My Story Part 3

In high school I was only occasionally in the hospital and had a fairly “normal” life. I went out with friends, skipped the occasional class and got my driver’s license. Being a cheerleader the year before opened my eyes to the fact that I was worth hanging out with. That I was a good friend. And that I was fun to be around. I enjoyed school enough to want to be there. But since I had been sick my whole life, I was really bad at school. The school system kind of just let me get by and graduate to the next grade even though I did not learn what I needed to know. So by the time I got to high school, it was apparent that I was stupid. And unfortunately, some of my teachers confirmed this belief. So the cycle of shame continued, just in a different form.

When I was a sophomore, my best friend’s sister invited us to attend a Young Life meeting at a local church near our school. We went together and I heard about God. They sang songs about God, did funny skits and taught us out of the Bible. I had heard about God before, but knew in my heart He must be mad at me because I was sick. The God they were talking about was loving and cared about the world. I continued to attend every week because it was fun. One of leaders, Cindy, took me under her wing and began loving on me. She listened to me. Prayed for me. I began reading a Bible and wanting to learn more about Jesus. I started attending a Bible study and learned more and more about how much God loved me. As you can imagine, this idea went against my belief about myself. But I was feeling accepted and listened to, so I continued pursuing God.

There was a brief moment when I actually felt like my beliefs about myself could possibly be wrong, or at least too harsh. But then reality would kick in as it always does and confirmed my demented beliefs. I would end up in the hospital again and the lies would win….I am bad, I am ugly. Things at home were rough. My parents both worked full time so my brother and I were home alone a lot of the time. A lot of time for him to get into trouble with the law. He began his descent to juvenile hall and would end up there more than once. There were many arguments between my parents as you could understand. They ended up at a Tough Love meeting and very soon, my brother began to run away. So between my illness and his trips to jail, we really never connected. On top of that there was the normal teenage angst with boyfriends and friends talking behind your back. Also, when I took driver’s education, the instructor made a pass at me and it ended up going to trial because apparently he made passes at other girls as well. This was all very traumatic for me and confirmed that there was really no hope for me. But I kept attending Young Life and opening my damaged heart to the Lord. There just HAD to be something more for me.

I was invited to go to a Young Life camp for a week. I was still in and out of the hospital, so this was a bit scary. But when you are a teenager, fun trumps fear! So off I went. I had a blast with friends and fun activities. One night, during the preaching time, we were asked if we wanted to give our lives to the Lord. I wanted it! I wanted it more than anything. So I raised my hand and prayed the prayer of salvation. I don’t remember everything that happened after that, but “Bridge Over Troubled Water” was playing in the background as we all prayed together. I don’t remember feeling anything dramatic. Just happy I made that decision.

After that, I attended more bible studies and Cindy, my leader, started a study for those who gave their lives to the Lord at camp. All my friends were in it so it was super fun. I would go through phases where I would believe the Word of God and feel tremendous peace. But then the lies would come knocking and I would not read my Bible for a time. This cycle continued for years. But God had a firm grip on my life. I am in tears writing this as I see how faithful and loving He has been to me all these years of suffering and turmoil. My heart is so grateful that He gave me new life and a new heart. That He was always there with me, even before I knew who he was. He is the reason I am writing this story. This story, my story, is not even about me. It’s all about what God can do with nothing. How God can do the impossible. How God can love the unlovable. AS I sit here writing all of this my heart is being healed. I told God many years ago that I would tell the world about all the wonderful ways He has miraculously worked in my little life! This book is a fulfillment of that promise. To be honest, I’m not sure that this will ever be published. But I can’t stay silent! I must tell of my amazing God!!

My Story Part 2

There came a time around 9yo that my hospital stays were less, but never entirely gone. Because my mom was a single mom and barely making it, we moved about once a year to a different apartment. Then when I was 9yo, my mom married a man 22 years her senior. This union was to be a blessing in my life as it gave me a stability that I never experienced before. We moved to San Jose, California where my new dad owned a home in a high class area with good schools and friendly neighbors. I could finally settle a bit, although our family life was stressful to say the least. Both of my parents worked as my mom still needed health insurance for me. So my brother and I were on our own after school. He did his own thing and I watched TV from 3:00 to 9:00 taking a break when the news came on. This pattern, which began in the hospital, would become my addiction. There were times my mom hired a “nanny” to watch us. I don’t know if there was a nanny shortage back then, but she seemed to hire overweight women who just sat around all day and did nothing. I remember wanting to shave my legs for the first time and our nanny drilled into my head over and over again that if I shaved my legs, there was no going back. She put the fear of the razor into my head! Of course, I ignored her. By the way, she was right….once you start shaving, you can never stop.

