Happy Birthday, Sutton!

Today Sutton turns 4. It's hard to believe that it's been 4 years... she was the "one" that started the journey to Haiti. Her sweet little picture and story that moved me to tears!

Happy birthday, Sutton!!

And for those of you who do not know her story, I thought I'd add a great rendition of it that Carsen wrote. I hope you enjoy it!

Sutton's Story by Carsen Gray

My name is Sutton Elizabeth and I would like to tell you my story. It is a story of heart-ache, struggle, and defeat. It is a story of strength, hope, and victory. Above all else, it is a story of love.

My first glimpse of life outside of the womb was the life most Haitian children come to know all too well. I was born on a dirt floor inside a shack that could teeter over at the first sign of the big, bad, wolf’s huffing and puffing. Everything was dark; my mother, my skin, the dirt that surrounded us and the calamity that loomed over my country. My mother offered her body, her breast, but could not force the life out of her. For eleven days, my mother fought with her body, trying to compel it to produce the milk that would subdue my hunger cries. She tried, but failed. Soon, the crying stopped and my mother believed I was dead. She humbly and shamefully wrapped my tiny, frail body into the nicest garbage bag she could find. As she gently placed me in the only affordable cemetery, God sent an angel to the dumpster. This angel immediately told my numbed mother to take my corpse to a place that she heard would help children. Maybe there, I could get a proper burial. And so began the journey to Three Angels Children’s Relief.
The building was five times the size of my desolate dwelling, it seemed like a fortress. One of the board of directors was visiting from the Land of Opportunity and took the garbage bag from my shocked mother. The director solemnly took my body and mentally prepared herself to arrange a burial. Just like the part in the Red Sea, Jesus parted the clouds and shone a new light on my face. The director discovered that my feeble lungs were still fighting for strength to breath and my heart was faintly beating. I was dropper-fed every hour. I was so weak physically that I could barely find the might to eat, but my spirit was much too strong to give up. Drops of life and love came and filled me until I slowly began to be revived. My revival was a miracle, but my mother still would have no way to take care of me. She did the hardest thing a mother would ever have to do: she agreed to place me for adoption. Those at the orphanage still weren’t sure if I was going to live. I was weighed at the orphanage, but didn’t even register on the scale. I finally reached five pounds after six weeks of life.
Meanwhile, God was working his intricate plan, weaving hearts together. My story was told to a family whom lived miles away. They had their own plans in their heart: they were going to adopt one child, a boy. Lucky for me, God is sovereign and omnipotent. This family began to pray for me and through the power of prayer, our hearts interlocked. My picture was sent to this family and when the mother of the family saw my face, she knew I was hers. The father was much stronger and resistant, for the heart of a man is penetrable in ways much different than a woman’s. The heart is the core of a woman, it controls her actions, guides her. The mother of the family rebelled against her mind and did what only her heart told her to do: She went against her husband and placed me on hold for adoption.
It took longer for the father to see God’s plan, but God continued to call him. A friend saw my picture and said “you have a beautiful daughter.” His heart then melted. Faster than anyone expected, the adoption was on its way. The family had an emotional discussion and asked my soon-to-be siblings if they were ok with adding me to the family. Paperwork was filled out and plans were made to visit me.
Then the day came when I met the people that I was already connected to through love. I had never seen a man so light before and he intrigued me. His hold was firm and strong and I knew he was my daddy. My mommy was gentle and warm and I molded into her arms as if I’d rested there all my life. Eleven months later, I was on my way to live with the people who had dwelled in my heart since that fateful day I emerged from the womb in a dirty Haitian shack.