Poems by NATHHAN Families and Friends

My Sister
(Forever a draft!)
By Christine Dillon

My sister is a burden, many say
She cannot walk, she cannot talk
She must be bathed, she must be fed
She is such a burden, is what they say

My sister is a blessing, I respond
Her bright smile fills the room
Her happy spirit cheers our family
My sister is the blessing, is what I say

My sister is deprived, the experts declare
Her quality of life is sub-optimal
Oh, how she must suffer, constrained
in such a body
She is destitute, is what they say

My sister has a response which they
cannot understand
If quality of life was measured by joy
and cheerfulness,
By the size of a smile or the quality of a laugh
My sister has a better life than they will ever know

My sister is unproductive, DAILY
calculations state
Society will never get back the labor
invested in her
She has reduced the economic productivity
of our country
She doesn't contribute to our society,
is what they say

My sister is a teacher, I reply with a grin
She provides the opportunity for others to show perfect love
For, is this not our most valuable skill?
My sister brings out the best in our society, is what I say

My sister should be pitied, the
righteous announce
She will never win a swimming competition
Never get first place in a spelling bee,
or learn ballet
We should be grateful for our abilities,
is what they say

My sister knows a secret, they do not
True happiness does not come from
possessions, competition and success
But from unhindered love, unconstrained
by worldly concerns
My sister knows true happiness, of this,
I am sure

For (baby's name)

The times we see you now, we see through tears

not knowing yet the purpose of your days.

Our hearts will ache with longing even yet

to comprehend God's methods, and His ways.

We gave you love, we gave you all we knew

to welcome you as our beloved son (or one).

But love was not enough to see you through

and now your final journey has begun.

Yet we rejoice in knowing you as ours

and as one fashioned by your Fathers' hand.

We see in you the image of the One

who loved you long before your time began.

And now, within His hands you shall remain

perfected, loved and sheltered

till we hold you yet again.

Ruthann James

My Name Is I Am

I was regretting the past and fearing the future.

Suddenly My Lord was speaking.

"My name is I Am"

He Paused. I waited. He continued.

"When you live in the past with it's mistakes and

regrets, it is hard. I am not there.

My name is not I Was.

When you live in the future with it's problems and

fears, it is hard.

My name is not I Will Be.

when you live in this moment it is not hard.

I am here.

My name is I am."

By Helen Mallicoat

Just One More Day

by Maureen Scian - Spring 2001

We wake up to another day. Need more grace, I quickly pray.

Which one should we shower first. Here, take Markie, he's the worst.

His nose is crusted over good, And he's not breathing like he should.

Wash him, dry him, are-o-sol, Ceftin, Claritin, that's not all.

Where'd that bottle of Zantac go? Tyler's coming, can't be slow.

Now the food and bottles fly. If I don't laugh, I'll have to cry.

A chunk of apple hits Mark's head. His lip is out, he's turning RED!

Tyler, Tyler, eat up good! You burn more calories than you should!

Calm him down, please, if you will. Time to give his Mell-ar-il.

5 drops, 10 drops, not one more. A bowl of oatmeal hits the floor.

What's that basket full of gear? We have to put it on them, dear.

Socks and belts and SMOs. Diapers, helmet, then their clothes.

Made the lunches late last night. Time to brush those pearly whites.

Hold him while I chase this one. Washing, brushing on the run.

The bus is here, we say good-bye. Tyler, baby, please don't cry.

Wrestle Mark into the van. That Barney lunch box pops again!

Half-a-sandwich to the floor, The dog is happy, that's for sure.

Turn the key, I've won the race, But I've got Ceftin on my face!

We proudly finish our routine. The kids to school, the floor gets clean.

Easier days I can recall, I just don't miss them, not at all.

These special babies are a blessing. All their tears and all their messing,

Can't compare to the joy they bring. We wouldn't trade for anything.

Our God is good, He's answered prayer. Our quiver's full and so's our lair.

With God in charge he'll show the way. He'll see us through, just one…more…day.

 Hey, Mom! We're Home!

This poem is shared with us from the Wyble Family in California. It is written by

Mrs. Roman Liechty, taken from a book called Meditations for Adoptive Parents by Vernell Klassen Miler, Herald Press, Scottdale, PA - Waterloo Ontario.

A shuffle of feet, the slam of a door,

I've heard this sound many times before

yet of this noise I never weary

For with it comes a cheery

"Hey, Mom! We're home!"

When home sometimes becomes a riot,

I may long for peace and quiet,

Yet when all the day they've been away,

I'm very happy to hear them say,

"Hey, Mom! We're home!"

When I reach my home up yonder,

may I never have to wonder

If my children too have found the way.

Please, dear God, once more let me hear them say;

"Hey, Mom! We're home!"

A hymn by Richard Burnham taken from the Gadsby Hymnal

Jesus is a wise Physician,

Skilful and exceeding kind;

Through him sinners find remission,

And enjoy sweet peace of mind.

Moved with tenderest compassion,

He relieves the wounded heart;

And the richest consolation

His blest Spirit does impart.

This Physician understandeth

All disorders of the soul;

And no payment he demandeth,

When he makes the wounded whole.

Come, ye souls, who now are sighing

Under guilt’s distressing chains,

To the Saviour now be flying;

He will ease you of your pains.

What though bad is your condition,

And your wounds you can’t endure?

He, the sinner’s wise Physician,

Will effect a perfect cure.