Humble. Such a beautiful word...except in Wilbur's case, when it just made the farmer think Wilbur would made extra-good bacon. As the Lord teaches me more about humility, it can feel like I'm being made into bacon.
Each year, I pick a word for the year accompanied by a verse containing that word or the general idea of the word. In year's past, I've had verses in Isaiah, Lamentations, Hebrews, and James. This year, it's a Proverb. One of the most widely known Proverbs to boot. Proverbs 3:5-6, "Trust in the Lord with all your heart, in all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will made your paths straight." I have loved this verse for a long time. But, I've also known this verse for a long time. In sixth grade (ish), I wrote this verse on my neon green dry-erase board, spelling "acknowledge" horrifically wrong. But, it's my verse, and every single word of it rings true to the focus of my heart.
Humble. Sitting on a small bench in the bathroom staring into a filthy toilet, my four-year-old crying in my arms as we waited to see if the stomach bug had gotten to her as well. In my mind, "Isn't this glamorous?" If school wasn't closed, I would have been teaching middle school. (I'm fairly certain that isn't glamorous either.) The Lord, as He often does, spoke to my heart. Glamour has nothing to do with it. This is that to which you have been called. Within a few minutes, her tummy pain passed, and she was asleep-in that little bathroom, on a little bench, with a little love.
Normally, when exhortation comes, my skin prickles, and I want to hide. This time, though, love overwhelmed me. It might have had something to do with the little one sleeping in my arms. It also might have been due to answered prayer. I've been asking Him to make my path straight-for Richard and I to be unified in decisions for the future. I've been praying for help to put me second, and my family first. It should be easy, but it is not, at least not for me. I need humility. I need to be humble. I need help. Now He can work, and He won't turn me into bacon.
Sunday, January 20, 2019
Monday, October 30, 2017
A Mighty Fortress
For the first time in over eleven years, I joined choir. "Woefully inadequate" is an honest description of my abilities, especially in the light of the difficult arrangements we were tasked to sing. I think I let the years of my children telling me how beautiful my voice is go to my head, but as they say, pride came before a lovely fall. Moving on, the final song we sang was "A Mighty Fortress is Our God", written by Martin Luther. As a graduate of a Lutheran university, this song had definitely lost a lot of it's "flair" for me. Plainly, I did not like the song, and added to the fact that the arrangement was meant for someone ready for the Opera, I just wanted to get through it with as little embarrassment as possible.
In addition, this weekend had extra stressors for me. I was the Matron of Honor for a wedding I had "mixed emotions" over. I asked for prayer, and a lot of it. I tend to be the "blunt force trauma" type of person. I loathe lying with such a fervent passion, I will be brutally honest to even avoid the appearance of a lie. That being said, when someone said they hoped I would be a light to those around me, I answered with, "I just don't want to be in sin." I was not looking to be a testimony, I simply did not want to be a loud-mouth sinner if given the opportunity. Although the day did not go off without a hitch, I can say that I threw myself into the role I was asked to fulfill, and kept quiet when needed.
After all of the singing and wedding-ing, Sunday afternoon allowed a much needed work out. During that brief forty-five minutes, I had a scathing letter written (in my head), with (strong) Biblical support for each of my points of contention. (FYI-the letter was for a person NOT related, or a member of my family, legal or otherwise!!) I had righteous indignation, as well as my defender personality in full swing. So, really, I was furious. And, even though my points are 100% right, it is neither my place nor wise to write the letter comprised in my head. Out loud I said to God that I did not even want His help to take care of my feelings. I was right, and I wanted to hold on to the wrath that was beginning to consume me. And, just like that, He took it. Completely. Even thinking about it as I write this, the emotion is gone. The truth is still there, but I am completely settled in the fact that God will take care of it IF and/or when He chooses.
I opened my Bible tonight to pray through Psalm 46. (It's the next chapter in my schedule.) Psalm 46:1-God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. As I sat at my table, God's Word took my breath away. The Truth of Scripture, and the promises God has made in His Word were just as evident over the past few days, as they were when they were written down. No, I am not an Israelite living in the desert, in fear for my life, but I am His child, and He is Who He says He is. Discovering this Truth on a more intimate level, even as my sin seems more ugly and more encompassing, is life changing. I am quite certain I will never again hear that song with a negative point-of-view. As Martin Luther dedicated his life to proclaim 500 years ago, my God is my mighty fortress-He is my helper in times of need.
A mighty fortress is our God, a bulwark never failing. Our helper He amid the flood, of mortal ills prevailing.
In addition, this weekend had extra stressors for me. I was the Matron of Honor for a wedding I had "mixed emotions" over. I asked for prayer, and a lot of it. I tend to be the "blunt force trauma" type of person. I loathe lying with such a fervent passion, I will be brutally honest to even avoid the appearance of a lie. That being said, when someone said they hoped I would be a light to those around me, I answered with, "I just don't want to be in sin." I was not looking to be a testimony, I simply did not want to be a loud-mouth sinner if given the opportunity. Although the day did not go off without a hitch, I can say that I threw myself into the role I was asked to fulfill, and kept quiet when needed.
After all of the singing and wedding-ing, Sunday afternoon allowed a much needed work out. During that brief forty-five minutes, I had a scathing letter written (in my head), with (strong) Biblical support for each of my points of contention. (FYI-the letter was for a person NOT related, or a member of my family, legal or otherwise!!) I had righteous indignation, as well as my defender personality in full swing. So, really, I was furious. And, even though my points are 100% right, it is neither my place nor wise to write the letter comprised in my head. Out loud I said to God that I did not even want His help to take care of my feelings. I was right, and I wanted to hold on to the wrath that was beginning to consume me. And, just like that, He took it. Completely. Even thinking about it as I write this, the emotion is gone. The truth is still there, but I am completely settled in the fact that God will take care of it IF and/or when He chooses.
I opened my Bible tonight to pray through Psalm 46. (It's the next chapter in my schedule.) Psalm 46:1-God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. As I sat at my table, God's Word took my breath away. The Truth of Scripture, and the promises God has made in His Word were just as evident over the past few days, as they were when they were written down. No, I am not an Israelite living in the desert, in fear for my life, but I am His child, and He is Who He says He is. Discovering this Truth on a more intimate level, even as my sin seems more ugly and more encompassing, is life changing. I am quite certain I will never again hear that song with a negative point-of-view. As Martin Luther dedicated his life to proclaim 500 years ago, my God is my mighty fortress-He is my helper in times of need.
A mighty fortress is our God, a bulwark never failing. Our helper He amid the flood, of mortal ills prevailing.
Thursday, October 19, 2017
How Can This be "Good"?
Betrayal. Lies. Deceit. Not a good start, right? Perhaps the start to a teenage drama that makes you gag, but that's about it. Unfortunately, it was what dropped right into my life. A lot of sin, covered with semantics to justify the behaviors. The particulars of this issue really don't matter. Besides, "juicy gossip" isn't really my thing. What does matter is what God did, and what He is doing.
My first reaction to bad news is usually a flare of temper. I am most definitely not boasting about that, nor am I excusing it. It is just the truth. This time, however, I was sad. My first reaction was not explosive, loud, or angry, it was simply overwhelming sadness that sin had ruled. After the news had time to sink in, I went to the bathroom and cried. I yelled at God for a minute (yep...proud moment right there...), but then, asked Him to help me not want to be angry. That is definitely a new thing I'm trying out...so far, He is quite gracious to help and answer in my time of request...which is pretty much His character.
As a few restless nights ensued, combined with a thought life that just would not shut down for a moment, I wanted to give in to the emotions. It is SO much easier to just let them win...at least in the moment. My hubster was overwhelming in his compassion. We're talking above and beyond, crying with me, and just giving me a lot of hugs-not even trying to "fix" it! So, when we were in the car together, and I looked at him and asked him a question, he knew I was not asking in anger. He understood my heart, and answered directly to it.
My question: How is this good? How is this for my good and God's glory, when it is all sin? He looked at me (carefully...he was driving!), and said some things that I hope I will never forget. He told me it was for my good to take my hurt to Jesus, and remember He loves me and cares for me. He reminded me God is glorified when I let Him handle my hurts, when I let Him hold my heart and change my emotions to His. Remembering how much He loves me is for my good...and His glory. How my great High Priest is interceding directly on my behalf to keep me from letting my own sinful temptations rule in my life.
I will never call the hurt this situation entailed, "good." But, some great has emerged. There is a little part of me that understands a little more about my good, good Father. There is also a memory of my husband's love for me. A moment that I probably won't forget...especially since I have this crazy memory that locks things in for a good, long time. After fourteen years together, I fell a little bit more in love with the man who has loved, guided, and walked alongside me through some pretty thin, without ever wavering. So, yes, this turned out to be for my good, and His glory.
My first reaction to bad news is usually a flare of temper. I am most definitely not boasting about that, nor am I excusing it. It is just the truth. This time, however, I was sad. My first reaction was not explosive, loud, or angry, it was simply overwhelming sadness that sin had ruled. After the news had time to sink in, I went to the bathroom and cried. I yelled at God for a minute (yep...proud moment right there...), but then, asked Him to help me not want to be angry. That is definitely a new thing I'm trying out...so far, He is quite gracious to help and answer in my time of request...which is pretty much His character.
As a few restless nights ensued, combined with a thought life that just would not shut down for a moment, I wanted to give in to the emotions. It is SO much easier to just let them win...at least in the moment. My hubster was overwhelming in his compassion. We're talking above and beyond, crying with me, and just giving me a lot of hugs-not even trying to "fix" it! So, when we were in the car together, and I looked at him and asked him a question, he knew I was not asking in anger. He understood my heart, and answered directly to it.
My question: How is this good? How is this for my good and God's glory, when it is all sin? He looked at me (carefully...he was driving!), and said some things that I hope I will never forget. He told me it was for my good to take my hurt to Jesus, and remember He loves me and cares for me. He reminded me God is glorified when I let Him handle my hurts, when I let Him hold my heart and change my emotions to His. Remembering how much He loves me is for my good...and His glory. How my great High Priest is interceding directly on my behalf to keep me from letting my own sinful temptations rule in my life.
I will never call the hurt this situation entailed, "good." But, some great has emerged. There is a little part of me that understands a little more about my good, good Father. There is also a memory of my husband's love for me. A moment that I probably won't forget...especially since I have this crazy memory that locks things in for a good, long time. After fourteen years together, I fell a little bit more in love with the man who has loved, guided, and walked alongside me through some pretty thin, without ever wavering. So, yes, this turned out to be for my good, and His glory.
Saturday, May 13, 2017
Mother's Day
I. Don't. Like. It.
I don't. Don't get me wrong. I LOVE the little cards, the half-dead marigold (teacher might as well give my child the dead one...I'll kill it within a week...no matter how hard I try.) I have every card my children have ever made me, and every one my husband has ever given me. But, let's break this down. On your child's birthday, do you let them lay around doing nothing, expecting to be served? Do you let them act like jerks all because it's "their" day? Of course not. Even in the midst of attempting to give them a good day, we battle the "entitlement monster." And really, we have birthdays way backward. THAT'S the day we should be giving mom's a day! My mom, for example, labored for over 24 hours, had nurses sitting on her, and was without all drugs to help bring me into the world. Really. That deserves some acknowledgement. All I did was show up...eventually....and I get all the gifts!
Back to the topic at hand. I cannot stand when my children think they are entitled to anything. So, as one of their primary examples, once a year, I let them know how entitled I am to lavish gifts, "time off", and anything I want. My expectations are huge. No fighting, breakfast in bed (on a Sunday?!?), sparkly things in nice boxes, the baby to change her own diaper, and a husband who just cannot seem to praise me enough, or give me enough "me" time.
