Origins

Another busy day today.  Eight hours worth of work and travel.  Much of the time, we feel like luggage as our facilitators take us from place to place with little understanding of why we are there or what we are supposed to be doing.  There are certain…elements… of getting things done here that would not be considered… well, acceptable protocol in the US.  Nevertheless, our facilitators are extremely competent, honest and hard-working.  These two ladies have very good English, know the precise steps that must be taken to get the adoption pushed through the system and aggressively strive on our behalf.  I truly have no idea how people adopt here without facilitators.  Unless you are entirely fluent in Russian AND Ukrainian, know the culture and protocols, and have connections within government, transportation and lodging, it would seem an insurmountable task to me.

Today, we needed to travel to Liza’s birth village to complete the legal separation of her from her sister.  We needed to apply to the local government of that village for the separation, about an hour from us.  First, we stopped by the orphanage to consult with the social worker about how certain questions should be answered that the administrator there would ask us. 

As we drove down the road that winds up to the orphanage, I could see two teenage girls walking across the playground.  Since school was in session, they were the only two outside and they were walking arm-in-arm. When we rounded the corner, I immediately recognized them as Liza and her sister.  We parked and they walked up to us, seeming somewhat solemn.  Liza hugged us and smiled.  I told her that we did not get to see her yesterday because be had been doing many things for the adoption – and that we had much work to do today as well.  She looked toward one of our facilitators whom she has known for 9 years and told her that she was worried that she would not be adopted – that there might be problems with the documents.  She replied that things were going very smoothly and not be worried.  Liza said (in Russian – she knows very little English), “will we be home in time for Merry Christmas?”  I can only imagine what this child has fantasized about Christmas in a house, with a family that loves her.  The traditions, the warmth and love that most of us associate with that time of year and look forward to are just pictures in a book or scenes on the TV screen that have never been reality to her.  The facilitator answered, “maybe, I think maybe yes, but I don’t know”.

We have been given permission to take Liza away from the orphanage for a few hours on Thanksgiving.  We plan to go to lunch, a movie and bowling.  We told her our plans and asked her sister if she would like to come too.  She smiled her small guarded smile and nodded.  We are so looking forward to some time away from the orphanage where we can interact with Liza in a free environment.  We left her with a hug and a kiss and headed to the town in which she was born, about 90 kilometers away.

The hour drive was, uh… rough.  Reagan was immensely carsick.  Imagine the way you feel when you race around a track in a go cart.  That’s what driving in Ukraine feels like.  We traveled through the country, passing shacks and shanties, walled-in yards, farms with super-rich, dark soil renowned for amazing produce and miles and miles of open fields.

We arrived in Liza’s village of origin and had an hour to kill while our papers were drawn up.  We were starving and needed a restroom so our facilitators had us get out of the car and walk through a nearby outdoor “mall” to find something to eat.  Let me reiterate that this was a village.  It was stark and bleak and grey.  A statue of Stalin still stood nearby and the place was like a ghost town with the occasional person walking by or riding on a bike.  Our facilitator turned to us and said “this is like a horror movie.  Where is everyone?  Everything is closed.”  I told her I kept waiting for zombie’s to come out of the alleys.  We walked around for about 20 minutes but all the restaurants were closed (at 1 pm) and only the little grocery was open. 

A lot of people warned us that food in Ukraine is terrible but Reagan and I trust it and enjoy it more than food in the U.S..  Besides the fact that they eat a lot of sausage/salami and breads/starches, everything is natural and fresh and whole. In this tiny village, we finally found a restaurant and had a greek vegetable salad, a bowl of chicken soup, a chicken breast fried in egg with fresh potato fries for $7 – total.  All amazing.  I kept converting the Grivna in my head thinking I must be doing my math wrong or the check must have been in dollars.  Despite the bleak nature of this village, the people there seemed to have a strong work ethic.

We returned to the village administrator and answered a few questions they had for us about how we knew Liza.  Our head facilitator told us as we left that we answered every question perfectly and that we needed to same exact performance for the judge in a couple weeks.  Back in the city, our facilitator had a special meeting with the judge to ensure that our papers could be filed and that we would not spend weeks waiting for a court date.  For the next few days, our facilitators will be working on our behalf and won’t have need of us.  We are planning to spend some time doing something enjoyable (hopefully).  We will also be able to resume our normal visits to Liza after she gets out of school.