My brother and I had a strained relationship with our new father. He already had a grown son and I think being a dad again was difficult to say the least. He married the woman he loved, but gained a daughter who was sick all the time and a son who was struggling with his own emotions. I can only guess, since my brother has not told me, that his emotional turmoil was due to his anger and frustration surrounded losing his father to divorce and having to deal with a sister that was getting all the attention. I look back and wish I had loved him better. He really did need me. But I was not there…emotionally OR physically. So when he came into teenagerhood, he acted out in many ways which included drugs and criminal activity.

Being at a stable school and not being in the hospital so much gave me the opportunity to make friends. My first best friend was in my class in the 4^th grade and walked the same route home as I did. Because of my shame, I would never think of talking to her. Too scary! One day, she was walking up one side of the street and I was on the other. She yelled across the street, “Hey! Do you wanna come over tomorrow and see my new hamster?” And as any kid knows, that’s all it took. We were fast friends and still connect even today. Stability began to give me a slight confidence that I could manage this thing called life. There was school, friends, sleepovers, many trips to the candy store with my best friend riding on the back of her bike. Could I actually be normal?

Junior High was wonderful for me! I loved changing classes and was known for doing my hair a different way each day. I would use ribbons and flowers in my hair and get really creative. I still only had a few friends, but that is all I needed. The summer before my freshman year, everything changed. My best friend decided to try out for the basketball team. She asked if I wanted to try out too. As you can imagine, a small weakling like myself could get smashed on a basketball court. But I saw that there were also cheerleading tryouts. I do not know what came over me, but I decided to try out for cheerleading. Ugly me. I knew I wouldn’t make the squad, but something in me just pushed me to try. I practiced and practiced and practiced. My parents lived on a golf course and so they had a huge window that faced the golf course that was tinted so the golfers could not see in our house. I could see myself from the outside into the window so I used this as a mirror to get every move precisely right. The day of the tryouts came looming over me as I daily practiced my routines. The day finally arrived and I was so nervous as I walked to the gym. Why was I doing this? How could I be a cheerleader? But I gave it my best shot. I stood by myself in front of the current cheerleading squad with a few teachers. I went for it. I was precise. I was loud. I had spirit. I made two mistakes, but kept my composure through the entire, torturous routine. They thanked me and asked me to sit down. I had to wait for every single girl to try out and then we were told to leave the room so they could make their decision. I knew my mistakes cost me from being picked. I berated myself for making mistakes. Oh well, I thought, maybe next year. We were all asked to come back into the gym and get the results. They called one girl and she jumped up yelling and hugged all the girls around her. They called another. Same reaction. Screaming. Hugging. Then, to my utter amazement, they called me. I just sat there. I must not have heard them right. They called my name again. I stood up and jumped up and down. I think as I was in a daze as a couple of the girls hugged me and congratulated me. The rest of the names were called, but I didn’t hear any of them. It was like the room was moving in slow motion around me. This was the best thing that ever happened to me. I was a cheerleader! I was a cheerleader! Maybe I am worth something after all?

This new elite social position did wonders for my confidence. People started talking about me. They would say that I was cute. That I was pretty. This shocked me! Me, pretty? That’s impossible. But as the year progressed, these comments became more common and I began to entertain the idea that I might be pretty. My freshman year was amazing. It’s the year my peers saw me. It’s the year I began to look at myself…and not hate what I saw. But as you know, dear reader, shame can take many forms and is not easily extinguished.

