Dear readers, 

I am in the process of moving my blog over to Wordpress. I hope to finish before the end of June. I would appreciate if you follow me to

Consider it all JOY

If you start at with this Introduction, you can read a rough draft of my entire proposed book, and encourage me along the way of sharing this challenging and beautiful story I never expected to have to write. 

Not all posts are up yet, but a majority. I'm transferring more all the time. Any readers interested in reading the first book, But the Greatest of These is Love and willing to write a review on Amazon and Goodreads, I will send you a free download. You can find current reviews on those two links. 

Thanks for your support since 2012, when I first introduced readers to my dear Roma. I hope you'll continue this journey with me. 

Thanks, and God bless us, every one!

Debbie 

Don't forget to subscribe. 

 

A Sacred Pilgrimage

Part One

I don't know what I was anticipating when Bruce and I left for the Republic of Georgia on the evening of June 2, 2017. We were finally going to meet Roma's birth family, two and a half tumultuous years after finding them. 

I had high expectations about this trip, but I can't define what they were. I can't explain. If Roma had approached me with his big Roma grin, arms wide open, on the steps of an ancient monastery on a snow capped mountain top, I doubt it would have shocked me. I went with an expectation, maybe not of seeing Roma, but of seeing God. 

One thing I was sure of, we were embarking on a Sacred Pilgrimage. One we had to take for redemption and healing. And for love, love for a family who shared the common bond of a boy who, aside from his sister, they would now never know on earth. A boy whose deceased father had been as dear to them as his son was to me. At least close. 

First photo faxed from orphanage

We found Roma's birth sister in the closing hours of 2014. We had known about Liana from court records, and Roma told us more. But an "aunt," his father's first cousin, Lia, began messaging me in early January, 2015, ecstatic of the discovery of her beloved cousin's lost son. She opened a door to a mystery of Roma's larger, close-knit, extended family in a country I couldn't have, at the time, found on a map. We rejoiced together, almost 6,000 miles apart. I knew finding this family was a missing puzzle piece of Roma's wholeness and identity. 

Then, less than a year later, we grieved the unthinkable, as a fatal work accident took the life of beautiful, vivacious Roma, the young man who represented so much love and hope to two families who reached across a vast, impossible chasm for comfort. A strange thing happened during that year of highest highs imaginable and lowest lows possible. We became family. 

At Christmas, 2016, as we rounded that first year of grieving Roma, Bruce printed out photos of landmarks in Georgia, put them in a gift box with  note. For Christmas, he was giving me my heart's desire-- to go to Roma's ancestral home and finally meet Roma's birth family in person. 

Some people ask why we are traveling to Georgia instead of Russia, where Roma was born and lived. He never crossed the mountains into Georgia. It is political, as so many issues in the world are today. Georgians cannot freely travel across the Russian border to the north, over the formidable Caucasus Mountain range. But Russians can travel unimpeded into the Republic of Georgia. Liana, Roma's sister, and her family, still residing in Russia, can travel to Georgia to meet us. 

I bought our plane tickets two months ahead, the time suggested for optimum pricing. A week before we traveled, Bruce was looking over our itinerary. 

He calmly said (because Bruce is always calm), "You have us booked us to return in July instead of June." 

Hoping he was kidding, I swung around and checked his face. A panic rush had me on my feet and looking over his shoulder to read from his computer in disbelief. Sure enough, our return flight was on the second Monday in July instead of June. I scanned the email for an emergency number for Qatar Airways.

I dialed and explained my error. On speaker phone, we listened while I prayed there would be two seats available for June 12. There was a pause, and my contact eased my fears. Yes, no problem, the same flight number, 707, had seats available for June 12.

"There is a change fee," the polite, accented gentleman continued. "Let me calculate that for you."

"Oh don't bother yourself with that little unpleasant detail," I wanted to say, but instead "Oh Lord, please don't let it be a lot" was all I had time to pray before the gentleman continued, "That will be an additional $485 per ticket," I gasped as he calculated, "for a total of $970. Can I book that flight for you now?" 