I had the most unusual feeling when we left the village this afternoon.  I felt like I was living out a movie.  Like every aspect of this story from beginning to end had already been determined, even though I didn’t know what was next.  My Reformed friends are probably not surprised by that, but it’s one thing to hold such a belief and another to feel it.  Reagan and I truly feel that every second of this adventure has been orchestrated from beginning to end and we were simply the actors on the screen in which our “free” actions were precisely what the script called for. 

Please pray for expedience in establishing our court date.  There are certain “methods” which we are not privy to that can help speed the process up, but even then there are still steps that cannot be expedited.  At this point, that is the only variable that can really save us time and get us home for Christmas. 

Cultural Resizing

We are waking at about 7:30 every morning here to the sound of the bus outside our window.  We are living in a tiny apartment over a bank on a major thoroughfare.  All night we hear dogs and neighbors over our white noise app on the Kindle.  On our better moments we see that we are more comfortable than we might have been and than most of the Ukrainians around us.  On our less than better moments we see the drastic differences between this place and home.  It isn't just about comfort.  It's a sense of grey here better shown in pictures.

Here is a tour of our temporary digs.  It's very Euro-chic-minimalist. Some things are funny.  Other things test our American sensibilities a little more and take a little getting used to.  We are grateful for WiFi though it is really spotty, goes out every few minutes and doesn't work at all in the evening.  It makes us feel less alone here.


The bathroom: we have one, which is great!  It even has a toilet which we'd heard was hard to come by.  Some toilets in Ukraine are little more than a hole in ground, like at Liza's orphange and has no toilet paper.  Ours even flushes.  Without a shower curtain it's hard to keep the rest of the bathroom dry though. So far, we only have 3 hand towels for 6 people to dry off with.

We were relieved to find that our facilitator had rented us one three bedroom apartment (about 550 sq ft) and a second studio for my parents 2 doors down.  This is bedroom #1 in our unit.  Mercy likes to watch I Love Lucy at night.

Bedroom #2

and Bedroom #3.  We each get a bed to share with one other person which is a big plus.  They just don't have any sheets on them and only one blanket.  The are some unpleasant midnight blanket tug of wars.

This is the rest of our apartment from the entryway.  The landlord is fantastic, likes to try to speak his best English words with us and has bought us some brand new tiny cups and saucers ;)

This is the kitchen.  It is approximately 1/10 the size of my supersized American kitchen and has 1/100 the tools.  But the hot plate is induction which is way cool.  And we splurged and bought a $20 coffee maker so we wouldn't have to wander the city in our pjs, speaking decaffeinated Russian and spending far more grivna (Ukrainian $).  Mom and Tom are working on making chicken.

Standing at Bedroom #3 this is how much space we have to lounge at night.  Three of us can sit on the couch.  Everybody else has to go to bed. lol.







I kid you not, this is the broom.  I even saw the street sweeper using one.  And by street sweeper, I mean a little old man sweeping the street.

Our attempt at decorating for Christmas <3  Thanks Grandma Susan for the beautiful new stocking for Liza to match ours.  She hasn't seen hers yet but Tom told her that her other babushka in America sewed something special for her.  She said "ooooh!"

The city.  It's a whole lot of concrete.

Our 3 ounce coffee cups and you cannot see our Grande moodiness that results.

Breakfast for 8 on one hotplate.  We have a SuperMarket several blocks from here that is fantastic.  We have to go daily because the kitchen is too small to hold more than a one day supply.  The produce is amazing and all organic.  A people group whose government doesn't legalize their cancer causing foods, is foreign to us.  It makes me all the more ashamed of our FDA than I was before.  We are eating much better now (for our allergies).  Ukrainian food is really good, but there isn't much available when traveling.  And of course feeding 8 people in restaurants will blow through our cash in a few weeks.

Dinnertime:  we take turns eating.  There aren't enough forks to go around.

During the day, we use this kitchen space to practice our TKD forms and one-steps.

For this time of year there's a lot of flies and ants in our apartment.  Sometimes the flies really make you feel the filth. It might be because of the pollution everywhere.  This is pretty typical.  There are actually piles of garbage taller than me on the streets.  The piles of rubble seem very stereotypical of images many Americans have in their heads of Post-Soviet cultures.