Laundry

For those of you that know me well, you know that I HATE laundry. Having many kids causes my laundry to pile up unceasingly. If I do not do laundry every day, it becomes the Mt. Everest of clothes and I end up feeling helpless and powerless and will undoubtedly spend the whole weekend washing and folding until the cows come home (whatever that means). But today the laundry slightly redeemed itself. I was taking my 6yo son's laundry out of the dryer and lo and behold there was a name tag sticker on his shirt that somehow made it through the wash cycle AND dry cycle. Of course it was crusted on the shirt, stuck there for eternity. My first thought was to throw it away. Yes, I know, the easy way out. But something within my heart spoke to me. I had been asking God to show me how to love my kids...especially one of my adopted kids who hurts me constantly with words and actions. I have been so mad at myself because what is needed for this child is far beyond a mother's love. It is the love of Christ that is essential for this child to heal. But what do I do when I'm being yelled at? I want to run. I want to get angry. And I want to protect my heart. I know these feelings are normal and need to be felt. But I have a hard time getting over the hurt and rejection. I know I have the love of Christ in me and He can love this child through me. But there is an obstruction keeping the overwhelming flood of love from gushing all over this child. It is more like a trickle. So what does this have to do with laundry? As I looked at my son's shirt, I thought to myself. I can take the time to pick off these tiny pieces of paper and glue. This shirt is worth it and my son loves wearing it. So as I was picking off the gunk, it was if God were speaking to my heart. He said, you are worth it to me. I am willing to pick away at the tiniest pieces of gunk so that you will be free to love. But it will take time. It will take patience on your part. Just like it is taking patience to pick off this sticker (God knows me so well) on Caleb's shirt. So allow me to pick away at these stickers that are keeping you from experiencing the tsunami of my love. You will receive it. You will be free to receive my love. How do I know this was from God? First of all, I felt this peace come over me (which NEVER happens doing laundry). Second, I felt reassurance that I'm not this loser mom who cannot love a tough child. I am in the "picking phase" in God's gentle, but firm hands. I am being washed by the master dry cleaner. All the stains and tears are being healed and repaired. I am so glad that God jut doesn't throw us away when we have gunk stuck all over us. He loves us and we are worth saving to Him. Who knew laundry could be so healing.

My Story Part 1

I stood there in front of the house with the keys in my hand. Was I really doing this? How was I going to do this? Was I crazy? I am just a 43yo house wife with six kids. I didn’t have a lot of money. I didn’t have a lot of time. I didn’t have a lot of experience. But still, there I stood wondering if I should even open the front door. I was scared. I had never taken such a big leap of faith before. All I could see was how this would all fail. But I knew that God had called me to do this. I had to believe that He would come through even with all my weaknesses. I knew in my heart that if this succeeded, it would be 100% Him! I didn’t set out to have a passion for women who are recovering addicts. I was never an addict, nor did I know many growing up. But here I stood, in front of a house that I was planning on filling with women in recovery and their children. I was hoping that if these women and children could experience being loved, feeling worthy and be given dignity, they would change. Not only would they change for themselves, but become the moms they wanted to be, have healthy relationships and contribute to society. Sounds lofty, doesn’t it? The problem was that I did not have the money to sustain a home like this. To pay rent, utilities and household items seemed overwhelming. And where would I find these women? I knew a few social workers, but who in their right mind would trust their clients to me? I am just a mom. But when God calls you to an insurmountable task, He truly is our strength. He meets ALL our needs. But I am getting ahead of myself. I didn’t just wake up one morning and decide to open a home for recovering addicts. So let me go back a bit. Actually, to give you the background to this tale, I need to go WAY back…to a little girl in a hospital bed.

