I Will Love You Forever

by Cori Salchert

  The event coordinator for Keller Williams Realty contacted me in October 2016 and invited me to the realty’s annual training event called the Family Reunion. She said that vice chairman Mo Anderson had read an article about Charlie. Mo was so emotionally moved that she insisted I come to the event.

  This baffled me. We don’t have a Keller Williams agency in Sheboygan; I had never even seen the red KW logo. My home was not for sale, and I was not looking for a home, so I had no idea why my presence was requested. My sweet girlfriend Bonnie, who helps manage my email accounts, told me I should absolutely follow up on this. KW is quite a large organization, and she had a hunch it would be important for me to say yes.

  I contacted KW and said I was willing to go to Vegas in February. I chatted with Mo and three other Keller Williams employees in a conference call. They asked me what our family needed to take care of Charlie. This question usually leaves me a little stumped. My philosophy when it comes to stuff is “less is better.” I don’t want cleaning my house to take a long time, so I keep clutter at a minimum. I told the ladies, “Diapers. Diapers are good.”

  “Yes, but what else might you need?” they persisted.

  I hesitated; then, because they were waiting, I blurted: “A van. We need a van. Hauling Charlie’s wheelchair with him in it and all his paraphernalia is getting tougher in the accommodations we have right now. I am not physically capable of carrying much more weight.” I apologized and said hurriedly, “You asked. I told you. I’m sorry.”

  They instantly reassured me they were glad I had shared. The phone call ended right after that. I was dismayed. I sent an email immediately after our conversation to assure them my hand was not out. Mark and I take these kiddos and know God will provide for them. We weren’t going around trying to drum up support or have people feel sorry for us, or even worse, using them for our own gain.

  They wrote back and told me they were just fine. They didn’t think I was asking for a handout, but they did encourage me to set up a Go-Fund Me account so we would be ready if the realtors who heard my story would want to contribute to a van fund.

  I reviewed the script prepared by Mo’s assistant, which amounted to about ten minutes of actual conversation. I debated in my heart if I should even go to Vegas. Geez Louise, KW was going to an awful lot of trouble to fly me out and pay for my hotel just to chat with Mo for a few minutes.

  In the meantime Mark and I had been in the process of becoming foster parents to a terminally ill teenager we nicknamed T-bear. We had no idea if he would ever be stable enough to leave the hospital and come home.

  A few weeks before the event, I was talking with my girls in the dining room. I told them I was heading to Vegas for a realtor’s conference.

  Their confusion was reflected on their faces. “You’re not a realtor. Why would you go?”

  “Well”—I hemmed and hawed and shrugged my shoulders sheepishly—“there’s this inspirational morning…”

  “Yeah, so? But why would you go?”

  I laughed and adapted one of our favorite lines from the 1995 movie Sabrina: “Nobody is as inspirational as me, not even me!”5

  Speaking in front of eighteen thousand people wasn’t a source of concern for me. However, when I arrived and found out I was one of three people asked to be on stage with Mo the next day, I was momentarily flustered. The other two were amazing. I was “just a mom.” I wasn’t saving the world like this young girl who makes beautiful bags and stocks them with goodies for homeless women. I wasn’t this charismatic lady who is renewing neighborhoods in Detroit and doing so in an effort to be the one to bring the change she wants to see. Shoot. I was casting about in my mind trying to find where I fit in. I finally gave a little resigned sigh and weakly reassured myself with the thought, They asked me to come. I didn’t ask them to be here. There must be something they believed was important enough to pick me.

  The day before the event, Mo reminded me to stick closely to the script because it helped her to know when to ask questions. She said, “When I ask you what you need for the children you care for, I want you to say, ‘Diapers and a van.’ Period. You don’t have to explain. My people are smart and will know why. I have thousands of people in this audience who are generous and motivated givers. We are not going to share this story without giving them the ability to have action points.”

