FedEx/Kinkos. Sometime at the end of July, in the whirlwind of funeral services and wedding celebrations, we’d received an envelope from the Haitian Embassy—containing the final documents needed for our dossier! We were soooo ready to get it out of our hands and determined to send it on its way to Haiti before we left for Colorado! We spent nine months chasing papers to compile our dossier. What a relief to have it DONE! D snapped a picture to accompany the “Dossier Done” blog post I hoped to write up:

I had an extra spring in my step as I headed back to work.

At some point that afternoon, I happened to glance at my phone and noticed that I’d missed a call from Holt. I’d sent an email letting them know I was planning to ship our dossier that day and I figured they were just confirming. Once I finished whatever it was I was working on, I took a minute to listen to the voicemail. . .

Hi, C, this is MN from Holt International Children's Services. . .

I know you're leaving on vacation tomorrow so things are kind of crazy. . .

But we do have a young sibling group of two boys

I wanted to talk with you about.

Their ages are approximately two and a half

and the little brother is about three or four months old.

Anyway, if you get a chance, call me back at . . .

My hands started to shake. My head started to spin. I called D, who'd just received a similar message on his own phone. Were we really receiving a referral? Three hours after putting our dossier in the mail? No months and months of moving up a wait list? No hint that the time was near so we could buy some champagne and set up the video camera? Did he just say SIBLING GROUP???? Did he just say BROTHERS?

We conferenced M in and he told us a little bit about two special boys. HM and JM. Pictures and written reports would be following. Thankfully he sent them promptly! We had 20 minutes before my 4:00 meeting to swoon over their precious little faces (How is it that I end up with the most beautiful children?), skim the reports (These sweet boys have had incredibly hard little lives. While part of me wants to party—these little miracles will be our SONS—the other part of me wants to break down in tears.) and figure out how to pronounce their names in French (LOVE their names, by the way. Will definitely keep them and will probably call them M and J). Had we not been trying to get out of town, I’d have taken the afternoon off to soak it all in. But that wasn’t an option under the circumstances. I still had a ton of work to crank out! So I had to pull myself together, regain my composure and get on task. Talk about impossible! The temptation of those referral pictures was hard to resist! I did my best to focus on keeping focused—pausing every half hour or so for another peek at the pictures.

To protect their privacy, since they are not yet legally ours, we'll just be sharing tiny glimpses here in the blogosphere. Just believe me when I tell you, you've never seen two more handsome little boys!

Perfect little faces:


Oh, the cuteness!


This little sweatshirt is just too much:

5:30 came and I sent my last email and ran out of the office. I had an appointment with Lindsey for a wash and mountain mama hairdo (my hair will hold a style for a week in that dry air—I love it!), then I swung by Dad B’s to borrow an extra carry-on, stopped by Subway to pick up some sandwiches for dinner, and headed home to pack for me and three little girls to spend a week in the mountains. Since our house would be tented and fumigated for termites while we were away, I also had to clean out my fridge, double-bag all remaining contents, take my houseplants to a neighbor’s home, and move my entire pantry, bedding and crib mattress to my van for safe-keeping. We crashed at 11:30. My alarm clock buzzed at 2 a.m. Dad B pulled in the driveway to ride with us to the airport at 3:30. It wasn’t until our Dallas layover (fitting, it’s where D was born) that D and I finally looked at each other and asked—did that really happen? Are we really expecting two little boys?

Lots of our time in the mountains was spent gazing at those pictures. Reading and re-reading the reports. Discussing whether we should add on to our 3 bedroom house or hunt for something bigger. Realizing that our spacious, beloved minivans will be filled to capacity. Daydreaming about having a yard scattered with Tonka trucks, a basketball hoop in the driveway, Legos and army guys dotting our floors, little league games and camping trips on the calendar. Laughing at the thought of having 5 children. Crying about how universally painful it is to be separated from one’s mother—whether physically or emotionally—no matter how old you are. Strategizing about how we’re going to fund this adoption, which will now cost about twice what we budgeted. Trying to picture what this increase in family size will mean in terms of our grocery budget. And weekly loads of laundry. Wondering what these precious boys are doing down there in Haiti—Who’s tucking them in at night? What are their personalities like? Do they feel safe, secure, attached and loved? How in the world will we be able to stand having them grow up for another year or two so far away from us? How soon can we go visit them?