I was five years old and found myself waking up out of anesthesia with tubes coming out of my abdomen and bladder. You see I had a congenital defect where my bladder was deformed and did not work the way it should. Also, both of my kidneys were not working 100%. My mom found out about this while trying to potty train me. It just wasn’t working and when my mom took me to the doctor, she found out about my illness. I had one other surgery when I was 3 years old and it did not work. My mom took me to UCLA hospital and the Urologist wanted to do a new surgery on me that would fix my bladder. All I knew then was the intense pain! The surgery was a bladder reconstruction, which may or may not, the doctor told my mom, fix me. So here I was, a small child, connected to so many tubes and machines that I could not move. They tried to prop pillows all around me so I would stay put. It is difficult for an adult to have to lie still, but for a five year old? Impossible. I was in the hospital for 3 months. I remember being in pain all day, every day. All I wanted was my Morphine. Once I was medicated, I was going to be OK. But much more trauma was to come for this little girl while residing in her luxury suite at UCLA. Because it was a teaching hospital, I was poked and prodded all day and woken up many nights with five interns standing in front of me (in my 5yo mind there were 20 interns, but realistically there were five). My mom was a single mom, so she had to work during the day and had my little brother to take care of at night. She would stop by my hospital room after work each day to find that some days I had been mistreated. She found me one day with all 10 of my fingers pricked for a blood sample. On another day I didn’t get a lunch so I would be hungry. I can remember one time when the nurse wanted to give me my medicine, but I knew it wasn’t the right time for me to take them and the pills were not the right color. I told the nurse they were not my pills and she fought with me. We struggled as she tried to get them down my throat. She finally relented and checked my chart. It was the wrong medicine. I also remember a girl that was in the bed next to me. She had been burned by a vaporizer. Remember this was 40 years ago when they had those boiling water vaporizers for when you had a cough. Well, her and her brother were fighting over changing the TV channel (there were also no remotes back then either) and the vaporizer fell and burned most of her body. I can’t remember ever talking to her. I just remember her screaming in the middle of the night in pain. She was there for many weeks. I did not get much sleep. On top of that the nurses would wake me up every 4 hours. I would get so mad at them. Just when I was comfortable enough to sleep, the nurse would come in and wake me up to take my temperature and blood pressure. What? My little 5yo mind could not comprehend it! If I haven’t had a fever in week, why would I suddenly get one at 2:00am? No stupid nurse was going to wake me up. So the fighting began. The nurse would wake me up and I would not give her my arm to take my blood pressure. After a while I would give in. There were countless times when they would whisk me away for another X-ray or test. I never knew where I was going or when I’d be back in my safe little bed. I remember fighting the hospital staff and X-ray technicians to stop touching me. After a while I stopped fighting all together, stopped eating and fell into a deep depression. I had enough. I was done. Defeated. How does this kind of life affect a child’s heart and mind? What does this little girl think about herself? Where does she go for relief? I shut down. I don’t remember much of that time. Only that my mom and doctor would plead with me to eat. They brought me all kinds of delectable foods to tempt my appetite. Nothing worked. They tried rolling my bed out with other children, but it only made me worse. Many thoughts went through my little brain as I contemplated my life. Two of them stick out in my mind. One, you must have done something really bad to be stuck in this bed. Two, you must be worthless because others kids can play and run and have friends, but you can’t!

After a while, the fight for survival kicked in and when the doctor came in and told me he would bring me anything I wanted to eat I requested green olives. You would think a small child would crave ice cream, candy or pizza. No, not me. It was green olives. Please don’t ask me to explain to you my odd choice of cuisine. I can’t understand it 40 years later! But the jars of green olives came…and came….and came! The whole room was filled with jars of olives. Small jars filled with big olives and large jars filled with small olives. Some of them had bows on them. And I ate them like I would open a present on Christmas morning. I would eat not one or two, but half a jar at a time. And then I would drink the juice! Gross! After a while I was able to go home. But those two thoughts stuck with me and would end up defining me.

I would have many more chances to suffer in that hospital bed again….too many times to count. I would spike a fever and my mom would rush me to my all familiar bed of pain. Many times my fever would be so high they would lay me on a bed of ice naked (thank God they don’t do that anymore!). I remember hallucinating that there were spiders all over the walls and ceiling. I began getting chronic kidney infections and couldn’t wait to get my morphine. This happened over and over just confirming my belief that I was worthless. When I was at home, I had to wear a catheter and bag strapped around my leg because I couldn’t urinate on my own with my new bladder. Kids would see me and stare at me, not want to play with me or make fun of me. This caused a very powerful, insidious, paralyzing chain to wrap itself around my heart…shame!

I believed myself to be ugly and bad. If fact, I thought I was the ugliest child that ever walked the earth. Anyone who was sick all the time, could never have friends over and had a bag strapped to her leg? The only conclusion is….I am bad. And not just bad, but a horrible person who was worth nothing. So this tightly wrapped chain adhered itself to my heart for 35 years. What does trauma do to a five year old brain? How can this little one process what is happening to her? She cannot. So what this little five year old did was to cut off the pain permanently. I emotionally cut this traumatic part of my life out of my conscious mind. I decided to survive the only way a small child could. I would take the pain. I would reject the trauma. And a part of me would slowly fade away.

