Finally! Time for South Africa!

I can't even believe the time is here! We are going back to South Africa in just a few days now. The fun part of that is the "we" as it has always been "I." I had been 6 consecutive years from 2007-2012 and have not been back since 2012. That was the year we reapplied for our fiancé visa, and waited, and waited, and waited. Luba arrived here in late 2013. Due to the immigration process, expense of the trip, my health issue-turned-surgery in 2013-2014, and the wedding, we have not been able to plan a trip until now.

I love South Africa so much. I attribute much of who I am today to my trips to South Africa. I met my husband there and now have extended family there to further tie me to this beloved country.It's also special to me spiritually as it is where God spoke most profoundly in such a deep, true, and direct but healing way. It's in my soul on so many levels (even the wine part of my soul).  

We have been looking at locations of our guesthouse as well as stalking other favorite restaurants and places for months through Google Earth. One of us has been looking more often than the other....

As we pack for our first trip back as a married couple, it brings back so many memories of times we spent in Paarl and Cape Town as well as how hard it was to get here to where we are today. Not a day goes by that I don't appreciate the little things and the ability to cash in on all of those "one days." One day we will have a picnic on the beach. One day we will drive cross country. One day we can just sit in the same space and hold hands. One day we can just be together without thinking of the days left before I leave. One day I won't have to board that plane alone not knowing when we will see each other again. One day we will have "live" conversations and I won't rely on BBM (for the pre-iphone generation, that's blackberry messenger) or What's app to be my lifeline.

We actually just found the Blackberry in a suitcase that Luba used when he moved from South Africa to here. Due to costs, we mainly communicated via free messenger services and emails. Skype conversations were difficult due to limited internet access for him and opposite "sleep-awake" or "at work-at home" schedules between us.

We are so excited to see family & friends! I'm also a tad excited to wine taste as well.

But first, we pack....

We'll catch you from the road! We will have lots of pictures thanks to my early birthday present from Luba:

I'll end with one of my favorite quotes that fits so well as well as my favorite pictures from South Africa....

Love, 
Danielle

"You will never be completely at home again, because part of your heart will always be elsewhere. That is the price you pay for the richness of loving and knowing people in more than one place." 

-Miriam Adeney

Recovery & the lessons from it

I’ve been meaning to update regarding my recovery. Again, thank you for all of your well wishes, texts, prayers, and food! I have been speechless at most times at the generosity of my community.

My last post was about the surgery. I honestly think I’ve been in shock over the success!

So after the initial high and utter rejoicing over the success, I sort of plummeted. I had a really rough couple of weeks that started on the Monday or Tuesday after. I started having laryngospasms. Oh my word, I felt like I was trapped in a torture chamber that used to be my body. I could be mid-sentence and then have the constriction that would silence me then send me into a coughing frenzy. My vocal cords hadn’t even had much of a recovery after extubation and I was further irritating them with excessive coughing. By excessive, I mean that could be an understatement. I coughed all day. I coughed all night. No, I didn’t sleep through the night until a couple nights ago. I wheezed. My voice broke. Only a few sentences would come out before coughing fits began. I felt like I’d never have a normal conversation again. I had never had to FOCUS so much on communication. I had to carefully time sentences, coughing, length of utterances, and breathing. I was exhausted. I wanted to talk but it was so difficult and arduous. The increased coughing from increased effort just made my head hurt worse and my throat too sore. At times, I just stopped. Luba was fantastic. Sometimes, I just stopped and shook my head and he would continue. He ordered at the drive-through. He finished sentences. 

Talking, often for long periods of time, is my job. Singing kid songs is part of the gig. How was I going to continue and be decent again? I prayed and prayed that this would be temporary and steadily improve as I read more and more how some struggled with this still, after 5 years, after 10 years. Sometimes, people cough until they vomit. They’ve have to leave restaurants due to coughing incidents. Even though my surgery was successful in that no nerves were cut, there’s always collateral damage. We are so intricately designed. The only “catch” that is really left is an inability to move my arm in one direction. I can use it functionally and move it in full range of motion for all directions but one so I’m awaiting a PT evaluation for more information and treatment.