Somehow, it just doesn't seem to be right...at all. In our season of service, we want the time to "pause" so that we can be glorified. We've bought into the culture that screams for "our rights" and "me time." The Lord knows we need time away. That's why He said to "be still and know I am God" and to "meditate on My words day and night." A wonderful 60 minute massage, or even a full night's sleep, is not going to give the rest we need. In just a few short years, the kids will be gone. We won't have dishes for seven, laundry for everyone (and apparently 100 other people, because seriously, where did all these clothes come from?!?), and bathrooms that are dirty before the bleach has dried. I cannot, yet, imagine what it will be like without all the little people in our home. I haven't slept through the night in over three years, and no matter how much I work, our home is never clean, and the laundry basket is never empty. This is my season. This is our season. Letting go of the expectations of glorification makes every single little thing mean so much. Getting up, knowing service will be before me until I go back to bed, becomes a reminder that this, this, is precisely what God has called me to today. If I hear "well done, thou good and faithful servant" tomorrow, something happened that I did not see coming. Lord willing, I will hear that phrase when I meet Jesus. Unless God has a much different plan than I do, I won't hear that tomorrow.
Motherhood is way more difficult than I ever expected. I'm not even talking about the physical fatigue, which makes my college all-nighters look like child's-play. The emotional and spiritual toll of being face-to-face with my own failure on a day-to-day basis is intense. Having to tell a little, disrespectful, ungrateful child that I am sorry because I sinned against them is a hit to the pride...let me tell you. And that is what all of this is about. Pride. The root of our entitlement. The reason we have hugely unmet expectations. The seed that blooms into bitterness.
If we ever hope to have our children rise up and call us blessed, and our husband to praise us at the gates, we need to let the routine of rising while it is yet night to do the work we were called to do define our every moment. (Proverbs 31)
Happy Mother's Day. Now go change a diaper.
I don't. Don't get me wrong. I LOVE the little cards, the half-dead marigold (teacher might as well give my child the dead one...I'll kill it within a week...no matter how hard I try.) I have every card my children have ever made me, and every one my husband has ever given me. But, let's break this down. On your child's birthday, do you let them lay around doing nothing, expecting to be served? Do you let them act like jerks all because it's "their" day? Of course not. Even in the midst of attempting to give them a good day, we battle the "entitlement monster." And really, we have birthdays way backward. THAT'S the day we should be giving mom's a day! My mom, for example, labored for over 24 hours, had nurses sitting on her, and was without all drugs to help bring me into the world. Really. That deserves some acknowledgement. All I did was show up...eventually....and I get all the gifts!
Back to the topic at hand. I cannot stand when my children think they are entitled to anything. So, as one of their primary examples, once a year, I let them know how entitled I am to lavish gifts, "time off", and anything I want. My expectations are huge. No fighting, breakfast in bed (on a Sunday?!?), sparkly things in nice boxes, the baby to change her own diaper, and a husband who just cannot seem to praise me enough, or give me enough "me" time.
Somehow, it just doesn't seem to be right...at all. In our season of service, we want the time to "pause" so that we can be glorified. We've bought into the culture that screams for "our rights" and "me time." The Lord knows we need time away. That's why He said to "be still and know I am God" and to "meditate on My words day and night." A wonderful 60 minute massage, or even a full night's sleep, is not going to give the rest we need. In just a few short years, the kids will be gone. We won't have dishes for seven, laundry for everyone (and apparently 100 other people, because seriously, where did all these clothes come from?!?), and bathrooms that are dirty before the bleach has dried. I cannot, yet, imagine what it will be like without all the little people in our home. I haven't slept through the night in over three years, and no matter how much I work, our home is never clean, and the laundry basket is never empty. This is my season. This is our season. Letting go of the expectations of glorification makes every single little thing mean so much. Getting up, knowing service will be before me until I go back to bed, becomes a reminder that this, this, is precisely what God has called me to today. If I hear "well done, thou good and faithful servant" tomorrow, something happened that I did not see coming. Lord willing, I will hear that phrase when I meet Jesus. Unless God has a much different plan than I do, I won't hear that tomorrow.
Motherhood is way more difficult than I ever expected. I'm not even talking about the physical fatigue, which makes my college all-nighters look like child's-play. The emotional and spiritual toll of being face-to-face with my own failure on a day-to-day basis is intense. Having to tell a little, disrespectful, ungrateful child that I am sorry because I sinned against them is a hit to the pride...let me tell you. And that is what all of this is about. Pride. The root of our entitlement. The reason we have hugely unmet expectations. The seed that blooms into bitterness.
If we ever hope to have our children rise up and call us blessed, and our husband to praise us at the gates, we need to let the routine of rising while it is yet night to do the work we were called to do define our every moment. (Proverbs 31)
Happy Mother's Day. Now go change a diaper.
Thursday, December 1, 2016
On Your Birthday
Today is your birthday. You're 5th birthday, to be exact. Last year, we had a bright purple and pink cake with sprinkles all over...and Shopkins as "cake decor". We bought you a small gift-a Doc McStuffins medical bag, and you played with it almost everyday. You will never know I remember. You'll never know how much I still care. I wanted to send you a birthday card, but my request was denied. So, I'll pray for you, instead. It isn't like you won't be cared for. You'll receive plenty of presents. There will be cake and maybe even balloons. The new people in your life, and the old, will care for you. The lack of gifts from us will not make a difference.
But, you made a difference. To us. To me. Your presence in our lives stamped my heart, and changed me forever. It isn't that I don't have more work than I can handle. It isn't even that I would like more children-five is more than plenty. It isn't that I think you should still live with us-you need your biological family more than they might ever know. When you were here, you were so conflicted. You asked me if you could take our last name, but then cried when a visit was missed. So, I know you are where you need to be...where you should be.
Before you were here, I never realized how true the statement, "It's better to have loved and lost, then to have never loved at all" was. I loved you. You weren't the easiest child for me to bond with. You held me at arms length, and pushed every button you could find to make me prove I would love you no matter what. You let me know I was not your momma...a lot. You let me know how much you had at your other home. You made sure I knew I didn't do things your way. You changed me. You taught me love was a choice, and a verb. You taught me that choosing to love can mean signing up to be hurt...over and over again.
People told me how strong I was. Little did they know, the only thing this crazy situation proved 100% was how absolutely weak, ineffective, and incapable I am without the Lord. You say you could never love knowing you would lose. I was taught that loving, knowing a devastating loss was coming, was the lesson Jesus died to teach me...teach all of us. Yes, it hurt. It still hurts. In getting out the winter supplies, I found the jackets they used. The boots. The mittens. One of their stuffed animals. My heart hurts. I'm missing her birthday today. Facebook popped up a picture of the cake. There are reminders everywhere they were here. It hurts, and I am weak. I am sad. My heart is forever changed because a dark-haired, dark-eyed, half-pint of a little girl came through my door. She left the same way she came in...in a quick flurry. But, given the chance, I will do it all again for whoever the Lord allows. So, happy birthday, my Borrowed #2. I love you. You were a precious gift, and I will forever be grateful.
But, you made a difference. To us. To me. Your presence in our lives stamped my heart, and changed me forever. It isn't that I don't have more work than I can handle. It isn't even that I would like more children-five is more than plenty. It isn't that I think you should still live with us-you need your biological family more than they might ever know. When you were here, you were so conflicted. You asked me if you could take our last name, but then cried when a visit was missed. So, I know you are where you need to be...where you should be.
Before you were here, I never realized how true the statement, "It's better to have loved and lost, then to have never loved at all" was. I loved you. You weren't the easiest child for me to bond with. You held me at arms length, and pushed every button you could find to make me prove I would love you no matter what. You let me know I was not your momma...a lot. You let me know how much you had at your other home. You made sure I knew I didn't do things your way. You changed me. You taught me love was a choice, and a verb. You taught me that choosing to love can mean signing up to be hurt...over and over again.
People told me how strong I was. Little did they know, the only thing this crazy situation proved 100% was how absolutely weak, ineffective, and incapable I am without the Lord. You say you could never love knowing you would lose. I was taught that loving, knowing a devastating loss was coming, was the lesson Jesus died to teach me...teach all of us. Yes, it hurt. It still hurts. In getting out the winter supplies, I found the jackets they used. The boots. The mittens. One of their stuffed animals. My heart hurts. I'm missing her birthday today. Facebook popped up a picture of the cake. There are reminders everywhere they were here. It hurts, and I am weak. I am sad. My heart is forever changed because a dark-haired, dark-eyed, half-pint of a little girl came through my door. She left the same way she came in...in a quick flurry. But, given the chance, I will do it all again for whoever the Lord allows. So, happy birthday, my Borrowed #2. I love you. You were a precious gift, and I will forever be grateful.
Wednesday, November 16, 2016
Quiet
It has been said that to create, keep, and grow your reading audience, one should never let too much time pass between posts. People will lose interest, their affections will wane, and the rise to being more well known will stop. Although I completely understand the truth in that exhortation to write, I cannot write that way. There are SO many words out there. With the boom of blogs, facebook, twitter, snapchat, and other media sources, there is a plethora of words. Those words are rarely used to edify others, though. They back-bite, they judge, they scorn, they ridicule, they tear down. The words that used to be eloquent have become ugly, and we are all the worse for it.
Obviously, as a "blogger" I am not opposed to social media outlets. But, as the Lord has been teaching me in an intense manner, sometimes the best way to grow is to be quiet.
The past few months have been painful. They have devastated my hopes and dreams and left me with scars. The loss of our +2 was intense, but we moved quickly into the next phase of what we thought God had for us. We actively pursued foster care. I had personal phone calls with the intake coordinator at the agency we were going to work with. Then, during our only date in months, we had my dear sister watch our kids so Richard and I could go to a three hour orientation meeting. After, we spent (literally!) four hours filling out the mountains of paperwork. We also had the "opportunity" to humble ourselves in asking several people to be character witnesses for us (a part of the approval process). As soon as that packet was finished, Joy Baby and I walked to the post office to get it directly into the mail. Two days later, we received the phone call that there had been a misunderstanding between the agency and us. Due to the size of our home, and the age of our oldest, we would not be approved to foster. It was another loss, and a painful one at that. We were stopped from helping little kids?!? The "why's" to that were unanswered. We then realized the only way we would ever be approved to do foster care would be to get a bigger home. With our condo constantly losing value, that would include me going back to work to help with finances. Low and behold, a few days later, the school sent home a letter begging for substitute teachers. Richard's start time for work had been pushed to a late start during the day, so I was available! I spent (more) hours getting the application, paperwork, and interviews taken care of. I was hired, and ready to go. Two weeks later, Richard's start time changed, and I could no longer work.
As a type A++ personality, seeing what needs to be done, and not being able/allowed to get the job done is maddening. The pain of loss was real, the confusion was growing, and my hope was "tired." My hope was never lost, but the pain of hope after hope being taken away can really wear a girl down! That brings me back to where I started. Quiet. Be still. Those are most definitely NOT my strong suits! Apparently, though, those are "strong suits" the Lord wants me to work on, because He will not let me get away from them. Being frazzled and hyper does nothing but take away from the place where God has planted me. If I am going to truly grow, so that, Lord willing, I will ever be able to help anyone, I have to sit down, shut up, and listen to the One Who knows and loves me best. In all reality, the story is not about me...it MUST be about Him and His glory. Out of the beauty of His living and active Word (Hebrews 4:12...my favorite!), grows the depth of character that can have its hopes dashed, and continue steadfastly on the path set out. And, perhaps, out of those lessons can come something new and unforeseen that is more useful than ever hoped for.
Out of the Quiet place, a book has begun. Lord willing, Autism: Our Journey to Grace will be published June, 2017.
Obviously, as a "blogger" I am not opposed to social media outlets. But, as the Lord has been teaching me in an intense manner, sometimes the best way to grow is to be quiet.
Psalm 46:10 says to, "Be still (quiet), and know that I am God." emphasis mine.
