The shocking news met my heart and like lead-pole legs stuck in quicksand. I sank into a nearby recliner, saving myself from face planting onto the floor. “Grandma? Not Grandma.” The beloved tender of my soul, fiercely loving each of us kids with a passion, her fire for life could not have been extinguished. No. I wouldn’t believe it. Couldn’t. Too many letters yet to write. Too many cakes to bake. Too many flowers to plant.

Rising early I have a morning routine that suits my getting-up-before-the-crack-of-dawn-gets-pants-on farming background. Drinking a glass of water to hydrate after the night, I don warm clothes and head outside to fire up. In our house we have a rule — the first one up fires up. This farmer man of mine, for years too numerous to count, arose every morning at 3:30 a.m. to trek out to the barn to begin yet another day of chores.

The text came in and, brightening up, I noticed it was from my sister-in-law whom I love as a sister. While I usually smile or even laugh out loud, this text had me knit my brows in consternation. “Wanna come to a Christmas craft party?” Walking into any craft store has me breaking out in hives. It makes me anxious and frozen and overwhelmed, and my eyes glaze over. It’s like I develop a serious case of brain fog. Do I select the curly-ques?

Our family is blended together in an extraordinary, God-orchestrated way. Because November is National Adoption Month, I’m sharing our story. For years, my husband and I battled infertility and saw a number of experts who suggested numerous methods including one laparoscopy to solve a perceived endometriosis issue.