The recovery time, although hard for a few weeks, was a great time for Luba and I to catch up on lost time. Since he arrived, it has been a whirlwind of visa completion/interviews, wedding preparation, studying for the BCBA exam, and medical appointments. We’ve had little time for conversations, dreaming, discovering, and exploring. This time of rest allowed us just that. We were able to get away to Solvang and San Luis Obispo for a couple days. I could cough anywhere. I could feel like poo anywhere. So off we went! It was therapeutic.

When I returned, I found out that I passed my exam. I’m still in shock. I went in that day to the 4-hour DIFFICULT exam just off 1 week of sickness. No studying. I had saved all the hard material to prep that week. Then, the weekend before the exam brought 2 urgent care visits. I was hit hard. I couldn’t take any medication for a migraine that had crept up because the exam was within the week before my surgery so I took the exam with a cold and severe cough along with a 2-day old migraine. But, BOOM! Passed! This was the hugest relief because I failed my first time. I went in prepared, confident, and ready. This was one of my biggest lessons in humility. So now, Luba and I can spend our weekends like “normal” people. The weekend is ours. No studying. No stressing. I’ve been working on this “hurdle” with classes, fieldwork (1500 hours while working full time), or studying since 2011. It’s hard to believe that this portion is really over.

I’m now back at work as of Tuesday. It was great to get some structure and schedule again. While I’m happy that I caught up binge watching Orange is the New Black and Homeland, my mind needs momentum throughout the day. I work in 2 modes—machine-like fast & efficient or sloth. There’s no in-between. I got a very warm welcome from coworkers, parents and kids. It was the kids that I was happiest to see. One high-schooler literally beamed from ear to ear and shouted. How can receptions like those make you lose sight of what you are there to do and the impact one can have relationally? 

Recovery and being on disability have been my teacher. Here are just a few thoughts from many and “I wanna’s” stick out from the recovery period:

1.     Follow up in life. I try to do this during deaths. People get a lot of attention and assistance until the funeral and then attention tapers off. Unfortunately that’s about the time when the shock wears off and reality sets in. I want to be better with the follow up—after surgery, after a miscarriage, after a death, after job loss. Go the distance. Check in after the dust settles because I bet you could be the only one. It just happens – not intentionally. Remember the anniversaries of these events. I think those can be the hardest. I wanna be better at this.

2.     Life’s kind of like a relay race. Sometimes we are running. Sometimes we are waiting. Sometimes our turn is not anywhere near yet. But we are all connected. Sometimes we run a bit next to the other person to gain momentum before we pass that baton and watch them speed off. Experiences are like batons. Hope is a baton. I ran my portion and I must pass on my story. Someone is waiting on it in order to finish their portion of the race.

3.     Better perspective. I try to always have a wider perspective and often times do well. This health journey was an experience like that to look past myself. I was mad, scared, hurt, you name it. But, I always knew it's not just about me. I always felt these internal dialogues in my spirit.

What if I lose my vocal cord? It’s “my thing.” It’s my job.

Then what?

Well I won’t be able to talk loudly and the volume outcome will be unknown. I am scared of losing my career. It would mean more surgeries and injections. 

Well then you can write that book you’ve dreamed of. People like your writing. Use that. You went into this profession because you knew communication was so much more than a literal voice.

What if I lose arm function?

So?

How will I get dressed? Write? Do daily activities?

There are people born without an arm or both. They never had life with one. They eat. They dress themselves. They live life. There are people with no legs. People lose limbs every day in the bravest of ways. Do you think you deserve this more than others?

What if my face is partially paralyzed? Everyone wants to like what they see in the mirror.

Seriously? (I think the Heavens shook in laughter) You’ll be just as beautiful. People live like that every day, and worse. You choose to like what you see. In reality, few people “like” what they see. Noses are too big, crooked. Wrinkles are too telling. Beauty is shown, not seen. Bright side: you'll have that voice you are so worried about. Make up your mind.