As a type A++ personality, seeing what needs to be done, and not being able/allowed to get the job done is maddening. The pain of loss was real, the confusion was growing, and my hope was "tired." My hope was never lost, but the pain of hope after hope being taken away can really wear a girl down! That brings me back to where I started. Quiet. Be still. Those are most definitely NOT my strong suits! Apparently, though, those are "strong suits" the Lord wants me to work on, because He will not let me get away from them. Being frazzled and hyper does nothing but take away from the place where God has planted me. If I am going to truly grow, so that, Lord willing, I will ever be able to help anyone, I have to sit down, shut up, and listen to the One Who knows and loves me best. In all reality, the story is not about me...it MUST be about Him and His glory. Out of the beauty of His living and active Word (Hebrews 4:12...my favorite!), grows the depth of character that can have its hopes dashed, and continue steadfastly on the path set out. And, perhaps, out of those lessons can come something new and unforeseen that is more useful than ever hoped for.
Out of the Quiet place, a book has begun. Lord willing, Autism: Our Journey to Grace will be published June, 2017.
Friday, September 2, 2016
Loss
It has been said that grief is not a line, but a circle. It is never "over," even though the pain may lesson over time...unless there is a trigger that knocks you to the ground, takes your breath away, and wracks you with sobs.
A year ago, (according to my facebook, "on this day"), I posted that our family would be +1. Within a few weeks, it actually became +2. I didn't even ask for the second, their mom just told me she would stay because it was best for the girls to be together. For twelve months, I did laundry for 9-an unbelievable amount of work! I did dishes for 9-we don't have a dishwasher. (Richard does do those a lot, though, so perhaps I kinda have a dishwasher.) I did meals for 9. When they first moved in, the younger ate more that I did. A 25 pound little girl was so malnourished, she ate more than a 5'11" woman who works out everyday.
Over the next few months, we rearranged our entire home. We gave up the master bedroom to move the kids into it, since it is quite a bit larger than the other room. Oh, yes. We live in a 2-bedroom condo...we aren't exactly the "Fritz" here. We bought furniture, clothes, toys, school supplies, every single thing they needed. We trained and trained our 5 to love them-they were "different" and it was a struggle. We had to change our vehicles, and ended up driving two vans every single time we were all together. I joked we were the Grand Caravan caravan each Sunday morning. They became our family, and we started to think long term.
My heart was always "long term." I loved them before I even met them, and begged God to make it happen. For the first time in my adult life, I talked to people who terrified me. Social Services ended up being called by an outside person, and I had to talk to them. In the end, they literally told me it was me that kept them safe. I started making other phone calls, and found out our +2 were living in our home illegally. Since we are not, nor could we be, an approved foster care home or family of the girls, it was illegal for the girls to live with us. So, we started looking into guardianship. We all talked, and it was agreed upon. We decided to move forward, fully believing it would all work out. We found a lawyer, and got the paperwork we needed to start. All we needed was a signature...
There are a few more details, but needless to say, the bottom fell out of our plan. I was a signature away from being #2 momma, and it all stopped. One thing Richard and I were deeply convicted of was that we would not "fight." We fully believed the Lord had called us to this process in peace. We knew we could do a "contested guardianship," but for the sake of the girls, and based on our convictions, we refused to go that route. One of the things I am struggling with, is that I told her how much I love her girls, and how afraid I was that she would take them away. As her circumstances increased, she decided to use my fear against me. When I would not cave to her threats or ultimatums, the decision was up to her. After sixteen months of having the girls as often as needed, almost without warning, they were gone.
Little did I realize, but I had begun to wrap my identity around having them in our home. It was always work, and honestly I was more of a referee most days than anything, but I saw myself with them around. And, as the calendar would have it, school was just around the corner. Within the period of three weeks, we went from 7 kids in our home 24 hours/day, to 1. The loss of our +2 was fairly devastating to me. (And I am fully aware that "devastation" is a pretty major thing...) I could not walk past the kiddos room without checking if they were there. I would think I heard their voices as our kids played together. I thought I heard the ringtone of their mom a few times. When your identity slowly wades away from where it should be into something or someone, the loss of that item will probably knock you out. It did for me. As a side note, I did not stop reading my Bible. I did not stop praying. I did not stop my routine of fasting. I had "simply" added to who I am in Christ, and the removal sent me into a tailspin of near depression. As my four olders headed back to school, my sadness was deep and overwhelming. My poor husband... I was "losing" my entire identity.
With every passing hour, day, and week, God's Truth that has been poured into me did not return void. Godly preaching, an incredibly loving and godly husband, and the daily clinging to His Word did was it is all supposed to do. It revealed my sin and grew me (at least a little bit, I hope!). Did it take the pain away? Not so much. Because loss is just that, loss. It changed the pain, though. There was a quiet revelation of what God needs me to do now...and by "now", I mean today. I have no idea what tomorrow may bring, just like I had no idea a simple phone call would lead to 2 little girls entering our home (the same day!) for 16 months, and forever changing my heart.
A year ago, (according to my facebook, "on this day"), I posted that our family would be +1. Within a few weeks, it actually became +2. I didn't even ask for the second, their mom just told me she would stay because it was best for the girls to be together. For twelve months, I did laundry for 9-an unbelievable amount of work! I did dishes for 9-we don't have a dishwasher. (Richard does do those a lot, though, so perhaps I kinda have a dishwasher.) I did meals for 9. When they first moved in, the younger ate more that I did. A 25 pound little girl was so malnourished, she ate more than a 5'11" woman who works out everyday.
Over the next few months, we rearranged our entire home. We gave up the master bedroom to move the kids into it, since it is quite a bit larger than the other room. Oh, yes. We live in a 2-bedroom condo...we aren't exactly the "Fritz" here. We bought furniture, clothes, toys, school supplies, every single thing they needed. We trained and trained our 5 to love them-they were "different" and it was a struggle. We had to change our vehicles, and ended up driving two vans every single time we were all together. I joked we were the Grand Caravan caravan each Sunday morning. They became our family, and we started to think long term.
My heart was always "long term." I loved them before I even met them, and begged God to make it happen. For the first time in my adult life, I talked to people who terrified me. Social Services ended up being called by an outside person, and I had to talk to them. In the end, they literally told me it was me that kept them safe. I started making other phone calls, and found out our +2 were living in our home illegally. Since we are not, nor could we be, an approved foster care home or family of the girls, it was illegal for the girls to live with us. So, we started looking into guardianship. We all talked, and it was agreed upon. We decided to move forward, fully believing it would all work out. We found a lawyer, and got the paperwork we needed to start. All we needed was a signature...
There are a few more details, but needless to say, the bottom fell out of our plan. I was a signature away from being #2 momma, and it all stopped. One thing Richard and I were deeply convicted of was that we would not "fight." We fully believed the Lord had called us to this process in peace. We knew we could do a "contested guardianship," but for the sake of the girls, and based on our convictions, we refused to go that route. One of the things I am struggling with, is that I told her how much I love her girls, and how afraid I was that she would take them away. As her circumstances increased, she decided to use my fear against me. When I would not cave to her threats or ultimatums, the decision was up to her. After sixteen months of having the girls as often as needed, almost without warning, they were gone.
Little did I realize, but I had begun to wrap my identity around having them in our home. It was always work, and honestly I was more of a referee most days than anything, but I saw myself with them around. And, as the calendar would have it, school was just around the corner. Within the period of three weeks, we went from 7 kids in our home 24 hours/day, to 1. The loss of our +2 was fairly devastating to me. (And I am fully aware that "devastation" is a pretty major thing...) I could not walk past the kiddos room without checking if they were there. I would think I heard their voices as our kids played together. I thought I heard the ringtone of their mom a few times. When your identity slowly wades away from where it should be into something or someone, the loss of that item will probably knock you out. It did for me. As a side note, I did not stop reading my Bible. I did not stop praying. I did not stop my routine of fasting. I had "simply" added to who I am in Christ, and the removal sent me into a tailspin of near depression. As my four olders headed back to school, my sadness was deep and overwhelming. My poor husband... I was "losing" my entire identity.
With every passing hour, day, and week, God's Truth that has been poured into me did not return void. Godly preaching, an incredibly loving and godly husband, and the daily clinging to His Word did was it is all supposed to do. It revealed my sin and grew me (at least a little bit, I hope!). Did it take the pain away? Not so much. Because loss is just that, loss. It changed the pain, though. There was a quiet revelation of what God needs me to do now...and by "now", I mean today. I have no idea what tomorrow may bring, just like I had no idea a simple phone call would lead to 2 little girls entering our home (the same day!) for 16 months, and forever changing my heart.
Wednesday, May 11, 2016
April Showers Bring...
...May Flowers. That is how the saying goes. But, nobody says there could be thorns on those flowers, or that they might need some tending. As far as gardening goes, everyone in my family...on both sides, are these amazing green thumbs. Then, there is me. I am the absolute antithesis of a green thumb...my thumb is the grim reaper. I killed a flower that only needed one ice cube per week. I also killed the hardy kale plant. It is almost like a plant looks at me and just gives up the will to live.
I began this post with that old adage, because I think that is how I expected May to be. Happy. Full of flowers, beauty, and ease. April was tough. It was an intense whirlwind of change and trial. Although there were a few rainbows among the "showers," there were a lot of days that I felt cold, drained, and in need of shelter. May was supposed to be sunny and cheerful. Instead, it began with more showers that evolved into a ruthless storm. My fleshly response was a bit of shock. I felt like I had really "gone through the wringer" last month, and was quite ready for a respite from chaos.
We began the month with the final step (for now) of Joy Baby's paperwork and home visit for Medicaid. The process was revised in January of this year, so everything was new for me. Although I have done the application two previous times, it was brand new, which really unnerved me. To add to my nerves, I was told to prepare for a denial, which would lead to an appeal or a re-application. Fun times to be sure. In comparison to what came next, this now seems like a little "sprinkle on a sunny day."
A long time ago, I dedicated myself to full-time service to the Lord. When I stood up in church making that pledge, I meant that I wanted to be a missionary overseas spreading the Gospel to Indian tribes in the jungle. What God meant was I was going to serve on American soil, to five plus two kiddos-all needing some type of special care, while I live with a disease that prevents me from ever living in a healthy way outside of a first-world country. I never expected attack from those I was serving. I've heard pastor's say that the sheep bite, but man! they are downright mean sometimes! When cooking (or some fashion of making food-ish type things...I'm not a gourmet cook, either...), cleaning, bathing, loving, and laundering for yields screaming phone calls and vile texts. When a misunderstanding leads to attacks on character. When anger leads to using the very ones you say you love as pawns. I was not prepared. I was not prepared for how the series of events fleshed out sin in my life. Ironically enough, the revelation of my own sin lead me to anger...a not-so-godly response...
Then came the evidences of grace. A husband who patiently loved me. Sometimes his love has been painful-not in an abusive way, but in a way that was used to lead me back to the Lord. He consoled when I needed it, and pointed out areas I had let sin win, always cloaked in the tenderness of his faithful love. I've spoken of how much I love our church. I am not one to reach out for help often...but this time, I was desperate enough to set pride aside. When I called to talk to our pastor, he set aside whatever he was working on to listen to the situation. He encouraged, exhorted, and then prayed for our family-over the phone. Our pastor approached the Throne of Grace on our behalf-asking for grace, discernment, and wisdom. Seriously, if you need a church...
I think the truth is, April showers bring work. Sure, there are May flowers, but there is also a lot of grass that needs to be mowed. There are weeds among the flowers that must be taken out, or the flowers will die. There are rodents-even some cute ones-that will eat the buds of those flowers when they are not carefully guarded. Those flowers also start attracting insects. Bees that will sting, ants that get into the house, flies, and more of the creepy-crawly ones that make my skin crawl. Upon deeper evaluation, there is an abundance of things that just want to destroy the flowers. Springtime is not a time for complacency. I suppose a farmer or a green thumb knows that well. Yes, there is a time to sit and enjoy the beauty around us, but that beauty can only be enjoyed after actively maintaining and guarding the plants. And then, you have to get back to work...otherwise, April showers just bring May chaos.