I couldn't make eye contact with my husband who had just heard the whole conversation. 

"Yes." I answered quietly. Lord help me make up that money that I so carelessly wasted.

"Well, the gentleman returned, "This flight is actually a cheaper flight. You will save $110 per ticket for a total of $220 discount." 

Oh Joy, only $750 to recoup. "Great. Thank you." I'm not sure Bruce understands my accounting system, but he didn't get mad at me, because Bruce never gets mad. We have learned that a problem that can be solved by money alone, even money we can't afford to waste, isn't a real problem.

On May 29, four days before we left, I got a message from Lia saying they had another option for our driver/tour guide. The one they had recommended originally, and we had accepted, was charging $1300 for five days. Two of the nights, not consecutive, would be spent at guest houses hours from Tbilisi. So we accepted the fee. Lia was apologetic about the high price, but we assured her we wanted to see all we could of Georgia, and we had been saving our money. (I didn't  mention that I had carelessly lost much of it by my careless mistake in booking.) Now, four days before our departure, they had an alternate driver, another friend of the family, and his fee was $700. Seven hundred, which should have alerted me to God's involvement right away. I tacked  that saved $600 in my "recouped money" column, with a remaining balance of $150, which I was willing to write off, as a fair penalty for my mistake.  

Then the countdown began in earnest. We left our house in suburban Maryland, an hour drive to Dulles International Airport, just before 5 pm, heading into some of the nation's worst traffic. We allowed plenty of time for our 9:30 flight. It seemed like such an ordinary beginning for a Sacred Pilgrimage. 

The many calls and messages I received revealed that others also had mysterious expectations about this trip. "Post pictures when you can," and "I can't wait to hear more," and "I'll be praying for you." dinged my phone all day. Friends who had joined the Story and wanted more of it, more of God. It was as if they were expecting the same thing I was--for God to accomplish only what He could in Georgia. 

So I went with expectations of the miraculous. Nothing less. I have grown accustomed to miracles. I have become acquainted with a Loving God who is always present and active. And often He has a sense of humor. 

God heard the prayers of my many prayer warriors, and He was not going to disappoint any of us. 

Continue with Part Two, Getting There. 

                                                  *        *        *        *        *        *

             

Dont miss the exciting and heart breaking stories about finding this lovely family. Begin with Hope for Restoration. 

Many Roma and God Stories begin with The Hound of Heaven Winks. 

Writing through my grief begins here with The Agony. But don't stop there, or you'll miss the miracles! 

Readers can start at the beginning of our story by reading But the Greatest of These is Love.

Be blessed. Even in the pain, I feel like I have lived something Sacred. 

Welcome Little One

There will come a time when I no longer write about Roma in my blog posts, but today is not it. Not when it is clear Roma's life goes on in an enhanced manner. More often than we recognize, Heaven comes ever so close to earth in a cosmic connection. I am thankful when I'm aware of these sacred moments.

On Monday, May 1, my youngest grandchild was born. The previous evening, my daughter Kellie, texted to alert us that they were leaving for the hospital. She was still hopeful for an April baby, and several hours remained in April for that to happen. With baby number six, we all assumed a quick and easy delivery.

She texted us through the night with updates, stating that he was "a stubborn little guy!" They finally administered Pitocin to speed up the delivery.

As I awaited news of a new family member arrival, I was checking my Facebook account on Monday morning when the memories of "On this Day" popped up. Roman Sudzhashvili Michael's passport photo came up with the reminder that Roma had arrived on this day in the United States as a new citizen fifteen years ago. As I was remembering that special day and was about to copy recently found photographs documenting that Homecoming, Kellie finally called to give us the news about their own hours-old new arrival.


I grabbed a pen and paper to record the details to share.

With a crack in her voice, Kellie announced, "His name is Joel Roman."


My tears came so suddenly, I couldn't breathe or speak. They ran down my cheeks as I studied my own little new arrival from fifteen years earlier. For several silent moments, I trusted that Kellie understood my speechlessness. Finally I could force out a labored whisper, "Kellie, that is beautiful."