What if I’m physically just… “broken?”

You’ll still be okay. You are strong. You will figure something out. You’ll probably write some sort of manual or blog about it.

I always felt this message of “I hear you” or “I love you” but followed up with “you’ll be okay.”

The hardest feedback to hear was: “It’s not about you. It’s about me.” It’s sometimes hard to remember that it is as simple as that, or has to be, for us as Christians.

4.      Gratitude. I did come out with all of my function. Thanksgiving over that is every single day throughout the day. I’m thankful for my faith and my unique relationship with Jesus. I’m thankful for all of those quiet moments and assurance I received. I smile each time I remember those- even just being wheeled into preop room 7 (explained in last post). I’m more grateful than before of little things, and I’m so much more grateful for Luba. I thought I was before, but seeing him in action during the diagnosis process, surgery, and recovery, I’ve been in awe of his dedication, sacrifice, and courage. I always say this but he’s the kindest person I’ve ever met. He’s never complained or put his needs first.

5.      Empathy. I return to work with a new perspective but newly found empathy for clients and parents. I’ve learned to slow down and explain more during interactions with parents, specifically during evaluations. Unexpected news is hard to hear. I know this. Even when you know terminology like I did for my specific case, you still want to cut the jargon and be spoken to like a human. For the clients, I’ve learned to ease up and let more things slide. I’ve learned to be quiet and not try to fix everything (because that is part of my job). Wait for the person to ask for help, and in the meantime, LISTEN. At the moment, I still struggle with a communication disorder secondary to the surgery/recovery. It’s getting better daily and will subside but I feel how hard it is physically to focus on talking and formulating my thoughts all the while trying to move past any embarrassment or self-consciousness. I’ve experienced the “fix it” people (with good intentions) who start interjecting offering water, or something else. I have felt the times when you just want to forego the message because of the compounding factors or you avoid opportunities to communicate altogether.  

So, again, THANK YOU for your part in this recovery. No part is a small part.

Now, let’s get to celebrating, shall we?

Here’s to living life to the fullest, celebrating every day, going the distance with friends AND strangers, choosing to find new perspectives, and running that relay race and sharing that baton with others!

Love,

Danielle 

Surgery Day! 9/4/14

Has it almost been a week already? I’ve wanted to write this post but have honestly been too emotionally overwhelmed and in shock that this is really over. Medically uneventful. Miraculous. Short. For a few days, I would just look at Luba with a questioning look as if waiting for the other shoe to fall.

You can scroll back a few blogs for more background on what I had going on or what I was feeling. Basically, I had a very rare tumor called a vagal schwannoma. It’s on the “main dog” cranial nerve. Removal of the tumor promised vocal cord paralysis and temporary-permanent difficulty swallowing safely. I had surgery scheduled for March to “cut the nerve” and remove the tumor. Luckily, I’m one who researches and is slow to trust medical professionals when my “inner voice” or gut feeling is screaming inside. I ask a lot of questions and need adequate answers to feel satisfied (which is reasonable and should be the case for everyone). Something didn’t sit “right” and some medical professionals bravely chimed in along the way encouraging me to wait and further explore options.

Some questions to the initial surgeons in February:

Can I wait until after the wedding in April? No

Is this an emergency? Yes

Is there any way to do surgery and save the parent nerve—such as leave a small piece? No

Will I have a voice? It will be between a whisper to very hoarse.

What about the scar and my wedding? Photoshop does wonders for pictures.