I began this post with that old adage, because I think that is how I expected May to be. Happy. Full of flowers, beauty, and ease. April was tough. It was an intense whirlwind of change and trial. Although there were a few rainbows among the "showers," there were a lot of days that I felt cold, drained, and in need of shelter. May was supposed to be sunny and cheerful. Instead, it began with more showers that evolved into a ruthless storm. My fleshly response was a bit of shock. I felt like I had really "gone through the wringer" last month, and was quite ready for a respite from chaos.
We began the month with the final step (for now) of Joy Baby's paperwork and home visit for Medicaid. The process was revised in January of this year, so everything was new for me. Although I have done the application two previous times, it was brand new, which really unnerved me. To add to my nerves, I was told to prepare for a denial, which would lead to an appeal or a re-application. Fun times to be sure. In comparison to what came next, this now seems like a little "sprinkle on a sunny day."
A long time ago, I dedicated myself to full-time service to the Lord. When I stood up in church making that pledge, I meant that I wanted to be a missionary overseas spreading the Gospel to Indian tribes in the jungle. What God meant was I was going to serve on American soil, to five plus two kiddos-all needing some type of special care, while I live with a disease that prevents me from ever living in a healthy way outside of a first-world country. I never expected attack from those I was serving. I've heard pastor's say that the sheep bite, but man! they are downright mean sometimes! When cooking (or some fashion of making food-ish type things...I'm not a gourmet cook, either...), cleaning, bathing, loving, and laundering for yields screaming phone calls and vile texts. When a misunderstanding leads to attacks on character. When anger leads to using the very ones you say you love as pawns. I was not prepared. I was not prepared for how the series of events fleshed out sin in my life. Ironically enough, the revelation of my own sin lead me to anger...a not-so-godly response...
Then came the evidences of grace. A husband who patiently loved me. Sometimes his love has been painful-not in an abusive way, but in a way that was used to lead me back to the Lord. He consoled when I needed it, and pointed out areas I had let sin win, always cloaked in the tenderness of his faithful love. I've spoken of how much I love our church. I am not one to reach out for help often...but this time, I was desperate enough to set pride aside. When I called to talk to our pastor, he set aside whatever he was working on to listen to the situation. He encouraged, exhorted, and then prayed for our family-over the phone. Our pastor approached the Throne of Grace on our behalf-asking for grace, discernment, and wisdom. Seriously, if you need a church...
I think the truth is, April showers bring work. Sure, there are May flowers, but there is also a lot of grass that needs to be mowed. There are weeds among the flowers that must be taken out, or the flowers will die. There are rodents-even some cute ones-that will eat the buds of those flowers when they are not carefully guarded. Those flowers also start attracting insects. Bees that will sting, ants that get into the house, flies, and more of the creepy-crawly ones that make my skin crawl. Upon deeper evaluation, there is an abundance of things that just want to destroy the flowers. Springtime is not a time for complacency. I suppose a farmer or a green thumb knows that well. Yes, there is a time to sit and enjoy the beauty around us, but that beauty can only be enjoyed after actively maintaining and guarding the plants. And then, you have to get back to work...otherwise, April showers just bring May chaos.
Wednesday, April 20, 2016
If God...
Autism Awareness Month (April) has been especially trying this year. At the beginning of the month, we had Joy Baby's 18 month check up, during which it was determined she needed to be evaluated for autism. I decided not to say anything about this, because sometimes it seems talking about a "potential issue" causes a bit more chaos than intended. As I started the inquiries to find a doctor for her, we quickly learned our insurance company would not cover any evaluation for her, and the insurance company is protected from prosecution because they are based out of the State for us. Another issue we have is that since our older two boys are receiving in-home therapy, a lot of other companies will not evaluate another child, since they would not be able to provide the in-home therapy upon diagnosis. (Typically, two different ABA companies will not provide therapy in the same home at the same time...either due to liability or programming rules.)
About two weeks ago, I found a doctor who would be willing to evaluate Joy Baby. She was out-of-network, expensive, and a good distance away, but she had an opening, was willing to evaluate, and we have few options. I had a few concerns with her, but Richard was willing, so I set the appointment. A week later, I decided to try one more company. They were fairly sure they were also out-of-network, but were willing to work with us. Early Monday morning, I received a phone call that set a different series of events rolling. This company was still not in-network for our insurance, but they charged significantly less, were 45 minutes closer, and had just had a cancellation, so they had an opening Tuesday afternoon. They emailed me 27 pages of documentation I had to fill out, and told us they would see us the next day. The roller coaster ride of emotions I went through in a 24 hour period was intense. Every fear, worry, doubt, and painful memory surfaced. Along with those emotions is the torture of filling out paperwork that describes the many struggles your precious child has...in great detail. Since the evaluation is only around two hours, a lot rides on the testimony of the parents. For four hours, I had to focus on all the "bad." One question out of 27 pages asked about the positive traits of our child, and what makes them "likeable." For whatever reason, this was the question that caused my tears to flow. All I could answer was that I loved her. I wanted to know why she struggles...autism or not, I needed help to help her, because when her smile fades, she is hurting, and its painful for everyone around.
Tuesday morning, I was awakened at 4am, and the worry began. A still-small Voice whispered, "I've got this" a quiet hug to go back to sleep. The first song to play on my running playlist was, "Call it Grace" by Unspoken. If you've ever tried to run while crying...it's ugly...and really hard to breath! Within a few hours, two times God let me know how much He loves me and her. He wasn't absent, or surprised, and had divinely ordained for Chara to be ours, and for the series of events to take place. I'm not saying I was super calm and didn't worry for the rest of the day...I kinda did...but His rescue was there. At the end of our two hour appointment, we learned that we were a family who has three kiddos with autism. By God's grace, Richard was able to get off of work the entire day. We celebrated being a family with tacos and a movie. We didn't talk about the day, we just ate and watched a silly movie. It was a little more difficult for me to laugh, and a lot more difficult for me to not get frustrated with squabbles between the kids. There was sin, and there was a plethora of Grace.
Now begins a six-month period of paperwork with the government. We will have home visits, evaluations, and a lot of hurry up and wait. If everything goes as it should, at the end of the six months, Chara will have disability funding to pay for her in-home therapy. She will continue receiving speech through Birth to Three, since she doesn't talk, but that is a separate program.
A former pastor of ours often said, "If God brings you to it, He will bring you through it." I'm so glad this is true, because facing this on my own would be incredibly overwhelming. One of my most favorite songs right now is "Trust in You," by Lauren Daigle. I'll close with the chorus, which is what my heart's cry has been:
When You don't move the mountains, I wanted You to move,
When You don't part the waters, I wish I could walk through,
When You don't give the answers, as I cry out to You,
I will trust,
I will trust,
I will trust in You.
About two weeks ago, I found a doctor who would be willing to evaluate Joy Baby. She was out-of-network, expensive, and a good distance away, but she had an opening, was willing to evaluate, and we have few options. I had a few concerns with her, but Richard was willing, so I set the appointment. A week later, I decided to try one more company. They were fairly sure they were also out-of-network, but were willing to work with us. Early Monday morning, I received a phone call that set a different series of events rolling. This company was still not in-network for our insurance, but they charged significantly less, were 45 minutes closer, and had just had a cancellation, so they had an opening Tuesday afternoon. They emailed me 27 pages of documentation I had to fill out, and told us they would see us the next day. The roller coaster ride of emotions I went through in a 24 hour period was intense. Every fear, worry, doubt, and painful memory surfaced. Along with those emotions is the torture of filling out paperwork that describes the many struggles your precious child has...in great detail. Since the evaluation is only around two hours, a lot rides on the testimony of the parents. For four hours, I had to focus on all the "bad." One question out of 27 pages asked about the positive traits of our child, and what makes them "likeable." For whatever reason, this was the question that caused my tears to flow. All I could answer was that I loved her. I wanted to know why she struggles...autism or not, I needed help to help her, because when her smile fades, she is hurting, and its painful for everyone around.
Tuesday morning, I was awakened at 4am, and the worry began. A still-small Voice whispered, "I've got this" a quiet hug to go back to sleep. The first song to play on my running playlist was, "Call it Grace" by Unspoken. If you've ever tried to run while crying...it's ugly...and really hard to breath! Within a few hours, two times God let me know how much He loves me and her. He wasn't absent, or surprised, and had divinely ordained for Chara to be ours, and for the series of events to take place. I'm not saying I was super calm and didn't worry for the rest of the day...I kinda did...but His rescue was there. At the end of our two hour appointment, we learned that we were a family who has three kiddos with autism. By God's grace, Richard was able to get off of work the entire day. We celebrated being a family with tacos and a movie. We didn't talk about the day, we just ate and watched a silly movie. It was a little more difficult for me to laugh, and a lot more difficult for me to not get frustrated with squabbles between the kids. There was sin, and there was a plethora of Grace.
Now begins a six-month period of paperwork with the government. We will have home visits, evaluations, and a lot of hurry up and wait. If everything goes as it should, at the end of the six months, Chara will have disability funding to pay for her in-home therapy. She will continue receiving speech through Birth to Three, since she doesn't talk, but that is a separate program.
A former pastor of ours often said, "If God brings you to it, He will bring you through it." I'm so glad this is true, because facing this on my own would be incredibly overwhelming. One of my most favorite songs right now is "Trust in You," by Lauren Daigle. I'll close with the chorus, which is what my heart's cry has been:
When You don't move the mountains, I wanted You to move,
When You don't part the waters, I wish I could walk through,
When You don't give the answers, as I cry out to You,
I will trust,
I will trust,
I will trust in You.
Tuesday, April 5, 2016
April
April is Autism Awareness month. In case you didn't notice, that's why there are a few extra blue lightbulbs at entryways. Facebook has a few extra photos of puzzle pieces. Several big name groups are putting out statistics of those on the Spectrum. If you're me, you've painted your toenails blue, and run a half-marathon for Autism Awareness. I don't need a month to remind me of Autism, though. I don't need anything, as it stares me in the face every.single.day. There are two crystal blue eyes, and two sets of brown eyes.
Here are some statistics:
Did you know 1 in 68...blah blah blah.
Did you know shoes are a big deal? Yep. He wears shoes until there are holes in them, and when I insist on a new pair, he cries at the store...even when I find a pair with Star Wars on them.
Did you know he makes you look lazy? Oh, yeah. He works 10-12 hour days five days a week, and then works 6-8 hours per day over the weekend. Seven days per week, he is in school and/or therapy.
Did you know socks are a big deal? Yep. He used to fight them until he was in hysterics. Now, if they don't have a grey bottom, he will let you know they are wrong.
Did you know socks are a big deal? Yes, part 2. She hates them. She will scream during a diaper change until they are off.
Did you know shoes are a big deal? Yes, part 2. She screams until they are off. Not a casual scream, but "I'm-about-to-die-and-I'm-taking-you-with-me" scream.
Did you know food is a big deal? Specific brands are required, and they know if you try to change them. Textures, temperature, amount, food touching, color, and any other characteristic will arise to come in and ruin a meal.
Did you know bath time can be a battle? Water temperature, amount of toys, water near the eye, fear, that list goes on as well.
Did you know no two kids are alike? If you've met one kid with autism, you've met one kid with autism. That means you are not an expert, and Rainman does not describe my kids, or most any others. And please, don't even get me started on "eye contact."
Did you know there is isolation? School parties, church events, or open-to-the-public events, IF we can get out of therapy and still make our hours so we don't lose funding, the invitations get "lost", or the setting is not conducive to their success, or we're just too worried one thing could set off yet another meltdown.
Did you know there are guilt trips? If you don't, you've probably sent me or someone else down one. Everyone has an opinion on how we're raising all of our kids. It's not good enough for those on the Spectrum, or we're ignoring our neuro-typical kids, or we've caused our kiddos autism, or our other kids feel left out and will rebel and hate us as they age.
People say kids on the spectrum need to learn how to communicate properly. Honestly, a lot more people need to remember to close their own mouths and start using a filter before they pass judgment, or "give their opinion."