"And," she continued with a new enthusiasm. "He was born at 7:07." I gasped, knowing Kellie understood the significance of that number. Seven. That was Roma's signature number. 

Upon hanging up with Kellie, I immediately messaged Lia, Roma's aunt from the Republic of Georgia. I wanted to shared Kellie's loving tribute to the nephew she had been denied the privilege of knowing. Lia's immediate response was obviously the same as mine, and she instantly responded with the crying emoji with long tears. Then her messages of congratulations and well wishes and love came joyfully. We understand the paradox of grief and love all wrapped up in the same package.

God is so good. Just last month, God intersected my life with a new, dear friend. Irina is originally from Russia and shares my heart for Russian orphans. She has joined my story of Roma. She shared her wisdom on our Facebook announcement of my new grandson.

"I am so glad that Roma's name will continue in the newest addition of the family. Russians believe that every name has a very special unique power and quality. Every person who carries the name adds something of this own to it. Joel Roman will continue Roma's story. Have a wonderful and blessed beautiful life, sweet Joel Roman." 

Something remarkable happens to the memory of loved ones when they die too young. Any challenge or struggle they ever manifested is forgotten. In fact, they start to

Roma, May 1, 2002 arriving as a new citizen

resemble superheroes. It isn't realistic but it happens. Sweet Roma was by no stretch of the imagination what I would call an "easy" boy to raise. But it was impossible not to adore that beautiful child. Roma was the bravest little person I have ever encountered. He had a heart the size of Russia, and he was fearless. Nothing from his tragic early life could make him a victim. He enthusiastically devoured every delicious morsel of life. He recognized God, who was always up-close and personal with Roma. In life, Roma was a legand. In death, he has become a superhero.

Roma fulfilled an important mission in his short, full life. He changed me, and countless other who aren't the same because Roma lived. And died. Roma makes God visible.

Welcome brand new Joel Roman Ryan! Proudly embrace your strong name, and make it uniquely your own as you hear the legends of your uncle, Roma. No matter how outlandish the stories sound, they are mostly true!

We are blessed.

Start at the beginning of our story,
But the Greatest of These is Love


Join us as we go visit Roma's family in the Republic of Georgia. 

It is Finished

Continued from Ten Thousand Reasons and More.

The beginning of Roma's adventures start with The Hound of Heaven Winks


We knew nothing of Bobby until the hospital gave us a piece of paper with a name and phone number handwritten on it. I didn't recognize the name. I suppose my questioning look prompted the nurse to add, "He said he was your son's boss."

Bobby had called the hospital so many times to ask for Roma's condition, they had to ask him not to call anymore. They promised to give us his number and we   could contact him. The last time Bobby had seen him, Roma was unconscious but breathing on his own.

When we called the number of the stranger on the morning of December 7, we introduced ourselves. I could hear hope in Bobby's strained voice, "How's Roma?"

Bruce paused just a moment, as though he needed to shield this man we had yet to meet from the devastating truth. "Roma didn't make it."

"Oh my God, Oh God" Bobby's voice trailed off into broken sobs. He continued, though periodic primal groans, "We were finished with that job. . . I was already down my ladder. Roma was getting ready to come down. We were done. . . Oh my God . . . I don't know what made him lift his pole so high and hit those wires. They were ten or fifteen feet above the roof. . .  I was on the ground waiting and I heard a loud pop. I looked up and Roma was coming down. Oh my God. Oh my God." Sobs overtook him again.

I was processing his words. Roma had lifted his extension painting pole high and hit a live wire. It made no sense to Bobby. It did to me.

Roma had many wonderful qualities, but patience was not on the list. How often I had seen the dramatic display from the exasperated boy: Roma's head would drop back and his eyes close in a theatrical display of relief, emphatically uttering the words, "Thank the Lord, that's over,"  regarding some tedious task he was relieved to have completed. The emphasis was NOT on thanking the Lord! No, it was on the completion part. Roma grew up in church and with me, so thanking-the-Lord language was part of Roma's language. He learned it as he learned English. By hearing.

