God's Got Her

16 years ago, today, Rick and I met our darling Bella Grace in China. She walked into the room greeting us in her tiny lime green shorts, her ruffled yellow shirt and a snazzy pair of Garfield sandals which somehow squeaked. 

And we were smitten. Head over heels for this little pixie of a girl who we were lucky enough to get to call daughter. Happy Gotcha Day, Bella! We celebrate, Bella today, but Gotcha Day has always been a gift to us. I love that I’ve had the gift of “getting” you every single day since; every day waking up knowing you are my daughter and I get to be your mama. It is a joy and a treasure and this day will forever be one of the very best days of my life. 

But this year, I would like to dedicate Bella’s Gotcha Day to the woman who actually made sure we "got her." It was my dear friend, Beverly, who put Bella’s file into our hands 17 years ago, saying, “I have a baby for you! Just look at this little face! Jody, just look at her little rosebud mouth.” She not only put Bella's file into our hands, but she continued to hold our hands tightly through the grueling, year-long, process of decisions and dossiers. It was a time of great

Bev playing with Bella at her baptism lunch

vulnerability and even some fear. We were often overwhelmed, but Bev kept cheering us on. Reminding us of God’s goodness and His provision. Reminding us of this little girl waiting for us on the other side of the world. She pushed us to be brave, to be bold. She almost didn't give us a chance to be anything less than.

Bev waiting for us at the airport
when we brought Bella home.

I honestly don’t know how we would have done this big thing without Bev. She was really good at turning all the “what-ifs” into “imagine-ifs?” Somehow she was able to clap for us and yet hold our hands at the very same time. But that was Bev. She had her own special superpower. She could make you think deeply and laugh uproariously almost all at once. She kept us all on our toes. She knew the view was better when we were willing to stretch ourselves and look upward.

This week of Bella's Gotcha Day, Beverly had her own heavenly Gotcha Day. Earlier this week Beverly went home to be with Jesus. 

He's got her now.

After fighting breast cancer for many years, she is now free from her earthly pain. Her gain is the presence of Christ. But ours sure feels like a great, searing loss. So many grieve Bev. She touched an unparalleled amount of lives in her time here. She was always speaking deeply into others—offering wisdom, offering her silly wise-cracks, offering depth and incredible devotion. I know few people who are so all in when they speak directly to you. She had a true gift. 

I don’t really make it a habit to write much about my friends, but I have written about Beverly several times in this blog. Seriously, just go to the search bar at the top and type in her name. You will find several anecdotes about this funny, faithful friend. Her impact has been massive. God has inextricably woven her into Bella’s story, but also into mine.

A few months after bringing Bella home from China, Bev was diagnosed with breast cancer. On the day she got home from the hospital after surgery I was at her house planting flowers when my phone rang. It was my doctor confirming that my biopsy was positive. I, too, now had breast cancer. This didn't make sense. Both of us? I remember hanging up with the doctor and climbing the stairs to Beverly’s bedroom where she was resting. I crawled into her lap and we wept together. How could both of us be diagnosed with cancer a month a part. It felt crazy. It was crazy.

And then 11 years later, unbelievably, it got even crazier. In 2022, Bev and I were again both diagnosed a month apart with stage 4 breast cancer. Our original breast cancer had done the unthinkable and metastasized. Again, we wept and we wondered how could this be? How could God allow it again in both of our lives?

In these past four years we acknowledged several times that though it is in some ways a gift to have a friend to walk this hard road with, it is also pretty awful to have to walk this hard road with a friend. 

But walk together we did. Best we could.

 And just like with Bella’s adoption process, Bev continued to hold my hand and still clap for us all at once.  

We shared the same oncologist and even on occasion would end up there at the same time for an infusion or an appointment. What a strange place to hang out with a friend. Like we were getting a coffee together, not cancer meds dripping through an IV. But we went with it. We even kind of joked about it. What choice did we have? 