Did you know the divorce rate for parents of kids on the Spectrum is over 80%? Once again, try to just love the people who are dying to save their kids. Parenting isn't easy. Now parent kids on the spectrum, and you've got a recipe for disaster. You think we haven't thought of some scenario? Oh, we've thought about it, wrestled with it, fought over and about it, and just laid it aside to deal with the problem right in front of us...like making sure our baby doesn't smash her head on the floor during the current meltdown.
This may sound like an angry post, but it is not. Not in any way. Sometimes, though, it helps to remember that the sunshine and roses are only highlights of the stormy days and thorns. We fight with therapists and insurance, we wrestle with guilt, and we fail at least one of our kids on a constant basis. BUT, I love these kids. I couldn't be any prouder of how hard they work, how much they've grown, or just how cute they are. I am grateful every day that I have the privilege to be their mom. I wear my blue toenails with great pride, because my kids are awesome. I love how my two neuro-typical kids are learning to love those that others roll their eyes at. I love the special dates I take those two on, to make sure they know they are equally loved. I'm so very grateful for how much closer I've grown in my relationship with the Lord, because I have to lean on Him for everything. I'm so grateful for my husband who has supported, listened and fought alongside me for our kids, and for us. I'm also thankful for those who have loved us without flinching. I am so thankful that adults want to talk with us about our kids. I love it when we get asked questions because someone cares enough to ask. I do not ever want to be unapproachable, although if I'm wrestling with one of my kids, you might need better timing... ;) I love grace. It's in every moment, even if it seems to be hiding. I love this season, the newness, and the beautiful reminder that He is Risen, victorious, and one glorious day He will take away every tear.
Until then, I'll close this brief-ish post for the day. I don't get out much, so I'm out of adult words, anyway, and one of my kids is trying to remind me my lap is hers, not the computers...and I fear for the computer. Happy April!
Here are some statistics:
Did you know 1 in 68...blah blah blah.
Did you know shoes are a big deal? Yep. He wears shoes until there are holes in them, and when I insist on a new pair, he cries at the store...even when I find a pair with Star Wars on them.
Did you know he makes you look lazy? Oh, yeah. He works 10-12 hour days five days a week, and then works 6-8 hours per day over the weekend. Seven days per week, he is in school and/or therapy.
Did you know socks are a big deal? Yep. He used to fight them until he was in hysterics. Now, if they don't have a grey bottom, he will let you know they are wrong.
Did you know socks are a big deal? Yes, part 2. She hates them. She will scream during a diaper change until they are off.
Did you know shoes are a big deal? Yes, part 2. She screams until they are off. Not a casual scream, but "I'm-about-to-die-and-I'm-taking-you-with-me" scream.
Did you know food is a big deal? Specific brands are required, and they know if you try to change them. Textures, temperature, amount, food touching, color, and any other characteristic will arise to come in and ruin a meal.
Did you know bath time can be a battle? Water temperature, amount of toys, water near the eye, fear, that list goes on as well.
Did you know no two kids are alike? If you've met one kid with autism, you've met one kid with autism. That means you are not an expert, and Rainman does not describe my kids, or most any others. And please, don't even get me started on "eye contact."
Did you know there is isolation? School parties, church events, or open-to-the-public events, IF we can get out of therapy and still make our hours so we don't lose funding, the invitations get "lost", or the setting is not conducive to their success, or we're just too worried one thing could set off yet another meltdown.
Did you know there are guilt trips? If you don't, you've probably sent me or someone else down one. Everyone has an opinion on how we're raising all of our kids. It's not good enough for those on the Spectrum, or we're ignoring our neuro-typical kids, or we've caused our kiddos autism, or our other kids feel left out and will rebel and hate us as they age.
People say kids on the spectrum need to learn how to communicate properly. Honestly, a lot more people need to remember to close their own mouths and start using a filter before they pass judgment, or "give their opinion."
Did you know the divorce rate for parents of kids on the Spectrum is over 80%? Once again, try to just love the people who are dying to save their kids. Parenting isn't easy. Now parent kids on the spectrum, and you've got a recipe for disaster. You think we haven't thought of some scenario? Oh, we've thought about it, wrestled with it, fought over and about it, and just laid it aside to deal with the problem right in front of us...like making sure our baby doesn't smash her head on the floor during the current meltdown.
This may sound like an angry post, but it is not. Not in any way. Sometimes, though, it helps to remember that the sunshine and roses are only highlights of the stormy days and thorns. We fight with therapists and insurance, we wrestle with guilt, and we fail at least one of our kids on a constant basis. BUT, I love these kids. I couldn't be any prouder of how hard they work, how much they've grown, or just how cute they are. I am grateful every day that I have the privilege to be their mom. I wear my blue toenails with great pride, because my kids are awesome. I love how my two neuro-typical kids are learning to love those that others roll their eyes at. I love the special dates I take those two on, to make sure they know they are equally loved. I'm so very grateful for how much closer I've grown in my relationship with the Lord, because I have to lean on Him for everything. I'm so grateful for my husband who has supported, listened and fought alongside me for our kids, and for us. I'm also thankful for those who have loved us without flinching. I am so thankful that adults want to talk with us about our kids. I love it when we get asked questions because someone cares enough to ask. I do not ever want to be unapproachable, although if I'm wrestling with one of my kids, you might need better timing... ;) I love grace. It's in every moment, even if it seems to be hiding. I love this season, the newness, and the beautiful reminder that He is Risen, victorious, and one glorious day He will take away every tear.
Until then, I'll close this brief-ish post for the day. I don't get out much, so I'm out of adult words, anyway, and one of my kids is trying to remind me my lap is hers, not the computers...and I fear for the computer. Happy April!
Wednesday, February 3, 2016
Joy Baby
Up to this point, I've not written about our journey to Joy Baby. It is a long journey, with more depth of emotion than anything else in my life. As I've written in the past, we went through some really dark and difficult times before her conception and birth. The journey started with miscarriages-four in a row. Then, we walked through infertility. The concept of this is still close to mind boggling to me. Without any TMI, fertility was never even a thought for us. He looked at me...and that just about did it. My body was in a very weird state, and my hormones were trying to decide if I was still even a girl. So, for the craziest four months of my life (I serious started to doubt my sanity...), I was on fertility drugs. For the record, I fully understand that for most women, this doesn't even begin to cover what others have gone through to have a baby. For me, though, I couldn't take it anymore. I was done. The mood swings I had on those things were simply awful. In addition, the span of what I was on pretty much said if they didn't work in that time frame, it wasn't going to happen. For the first time in my life, I had all negative pregnancy tests. Nothing-not even a hint of a hint. So, I got down on my knees, cried out to the Lord, let Him know my heart was broken, but our #5 was His. We gave away over twenty boxes of baby/toddler clothes. And then, a month later...
You would think that after all this, I would have trusted that this Baby was meant to be. You would think I would have been confident that this little one would survive. Nope. It was a moment by moment battle at times for me to not completely freak out that Baby would die. I knew being worried was sinful, so I battled, but the battle was horrendous. I was so afraid of the "Cinderella Story." I didn't expect to finally have our much-desired baby, when so so many I knew could not even have one. I was afraid to rejoice, because I was so afraid of the pain of loss. I had been down the "loss road" before, and felt I had barely survived. I knew so many others definitely "deserved" a baby way more than I did.
Her pregnancy was my worst. I've never been sicker, and I had not had "easy" pregnancies before. I threw up throughout the entire nine months, to the point of throwing up blood due to intense heartburn. I could go on, but I won't, because for most people, pregnancy is no picnic. Then, her labor. Now, remember, I had done the labor thing four times previously. I had a 12lb. 3oz. baby boy without any pain meds, and did it without ever screaming. (Not that it felt great...) Not this time. Pitocin was not my friend, and when it finally kicked in, they gave me some drug to help ease the pain. The drug sent me to outer space. I was floating above my body, could feel every single stab of pain, had a Minnie Mouse head bouncing all over the room, and screamed like I've never screamed before. I couldn't stop, and honestly, I have no idea how she was born, because I could not do anything but scream. Then, she was here. They showed her to me, and she was purple. My first question about my long awaited daughter was, "Is she alive?" I honestly thought she was dead. I remember the shock on the nurses faces when I asked this, and will never forget the responses of understanding compassion they had. They wrapped her up, and placed her on me for just a few moments, as they were taking her to the NICU. I had never cried the first time I held one of my littles, but I sobbed over her. My mom took a picture, and it is one of my most treasured. Then, there was the NICU. Baby jail. (The nurses actually call it that...not those on that floor, though!) I got yelled at for picking her up. She kept popping out her IV's, so they ended up finally going through her belly button. Even that one almost popped out, even though there was a stitch to keep it in place. For five days, I stayed with her. I never left the hospital, but my husband and the other four had to be at home. Richard brought the kids for lunch one afternoon. When they left, my special guy did not understand why I wasn't with them. I hope I never again see the face, the tears, or hear the screams that he had that day.
Finally, we were home. Once again, you would think that I would be completely trusting that all would be well. Once again, it was a moment by moment battle for me to not worry about her. Between post-partum hormones, my own natural sinful fears, along with sleep deprivation, I was a wreck. When she was three months old, I was reading my Bible, and stopped to check on her. And that was it. I knew it had to stop. I named her out of Philippians-Joy and Grace. Yet, I had no joy, because I was constantly in fear, and never allowed God's grace to cover her...and me. She was His, whether I liked it or not, and I could not do one thing to adjust her life span-however long it was designed to be.
The irony is, my Joy Baby is in a virtual tie for my most difficult baby. She is a crazy picky eater, a horrible sleeper, is already in physical therapy, and is about to transition to Speech and Occupational therapy. She finally started walking at 17 months old, and has no words at 18 months. The only reason she is not my most difficult, is that I have a few more tools to handle her behavior.
Why did I write this? Because you don't post "this kinda stuff" on Facebook. You post a photo of a smile, or write something cute one of the kids did that day. You have 500 friends who see whatever façade you put out there. And that's not necessarily wrong, but there are so many who struggle. I'm not proud of my struggle, but it is real. I don't have it "all together." I'm so grateful for Christ, Who has patiently and lovingly walked me through each day. No, He is not my crutch, He is my stretcher. I am a desperate sinner who needs His extravagant grace. Why did He bestow this amazing gift on me? Because He is gracious and loving. Why doesn't He bestow the same gifts on so many of those who desperately desire the same thing? I don't know. What I do know: He has a plan. I also know the pain of getting through that plan is worth it. No, I am not thankful for the "yuck" I've had to go through. (Side note: I am not grateful for disease, miscarriage, infertility, autism, ....the yuck.) I am thankful, though, for what He taught me along the way, and is continuing to teach me as I walk the path He set out for me. I could not be more grateful for our Joy Baby. I love her with a fierce love, and will protect her with every ounce of my strength. And the Joy she has brought to our entire family is abundant.
You would think that after all this, I would have trusted that this Baby was meant to be. You would think I would have been confident that this little one would survive. Nope. It was a moment by moment battle at times for me to not completely freak out that Baby would die. I knew being worried was sinful, so I battled, but the battle was horrendous. I was so afraid of the "Cinderella Story." I didn't expect to finally have our much-desired baby, when so so many I knew could not even have one. I was afraid to rejoice, because I was so afraid of the pain of loss. I had been down the "loss road" before, and felt I had barely survived. I knew so many others definitely "deserved" a baby way more than I did.