Tickets

I was really lonely today. I miss CA, my friends, my church and our school. I know that God called us here, but sometimes I feel so out of place. I was in a kind of funk today as I teared up throughout the day at the beautiful memories of the past. But tonight I received tickets. Not just any tickets. They specifically had MY name on them..."MOM". The invitation came on Dave's old business cards from CA and I was told by my 6yo son, Caleb, that I was cordially invited to a dance recital. It turns out that the whole family was invited and all had their tickets in hand. We traveled about 10 yards down our stairs and into our basement where there were seats all set out for the audience. My son ,the star of the show, was dressed in "cool" jeans, a blue shirt with a button down shirt over it. Our eldest son, Nathan, was asked to provide the necessary music for this extravaganza! All were seated and anticipated the show.

When the music started with it's upbeat tune, my son began to "dance". Now it was not ballet or tap dancing. It was kind of like break dancing with a little robot in there for effect. Then came the hand stands and twirling, which amazed and dazzled the crowd. All were laughing and cheering and enjoying the show. After the entertainment ended, we all left the performance having a smile on our faces and joy in our hearts.

And I thought to myself....this is why we are here in Colorado! We were all so busy in CA with ministry, friends, school, life. Here it is different. All we have is each other. At least for a while. I know my teenagers will find a bazillion friends and God will have a ministry for me and my hubby. But for this specific season, it is about just our family. About having dinner together, going on day trips, working in the yard, wrestling (the whole family got in on that one), and yes, even gazing at a 6 year old boy who for a few moments had the hearts of those watching him.

I am amazed at how God knows exactly what we need when we need it. How many times do I question Him and doubt His intentions toward me. Today I was wrestling with God and wondering why the heck He sent me here. But tonight I learned from my 6yo son to enjoy what God has given. It may not last. It may be that God is teaching me to just stop wrestling and start resting in His love for me and my family. The difference between my anxious, lonely heart this morning and my love filled heart tonight? JOY!

What Kind of Mom is This?

I am no longer directing The Refuge. No longer homeschooling my kids. No longer living near friends and family. I am now left to deal with myself! You would think this would be a pleasant situation....me, no kids during the day, no ministry, no friends just sitting around all day and resting. Although the Lord is giving me physical rest, my emotional state is far from peaceful. I have been a mom for 19 years and have mothered 16 children through birth, foster care and adoption. My children are now the ages 21, 19, 16, 14, 9 and 6 years. You would think I would have it all figured out, wouldn't you? Instead, here I sit ruminating about all the bad choices that I have made and how they are now playing out in my kids. All of my kids have issues. Issues that they may need to deal with for the rest of their lives. Issues that will impact their employment, their relationships, their spouse. Yes, I know what you are thinking....ALL kids have issues. We all have made mistakes and ruined our kids in one way or another. I agree with that statement. But there are those of us moms who guilt ourselves to death and have real issues that need to be dealt with. Since I have been "resting" in CO, I have realized something. When you take away all the friends that comfort you, the church that feeds you and the ministry that inspires you...all you are left with is your own, stinking sin! Our church culture is so good at pacifying us as moms....we want to make others feel better and at the same time know that we, ourselves, do the exact same things and don't want to look at it in our own lives. I have had few friends that have just said, "Kathi, you are in sin in this area of your life." Plain and simple. If we can't deal with the sin in our own lives, how can we tell someone else? So back to my sin. I realized that I don't have love!!! I know..Shocking! My friends would tell you that I am a very loving person. I think I love people rather well. But when you read 1 Corinthians 13, I suck at it! "Love is Patient". OK, right there I get an "F"! Patient? Are you kidding me? I have 5 kids at home going in all directions, not cleaning up after themselves, being sassy with their mamma, not getting homework done and plugging up the toilet! Patience? I don't think so! OK, let's try the next verse..."Love is Kind". Now this is where I am in sin. Being kind. I realized that I love my kids. I would die for my kids. But I am not very kind a lot of the time. Between getting them to get dressed in the morning and making sure they brush their teeth at night (don't get me started about the toothpaste cap), I am exhausted! I have refereed one too many times, told my son to pick up that sock 3 days ago and tried to make dinner while my sweet cherubs do their homework! I could give you many excuses. But the fact remains that I am not kind a lot of the time!!! So that is where I begin! The Bible says that God's kindness leads to repentance. First thing I realize is that I need to receive God's kindness toward me. God is so darn kind. He loves us even while we are in the deepest of sin. He doesn't just love us after we sin. He loves us WHILE we are in the middle of it. So when I am yelling at my daughter, He loves me. When I am in the midst of selfishness and wanting my own way, He loves me. When I have resentment toward one of my kids, He loves me. And when I am in His love, all the behavior modification that I use to be a better mom melts in His arms. Why do we think that if we just changed our behavior or tried to do better that it would make a difference? If I only had a plan or a book to read then I could change. Or maybe I'm just a terrible mom and there is no hope for me. The answer is always and forever LOVE! And as His love is leading me into repentance I am more aware of all the behaviors that I am putting on my kids. Stop behaving like that! You should know better! You need to pray more to be a better Christian! What am I teaching them? Yes, it is my job to train my kids and teach them. But if I have not love, I am nothing. No wonder all they hear when I speak at them is "blah, blah, blah"! Because if I have not love I am just a clanging gong to my kids. Oh, how I am banking on God to come through on this one. He promises His love to us. No matter what we are doing as moms and no matter what our kids are doing that makes us feel like we are failing. Claim His promise...it's for you too! This is my mandate right now...to learn to be kind to my kids. Kindness in the little things. The way I speak (especially when I'm being yelled at), the way I direct my kids (with sweetness) and being aware of when I have not received God's love for myself and I'm irritable or angry (that's gonna be the hard part). It's easy to gloss over it when you are appreciated in a ministry or can grab a quick coffee with a friend who will tell you what a great mom you are. It's hard to deal with the truth in that little face staring up at you and waiting for you to show him about the love of Jesus! Kindness. It's pathetic that after 19 years of being a mom that this is where I begin. I am utterly ashamed and at the same time joyously hopeful that God will fulfill His promise of love in me so that it will spill out onto those I love the most! I worship you most Holy and Love Filled God! Give me Faith to Believe!

