Selling our livestock in May 2016, we’re going on nine years without milking cows. While that very first day had me standing in the middle of my farm kitchen in tears wondering what on earth people do at four o’clock in the afternoon, I’ve since moved quite cheerily in the direction of choosing what I want to do when. The big thing I don’t miss about dairying is dealing with and working in the cold.

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.