Rather than broadcast the news of our referral and shoot it out into cyberspace right away, D and I both wanted to keep it close to our hearts for a couple of weeks. Though there’s never been a question about whether we would accept the proposal, or a doubt about the perfection of the match, the timing of it caught us so off-guard that we felt it best to take a more intimate and cozy approach, giving the five of us time to process it all together. Yet again, God was in the details--our trip to the mountains turned out to be perfectly timed. It's been an amazingly sweet couple of weeks of prayer and conversation.

I think the lack of details in K’s story made it easier to romanticize and tie a bow around it. But over time we’ve become more aware of how much of our joy is due to other people’s losses. Adoption is beautiful. Adoption is miraculous. But adoption is so, so complicated. Though their story thus far is theirs alone to tell, these precious boys are entering our lives as a result of hardship and tragedy. It’s heartbreaking and it’s not fair. I don’t believe it’s God’s will that people suffer and families get torn apart in this cruel, fallen world. But I do believe in His Sovereignty. I know His plans for our lives—and for M and J’s lives—are always GOOD. It’s in His Word: “For I know the plans I have for you says the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you a hope and a future.” Jeremiah 29:11. He can create beauty from ashes.

We are praying hard for these sweet boys. Will you please pray with us? That God will prepare their hearts for us and our hearts for them. That our boys will have divine health and protection from all sickness, injury and evil. That He will hold them near on the long road ahead. That though their journey begins with suffering, sorrow and desperation, it will end with redemption, healing and joy. That they will grow up connected—to their Mother, to Haiti, to us and to Him.

There are a lot of unknowns regarding changes to the adoption process and the future of adoptions in Haiti, but we are laying our worries at the cross and trusting the Lord in this adventure. Please pray that God's hand will be over our file at every step of the way and that we will have favor before the government and the courts. And that the process will become swifter and more efficient even as greater protections for families and children are we instituted.

We are already beginning to see these sweet boys as members of our family. Sons. Brothers. We are in love. D and I are so undeserving of such blessings and such love. We are overwhelmed with gratitude and anticipation of what this all means for our family. There is a lot of hope and excitement in the B home right now. We have great expectations. God has big plans for these two children of His and we get to be a part of it.

They just might make a movie about it someday.

The Legacy of a Statesman and an Angel

When Mama held me for the first time, she told Daddy I had my Pappy’s hands.

At 2 a.m. Sunday morning, I laid my head on a pillow next to my Pappy and held his hand as he left this world for heaven.

It was a holy moment.

Pappy and Grandmama were present and guiding influences throughout my life.

Their homegoing services were some of the most regal events I have attended. Hers fit for a queen. His fit for a statesman. Neither of them would have wanted such grand affairs, but their lives were well lived and indeed worth celebrating, honoring and emulating. The many people in attendance were only a small representation of the number of lives they touched.

Pappy was gifted musician, orator, story teller and minister of the Gospel. Grandmama was a modest, soft spoken, gentle and compassionate woman, with an eternal smile that radiated love. She was truly an angel on earth. They lived not for fame or reward, place or rank. They were not lured by ambitions or goaded by necessity. They were simply obedient to their calling as they understood it. Their primary goal in life was to leave a legacy of eternal implications. . . one soul at a time.

No couple had bigger hearts or deeper personal faith in the belief that Jesus Christ can change lives. There is no one on earth that can say my grandparents ever said or did anything ugly, condescending, catty, snide, rude, selfish, prideful, arrogant, hurtful or off-color. Not one person—I am certain of it. They were not perfect (though I’m struggling to come up with specific shortcomings), but they were continually striving for perfection. To be like Jesus. I can think of no better examples of Christ-like Christ-followers than my Grandmother and Pappy.

Pappy’s favorite verse was Proverbs 3:5-6. “Trust in the Lord with all your hear and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to him, and he will direct your paths.”

Grandmama prayed Psalm 19:14 daily. “Let the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart be acceptable in thy sight, Oh Lord, my strength and my redeemer.” Grandmama and Pappy’s lives were a testament to the sincerity of that prayer.

It broke their hearts to see people stumble in their walks, lose faith or fall out of relationship with the Lord. But they knew that condemnation, ostracizing, and treating the lost as outcasts wouldn’t let them connect with their souls. No one set a better example than them of loving EVERYone. They saw people how God saw people—as His beloved children.