A New Home

Sorry to you all for not blogging recently. I actually forgot my user name and password and couldn't get back on my blog. That's how challenged I am in the computer world.

I promised in my last blog how we came to find our new home. After we put our kids in public school and moved into our hotel, the search for a house commenced. Of course, my plan was to purchase a new home in 2 weeks and move in 4 weeks later. NOT! We ended up living in our hotel for 10 weeks before moving. Everyday I would drop my kids off at school and swoon over the moms coming out of this amazing housing community walking their kids and dogs to school. Holding their coffee in one hand and a leash in the other, all the moms would walk out of their community, across the street and into the school with their children in tow. Oh, how I longed to be a part of it. I wanted more than anything to join the procession with my kids trailing behind (or storming ahead). So there was one home in that neighborhood for sale. We loved it. It was everything we hoped for in a house. The problem was that our home in San Jose had not sold yet. I just held my breath as the days passed by dreaming of having my neighbor over for coffee and my kids playing on the community playground, laughing together as they all played fair and let others go first. But, sadly, this was not to be! The day our home sold in CA the dream house sold. You would think tears of defeat would fall from my hopeless eyes. But alas! I really felt total peace! I knew God did not want me living there. Yes, I was disappointed, but I felt that this was right. We continued on our search, with a renewed faith that God had a house for us. My husband found a home online that was in the country, but only 2 miles from the schools. It had one and half acres and was perfect for our family. We raced to look at it, but I was a bit worried that my teenagers would not go for it. After all the kids saw it multiple times, we were all in agreement that this was our house. Of course, the story does not end there. They were asking a lot more than we wanted to spend. So we prayed and asked the Lord that if this house was anointed by Him, we would meet the owner of the house. So we asked our ever patient realtor to show us the house one more time. Every time I looked at it, I loved it more. We left and were talking to our realtor in the driveway and the owner of the house walked up and asked if we had any questions. We couldn't believe it! Prayer answered! They also came down on their price and we ended up getting an unbelievable interest rate. With all of these answers to prayer, we were confirmed that this was God's home for us! We have been here a few months and I can't tell you how beautiful, peaceful and restful this home is for our family. We have seen a fox, coyote and many eagles. There are no light posts so at night we can see the stars. And the neighborhood I was dreaming about? I have met many of the moms and every one of them tell me that they wish they lived where I did. That it is too crowded in their community and they feel like they are in a fish bowl. Well, how do you like that! God knew where we were supposed to live! Amazing!