Her pregnancy was my worst. I've never been sicker, and I had not had "easy" pregnancies before. I threw up throughout the entire nine months, to the point of throwing up blood due to intense heartburn. I could go on, but I won't, because for most people, pregnancy is no picnic. Then, her labor. Now, remember, I had done the labor thing four times previously. I had a 12lb. 3oz. baby boy without any pain meds, and did it without ever screaming. (Not that it felt great...) Not this time. Pitocin was not my friend, and when it finally kicked in, they gave me some drug to help ease the pain. The drug sent me to outer space. I was floating above my body, could feel every single stab of pain, had a Minnie Mouse head bouncing all over the room, and screamed like I've never screamed before. I couldn't stop, and honestly, I have no idea how she was born, because I could not do anything but scream. Then, she was here. They showed her to me, and she was purple. My first question about my long awaited daughter was, "Is she alive?" I honestly thought she was dead. I remember the shock on the nurses faces when I asked this, and will never forget the responses of understanding compassion they had. They wrapped her up, and placed her on me for just a few moments, as they were taking her to the NICU. I had never cried the first time I held one of my littles, but I sobbed over her. My mom took a picture, and it is one of my most treasured. Then, there was the NICU. Baby jail. (The nurses actually call it that...not those on that floor, though!) I got yelled at for picking her up. She kept popping out her IV's, so they ended up finally going through her belly button. Even that one almost popped out, even though there was a stitch to keep it in place. For five days, I stayed with her. I never left the hospital, but my husband and the other four had to be at home. Richard brought the kids for lunch one afternoon. When they left, my special guy did not understand why I wasn't with them. I hope I never again see the face, the tears, or hear the screams that he had that day.
Finally, we were home. Once again, you would think that I would be completely trusting that all would be well. Once again, it was a moment by moment battle for me to not worry about her. Between post-partum hormones, my own natural sinful fears, along with sleep deprivation, I was a wreck. When she was three months old, I was reading my Bible, and stopped to check on her. And that was it. I knew it had to stop. I named her out of Philippians-Joy and Grace. Yet, I had no joy, because I was constantly in fear, and never allowed God's grace to cover her...and me. She was His, whether I liked it or not, and I could not do one thing to adjust her life span-however long it was designed to be.
The irony is, my Joy Baby is in a virtual tie for my most difficult baby. She is a crazy picky eater, a horrible sleeper, is already in physical therapy, and is about to transition to Speech and Occupational therapy. She finally started walking at 17 months old, and has no words at 18 months. The only reason she is not my most difficult, is that I have a few more tools to handle her behavior.
Why did I write this? Because you don't post "this kinda stuff" on Facebook. You post a photo of a smile, or write something cute one of the kids did that day. You have 500 friends who see whatever façade you put out there. And that's not necessarily wrong, but there are so many who struggle. I'm not proud of my struggle, but it is real. I don't have it "all together." I'm so grateful for Christ, Who has patiently and lovingly walked me through each day. No, He is not my crutch, He is my stretcher. I am a desperate sinner who needs His extravagant grace. Why did He bestow this amazing gift on me? Because He is gracious and loving. Why doesn't He bestow the same gifts on so many of those who desperately desire the same thing? I don't know. What I do know: He has a plan. I also know the pain of getting through that plan is worth it. No, I am not thankful for the "yuck" I've had to go through. (Side note: I am not grateful for disease, miscarriage, infertility, autism, ....the yuck.) I am thankful, though, for what He taught me along the way, and is continuing to teach me as I walk the path He set out for me. I could not be more grateful for our Joy Baby. I love her with a fierce love, and will protect her with every ounce of my strength. And the Joy she has brought to our entire family is abundant.
Friday, January 15, 2016
Mommy, I'm Sorry
It was not a normal Monday in our home. Our therapist for the night was ill, and for the first time since Christmas, it was just us, the five kidlets and me. Our +2 were with their mom, so it was supposed to be quieter. I made a special (not healthy, but fun!) dinner, and they were all sitting around the table. Joy Baby, though, was not feeling the "love." She had been in a mood for most of the day. She was on a nap and hunger strike-not the greatest of combinations.
She screamed in her high chair as I served dinner to the older four. It was a bit tense, as new foods can be met with a lack of enthusiasm with the younger boys. But, they were ready to try, and the older two were so excited, it seemed their mood rubbed off on the younger boys. No matter what foods I tried with Joy Baby, she just screamed in her chair. As I set the final sandwich in front of the kiddos, she picked up her favorite (normally!) granola bar, and flung it as hard as her frustrated hands could throw.
My Timmy looked at me and said, "Mommy, I'm sorry." Since he has the opportunity to say this quite a bit, I asked him what he was sorry for...I could not remember any errors in the recent past. He looked at me and explained he was sorry Chara was crying and frustrated, and not eating. His sentence stopped me in my tracks. Although he can be very sensitive, he also has a streak of "unawareness" that usually typifies his behavior. I had not said much of anything to that point, except to try to calm Chara, and to hand the kids their food. I looked at Timmy and Naomi, and decided to pause. I let them know that when they were little, I probably would have disciplined that type of behavior, thinking they were being naughty. But, because of the boys in our house, I had learned that sometimes screaming and crying is so much more than "naughtiness." As I picked up Chara and rubbed her back, her kicking and screaming started to settle. I told the kids that when Titus was little, I had no idea how to help a frustrated, over-stimulated baby, but now I had things to do to help her. I took Joy Baby to the rocker, wrapped her in her blanket, and just rocked and massaged her until she was calm. Timmy then stated that Chara was probably going to "get autism." I told him it was a bit early to even be able to know, and that it was ok. They've seen the worst. He and Naomi have lived through some really, really rough times in our home. His matter-of-fact statement brought me such joy. As he said his baby sister would have autism, there wasn't even a hint of animosity toward her or autism in general. It was acknowledgement that it was tough, and loud, and messy, and not what one might "choose", but it was love. A love for his baby sister, and a love toward us. This is his family, and he loves them just exactly how they are.
Somehow, I get to be the one blessed. What a gift.
She screamed in her high chair as I served dinner to the older four. It was a bit tense, as new foods can be met with a lack of enthusiasm with the younger boys. But, they were ready to try, and the older two were so excited, it seemed their mood rubbed off on the younger boys. No matter what foods I tried with Joy Baby, she just screamed in her chair. As I set the final sandwich in front of the kiddos, she picked up her favorite (normally!) granola bar, and flung it as hard as her frustrated hands could throw.
My Timmy looked at me and said, "Mommy, I'm sorry." Since he has the opportunity to say this quite a bit, I asked him what he was sorry for...I could not remember any errors in the recent past. He looked at me and explained he was sorry Chara was crying and frustrated, and not eating. His sentence stopped me in my tracks. Although he can be very sensitive, he also has a streak of "unawareness" that usually typifies his behavior. I had not said much of anything to that point, except to try to calm Chara, and to hand the kids their food. I looked at Timmy and Naomi, and decided to pause. I let them know that when they were little, I probably would have disciplined that type of behavior, thinking they were being naughty. But, because of the boys in our house, I had learned that sometimes screaming and crying is so much more than "naughtiness." As I picked up Chara and rubbed her back, her kicking and screaming started to settle. I told the kids that when Titus was little, I had no idea how to help a frustrated, over-stimulated baby, but now I had things to do to help her. I took Joy Baby to the rocker, wrapped her in her blanket, and just rocked and massaged her until she was calm. Timmy then stated that Chara was probably going to "get autism." I told him it was a bit early to even be able to know, and that it was ok. They've seen the worst. He and Naomi have lived through some really, really rough times in our home. His matter-of-fact statement brought me such joy. As he said his baby sister would have autism, there wasn't even a hint of animosity toward her or autism in general. It was acknowledgement that it was tough, and loud, and messy, and not what one might "choose", but it was love. A love for his baby sister, and a love toward us. This is his family, and he loves them just exactly how they are.
Somehow, I get to be the one blessed. What a gift.
Monday, August 31, 2015
T+1
This is actually not a post about autism...although because autism is in our house, there may be a mention or two...
So, since autism awareness is a daily thing in our lives, along with ABA therapists, as I have written about, I am fairly stuck at home. In a day and age where the book, "Radical" and others on that topic are pervasive, I have to fight the temptation to be frustrated or feel guilt for not physically, "going out and doing some BIG things for God." The Lord has made it abundantly clear to me that He has planted me where I am, and visions of "Christian Grandeur" need to be set aside on pride's altar. That being said, my heart's desire is still to serve the Lord in whatever capacity He chooses. So, I prayed. And, I've continued to pray, more specifically in this season of being "home bound" for opportunities for ministry. Nine months in, and the majority of the ministry had been on my heart-the Lord revealing some parental ugliness that needed to be repented of and fixed. Although I kept praying for opportunities, I honestly thought that perhaps my season was one of quiet ministry to our family, and I was finally okay with that.
If you've walked through seasons of learning, you know what's coming next. God determined I had at least passed the current quiz, so it was time for some "new material." (Sorry, I'm in the back-to-school mode!) Facebook has plenty of negative issues, but one positive is that it can and does connect people to others with a need. Long story short-a request for a babysitter turned into two little girls a few days later entering our home to sleepover so their mom could work. What began on a trial basis quickly turned into a solid commitment from Richard and I, and a blossoming area for service we did not expect. I was quite careful to guard my heart. I did not want to get hurt when the girls were pulled away from our family. I knew their mom was throwing around the idea of adoption, and with five of our own-two in the midst of therapy-we knew there were plenty of other couples who would be so much better suited to love and care for the girls.
Almost four months into our babysitting agreement, I knew where I stood. I loved the girls, and would happily take them each night their mom worked. I was quietly confident the Lord had worked in my heart to be grateful for this small area of service. Growing up, I was very blessed to have an incredibly stable home. But, my mom did not have that same luxury. The story of her youth is so horrible, if you heard it, you would think she made it up. One of the things I remember most of her story was feeling like a pawn, the constant moving from one parent to another, and the fear of being split up from her two brothers. Because of my mom's insanely difficult background, she's never been one to display a lot of emotion. When she described the fear of losing her brothers, though, I saw in her eyes a reflection of deep pain that cut me to the core. (Back to the present...) I received a text from the girls' mom that her living situation was unexpectedly changing, and she might have to split up the two girls.
As the situation began to appear more and more dire, Richard's and my heart were united in a common purpose. Within the period of a few weeks, the decision for us to be "Trucks plus One" was made. The older little girl would move in with us, and (by God's awesome work!) would attend school with all of our kiddos. Richard and I have felt deep conviction that we would not ask for any type of "legal" agreement (we are not legal guardians or foster parents). Just this week, she moved in. We are very much in a transitional stage right now. This is so very far outside of my comfort zone, but I'm so very grateful. I'm watching the Lord grow our marriage, unite our family, and see Him provide grace sufficient for the day. As a confessed "Type A Planner", once again, He's reminding me I cannot worry about tomorrow, but need to trust for today. I'm (working on) finding freedom in His sovereignty and His grace. And, I'm watching Him allow a full circle take place. For today, the girls will not be split up. There is no such thing as "coincidences." Our situation today has been divinely orchestrated...beginning over a half-century ago! As my husband said, Ephesians 2:10 applies just as much today as it did when it was written, "For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them."
So, since autism awareness is a daily thing in our lives, along with ABA therapists, as I have written about, I am fairly stuck at home. In a day and age where the book, "Radical" and others on that topic are pervasive, I have to fight the temptation to be frustrated or feel guilt for not physically, "going out and doing some BIG things for God." The Lord has made it abundantly clear to me that He has planted me where I am, and visions of "Christian Grandeur" need to be set aside on pride's altar. That being said, my heart's desire is still to serve the Lord in whatever capacity He chooses. So, I prayed. And, I've continued to pray, more specifically in this season of being "home bound" for opportunities for ministry. Nine months in, and the majority of the ministry had been on my heart-the Lord revealing some parental ugliness that needed to be repented of and fixed. Although I kept praying for opportunities, I honestly thought that perhaps my season was one of quiet ministry to our family, and I was finally okay with that.
If you've walked through seasons of learning, you know what's coming next. God determined I had at least passed the current quiz, so it was time for some "new material." (Sorry, I'm in the back-to-school mode!) Facebook has plenty of negative issues, but one positive is that it can and does connect people to others with a need. Long story short-a request for a babysitter turned into two little girls a few days later entering our home to sleepover so their mom could work. What began on a trial basis quickly turned into a solid commitment from Richard and I, and a blossoming area for service we did not expect. I was quite careful to guard my heart. I did not want to get hurt when the girls were pulled away from our family. I knew their mom was throwing around the idea of adoption, and with five of our own-two in the midst of therapy-we knew there were plenty of other couples who would be so much better suited to love and care for the girls.