No one, no soul was insignificant in their eyes. And they both had a gift for making everyone they came into contact with feel important and special. Even when they had little, they gave food, clothing and money to people who seemed ungrateful or undeserving. They brought the message wherever they were allowed to speak--from the stage of the largest church in the world (Yoido Full Gospel Church, Seoul, South Korea), to presidents, dignitaries and celebrities, to inmates at the county jail, to homeless folks in the shelter, to Masai villages in remote Kenya. They were loved and respected around the world.

They were visionaries—helping to transform Masterpiece Gardens into a first-class conference and retreat center; developing the Bethany Retirement home and neighborhood, a place for ministers to retire affordably in sunny Florida; building the beautiful district A/G office on Lake Parker; helping to found a crisis pregnancy and care center for teen girls, a ministry that has grown and broadened into Teen Challenge of Florida; serving on the boards of Southeastern University and numerous charitable organizations. They achieved great things here on earth, but they were humble and avoided the limelight as much as possible. Anytime the spotlight was on them, they were quick to deflect it and point out that they were just willing vessels—that JESUS should get the honor and glory.

Aunt Martha was in the hall during a shift change in the ICU last week. She overheard one of the nurses telling another “and there’s a famous person in Room C-3. Doctor Johnson. He’s someone very important.” He would have chuckled. Later, the nurses listened from the hall as the famous Dr. Johnson was serenaded by his 7 sons--gathered around his bed singing his favorite hymns.

I looked around the room at my uncles, aunts and cousins gathered to say goodbye to our patriarch. Moments of weeping and sobs would be interrupted by laughter and cutting up. It’s hard to say goodbye to a loved one. It’s hard to say goodbye to an era. How loved Pappy was and what an era we were so fortunate to experience. Memories came flooding back…

Our family filling up the party room at Davie’s Ice Cream Shoppe on Friday nights. And then filling up Jimbo’s or the back room at Western Sizzler after church on Sunday. And every few months, filling up their home to celebrate a holiday or special event. Singing “Come and Dine” before each meal.

Come and dine the Master calleth, come and dine,

You may feast at Jesus’ table all the time,

He who fed the multitudes, turned the water into wine,

To the hungry calleth now, come and dine.

Bringing my boyfriend—16 year-old Damion—to his first Johnson gathering and Pappy asking him to pray over the meal (in front of 60-70 people including several pastors). It was his way of seeing what the punk dating his oldest granddaughter was made of (I guess Damion passed the test). He loved to laugh and play practical jokes. He claimed to have inadvertently left out the “you may now kiss the bride” when pronouncing us husband and wife, but winked when I realized the omission and looked back at him before giving Damion a big smooch before we made our way back down the aisle.

The May Pole in their back yard that is now being enjoyed by Tim and Amy’s 5 kiddos. The 8 shovels, 8 rakes and 2 riding lawn mowers in his shedS—enough to put everyone to work. And better ask before you borrowed—that inventory was carefully monitored. Fishing with cane poles in their canal. Learning to water ski on Lake Bonny. Pappy feeding the ducks and the squirrels (and occasionally needing to be scolded for feeding the alligators). How much fun he had with gadgets from Radio Shack. Camping at Rainbow River every Fourth of July.

The fancy fuzzy wallpaper in their foyer. The secret passageway from the office, through the coat closet, to the hallway. Grandmama’s collection of teacups and tourist spoons—I always wanted the one from Africa with a big lion tooth on the end of it. The singing Billy Bass fish that hung on the wall near the kitchen. The big exercise machine they had in the Florida room that my cousins and I used to play on—you stood on it and it had this big belt that went around your hips to jiggle you into shape. Spending the night at their house and waking up to Pappy’s cheese biscuits. All those many times we gathered around their piano to sing while Pappy, HoJo, Dustin, or Uncle Jimmy played.

Playing football after Thanksgiving dinner (with enough cousins to have first and second strings). The kids table—and how the number of kids tables grew and the definition of “kids” changed as our family got larger. Eating chili, exchanging gifts (always involving books of Life Savers, sleeves of golf balls and $2 bills) and reading the Christmas story every Christmas Eve. That one big Christmas in ’85 when everyone got a Member’s Only jacket. Pappy never failing to tell the story of four-year-old me telling him that Frankinsence must be the mind of Frankenstein.

How he refused to wait in the car line at my elementary school—I wrote him this poem when I was in third grade:

He’s really a smart man,

He does what he can,

To do his grandfatherly part,

And I love him with all of my heart.

But I still feel the need

To hide in his back seat

When he takes me to school at Lime Street;

Because he goes in the wrong driveway

And I’m embarrassed for the rest of the day.