Stray cats and dogs are EVERYWHERE.  Concerned about various diseases, we have told Isabel to leave them alone.  But she's named them anyway.  Dozens of them.

This is the entrance to our apartment building.  This is in the "newly remodeled and safer part of town".  

We have been instructed not to drink the water.  Not even to brush our teeth with it.  It's a lot like camping.  It is for flushing, washing dishes and showering only.  We go through a lot of these.  So we grab a few of these each time we go to the store.

This incredible orthodox church is right around the block from us.  It's immaculate and matches nothing else in the city.  Just stunning.

These old women sit outside the church on Sunday morning and are given money by all who enter.  Wouldn't you rather give your spare change to these elderly widows than a capable man standing on our US streets with an iPhone in his pocket?

These pictures sum up the mixed emotions on our extended stay here in Ukraine pretty well.  We love the children here, we love the people here, we love learning the language and eating the produce.  But you cannot deny the lack of progress, the lack of color that blue and yellow buildings cannot change.  The Soviet Era really handicapped this country and hurt its children.

Separation

I wish there was a different word for it.   The connotation is that we are the ones responsible.

Liza's sister is older by 1 year and some months.  We understand that she left the orphanage by choice a few years ago.  She has a job and a relationship and no desire to leave the country.  Even so, because  Liza is still in the "system", her sister is still legally attached to her in the government's eyes.  Their brother is not.  He is "of age".  This is a different age than the age where they are released.  As he is older than 18, he is an adult.  If there is a younger sibling still in the system, a child who has aged out is still adoptable, as long as they are not yet 18.  This will all change in less than 2 weeks when L turns 16.  However in Crimea, it is illegal to 'separate' siblings.  There are different laws in this part of the country as it is its own entity.  By separating they mean that we are adopting one sister without the other.  And it is a painfully complex process.  

Both her sister "V" and her brother "R" came into town today voluntarily.  This was a miracle.  Many siblings have to be tracked down and bribed.  These two wanted no more from us than a picture of their sister.  We met her first.  She is a beautiful girl.  She is a sad girl.  She has been in some trouble and they described her to us as "not a good girl".  What can one expect of a child whose trust has been broken at the core and seen years tick by in which no one came to love her?  Whose fault is that?  I showed her the pictures we have been carrying around in a small album of Liza's time in North Carolina, our house, her bedroom, her new siblings.  I told her that we wanted her to call, to write, to visit; that new sisters will not take her place.  That she is special.  She said she thought Liza would change in America, that she already had and couldn't wait to get back there.  Her eyes were red, but she never cried and wouldn't say more than that.  She is a statistic.  She looks nothing like Liza but I was drawn to her and pray that this is not the last we see of her.  She left without saying goodbye.

The brother came next.  He and V do not speak.  They didn't say a word to each other the whole time.  He is 6'2", slender and very handsome.  He looks like he walked off of a magazine, but many people here do.  Ukrainians are beautiful people.  His eyes were bright, he was kind and happy.  Somehow he and Liza weren't broken by their circumstances as their sister has been.  He is living in a home bought by a Christian family for kids who've aged out of the system but are on the right track.  He is described as a "good boy".  He picked a picture out of the album of the entire family sitting on the front steps of our house in August.  Interesting choice.  We exchanged phone numbers and he promised to visit his sister on Sunday to say goodbye.  I hope we see him again.  Liza's life will be better with him in it.  She looks up to him as all little sisters look up to their older brothers.

The papers were signed and we were going to take them directly to the town in which all three children were born.  But the officials there are disputing the separation.  We hope to go in the morning.  Our facilitator is very determined and competent.  I think it'll be okay.

We met the director of the orphanage today as well.  At first I took her for a typically hard Russian woman. They often don't greet us when we come in.   But she isn't.  She is a mother to 300 children and you can imagine that would make you fiercely protective.  Again the story of our experience in Philadelphia was told.  I cried.  She cried while smiling at us.  Even our facilitator telling the story cried (again).  The Director is one of the reasons that our Liza has come through the years with her spirit intact and has the ability to love and be loved.  She hugged me as we left and gave us permission to have Liza for Thanksgiving :)

Congressman Bob Brady called tonight to check on our progress and offer any help he can give.  He's a keeper if you live in PA.

