Istanbul

Today was a great day. This morning our group headed to the hospital (a short walk from our hotel) and hung out with several families in the sitting area outside their rooms. We were able to give Leah's mom a little break from her, but Chro still refuses to leave her mother's side. She's 2, so I spent some time painting her fingernails and toenails. She allowed me to do it, but she is still a long way from warming up. That's OK... I can be patient!!

After lunch, Jess wanted to make a trip into Istanbul to buy something for Leah. Sarah and I went with her on the long journey. We started off in a hospital shuttle, then caught the dolmus (a group taxi), then took about a 20 minute walk. The commute was hot, the taxi was crowded and lots of people were stinky, but.... I loved every minute of it. I don't know why, but I just love Istanbul. Doesn't make any sense, really... It reminds me a lot of New York City, which I absolutely despise. It's incredibly noisy, and I typically prefer quiet. It's bustling with people, and I tend toward solitude. It's extremely huge (over 14 million people), and I like quaint. It stinks, it's hot and it's polluted, but I love it. I love it's amazing history, I love the fact that it spans two continents, I love it's beautiful horizon at sunset, I love the outdoor cafes, and the shop owners who spray down the walkways outside their doorsteps, I love that you can buy anything from phone cards to fishing gear while waiting to cross the street. I love it's different smells and sounds and scenery. But most of all, I love the Turks themselves... their culture (what little of it I understand), their hospitality and their helpfulness.

We ended up not being able to find what we were looking for for Leah, but that's OK... sometimes the journey itself is the most important part.

Hot, tired and happy...

The Banquet!

The banquet on Friday was a HUGE success!! Thank you to everyone who has prayed, donated, planned and prepared for this amazing celebration. We shared a meal together, then the kids played carnival-style games. Afterward, we all walked across the street to a new theater and watched TOY STORY 3 while enjoying popcorn and Fanta! Keep in mind that for many of these kids, this was the first time they've ever done anything like this before. Everyone had a blast!

The highlight for me was meeting a little girl name Frishta (which means Angel in Kurdish). She is the sister of Mohammed Star, one of the boys who went to surgery this past year. A smile and a wave, a few pictures together, and we were inseperable for the remainder of the banquet. What a precious little girl... created in the image of God and for His glory!

Cross Culture Experiences

Well, we just finished our first full day in Iraq. Sarah and I were able to spend some time in the home of Leah, one of the kids who will be going to Turkey with us at the end of the week for surgery. She is a precious little one-year-old who has downs syndrome (I didn't realize that a large percentage of kids with downs also have heart defects). She has very low muscle tone, but her mother has been diligently working with her doing physical therapy exercises and - according to Jessica - has improved and developed amazingly in just the last couple of weeks.

What a blessing to meet this wonderful family, be served water, pepsi, tea, then more water, then grapes (you definitely don't go hungry around here), and then to be reminded that even though it is so easy to see the monumental differences from our culture, when it comes to being parents, we have everything in common. The desire to provide for, protect and love your child crosses cultures. The desperation a parent feels to fight for their child's life exists in its fullest regardless of who you are or where you live. I didn't need language to understand this mother's overwhelming yearning for the health and prosperity of her daughter. And that is who I met today: a mom who loves her daughter deeply, who places nothing of earthly value higher than her child's well-being, and who prays to God every night for his hand of blessing over her children.

I wish you could've met her, too...

3 Planes, 2 Layovers and a Soccer Ball

So, I leave for Iraq tomorrow! I have finally gotten all the errands run, done the laundry, packed my luggage and my carry on (and placed all my liquids in a quart-sized baggie).