After excruciating months waiting, fighting and experiencing some awesome mini-miracles and promises along the way, I got into UCI and had highly specialized surgeons on board to assemble my surgical team and they were willing to listen, collaborate and offer a newer medical procedure called intracapsular enucleation (IE). They actually offered the choice between “watching and waiting as there was NO HURRY” or surgery. Surgery was the best choice for me. That question about saving the parent nerve? Oh yeah, that’s IE. Based upon my conversation with the top surgeon performing this procedure in the USA, about 50% of surgeries with IE can result in minimal effects and no vocal cord paralysis. To date, he has seen no regrowth from the tumor piece that is left on the nerve in his cases over the last 30-40 years. This was what I felt most comfortable with in terms of treatment and moving on with little worry. Many choose to wait since it is benign and the procedure is risky.

Fear of course crept in from time to time but I always felt God whisper a couple things:

I’ve given you this voice. I won’t take your gift but I will enlarge your territory.

It is done. “It is done” is something I felt on a daily basis no matter how I was feeling. I just felt like I was given an inkling of foresight although I wouldn’t know details.

I prepared for this battle for months. A battle for life, for freedom is exactly what it felt like. I joined a FB group with those with the same diagnosis. Some have had surgery while others are waiting or are in the process of having surgery. It was nice to be in an online community where others understood my every feeling. They were transparent regarding their experiences and post-surgical complications whether temporary or permanent. I researched, I fought systems and procedures (including the insurance company), I prayed, I bathed myself in healing scriptures and songs, and I assembled a prayer team that would serve as the Navy Seals in the spiritual world. For every moment that I was under anesthesia and in surgery, there was someone designated to pray for 15 minutes up to 1 hour. It was a carefully assembled team of those who were able to commit to drop everything and ONLY intercede on my behalf. They prayed for the surgeons and surgical teams. In addition, there were countless others who prayed as time allowed or as the Spirit moved. There were churches praying – churches that I have never attended or heard of. Moms and Grandmas that I do not know personally were praying. From one end of the earth to the other across time zones, people prayed in unison. I can only imagine the thin line between Heaven and Earth in those moments. The thought of it brings tears every single time. The countless texts with scriptures about healing just solidified what I already knew. Those texts have rolled in along the way and continued throughout the morning of the surgery. So many made sure that I would receive those messages before going in. That experience of community and “an army assembled” is truly indescribable.

My mom drove in from Mississippi and arrived Tuesday night before my scheduled surgery Thursday. We all checked in to the hospital at UCI by 6am. I felt eerily calm. Maybe sleep deprivation helped? The staff was quick to check me in and get me started. I was so thankful because the waiting was the worst and waiting had gotten so old by this time.

They came to get me and walk me into preop. I giggled as I saw the room I was headed to and heard the nurse say “I have #7 checking in.” Seven. My favorite number. Of course, I was in 7. Seven has significant spiritual significance and represents the foundation of God’s word. It is the number of completeness and perfection both spiritually and physically. “It is done.” A wave of calm and peace washed over that cannot be explained. I was ready. I had been obedient. I had listened. I had stepped up to the line as far as I could go and I knew that God would complete the rest in a most miraculous way. My favorite line from one song that became relevant for me (It Is Well by Bethel) was:

And this mountain that’s in front of me
Will be thrown into the midst of the sea

We had some fun in preop as I waited for the surgery time. My mom, her husband Joe and Luba stayed in before Mom and Joe left in order to leave Luba and I with some last moments of quiet. I’m thankful for those few sweet moments of vulnerability. I loved the anesthesiologist team and they went above and beyond for my comfort and finding the best for me including searching for a smaller endotracheal tube (and she scored the last one in the hospital AND negotiated it from the person about to place it in a man). My endotracheal tube was larger than average due to the nerve monitoring features. I was wheeled into the OR by the anesthesiologists and then O-U-T with no warning or countdown. I asked the nurse to take a picture of the tumor and then I woke up in recovery. Maybe they shut my bossiness up because I had also reiterated that although I did not care who watched what, I did not want residents touching any cranial nerves. This procedure was tricky enough and saving my vagus nerve by highly specialized surgeons was described by one as “dicey” although they would do their best.