We worked hard to never compare our journeys, but we’d commiserate and we’d even keep each other laughing a little. Where no one else was allowed to joke about our cancer, we could. I guess that's kind of like you can talk about your own mama, but no one else can talk about your mama, right? 

Though we would often remind each other of God's truth, we’d also discuss the absurdity and the outrageous twists and turns of our diagnoses. We talked many times about how we should really go to one of those places where we could smash things.  Is it called a Rage Room? Yes, we dreamed of going, but we never did it as I guess that involved a little more energy than either of us could muster up, but I do think we felt better when we imagined ourselves doing it. Aside from smashing things, we mostly wondered what in the world God was doing in our stories. We’d share our fears and our sorrows and our losses. Cancer takes so much. It has taken so much. But we were also able to offer intimate encouragement to one another. Cancer is a most lonely road. Even when surrounded by so many who want to help, very few can really understand what this death sentence does to a person. How it changes them; how it slays them. But Beverly understood. She knew how I felt. I knew how she felt. Even in our ugly circumstances, there was beauty to be found in our mutual empathy.

And now she’s gone and, selfishly, I'm more than a little afraid to do this cancer thing without her. I have peace knowing her body is new and free from the ravages of disease, but I am sad for those left behind. Mostly I am heartbroken for her husband and children and her family. They are all so precious. She was their center. They are bright lights and a true legacy to Bev. As much as she loved other people everywhere, the true apple of her eye was her family. Her oldest daughter, Neilly, shared news of Bev's death opening with, "My perfect mom went to be with Jesus this week."  So heartbreaking, but so beautiful. A testament to who Bev truly was. 

I'm also sad for her closest friends. She was a true sister to a few special ladies and a great friend and mentor to countless, countless women. And, yes, I am sad for me and my own little slice of this lovely, loving, long suffering woman.

I have learned a good deal about my mortality in this past year. My own prognosis, Rick’s death and now Bev. It all weighs so heavy. But it certainly has grabbed hold of my attention. Cancer or cancer free, we only have so much time on this earth. What are we doing with these days, with this time, with this life? What really matters most? And do we think about that enough? We should think about that. 

Beverly Ficken knew the answer to those questions and she lived life intentionally, authentically and beautifully. She was brave and she was bold. And she modeled and encouraged that in a multitude of others. She got people up on their toes. She stretched those she loved. She made people be their best selves and she rarely settled for anything less. 

A couple of years into our stage four diagnosis, Beverly and I decided to memorize Psalm 121 together. When we’d be in a particularly bad place with our cancer or anxiety from cancer we’d text each other a line from Psalm 121. She'd send one line and I'd reply with the next. Or vice versa. There is power in the Holy Word of God. We knew that. I will miss that. 

I lift up my eyes to the mountains --

where does my help come from?

My help comes from the Lord,

the Maker of heaven and earth.

He will not let your foot slip—
    he who watches over you will not slumber;
4 indeed, he who watches over Israel
    will neither slumber nor sleep.

5 The Lord watches over you—
    the Lord is your shade at your right hand;
6 the sun will not harm you by day,
    nor the moon by night.

7 The Lord will keep you from all harm—
    he will watch over your life;
8 the Lord will watch over your coming and going
    both now and forevermore.  ~ Psalm 121

This week Beverly had her Gotcha Day in heaven. Jesus has her now. He actually always had her, but now she’s resting fully and freely in the arms of her Heavenly Father. Bev helped us bring Bella home and that was a beautiful, glorious, unbelievable gift. But even that homecoming doesn’t compare to our final home in heaven with Jesus. All of these good things and hard things and beautiful journeys and brutal journeys here on earth only continue to point us to our true home. Heaven. Heaven. Heaven.

Beverly would want you to know that above all else. Heaven is our true home. 

Dearest Bev, though I'm heartbroken to lose you, precious friend, I am so glad to know with confidence that our Savior's now "got you." 

And, I also have full confidence you will be keeping everyone in heaven up on their toes too! Of course you will. 

Until I see you again.