  When the morning arrived, I was the second inspirational story to be shared. For the life of me, I couldn’t follow the prompts on the screen. My gut and ability to read were a little out of conscious control. (Silly of me to have thought I wouldn’t be nervous.) I answered Mo’s questions off the cuff, sharing my heart for these children, and I’m sure that threw her for a loop. The last question Mo asked me was about what we needed.

  I shrugged my shoulders, shifting my weight around apologetically on the stool I was sitting on and said, “Diapers and a van,” and proceeded to go into detail why. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Mo cough, so I abruptly shut up. She reached over and handed me a card, saying, “Well, here’s a gift card for diapers,” to which I responded, “Awesome.”

  And then she smiled and slyly looked out at the audience of her beloved Keller Williams Realty family, reached down to pick up my left hand with her right hand, and held it while simultaneously pressing a key against my palm and saying, “And here’s the key to your new van!”

  The audience instantly jumped to its feet, clapping and cheering.

  I put my head down and wept.

  I didn’t have to hope I had been eloquent enough to move folks’ hearts that morning. I wasn’t in a competition with the other two ladies who were sharing their stories, to have the folks in the audience decide who should benefit from their generosity once the conference was over. It was no longer about being enough on any level. Relief flooded over me.

  Leaving the conference, I met dozens of KW realtors at the airport, and they blew me away with their hugs and encouragement and kind responses to what I had shared that morning.

  I came home thinking the van was a done deal. It was with a little confusion I realized it wasn’t. It was wholly because God had more folks who needed to be touched and involved.

  A minivan had been picked out sometime in the late fall of 2016, and at that point in time, we only had Charlie. The person who selected the van on our behalf didn’t understand that Charlie not only traveled with his wheelchair but also had to remain in it. The chosen minivan could certainly have a wheelchair stored in the back but would not be able to handle Charlie sitting in it. We also had a new child in a wheelchair who needed to be transported.

  The paperwork was delayed because so many people were involved in the interstate purchase. My husband and I were praying and came to the conclusion that we were grateful KW had been so gracious in bringing me out to Vegas to share Charlie’s story on their dime, but the minivan in process of being acquired was not going to meet our needs. In our estimation the realtors who contributed to the KW Cares fund from their commissions worked hard for their money. I wanted to have integrity with the way it was spent, and if the van proposed was bought and then sold, and we couldn’t afford another one that worked for us, and Charlie didn’t benefit, the sacrifice was lost. We weren’t in any way seeking to profit from having adopted Charlie or sharing our lives with the world. We had no desire to pocket more than $20,000 and then not use it for its intended purpose.

  Plus we knew we were in the process of bringing T-bear into our home, and we would need a much larger van to fit two wheelchair-dependent boys. It wasn’t Keller Williams’s responsibility to keep flexing with our needs as the number of our children in wheelchairs fluctuated.

  We fully gave up the right to have the original van promised and were content to wait until God met our exact needs, because He was the one who had made it possible for us to add another child to the mix. Astonishingly, I received an email from our KW contact asking if it would be all right for KW to give us a check for $25,000 so that we could buy a van ou
rselves that was appropriate for our family. We answered yes, and this was met with an enthusiastic, “Amazing! We’ll get back to you soon.”

  In March plans were being finalized to bring T-bear home. The day he arrived, Mark and I sat down with Make-A-Wish Foundation representatives for the second time to talk about Charlie’s wish. Initially we had desired to take Charlie to the ocean in June for his third birthday in an RV in order to handle all of the equipment he uses. These plans were not formalized but rather had been put on hold as we were encouraged to give more thought to how we wanted to make that happen.

  During that time frame, T-bear came along and into our care. I met with some of his physicians and mentioned our desire for the trip to the Pacific Ocean with Charlie, which would have occurred after T-bear was home with us.

  This idea was met with a shaking of the head. T-bear was too medically fragile to travel far from the hospital. Expecting that he could handle a trip was totally unreasonable, and purposely putting him back in the hospital for two weeks while we made the journey with Charlie was not an option.