Tomorrow afternoon around 4, we'll leave Waco and drive to the DFW airport for our 9 pm flight. Getting there will be the hardest part. We have a 9-hour flight to London, and a 10-hour layover. Then we take a 4-hour flight to Istanbul where we'll have a 6-hour layover. Our last flight into Iraq is 2 1/2 hours. Combine that with losing 8 hours, and that means that we won't actually arrive in Iraq until 1:30 pm Tuesday!! Because of the time of day of the layovers, we won't be spending the night anywhere, which means we'll go for about 48 hours without being horizontal! I'm not good at sleeping on planes, but I'm going to give it my best shot :-) If you think about our group anytime Sunday afternoon until Tuesday morning, feel free to pray for us...

And if you wonder why I'm going back again, click HERE.

This is a picture and a story about Ahmad, a little boy who attended our banquet last year. The soccer ball he is holding in the picture is one he received from us at the banquet. We are taking 20 more soccer balls this year (along with a truckload of other toys donated by some very generous folks from our church)

It's just a soccer ball. Here, they are a dime a dozen. But to a Kurdish boy who can now keep up with his other friends while they play, that soccer ball is worth it's weight in gold!

Three Years Ago...

Three years ago tomorrow we made the decision to stop Paul's treatment. Without a doubt it was the most difficult decision I have ever made, and yet it was the greatest gift I have ever given anyone.

I will never forget that day: Paul was miserable and living in his stroller. As a defense mechanism, he slept the whole way to Cook and throughout the entire clinic visit. I remember sitting in the dark room, waiting for the results of his blood test... results that I didn't need a lab report to tell me... results that confirmed that, still, his body wasn't making blood. I remember dreading making the phone call to Terrill. Sitting in that dark room with Paul asleep in his stroller, Dr. Howrey by my side, tears streaming down my face, Terrill and I agreed that we were done fighting for our son's life. Our four and a half year war was over. Damn Neuroblastoma.

It is easy to judge ourselves as parents by two primary things: provision and protection. I mean, isn't that what we spend so much of our time doing for our kids?... providing them with the "good" things and protecting them from the "bad" things. And yet, I have come to learn that my shining moment as a mom was when I finally let my son go... when I relinquished my role in his life as his provider and his protector... when I gave up.

I have no words to describe that last trip out of the clinic. This trip that we had made countless times before, always with a slip of paper telling us when to return. Walking down the hall and to the car and buckling Paul in, with no paper this time, knowing that we would never do this again. Winding toward the exit of the parking garage and speaking to the ticket booth attendant... all things that were as familar to me as brushing my teeth. This clinic, this hospital with its familar halls and bad cafeteria and amazing employees... I not only knew the doctors, but the security guards and the janitors as well (those that worked the day and the night shifts). This place was my "soccer field", my "gymnasium". While most kids his age were learning the fundamentals of their favorite sport, Paul was learning that when his platelets were low, his nose would bleed. My son had grown up in this place. And not just grown up, but matured beyond his years. He experienced things here and met people here who shaped him into a sensitive and relational young man at the ripe ole' age of six. We fought here, we sacrificed here, and the whole time we were fighting and sacrificing, Paul was growing up. And this day, we were leaving it all behind. We were walking away. For good.

Paul continued sleeping all the way home, and I know that was a blessing from the Lord, as it allowed me the hour and a half to cry and kick and "scream" at God. It was one of a handful of times (OK, maybe two handfuls) that I have had an "R-rated" conversation with God. I would love to say that I got it all out of my system that day, but I must admit there are still some very specific things that I'm pissed off at God about. Let's just say that I have come to acknowledge that He alone is God, that I don't have even a sliver of understanding of the big picture, and that - at least for me right now - faith is more of a deliberate decision than a feeling.

Paul woke up when we got home, and he even smiled when we pulled into the driveway. Never has a boy appreciated being home quite like little Paulie.

We went to Tyler to visit Terrill's parents for the Fourth of July and spent the next two weeks enjoying every precious minute with Paul. And then we said goodbye to that beautiful boy.

Making the decision to stop treatment for Paul was the most brutal and most beautiful thing I have ever done. The greatest gifts are always those that require the greatest sacrifice.