Micah and I went up to Berean on Tuesday to give blood after multiple e-mails stating, "There is an overwhelming need for your blood type . . ." Neither of us thought we'd pass the "iron" test, but mine was a whopping 13.1 while Micah didn't quite make it.
It has to be God-ordained - the matching of you and your phlebotomist - because mine needed me that day. I found out she was a newly wed originally from Louisiana. Her husband was from Somalia. We talked about the challenges of marriage, and I said Sam and I only had to deal with "eastern Iowa" vs. "western Iowa". They had two very different continents and two very different counties. I have lived in Africa. She has not even visited. I understood just a bit the challenges she faced.
Our conversation ventured on the children. She shared with me that she had just miscarried in April. I empathized so with her. I told her we had had a birth mother who had changed her mind and kept the baby between Matt and Micah. It took me six years before I was able to drive through White Bear Lake without crying. She began to cry and shared, "My husband says I just need to get over it." Oh, wrong answer!
"I can be love where I live,
and that is Christ,
and He really does make all the difference."
Ann Kiemel
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