  We shared with our Make-A-Wish representatives our reconciliation with not being able to go to the Pacific coast and our compelling desire to care for T-bear anyway, even if it caused us to give up the dream of getting to the ocean.

  The ladies then asked about whether we had gotten a van yet that was equipped to handle both of their chairs. The answer was no, and I honestly had no idea when any of it was going to be resolved. They wanted us to consider the benefit of enhancing Charlie’s life day to day by being able to ride in a van that was wheelchair accessible. We shared how he loves to take a drive to Lake Michigan, to Grandma’s house, and other places besides just the hospital or doctors’ offices. His heart rate stabilizes and his eyes are open, looking all around. The windows are down whenever the weather permits, and the breeze blows his wispy hair. Riding in a van is something he really appears to enjoy.

  Make-A-Wish had granted other people’s requests for a van-accessorizing package. They would not provide the vehicle but could possibly accessorize one we already had. We had to be cautious in our expectations. Mark and I had no way of purchasing a van on our own, and the whole thing—both the Make-A-Wish Foundation’s offer and KW’s gift—might not materialize.

  I felt a little foolish not having our ducks in a row. If I’m transparent, I have to say we have almost never had all our ducks in a row. Rather, we have squirrels that cannot be managed or controlled in any semblance of order. I prefer not to live this way. I like to know how everything is going to work out, and then I’ll jump in and be crazy spontaneous. And God laughs and laughs. He, of course, knows the beginning from the end. I do not, and faith is what pleases Him, so He gives me tons of opportunities to throw up my hands and say, “I dunno how this is going to all work out, but You do, so do Your thing!”

  Well, He did it in early April. Keller Williams sent a confirmation email that the check was in the mail. I had also heard from Make-A-Wish that our palliative care doctor had signed his approval of Charlie’s wish to have a van makeover. I made contact with Make-A-Wish and told them we had the money to buy the van. At one point there seemed to be many loose ends, then suddenly all things were working together for our good.

  I was driving home one day and saw a couple of Ford Transit vans in the local Ford dealer’s lot. I pulled in and walked around them and, to my delight, discovered the price tag on the one that would work best for our family was $22,999.

  A sweet saleswoman helped me figure out the best way to move forward, the finance guy agreed on the price, a wheel-and-tire roadside assistance package was tossed in, and the total came to $25,004.45. Wildly enough, it was the exact van we were hoping to get; only because it was a year old and now a used vehicle, the price was almost $20,000 less. My frugal zealot’s heart was singing!

  I want to be generous to a fault, but I also dislike buyer’s remorse because I have paid more than I should have. I signed the paperwork to put the van on hold while we waited for the check from KW to make it official.

  A week later I was contacted by Make-A-Wish, and the representative told me that Charlie’s Wish would come before the committee the next morning.

  The next morning? Oh my. I kinda, sorta already thought it was settled. Gulp.

  I never would have spent the entire 25 thousand on a newer van if I had known we might have to equip it too. Equipping a van comes with a hefty price tag, and I could not assume Charlie was more deserving or special than any other child asking for a dream to be fulfilled.

  I woke up the next morning, and my heartfelt, simple prayer was a firm confidence in asking for my requests to be answered the way I wanted, but also holding on to the fact that my desires might not be what was best.

  After missing a phone call and consciously choosing not to fret, I got a second call. The Make-A-Wish representative told me that, yes, we were granted the van accessory kit. She said she had actually cried at the meeting because she was so happy on our behalf.

  Three months, not a week, after being told we were going to get a wheelchair-accessible van, the van was granted. It holds eight people in seats and a couple of wheelchairs in the back, fully equipped to meet the needs God knew our growing family would have.

  God’s eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me and provides over and abundantly above all we could ask or think (Ephesians 3:20).

  But wait, there’s more! In May 2017 construction began on our home.