Please pray for R and V and their future relationship with their sister.  And pray for Liza's best friend "A" who turns 16 next summer, has lost the ability to be hosted over Christmas because of some red tape, and who will lose the closest thing she has to family in a few weeks.  There are so many children without homes here.
Reagan

It's a Birthday Kind of Day

As many already know, there were a lot of "signs" along the way that God used to make His intention for us to adopt L crystal clear in our minds.  There are quite a number of them actually, but without question, the most obvious sign was her birthday.  When Reagan first met L at Masterpiece Ministries summer arts camp for teens in July, she was very concerned about this girl's age once she learned that she was 15.  Age 16 is when orphans age out of the system in Ukraine and are on their own.  Of course, I became very concerned about this too, but we knew that many children each year age out of orphanages, and while it added a sense of urgency to complete her adoption quickly, this wasn't the reason we felt called to adopt her.  Reagan knew after her week with L in the kitchen at camp, and I knew after that same week, just having heard about her and the bond they developed, that she was our daughter and we needed to get her home.  I don't know how else to say it other than "we just knew".  If fact, we had very little discussion about it.  Somehow, God spoke to both of hearts and we were on the same page from Day One. But we were stunned to find out our exact marriage date was the day she was born.  Month, day and year. That day, nearly 16 years ago as we were being married in Wheaton, she was born here in Ukraine.  Some have called it cool, some called it uncanny.  Our Ukrainian facilitator called it a "sign from God".  I agree with her.

Somehow (and we haven't figured this out yet), L has always believed that her birthday is a month earlier.  It is the day she has always observed.  When she visited us in the US in August we were talking about our oldest daughter's upcoming birthday.  L said, "in Ukraine, birthday...no birthday...I don't know."  A little more prodding helped us understand that what she meant was that it's no different than any other day for the orphans. So when we saw her yesterday, Reagan asked her "what did you do on your birthday?"  L smiled a sweet, smirky smile, shrugged her shoulders and in her best English said "nothing".  So I decided that I wanted to share whatever celebration the family had for me with Liza.  After all, 43 is no biggie for me.  But 16 for a girl?

When we got to the orphanage for our visit today, L came out and said "Happy Birsday!" and ran back inside.  She emerged a few minutes later with this:

We spent some time conversing.  Mostly Russian, a little English, learning a few new words.  Reagan, L and her friend (also 15) looked through a girlie-makeup-celebrity magazine of some sort.  L oohed and aahed over these famous American celebrities that she knows from Ukraine's obsession with American pop culture.  We delivered a letter to another boy at the orphanage whose adoptive parents are coming next month.  We fired up the laptop and watched Madagascar 3, ate lunch that we brought from the local grocery store and ate birthday cupcakes topped with unlit candles that Liza and I pretended to blow out.  Regardless of the limited resources and the environment, I can't think of a better way to have spent my birthday.

Intensity and Longevity

Yesterday was intense.  After a 14+ hour overnight journey with no food, we were expecting to eat and get set up in our apartment, shower and then go visit L.  That was before we met our very determined facilitator. She had plans for us that we didn't know about and we needed to be flexible when we were not physically or mentally prepared.  With a group like ours, both size and age ranges, that's a tall order.  We asked to eat first and went to McDonald's.  If you know us at all, you know how well that flew and why Isabel's ended up on the floor in a different form. :-X

We went to a local officials office for permission to visit the orphanage.  The kids and grandparents had to wait in the car for an hour.  We were asked things like how long we have been married and why would want another child when we already have four and how much money do we make...etc.  There was some heated discussion in rapid Russian about us not adopting L's older sister.  There is a history there which we do not believe would be beneficial to her in a close relationship.  It is interesting that separating them as it is referred to is as important a step in the process as it is.  They have not lived together in a home in 10 years.  And they have not lived together in the orphanage for more than 3.  She also has an older brother.  Both biological siblings have agreed to come to this town on Monday to sign papers in front of a notary agreeing to her adoption and to their separation.  Both have been on their own and working for years.
But nevertheless our facilitator told us not to be surprised if things change by Monday.  She told L to pray this weekend that they don't change their minds.  If either of them fights it, we could be in for a longer and more difficult & expensive trip.  Trying not to worry about the things beyond our control but we think it is a source of worry for L.

