New Hope Moms

Shari called us the “New Hope Moms,” because we both adopted our children through New Hope Child and Family Agency in Seattle. But the phrase, “New Hope Moms” now resonates with added meaning as I grieve the death of my friend, Shari Wilson, who passed away August 31, 2004, at age 43. At Shari’s memorial service, dozens of her friends, co-workers and family members attested to the impact she has made on their lives.

In her work for King County Public Health, Shari gave new hope to bewildered refugees, newly arrived in a strange new country. In her constant contact with people of many nationalities and religions, Shari gave new hope by accepting and loving every person she encountered. At her church, Shari gave new hope to the young children she taught about Jesus. In her role as an adoptive mom, Shari gave new hope to anyone who wanted to learn more about adoption. That’s how we met.

Several years ago, an article in New Hope’s newsletter featured Shari and her family. As I read the story, I realized that this was the same Shari Wilson I’d seen speaking in church months earlier. We had never met, but the words she spoke in church that day inspired me to join the church and to get involved in ministry. When I founded the Heartbeat Ministry for infertile couples and pre-adoptive parents at our church, Shari contacted me and asked if she could share her adoption experiences at one of our workshops.

A friendship was conceived. During the next few years, our families belonged to the same “Parents Night Out” childcare co-op. Shari and I roomed together at a women’s retreat and our friendship deepened. We participated in our church’s healing prayer ministry. Whenever Shari introduced me to one of her friends, she’d announce, “We’re New Hope Moms.”

Shari truly was a “New Hope Mom.” She gave new hope to two birth moms who didn’t feel prepared to parent their infant daughters and relinquished them to Shari and her husband, Evans. The joy of being an adoptive parent shone in Shari. She grieved when her daughters, ages 7 and 9, struggled with issues concerning their adoption, and she rejoiced in each milestone they achieved. More than anything, she wanted to see her daughters grow to adulthood – these babies whom she had yearned for, nurtured and loved. As she battled an insidious form of cancer, Shari ached for her girls, who would lose not one mother, but two.

When I visited Shari the day before her death, I assured her that I’m going to continue advocating for adoption. I’m going to tell people’s stories, minister to those who are hurting, and share the insights I’ve gleaned over the past 12 years of parenthood. Now, more than ever, I’m determined to be a “New Hope Mom.”

I don’t understand why Shari entered her heavenly home when she was so young – when she had so much living and parenting left to do. All I know is that three days after Shari’s death, 350 people – many of them, children – were massacred in a Russian school. The Shari I know was most likely waiting at heaven’s gates with open arms, ready to adopt those motherless children. Because Shari, whether in this life or in her new home in heaven, will continue to be a “New Hope Mom.”