Almost four months into our babysitting agreement, I knew where I stood. I loved the girls, and would happily take them each night their mom worked. I was quietly confident the Lord had worked in my heart to be grateful for this small area of service. Growing up, I was very blessed to have an incredibly stable home. But, my mom did not have that same luxury. The story of her youth is so horrible, if you heard it, you would think she made it up. One of the things I remember most of her story was feeling like a pawn, the constant moving from one parent to another, and the fear of being split up from her two brothers. Because of my mom's insanely difficult background, she's never been one to display a lot of emotion. When she described the fear of losing her brothers, though, I saw in her eyes a reflection of deep pain that cut me to the core. (Back to the present...) I received a text from the girls' mom that her living situation was unexpectedly changing, and she might have to split up the two girls.
As the situation began to appear more and more dire, Richard's and my heart were united in a common purpose. Within the period of a few weeks, the decision for us to be "Trucks plus One" was made. The older little girl would move in with us, and (by God's awesome work!) would attend school with all of our kiddos. Richard and I have felt deep conviction that we would not ask for any type of "legal" agreement (we are not legal guardians or foster parents). Just this week, she moved in. We are very much in a transitional stage right now. This is so very far outside of my comfort zone, but I'm so very grateful. I'm watching the Lord grow our marriage, unite our family, and see Him provide grace sufficient for the day. As a confessed "Type A Planner", once again, He's reminding me I cannot worry about tomorrow, but need to trust for today. I'm (working on) finding freedom in His sovereignty and His grace. And, I'm watching Him allow a full circle take place. For today, the girls will not be split up. There is no such thing as "coincidences." Our situation today has been divinely orchestrated...beginning over a half-century ago! As my husband said, Ephesians 2:10 applies just as much today as it did when it was written, "For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them."
Thursday, July 23, 2015
Let's Give 'Em SomePLACE to Talk About...
Life inside the ABA fishbowl. A family who has finally made the waiver's. A family who is sacrificing a second mortgage to get their precious child desperately needed therapy. A family who has a child in intensive therapy typically has therapists in their home or alongside of their child for 25-35 hours per week. Some families (like ours) hit the jackpot and have two kiddos receiving services at the same time. Anywhere from 50-70 hours per week (some overlapping) of therapy.
Frankly, there is no place to go. There are so few people who are walking through this daily grind that have someone who truly understands. Add to that equation the fact that we cannot just go on a play date. If it isn't built into the programming, we cannot leave. If respite isn't available, we may not leave. Shackled to the home, loving our kiddos, and completely alone with a house full of people. (I'm not even kidding, we had SIX therapists today for a home visit....)
Before you stop reading thinking this is a "Woe is me" post, it is not. I cannot put into words how grateful I/we are for the therapy our boys are receiving. In fact, today during our home visit, we talked about some of the life-altering changes we have seen in just under a year. Changes I honestly never thought possible-a haircut without tears. You have no idea. It's amazing, a gift, a day-by-day blessing we get to experience. But, it's difficult. Like, way harder than I ever thought I could ever put up with. let alone handle. These hard-working therapists walk alongside me during my everything-my ugliest, my failures in parenting, in my marriage, even me without make up. They see my dirty bathroom, my dirty dishes, my unswept floor. They see dirty diapers, unvacuumed floors, dirty and/or unfolded laundry, and unmade beds. Some of you are now wondering what it is I do, and why I don't clean. They may not see all this in one setting, but they see where I am pitifully behind on all I need to do. And, I have to be okay with it. As long as I am out of the shower (and dressed), and the kids are not walking around naked, I have to be okay with whatever else they see. For a (desired) perfectionist, this has been a big, nasty, difficult pill to swallow.
In the autism community, there is a LOT of blaming. A lot. People are passionate about what they believe, and if you dare to think otherwise, you will be proven wrong with one medical study or another. But, there seems (at least to me!) to be very few places to go ("go" being a loose term for a virtual connection) to just be supported. To "reach out" and "touch" someone who is there to just say they understand. So, I decided to try and start that place. I have been told that if you bring a problem to the table without a solution, you are just adding to the problem. Not desiring to do that, here I go...
https://www.facebook.com/groups/1593403414253254/
Frankly, there is no place to go. There are so few people who are walking through this daily grind that have someone who truly understands. Add to that equation the fact that we cannot just go on a play date. If it isn't built into the programming, we cannot leave. If respite isn't available, we may not leave. Shackled to the home, loving our kiddos, and completely alone with a house full of people. (I'm not even kidding, we had SIX therapists today for a home visit....)
Before you stop reading thinking this is a "Woe is me" post, it is not. I cannot put into words how grateful I/we are for the therapy our boys are receiving. In fact, today during our home visit, we talked about some of the life-altering changes we have seen in just under a year. Changes I honestly never thought possible-a haircut without tears. You have no idea. It's amazing, a gift, a day-by-day blessing we get to experience. But, it's difficult. Like, way harder than I ever thought I could ever put up with. let alone handle. These hard-working therapists walk alongside me during my everything-my ugliest, my failures in parenting, in my marriage, even me without make up. They see my dirty bathroom, my dirty dishes, my unswept floor. They see dirty diapers, unvacuumed floors, dirty and/or unfolded laundry, and unmade beds. Some of you are now wondering what it is I do, and why I don't clean. They may not see all this in one setting, but they see where I am pitifully behind on all I need to do. And, I have to be okay with it. As long as I am out of the shower (and dressed), and the kids are not walking around naked, I have to be okay with whatever else they see. For a (desired) perfectionist, this has been a big, nasty, difficult pill to swallow.
In the autism community, there is a LOT of blaming. A lot. People are passionate about what they believe, and if you dare to think otherwise, you will be proven wrong with one medical study or another. But, there seems (at least to me!) to be very few places to go ("go" being a loose term for a virtual connection) to just be supported. To "reach out" and "touch" someone who is there to just say they understand. So, I decided to try and start that place. I have been told that if you bring a problem to the table without a solution, you are just adding to the problem. Not desiring to do that, here I go...
https://www.facebook.com/groups/1593403414253254/
Tuesday, March 24, 2015
I Choose You
The more I think about it, the more I realize Cinderella sold me a tale that I actually bought into. She lost her mom (now as a mom, I consider this highly unacceptable!), which is really sad. Then, she lost her dad-completely heart-wrenching. To top it all off, she ended up with a money-squandering abusive step-mother who was hateful at best. So, Cinderella's early life was not anything anyone would desire. Suddenly, though, all her pain was over. Prince Charming rode in and swooped her off of her feet. From this point on, all of her working, cares, financial woes, and pain were over. She had reached the "pinnacle of pain", and her suffering was over.
It seems ridiculous to admit, but I believed the premise of the story. Not so much with my pre-husband life, although he's pretty awesome, but with my kiddo's. Two boys on the spectrum and four miscarriages seems like perhaps I had reached that "thresh hold". My perfect little joy baby should grow and develop exactly (if not slightly better than) the norm...right? As she is about to reach her eighth month, she is behind in almost every area. She won't eat solids, and will gag if anything larger than a drop is placed on her tongue. She is very small and close to underweight for her age. She cannot sit up, nor is she even close to crawling. She can roll over one way, and then gets stuck on her tummy. Once again, for the third child in a row, we needed to start Birth to Three services. I was fine with that, until I had to call the County. Just hearing the voicemail message was like getting hit in the stomach. It took me back two and a half years to the beginning of our journey, and I almost couldn't speak for the message I had to leave. It took well over a day for me to "recover."
With the swiftness completely a-typical of a government office, a few days later our new case worker was in our home. I had not even noticed all of my little one's delays. Not only is she behind in physical development and in eating, she is completely non-verbal. This realization sent me into a tale spin. My heart was broken, and even though I spent hours in the Word, I could not stop mourning for what was, and what could be. I knew I was borrowing trouble from tomorrow, but my heart would not respond to the Truth I know. And then there was Grace...in a mirror. I saw the reflection of me holding her in her incredibly awkward position, and He whispered. If we were not able to have a final biological child, we knew we wanted to adopt. As I stared at her, I knew in my heart of hearts that I would have "chosen" a baby with some kind of special needs. Not because I'm a "good person" or even a good mom, but because it's my God-given passion. In my very short time being a (paid, out-of-the-home) teacher, my passion was for the kids too difficult for everyone else, and I loved them. The Lord, in His abundant grace, reminded me of my passion, and gave me the quiet assurance that that passion was "for such a time as this."
My Joy baby was chosen for me, and I chose her. Over the next few days, I quietly whispered to her, "I choose you." I know this might seem silly to horrendous to you, and I know my words cannot do justice to what the Lord did in my heart, but the healing that came has refocused me to just love on her and all of our children. It wasn't a quick "zap" of spirituality, but the culmination of hours spent in the Word and on my knees. And the peace that the Lord provided won't stay if I don't stay close to Him. Forgive me for my soap box, but it is awfully hard to hear a whisper when you aren't so close to the Speaker.
For now, I will relish her, and all of our little ones. I will chose each one, with all of their needs-"special" or not. I will be grateful for the passion He gave, and the grace He daily gives.
It seems ridiculous to admit, but I believed the premise of the story. Not so much with my pre-husband life, although he's pretty awesome, but with my kiddo's. Two boys on the spectrum and four miscarriages seems like perhaps I had reached that "thresh hold". My perfect little joy baby should grow and develop exactly (if not slightly better than) the norm...right? As she is about to reach her eighth month, she is behind in almost every area. She won't eat solids, and will gag if anything larger than a drop is placed on her tongue. She is very small and close to underweight for her age. She cannot sit up, nor is she even close to crawling. She can roll over one way, and then gets stuck on her tummy. Once again, for the third child in a row, we needed to start Birth to Three services. I was fine with that, until I had to call the County. Just hearing the voicemail message was like getting hit in the stomach. It took me back two and a half years to the beginning of our journey, and I almost couldn't speak for the message I had to leave. It took well over a day for me to "recover."
With the swiftness completely a-typical of a government office, a few days later our new case worker was in our home. I had not even noticed all of my little one's delays. Not only is she behind in physical development and in eating, she is completely non-verbal. This realization sent me into a tale spin. My heart was broken, and even though I spent hours in the Word, I could not stop mourning for what was, and what could be. I knew I was borrowing trouble from tomorrow, but my heart would not respond to the Truth I know. And then there was Grace...in a mirror. I saw the reflection of me holding her in her incredibly awkward position, and He whispered. If we were not able to have a final biological child, we knew we wanted to adopt. As I stared at her, I knew in my heart of hearts that I would have "chosen" a baby with some kind of special needs. Not because I'm a "good person" or even a good mom, but because it's my God-given passion. In my very short time being a (paid, out-of-the-home) teacher, my passion was for the kids too difficult for everyone else, and I loved them. The Lord, in His abundant grace, reminded me of my passion, and gave me the quiet assurance that that passion was "for such a time as this."
My Joy baby was chosen for me, and I chose her. Over the next few days, I quietly whispered to her, "I choose you." I know this might seem silly to horrendous to you, and I know my words cannot do justice to what the Lord did in my heart, but the healing that came has refocused me to just love on her and all of our children. It wasn't a quick "zap" of spirituality, but the culmination of hours spent in the Word and on my knees. And the peace that the Lord provided won't stay if I don't stay close to Him. Forgive me for my soap box, but it is awfully hard to hear a whisper when you aren't so close to the Speaker.
For now, I will relish her, and all of our little ones. I will chose each one, with all of their needs-"special" or not. I will be grateful for the passion He gave, and the grace He daily gives.