This job had lasted weeks. I had driven him to this work site in downtown Frederick, Maryland,  as had Bruce. Originally Roma had said they were going to make a lot of money on this job he predicted would last only a few days.  Bobby's words reminded me of Roma's eagerness to be done with it. And he finally was that Sunday afternoon.

Now I had a clear picture of what happened. At the long awaited and overdue moment of completion of that painted metal roof,  that job that had annoyed him for two weeks too long, Roma lifted his extension pole in a final flourish of "Thank the Lord" triumph. "It is finished!"

Roma on a roof at the Pittsburgh Project, 2014

And, just like that, it was over. Roma's beautiful life was done. The live wire knocked him out, and he fell, unconscious, to the sidewalk below. It was finished. He had no fear. No pain. The lights just went out.

I believe it happened this way. It gave me peace to know he didn't know he was falling away from the second floor roof, so he felt no fear, and no pain when he hit the sidewalk, head first. God had pulled the vital, real Roma away from the scene, as a lifeless body fell. 

Bobby called two more times that afternoon, crying. I tried to comfort him. He apologized, "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I really loved that kid." I tried the best I could to sooth this man I'd never met. This man who had the memory of my son's last moments of life and the horror of the graphic accident forever burned into his memory.

The next afternoon, Bobby called again. "I've been seeing wires and ladders all day. I'm really shaken up." I wanted to remind Bobby I was really shaken up too, but he added, "When I turned onto Wisconsin Avenue, right in front of me, a wire sparked with a big ball of light and a loud pop, almost like an explosion. It scared the hell out of me. Right in front of me." Then he continued to tell me how sorry he was, and he didn't know if he could continue to work.  And he really loved my kid. I was still thinking of the wire lighting up in front of him.

"Bobby, did the explosion of light comfort you at all?"

"No! It scared the hell out of me."

"Did you ever think it might have been Roma saying, 'Hey Buddy, I'm okay. Don't beat yourself up. It wasn't your fault."

"No," he paused, "but maybe it was Roma," he said without emotion.  But the thought sent Bobby into another round of sobs. "God, I really loved that kid. I'm so sorry."

I pushed the point I was desparate to believe. "Maybe it was Roma. Maybe he was saying 'Hey man, don't torture yourself. I'm okay. I'm better than okay.'" I felt such compassion for this man who seen my boy die. "Bobby, it wasn't your fault."

Roma, high and lifted up, on a roof at the Pittsburgh Project in July 2014

Bobby's eyewitness account of the events of the afternoon reinforced what I had come to believe. That God had taken Roma because it was Roma's time to go. His work here was complete. God had warned me. He had lovingly and mercifully prepared me to let His boy go Home.

I kept thinking of Taylor's wise words. Taylor was about to turn 13 when Roma burst into Taylor's quiet, calm world. (And "burst" pretty well describes Roma's activities!) Just days after Roma came, Taylor recognized that Roma was not the little brother he was expecting to live at our house. Brave Taylor said, that until he could think of Roma as a brother, he would consider him an exchange student from God. That image changed forever the way I would look at my new son.

Taylor's description comforted me. An exchange student comes from afar. Then he returns. He does not stay. Roma had been Called Home. His time with us was complete.

After more contemplation, I understand that Roma hadn't really come as an exchange student. No, his role had not been as a student at all. Roma had come as a teacher. Oh, what that boy taught me. And in the six months since he returned to God, I look around and see he taught so many more people than I could have imagined. Even people who never knew him. And Roma continues to teach us. One of his friends just told me the other day that Roma was a "once-in-a-life-time kid." So he was. Oh, how God loves Roma. And how He loves me, to have picked me to "host" him for fourteen years!

Roma came to us as a smiley, exuberant, beautiful seven year old, ready to take on anything. The child feared nothing. And surprisingly, he knew everything! He visited for a joy-filled and exciting, and sometimes challenging fourteen years. He returned to God at twenty-one, after we were all better people for knowing him.