I can’t describe the feeling of facing the unknown before going under. With most surgeries, you have an idea of the aftermath of the procedure or you know WHAT is coming out. For me, they couldn’t identify the cranial nerve to which it was attached with certainty but I knew it was “probably” one of 3. If it wasn’t the vagus, I knew they wouldn’t salvage the nerve and I would wake up with paralysis of some sort or deficits. Because of the importance of the vagus, they would spend time to avoid disruption to this one only. Still, I knew that I may wake up with some deficit and I knew it would still be “okay.” I was aware that when God assures you that you will be “okay” it may not be in the way you expect. I knew the learning curve all too well of how long it takes sometimes to realize that you ARE okay and there was a plan all along. Still, “it is done” washed over each thought and fear.

I had two teams for my surgery. Although this tumor did not appear to be malignant, both teams are specialized in oncology and neck/skull base tumors. An ENT team did the opening/closing and navigated TO the tumor. She had to get to the tumor without damaging other cranial nerves along the way as well as major arteries and veins (the tumor was nestled by my carotid artery and jugular vein). The neurosurgeon used a microscope to perform the surgery on the tumor/nerve. All nerves were monitored throughout. The surgery took less time than expected being between 4-5 hours surgical time.

I woke up in recovery, alone with a nurse. I have never felt as vulnerable as that moment. What was my new reality? She said they wanted a few minutes with me before calling in the family. The first thing I did was check my vocal cords. I cleared my throat. I thought of something to mutter to the nurse. Was this real? One of the surgeons came in and asked me to stick out my tongue and then to vocalize. She left. I asked the nurse if I lost any function. She said no. My mom and Luba came in. I was still groggy but could see by Luba’s expression that something must be “big.” I then questioned facial paralysis. He asked if I had seen “it” yet. I had not. I assumed it was bandaged but it wasn’t. He took a picture so I could see. These are the pictures I saw—my first glimpse of the surgical site.

Shortly after, I went to the postop room where I would end up spending the night. When I went to the room, I asked for water and was offered a clear diet. I devoured that plate. The ENT team came in to check in. I was immediately bumped up to a regular diet. Really, no swallow study?! A few hours after this risky surgery, I was eating a quesadilla and drinking coke all the while  TALKING to my mom or Luba.

I had no pain other than that migraine that had been following me for weeks. I had no sore throat which was promised to me by the anesthesiologist due to the size of the tube. My mom spent the night with me – no cot, only a hard chair. I so miss family. This time was a gift. With who else can you be as vulnerable? By rounds the next morning, I incessantly asked when “check out” is. I was ready to take my grateful heart home.  At noon Friday, they removed the drainage tube (Ouch!) and discharged me. I was headed home in less than 24 hours after the surgery concluded. I had a bandage to be worn for 24 hours while the drain tube site healed and then removed with no further covering.

Since being home, I’ve experienced minimal pain. I’d describe it as “discomfort” from time to time as the site heals and itches and stretches. Daily, swelling goes down and range of motion increases. I have had barely a sore throat here and there. I’ve eaten everything I have wanted. I’m just trying to be still (SO hard for me) and continue healing. I know an infection could result from carelessness. I’m careful to avoid lifting or straining the neck. All of this? Pale in comparison to what real possibilities were.

The scar? HUGE but I’ll take it. It reminds me of provision. It reminds me that I’ve been entrusted with yet another miracle. It reminds me that I’m loved in the Heavens and across the Earth. It reminds me that I have a story that must be told. It reminds me that I’ve been given much and with that gift comes expectations and duties. It reminds me to love better, stop and smell the flowers, and worry less. It reminds me that we all carry an unseen burden so lead with kindness and grace. It reminds me that even in my darkest times, a host of people will come running with their lights to show me the way, fight on my behalf, and love me through the process. The scar reminds me that humanity is good and we are one. Will I hide it? Never.

Thank you for your part in this journey. God did this, but He worked through so many of you in a very tangible way.