After that meeting we went straight to the orphanage.  In the meeting the nurse gave us a detailed medical background and several people were coming and going.  We did not know she was being brought to us until she appeared in the doorway.  We all jumped up and converged on her at once.  She grabbed onto me and Tom and the children surrounded us for a very emotional family hug.  She stayed in physical contact with us the rest of the visit and teared up many times.  So did everyone else.

Today we visited for three hours.  We brought L and her best friend hair clips from LillaRose and they put them right in their updo's :).  As the director is out of town we cannot get permission to take L off the grounds before Monday.   On a Saturday the children spend quite a bit of time watching cartoons upstairs where we are not allowed.  There were several beautiful, sweet boys that followed us around, Sasha, Anton and Maxim.  Keeper and Isabel adored their play time together.  Language is not a barrier that laughter cannot overcome.  Tomorrow we'll fill our pockets w candy before we go back to celebrate Tom's and L's birthday there.  Any gifts we brought or want to buy must wait until after our hearings so they are not seen as bribes, even to the children.

We walked the grounds at the school today.  The surroundings are a little bleak.  It seems as though 50% of every structure is tumbling down.  We would consider them safety hazards in the US.  That would make most of Ukraine a safety hazard.  Certainly the number of children in this school would be very closely supervised in our own country for that reason.  A dug up well, a river, broken down equipment and ruins. Unfortunately, we aren't allowed to post pictures of the orphanage at this time, but the school itself is made up of several buildings that outwardly are in good repair compared to everything else out in the country. There is a shower house that is 1/4 mile walk which they are only allowed once a week.  The rooms are very cold and sparsely decorated but someone has cared enough to try.  The beds, even for the teens, look like a toddler bed and are not more than a foot apart by the picture L took for us.  The social worker and house mother are kind to them. It is, however, not a home.  It is an institution.  And heartbreaking just how many children here live in them.

We have many more weeks ahead and are already feeling a little homesick seeing others mention Thanksgiving vacation beginning.  We plan to ask if we can have L for the day and try our best to cook an American meal on 2 hotplates and in a microwave.  No ovens and food allergies mean a year without pie.

вместе

Midnight Train

Midnight Train

11.15.12
from Reagan

I find I have to keep looking for a calendar to know what day it is, check my phone to know more than just the approximate time.  Math is not meant for a sleep deprived brain.  The computer says 4.53pm at home, so it is 11.53pm here in the middle of nowhere.  I am in one of two four bed cabins we have on a train to somewhere, listening to Sara Groves Invisible Empires on my iPod.  Three of us in here are sleeping.

Since leaving home Sunday morning I have spent two nights sitting awake praying in Philadelphia, one laying across three seats in the air over the Atlantic (also listening to Sara Groves), one in Kiev gratefully reunited with my husband and a real bed, and tonight on a train.  This time the tracks lead to Liza.  It has been, as our friend Josh put it, “the ultimate faith walk”.

Josh and Corbett were Liza’s host parents over the summer and the means by which God brought her to us.  We think of them often, especially right now, on this train.  They were on this train less than two years ago, nearly eight months pregnant, coming to rescue their sweet son before he was moved to a place no child should know because he has Down’s Syndrome.  When she told me the story she said she was lying here, sleepless, thinking, “This is crazy.  Who’s crazy? I’m crazy!”  The lengths to which a parent will go for their child, usually is. 

  

We have that inner mechanism that tells us when our child needs us.  Sometimes we’re across the room , sometimes the house, sometimes the world.

When people ask me why we are doing this I have a hard time explaining with rationale.  I can tell you that from the moment I met her, I fell in love with her.  When asked in an interview Monday, “What’s she like?” I said, “She’s beautiful and smart and funny and sweet…”  All true.  But those are not the reasons we brought eight people to Ukraine to get her.  It has been instinct since day one, July 23rd.  When I was pregnant and laboring with each of my first four babies, I acted on instinct to care for my body, and then their bodies; nursing, feeding, bathing, reaching for them, soothing them, knowing when to leave and when to stay.  When our second born, the two minutes older of our twins, was diagnosed with Hashimoto’s Thyroid disease last year, we didn’t ask the doctors what their price tag was for helping her.  We didn’t base decisions on how far we would have to go to make her well.  Is there ever a point where I would answer, “That’s just too far”? 

No.