  Mr. C, a generous and benevolent man, approached me and asked what would be helpful for our family to keep doing what we’re doing. He asked me what I would need for a hospice room.

  “A dresser and a bed” was my reply. No fancy stuff is necessary to care for these kiddos.

  He pressed for more than that in regard to Charlie.

  I was able to share a deep longing I had for a sunroom that could be used year-round. Winters in Wisconsin are long, and for at least six months out of the year, Charlie isn’t able to be outside because he can’t handle the near-freezing and subzero Wisconsin temperatures. He loves to be in the sunlight in our family room and often turns his face toward the light coming in through the window nearest his bed.

  I shared with Mr. C and his friends and “cohorts in crime” that I had a longing for a beautiful sunroom so that those who were needed to be with Charlie would be excited about the opportunity and not reluctant to have to spend hours at his bedside attending to his needs. The group of men and women took it from there and designed a gorgeous space with five skylights so Charlie and companions can see the sun, sky, and clouds, and at night, the stars. Windows on all sides let in as much light as possible.

  A wheelchair ramp has been built on the back of our home and a wheelchair-accessible shower installed in our main-floor bathroom. We are set up and ready to do this thing God has given us to do, without it being the physical challenge it was for a couple of years. I have learned to trust God every single day. We want what He wants and nothing less, even though it’s seriously scary at times to ask Him to have His way, nothing held back.

  Our lives are not magical. We are not lucky. We don’t twitch our noses like a character on the TV show Bewitched and presto, things happen.

  Time and again, the resolution to our prayers is multifaceted. It usually doesn’t happen in the time frame I personally might allot for the answer to come; some of my prayer requests have taken forty years to be answered! Waiting doesn’t discourage me as easily anymore but instead gives me courage to hold steady. God is working all things together for good. Even more typically, God works in mysterious ways, and more people are involved in the process than I could imagine.

  12

  STAINED GLASS WINDOWS

  This is my story, this is my song,

  Praising my Savior all the day long.

  —FANNY JANE CROSBY, “BLESSED ASSURANCE”

  Taking care of and loving the children we have is a gift on many fronts. I regularly get opportunities to w
ork out my faith and make it real. Day in and day out, Mark and I especially have to trade off leaving home. I run errands while he stays with the children we have at home, and then I come back and he goes. Lying on a beach or playing rounds of golf in Florida are just dreams, even though my husband, for sure, is old enough to retire, kick back, and take it easy.

  We believe we’re engaged in a good work that is pleasing to God. We are part of a team. Our biological kids help to care for the children we take into our home. We are in contact frequently with social workers, nurses, therapists, doctors, pharmacists, and other health-care professionals. Our team isn’t accomplishing a sprint together but rather a marathon!

  I have read numerous books by people who have suffered greatly and yet have come out on the other side better not bitter. Maybe not physically strong but stronger in spirit, not simply a shadow of themselves. My favorite kinds of movies involve individuals or teams who endure great adversity and overcome. I want to be one of those people.

  As I worked on this book over the past year, time and again God met me on the page. There is not space enough to share all the ways He has redeemed the losses I have experienced as I have continually laid my hurt and pain before Him and asked Him in faith to redeem my losses, believing He would. He has never left me alone but has been with me and involved every step of the way.

  Since reading the section “God Planned My Dad’s Death” by Steve Saint in the book Suffering and the Sovereignty of God, I have considered his words and taken them to heart. He writes about the spearing deaths of five missionaries who were trying to reach the Waodani Indians deep in the jungles of Ecuador. One of the martyrs was his father, Nate Saint.

  “You know what my conclusion is? I don’t think God merely tolerated my dad’s death. I don’t think He turned away when it was happening. I think He planned it. Otherwise I don’t think it would have happened. This was a hard realization for me to come to. I once said that while speaking at a church, and a man came up afterwards and said, “Don’t you ever say that again about my God.”