With a very grateful heart,

Danielle

Extra pictures (warning: "IT" is in here)

who I felt like when I checked IN to the hospital for surgery

Mom & I spending time before surgery day 

"It" aka "Testy"

Hooray! It's over! And I can eat hot dogs! Much needed play time awaits Luba and me

Proudly sporting this scar, standing next to the best choice I ever made

The BIG DAY is almost here! Good-bye "testy!"

Well, I wanted to update once more at least before the big day, surgery, on September 4. I’m so very grateful that so many are in my corner, on my team, gathering the Earthlies and Heavenlies together. Prayer support has spanned the globe. How cool is that? I am loved beyond measure. People are praying that I do not even know. I have never met some of the people who are spending quality time interceding on my behalf. Stop it-it’s too good (don’t really stop it, you know what I mean).

Luba and I went to preop Friday to take care of paperwork and have some tests run. I shuttered a bit as she recalled surgical risks. I’m not even going to put them in writing but they are very real and can be permanent in nature. As for as health and preparedness, all looks good and we are ready to go next week. My stomach turns as I say “next week.” Is it really here already?

Speaking of stomach turning, I was really hit hard this weekend. After I got home from preop, I started feeling poorly. Well, actually, I was light headed all day last Thursday. By Saturday morning, I had a nasty cold. Being the proactive person I am (and over anxious to not delay surgery), I hit urgent care early and got some staples to kick this virus. With that medication regime and your sweet prayers, I was healed ever-so-quickly by Saturday night. Then, I woke up Sunday with EXTREME stomach pains that came in waves and were so intense that I would sweat profusely and nearly vomit and pass out. Luba also noticed a weird red patch on my arm that quadrupled in size during the night.  Back to Urgent Care I went. I did earn the “Duchess” award on yelp for my 2 visits in one weekend. Bam! Stomach flu. Bam! Cellulitis. Does anyone under 60 have this? It just sounds like a more mature illness. Needless to say, constant pain with waves of piercing pains (that send you bent over or to the fetal position) coupled with the inability to eat or sleep can wear one down physically and emotionally. It’s those moments when vulnerability really sets in. It sneaks in like a thief during those wee morning hours when all is quiet and appears serene and you are lying there in pain (whether emotionally or physically) as if you are the only person in the world or awake. So much is simply out of our control. In those moments, fear and doubt so easily creep in and often comfortably settle in to our souls. It was in those moments, that the surgical risks began to replay in my mind. I had to remind myself that I’m going to be okay, and in those moments it wasn’t easy. Faith is a choice. It’s like looking in the pantry to find that can of rotel tomatoes (for the Southerners) and you keep being bomarded by other cans of things you don’t need falling out. You have to move cans, shuffle things, but keep looking. There it is! Way back in the back corner! You have to reach, grab a step stool if you must, and pull that baby out! Got it! That was me. I had to reach past those loud voices coming in shouting the likely risks and “what ifs” and hear again that still quiet comforting voice that says “you will be okay. I’ve got this.”

It was my last weekend that I kept totally open to study for my licensure exam coming this Saturday (8/30). How will I pass this thing?! I banked on that time frame for the last portion that required my full attention. Passing that baby will be a miracle on its own! I’ll take it and do the best I can. Some things are just out of our control. That happens. Just do your best with what you have.

Y’all, can we all just take a moment to celebrate Luba?! God bless that man. He came here last October just in time to ride this roller coaster of watching me study-fail the exam-recover-freak out-study again, medical appointments, tests, and illness. He has learned more about the American health care system and insurance than he ever dreamed. He has been so patient and understanding. The support has been unreal. I contribute my strong stand and perseverance to that guy. A gem. A gift. When this is behind us, I’m hoping we can finally share some FUN adventures together like short day trips, road trips and just enjoying the CA weather and lifestyle, very few of which we have been able to do since his arrival. We’ve wanted to host more dinners and spend more time with others but just have not had the chance. We have had marriage boot camp and I know we are better for it, but dang, can we just get a break?!? You can just see how kind he is by his sweet face. I'll not mention all the mockery that has gone on in this house this weekend--which is NOW funny, now that I'm on the mend.