 

So here we are, mere hours from an institution that has been her home for ten years.   After the past few days where I felt like a prisoner, it feels like…something big, something God sized.  I can’t find the word I want.  Has someone ever tried to physically keep you from your child?  It’s agonizing.  It makes you crazy and capable of big, God sized things.  Several people have said they could not have done what I did, made it through, gotten it done, held it together.  I want to encourage you if you are feeling called to adopt but not capable of what it may bring.  It was not I who made it through, got it done or held it together.  It was not any one person.  It was God. And if you don’t believe in God, I want to encourage you to look closer at this story.  It was He.

I left my home, travelled far from my city, had my identity and my money stolen, watched my husband walk onto that plane and fly AWAY.  He’s my rock.  I held onto him and said over and over, “I can’t do this without you”.  After he was gone I contemplated all that loss.  I was nauseated and unable to speak or move. I felt our long awaited dream melting away as if I’d imagined it all.  It was my fault.  One minute all eight of us were walking to our next gate and the next I felt the empty pocket on the outside of my backpack.   Then two of us were gone.  I felt naked.  Utterly vulnerable.

Sara Grove’s album Invisible Empires has been an incredible part of my peace of mind this week.  Her lyrics feel like they were written about me.  “It’s hard to feel obsolete.  It’s hard to feel your skirts are showing.  You pull and tug to hide the works, to keep the whole thing going.  And you don’t know where you stand.  And you feel so small and thin.  And if you are dismissed, will another take you in. Everybody’s having fun.  Everybody seems immortal.  And I don’t know where you stand.  And did something pass you by?  And if you are dismissed, will you get another try?” (from Obsolete)

I don’t remember much about the first three hours that we walked the halls of Philadelphia Airport.  My Dad was talking to every police and TSA officer he could find.  He badgered US Airlines and information desk attendants.  I followed dragging my carry-on behind me, catatonic

More than six hours of walking later, somewhere between 10:30 and midnight, when we finally got to a comped hotel room at the Marriott, hundreds of people had been mobilized by a single post on Facebook.  My sisters, my brother, friends, cousins, perfect strangers were calling me, emailing me and FB’ing me.  My phone had to be permanently plugged in bc it was blowing up.  Governors, Senators, Congressmen, news crews, even Hillary Clinton’s office I’m told, were informed and working to get us those passports.  Now THAT’s crazy.  THAT’s God-sized.  If I didn’t have video proof, I still wouldn’t believe it happened.

At 1:30am Monday morning, 20 intense hours awake , stripped of every comfort and familiarity, I literally felt God’s hand calm my trembling, warm my chills, slow my breathing, and give me the words to speak in that first interview (which never aired on NBC).   My father had walked outside the hotel with me and stood quietly waiting.  I couldn’t see him from where I was.  Not because he was invisible but because I was facing the other way.  He was a perfect model as an earthly father of what our Heavenly Father does for us.  He walks with us.  He stays. He waits.  Sometimes He is quiet.  Sometimes we cannot see Him.  But He is there.

Now I believe God wanted Liza’s story told.  I don’t know why.  I don’t know why me.  I am nobody.  I am just a girl from a podunk town in North Carolina who loathes being in the spotlight. 

“I can’t run with the horses if I can’t keep up with man.  I can try at all these forces on my own and never win.  I can take it from here and have nowhere to go.  I could take it for years and have nothing to show.  I can work like the devil, build a tower to the sky.  I can work for my possessions til they empty me of life.  I can build my own house and be building in vain.  I can plant a seed but I can’t bring the rain.  I’ll wait for you now more than ever.  I see it’s true, now more than ever, I’ll wait for you now…I don’t want to do this by myself.  I know I need your help.  And so I’m waiting for you.” (from I’ll Wait, Sara Groves)

…but He chose me to tell to her story and to be her Mom.

It is 6:10pm at home, 1:10am here.  We have been traveling for 103 hours and 45 minutes. We are now eight hours and 15 minutes away.

“I see my faith before me, it’s always there before me and I can no more own it than I can own the road that I am on.  I don’t know where it leads me, I don’t know where it leads me. Peace and resurrection, suffering and dejection, I don’t know.  And my body’s tired from trying to bring you here.  My brow is furrowed trying to see things clear.  So I’ll turn my back to the black and foam and wait for the mystery to meet me home.  I’ll wait for your mystery to rise up and meet me home.” (Mystery by Sara Groves)