He had been home for seven weeks to the day.

When we arrived at Shock Trauma, Roma was in room seven.

When we returned the next morning, Roma had been moved to another floor. He was, again, in room seven.

He used number seven in his email address and in his passwords.

He wore number seven on more than one sports jersey. 

Roma in a familiar stance, wearing number seven, 2011

He was pronouced dead the morning after the accident, on December 7, at 7:16. 

And seven is the  Biblical number of completion and perfection.  

Thank the Lord. It is finished. 

Continue with Merciful Comfort                                                                                                                   

Visions, One

Continued from the Agony  

Sometimes it is difficult to find human words to adequately describe visions. 

As Roma was passing through that thin veil dividing the world we inhabit from the one we are all steadily approaching, two friends contacted me about clear visions they had of Roma the night he made that journey. I've asked each of them to share, in their own words, what they saw. Below is one vision. The other one is coming. 

Two years ago, I met Cheryl Bresin through an adoption and orphan-hosting Facebook group. She got to know Roma and me better by reading But the Greatest of These is Love. We began to message and discovered she lives an hour north of me. Then we realized another member of the group, who also had just read my book, was also close. We met for lunch, and as the case when God puts people in our lives, we three have became close friends. We have met for lunch a few times now, and even gone away on a four-day retreat to discuss the ways of God, as best we can understand Him. Telling our families in September we were going to a cabin by a lake in remote West Virginia with people we met on the internet sounded so wrong.  Unless God is involved, and, in our case, it turned out to be just right. 

Here is Cheryl's vision in her words. 

I am awestruck by how many lives this little boy from the border of Russia and Georgia has touched. So many became a part of this story and have held the Michael family and Roma deeply in their hearts. Roma's giant personality made us all feel that he was a part of our everyday lives. We grieve as his bigger-than-life presence stepped over to the other side; while still leaving the memory of his wide open arms and radiant smile that remains forever etched in our thoughts.

I have read and re-read "You are Mine," from the "Family Connections" series about the miracle of finding Roma's birth family.  I read it each time with the same pause. It was as if God was putting His hand on my shoulder to make certain that I saw.

                                   Part Eight

“Do not fear, for I have redeemed you;I have called you by name; you are Mine!" (Isaiah 43:1)

I was overtaken by a stillness, as I read the foreshadowing words of the last line of this post, "And now He has called Roma."

After Debbie and I texted that fateful night, I sobbed as my heart ached deeply for my dear sister and her family. I cried out with the words from Romans 8:26: the Spirit Himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words.

In the early morning of December 7th, I was awakened by God to pray over and over again. I talked to God and Roma out loud. I was lost in time in this prayerful realm. At one point, I drifted back to sleep, then awakened by this noise that filled my room overhead. The sound resembled the beginning of a wind storm with the gentleness of a ocean breeze.The deep warm embrace was like a thick warm cloud that was all encompassing. 

It was Angels, and Roma was with them. They were going to and fro accompanied by this systematic flowing sound. In my humanness, I called out loud to Roma to be strong and voiced that he did not have to leave. The breeze forcefully whooshed a few more times, then faded, and disappeared . . . 

The veil between heaven and earth is truly so thin.

The next morning, I lit a candle to remind myself to pray every time I passed throughout the day. A candle much like the one that burned in Georgia. As it flickered, it held the sadness of loss and the gratefulness for a family that embraced their Roma with complete and immense unending love. A love that reminds us all, "But the Greatest of These is Love."

I will not leave you as orphans; I will come to you." (John 14:18)

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Thanks to my dear Sister, Cheryl, who writes a blog of her own.  http://risenshinefarm.blogspot.com/ 
Her words and vision comfort me. Please continue to pray for us.

Cheryl references Part Eight of the Family Connections series, but you can read all eleven posts of that popular series starting at Part One.  


Continue with Goodbye Kid, Roma's brother's Taylor's words at the Celebration of Life.