Throughout this all, I'm reminded to celebrate: 
Health. Love. Second chances. Companionship. Friendships. Prayer support. Being able to speak. Moving from sharts to farts (oops, did I just say that? Stomach flu win). Adventure. Life.

Go celebrate. Press onward. Believe in miracles. Eat more rotel tomatoes in your recipes.

Putting my trust in UCI physicians but my faith in the Great Physician – thank you for covering me so completely,

Danielle

P.S. For those of you who don't know what rotel tomatoes are, you should learn. Top shelf in grocery. $1 can. Throw those in a chicken spaghetti recipe (Southern potluck fave) or warm Mexican dip in the crock pot. I’ll teach you. 

I needed a loofah. This may be the most expensive one I have ever purchased. My wash regimen for a few days before surgery.

Orphan Sunday

I write this post with a heavy heart yet completely overwhelmed with gratitude. Today was Orphan Sunday at church, perhaps my favorite day of the year aside from Easter Sunday. We had the most beautiful service that destroyed me in a good way. It was the perfect "last Sunday" before traveling to South Africa.

The statistics can be overwhelming. What I love is as I'm looking at the speaker that is giving statistics and scriptures, I see past him to familiar faces that I know from the Village or elsewhere that have stood in the gap for the faces that represent the easy-to-forget statistics. They've sacrificed so much to have adopted, fostered, or advocated for these children. They have been my heroes who have made themselves available and transparent to answer my questions for my own journey. 

I thought about my own journey and how I do not know the steps, but I know that I am obedient and am walking with purpose. It makes me wonder if my heart is heavier today because "Shorty" is out there already and our stories are being written but have not yet merged. Sometimes I feel crazy but at times, I pray that if "Shorty" IS out there, then he/she is protected and safe as possible at this time and that he/she feels hope that circumstances will change.

As service ended, I checked my phone to see that a family I love dearly had donated to South Africa with the EXACT message I needed to hear at that moment: We love and support you.

After service, I wanted to hide in my car in fear of the "ugly cry" erupting as thoughts from service swirled and emotions stirred. Instead, my cup overflowed more and I had people to see. I met up with a friend who passed on her PECS book for me to share and donate in South Africa. I collected a trunk full of recycling from another friend (and South Africa alum). I grabbed 7-8 requested items to purchase for a child in foster care for Christmas on behalf of my friends who choose to love children in need. As soon as I got in the car, huge tears of joy flooded.

Today, love was tangible. It was heavy. It's not Monday yet but I already have a love hangover.

Thank you for a cup that continually overflows,

Danielle

Update: Twisted Vine Fundraiser

To our supporters,

I want to fill up this blog with our deepest hugest THANKS for your support for our fundraiser! So many of you came last Sunday or donated in your absence. We had a BLAST! As usual, the Twisted Vine was so gracious and hospitable in support of our cause. We could not have asked for a better afternoon.

From the day, we raised $386 on behalf of the dear friends who were there physically! I wish you could know how appreciated your generosity will be once we deliver this most precious gift. On behalf of the faces that immediately come to mind from previous visits: Thank you! Enkosi! Baie Dankie!

Tears have immediately flooded my eyes as I see those faces and recall occasions of watching hungry children eat provided soup on a cold day, seeing the Autism teacher smile as she looks at all the donated supplies for her classroom, watching community leaders fit children with shoes that you provided, and seeing HOPE come to life in eyes that seem to have lost that glimmer so long ago. Nothing can replace the feeling of hope revived, knowing that you are loved by people you have never met from miles away. I'll stop now on behalf of all the patrons at Panera who do NOT need to see me spiral into the ugly cry of gratitude. Again, thank you even though "thank you" is not enough.

Here are some pictures from that day:

 party favor bags with rooibos tea and rusk

With cups overflowing,
Danielle (& Candice)

PS: Missed the party but want to donate? Click HERE!