Grandmama’s butterscotch squares. The corners would go first. Then the edges. When I was away at college, she would send me tins full of just the corner and edge pieces. Her cornbread dressing and giblet gravy that no one can replicate. How impeccably dressed she always was. Pappy took her shopping and bought her the most beautiful dresses. And always made sure she was able to keep her weekly appointment at the beauty shop. She used to carry those purses that were made up of thousands of little metal pieces linked together. I used to love to run my fingers over them when sitting by her at church. She cried every time she prayed and always had a proper handkerchief tucked in her purse to dry her eyes. I saw her in jeans once at Powette—more like denim cullottes. “Look! I’m wearing dungarees!” she exclaimed when she saw me.

Grandmama found a way to complement everyone. I remember riding up in the elevator with her at the hospital. A grouchy, sour-faced nurse got on. “Which floor do you want” she huffed. We told her and she pressed the button. She got off a few floors before us and as she left the elevator, Grandmama said in her sweet little voice “Well she was a good little elevator operator.” One day, Lisa and I were visiting with her and told her how we loved that she found the good in everyone. Lisa jokingly remarked—I bet you wouldn’t talk bad about the Devil himself. She shook her head, shrugged her shoulders and said in her soft Southern voice “He’s a rascal!” That was the most negative thing we ever heard her say about anyone!

Every few months, we would all gather to hear Pappy preach at a nearby church. We always had to stand as our family—taking up an entire section—was introduced. We helped that church achieve record attendance for a Sunday morning service. When Pappy retired, the Johnson Family Singers were asked to perform “Thank You” at Pappy’s big deal retirement celebration. Sure, we were the size of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir, but only about half of us can actually carry a tune. We laughed to tears practicing the song and strategizing about how to pull it off well (and who should stick to lip-synching). They never forgot a birthday or an anniversary and always sent a card at the end of the month before the special day. Pappy had beautiful handwriting and took over writing the cards when Grandmother’s hands became too weak and arthritic to do it anymore.

Ahhhh. . . that’s just a few of my memories. Hours upon hours upon hours have been spent listening to Daddy and his brothers tell their stories (which seem to get a little bigger and a little more outrageous each time they’re told).

My grandparents’ presence, wisdom and sterling example made a huge impact on my life and were a huge influence on who I am. I recall that my decision not to drop my maiden name (I opted to hyphenate) was somewhat controversial around the time of our wedding. In the years since, it has resulted in mixed up introductions (“have you met CB, I mean CBJ, I mean CJB?”), and lost medical records, prescriptions and photo orders (“hmmm... I could possibly have been filed under the J’s or the B’s”). But it’s not a choice I regret. Growing up as J. Foy and Aline Johnson’s granddaughter has been one of my life’s greatest blessings. Keeping their name was a decision to honor the heritage I am so thankful for.

Proverbs 22:1 says a good name is more desirable than great riches. Though I’ve clung to the actual name, it’s the legacy that’s priceless. We’ve all heard of the son or daughter who inherits their grandparent’s life savings, only to squander it on self-indulgent pleasures and have nothing to show for it a few years later. I pray that I am a good steward of my name and my grandparents’ legacy. That I will also invest in the kingdom, through giving, loving and serving God’s children.

As I released Pappy’s hand last Sunday morning, I looked at my own.

What will I do with my hands? What will be my legacy? What impact will I have on the lives of my children and grandchildren? What impact will I have on the kingdom? I want to live my life loving like Jesus. I want to love the unlovable. . . because He loves them. I want to live with compassion. I want my heart to break for what breaks His. I want others to come to know Him because they know me. I pray the Lord will help me live for things eternal. Not caught up in ME. Because my life is not about me. And though my girlies and husband are my very heartbeat, it’s not about them, either. It’s about Him. And when the focus is on Him, there will naturally be an abundance of blessings, memories, love and laughter.

And Pappy, thank you for your legacy. Thank you for being authentic, evergreen and setting the bar high. Thank you for leaving me the most priceless of inheritances—a good name. I pray that your children, grandchildren and great grandchildren will not take our heritage for granted—that your legacy will be invested and reinvested in the generations to come and those loved and served by them. You and Grandmama have inspired me in my faith and have set an incomparable example to me of what it really looks like to live one’s life for the Lord and to keep Jesus at the center of your lives, marriage and family. Give Grandmama and Jesus hugs for me. I’ll see you soon. I hope to have a lot of fun stories to tell you. And I hope to bring a bunch of others with me.