Wednesday, December 31, 2014
Dear Cashier,
Sound the alarm! We were out of milk. Now, this is a big deal to any family with five kiddos...or four...or any... but, to this special guy, this is a big deal. You see, his main food group is cereal. Honey Nut Cheerios to be quite exact. He was hungry, and he wanted some cereal. As I lovingly told him we were out of milk, my dear hubby offered to run to the store. Titus decided he wanted to go too. Alarms were now sounding off in my head. What if the store was busy? What if the line was too long, and he got overwhelmed? The list of "what if's?" gets long quick. After a moment's hesitation and a deep breath, my amazing hubby told Titus he could go. A few moments later, they were off in "daddy's car", and I started praying for their quick trip. Frankly, I held my breath until they returned.
After about twenty minutes they returned, milk in hand, with a few stories. Of course, the store was all decked out for Christmas, and Titus bounced around noticing all the "Santa" stuff. This was the first year he even knew of the existence of Santa, and it was fun. Richard told me of the bank teller's noticing his cute antics, and smiling at the cute little blond with his daddy, yelling, "Ho, Ho, Ho!" in his robust "Santa" voice.
After successfully finding the much needed milk, they got in line. The cashier noticed the four gallons of milk, and commented on how much milk it was. Richard said something about the need to eat cereal plus five kiddos. "Cereal? It's a little late for cereal!" Titus picked up on the conversation, and made a slurping sound, rubbed his tummy, and exclaimed, "Yummy, cereal!!" At this point, the cashier realized our son was a-typical, turned her head down, and finished the transaction as quickly as possible-not to say another word. Part of me is glad I wasn't in the store with them. Part of me is sad I wasn't there. Not to lecture her, shame her, or let her know how disappointing her actions were, but to learn how amazing our boy is. Not too long ago, he would not have made it through the store, let alone the check-out line. Believe me when I tell you, I've had many "well-meaning" adults threaten to have my son, "clean the store" or "stay here without mom" or let me know what they did to kids in the "olden days." And then, he did so much more than just survive a trip-he engaged-with words! The magnitude of amazingness that is is almost impossible for me to share. I just celebrated his third Christmas saying, "mom". He is almost 6. He couldn't even engage with his own mother for the first 2 1/2 years of his life, and now he did with a cashier.
So, dear cashier, I understand you were uncomfortable. Maybe you were afraid to offend. I get that. Maybe you have a painful story in your past-a family or friend who you watched struggle, and it stabbed your heart. I get that, too. Maybe, well, there are a thousand different scenarios that could fit here. I want you to know I am not embarrassed of my son. I am so proud of him, my heart feels like it could burst. I am so grateful for how far he has come, for who he is. I have five miracles in my life, and he is one of them. And know this, if you had engaged him, he would have smiled at you, and probably come around the line and given you a huge hug. And, for the record, he came home and had a huge bowl of cereal. He had, after all, braved the store for just that.
After about twenty minutes they returned, milk in hand, with a few stories. Of course, the store was all decked out for Christmas, and Titus bounced around noticing all the "Santa" stuff. This was the first year he even knew of the existence of Santa, and it was fun. Richard told me of the bank teller's noticing his cute antics, and smiling at the cute little blond with his daddy, yelling, "Ho, Ho, Ho!" in his robust "Santa" voice.
After successfully finding the much needed milk, they got in line. The cashier noticed the four gallons of milk, and commented on how much milk it was. Richard said something about the need to eat cereal plus five kiddos. "Cereal? It's a little late for cereal!" Titus picked up on the conversation, and made a slurping sound, rubbed his tummy, and exclaimed, "Yummy, cereal!!" At this point, the cashier realized our son was a-typical, turned her head down, and finished the transaction as quickly as possible-not to say another word. Part of me is glad I wasn't in the store with them. Part of me is sad I wasn't there. Not to lecture her, shame her, or let her know how disappointing her actions were, but to learn how amazing our boy is. Not too long ago, he would not have made it through the store, let alone the check-out line. Believe me when I tell you, I've had many "well-meaning" adults threaten to have my son, "clean the store" or "stay here without mom" or let me know what they did to kids in the "olden days." And then, he did so much more than just survive a trip-he engaged-with words! The magnitude of amazingness that is is almost impossible for me to share. I just celebrated his third Christmas saying, "mom". He is almost 6. He couldn't even engage with his own mother for the first 2 1/2 years of his life, and now he did with a cashier.
So, dear cashier, I understand you were uncomfortable. Maybe you were afraid to offend. I get that. Maybe you have a painful story in your past-a family or friend who you watched struggle, and it stabbed your heart. I get that, too. Maybe, well, there are a thousand different scenarios that could fit here. I want you to know I am not embarrassed of my son. I am so proud of him, my heart feels like it could burst. I am so grateful for how far he has come, for who he is. I have five miracles in my life, and he is one of them. And know this, if you had engaged him, he would have smiled at you, and probably come around the line and given you a huge hug. And, for the record, he came home and had a huge bowl of cereal. He had, after all, braved the store for just that.
Tuesday, December 2, 2014
Ripping Off the Bandaid
The past few months in our home have been quite intense. They have been surprising, painful, exhausting, wonderful, and so many more adjectives. My special guy has been amazing. The return to school was difficult, but he adjusted quickly. His transition to full days, five days per week was remarkable. Since the beginning of the school year, he has only had a handful of morning meltdowns-a stunning improvement. In fact, he loves school so much, he actually will ask to go on Saturday's. Not only this, but his love for his new sister has been such a pleasure to watch. He will ask to kiss baby Chara. He will say how sweet or how cute she is. There never seemed to be a jealousy issue-perhaps confusion about where the little thing came from and how long she might stay, but not the crazy jealousy I was so afraid of.
Then, therapy started. The funding I had worked so hard to obtain came in, and we began his in-home therapy. The first two months were easy. It was the "data gathering" phase. They followed him around our home, played whatever he wanted, and just worked to become his trusted friend. As they "played" the therapists began to define his "maladaptive behaviors." (I'm beginning to learn the clinical terms...) In the past few weeks, they have defined these behaviors, and set in place areas to begin working on.
For the past two and a half years, I've worked on figuring out how to stop melt downs. I've learned the warning signs, and will stop in the middle of a sentence/action/activity to curb the coming storm. Once a meltdown has started, I will use certain techniques to calm the situation. In the past two weeks, therapy has seen the signs, looked them square in the face, and let them come. They have things to accomplish, and their goal is not to calm him, but to help him learn to cope with stressors. In the past two therapy sessions, we have seen two huge meltdowns-worse than I've seen in months. After the second episode, I looked at his senior therapist and asked her if this was "normal" or expected. She looked at me, as calm as could be, (reminded me of privacy laws), and said that they have seen this behavior before. But, as momma, it is gut wrenching. It's worse than taking off those nasty post-surgery bandaids. I see him suffering, and I suffer with him. I want to jump in and make it stop. I want to protect him. Unfortunately, though, all I'm doing is opening the "shell" for him. Just as a baby chick has to open it's own shell to live, so must my son break open his own. Now, this does not mean that I don't pay close attention to make sure he isn't pushed too far. This, in no way, takes any responsibility away from me to watch over my son. There is a process, though, that requires pain. Just like I will never earn my first medal for finishing my first 10K without a lot of hard work (probably some tears, too...), so does he have to train for an even bigger event...life. This is not just for a momentary pleasure like a medal, but this is so my sweet and amazing son can better function in his daily life for the rest of his life.
It is humbling to watch him. As difficult as it has been at times to be his momma, his work is SO much harder. He has to learn to speak a language that is not his "mother tongue." He has to learn to quiet his body when it wants to be "socially inappropriate." He has to learn not to allow the overwhelming pressure of over-stimulation make him run. This little boy is one of my heroes. I'm so grateful the Lord chose me to be his momma. I have this amazing gift running around my house, teaching me to cherish every single moment, and to never take anything for granted.
Then, therapy started. The funding I had worked so hard to obtain came in, and we began his in-home therapy. The first two months were easy. It was the "data gathering" phase. They followed him around our home, played whatever he wanted, and just worked to become his trusted friend. As they "played" the therapists began to define his "maladaptive behaviors." (I'm beginning to learn the clinical terms...) In the past few weeks, they have defined these behaviors, and set in place areas to begin working on.
For the past two and a half years, I've worked on figuring out how to stop melt downs. I've learned the warning signs, and will stop in the middle of a sentence/action/activity to curb the coming storm. Once a meltdown has started, I will use certain techniques to calm the situation. In the past two weeks, therapy has seen the signs, looked them square in the face, and let them come. They have things to accomplish, and their goal is not to calm him, but to help him learn to cope with stressors. In the past two therapy sessions, we have seen two huge meltdowns-worse than I've seen in months. After the second episode, I looked at his senior therapist and asked her if this was "normal" or expected. She looked at me, as calm as could be, (reminded me of privacy laws), and said that they have seen this behavior before. But, as momma, it is gut wrenching. It's worse than taking off those nasty post-surgery bandaids. I see him suffering, and I suffer with him. I want to jump in and make it stop. I want to protect him. Unfortunately, though, all I'm doing is opening the "shell" for him. Just as a baby chick has to open it's own shell to live, so must my son break open his own. Now, this does not mean that I don't pay close attention to make sure he isn't pushed too far. This, in no way, takes any responsibility away from me to watch over my son. There is a process, though, that requires pain. Just like I will never earn my first medal for finishing my first 10K without a lot of hard work (probably some tears, too...), so does he have to train for an even bigger event...life. This is not just for a momentary pleasure like a medal, but this is so my sweet and amazing son can better function in his daily life for the rest of his life.
It is humbling to watch him. As difficult as it has been at times to be his momma, his work is SO much harder. He has to learn to speak a language that is not his "mother tongue." He has to learn to quiet his body when it wants to be "socially inappropriate." He has to learn not to allow the overwhelming pressure of over-stimulation make him run. This little boy is one of my heroes. I'm so grateful the Lord chose me to be his momma. I have this amazing gift running around my house, teaching me to cherish every single moment, and to never take anything for granted.
Friday, September 26, 2014
I Remember
Twenty years ago today was a pivotal, life-altering day in my life. I remember it like yesterday.
I remember going to school and sitting in the gym...feeling like an elephant was on my chest.
I remember making it to first hour, and just needing to go home.
I remember my teacher, Miss Smith, mocked me and said to me, "Next time, come to school when you are healthy."
I remember my dad picking me up from school in the little black Nissan-full of irritation because he was in the middle of a bathroom remodel. (He loathes house maintenance!)
I remember him sending me up to bed-you don't get to come home from school and play!
I remember where my bed was-against the wall, in the corner.
I remember hearing dad come up the stairs, thinking I was sleeping, and me making sure he heard me wheezing.
I remember the doctor's office. He checked my breathing, but no pneumonia, no pleurisy.
I remember him walking out of the office to check a medical book.
I remember sitting on the table, looking at my dad, begging him to ask a question to the doctor.
I remember the little cup of water.
I remember the finger stick-I even remember the big meter they used.
I remember the doctor walking out again.
I remember my dad's tears...my heartbreak for his pain...and my confusion.
I remember going home to pack.
I remember the suitcase I used.
I remember my dad's phone call (from home...this was before cell phones!) to my mom, telling her we were going to Children's.
I remember her response-thinking he was trying to cover for breaking one of the bathroom tiles she had bought!
I remember the plastic chair I sat in outside of the Admissions desk.
I remember the bed, and the sudden amount of flurry.
I remember my first IV, the veins rolling, me trying to be still, the pain!
I remember Joan, my nurse. "You can be anything you want to be, except a missionary...but why would you want to do that?!?"
I remember the intern doctor I thought was awfully handsome. (Give a girl a break...I was 13!)
I remember the visitors-I had a lot of visitors!
I remember the balloons-some even had my name on them.
I remember the teddy bear with the pacifier and the pens dad bought me.
I remember the praying bear Church bought, with satin angel wings.
I remember the hospital pull-out bed my mom slept in.
I remember the hourly arm or finger sticks they did.
I remember the team of doctors and nurses talking about how "lucky" I was-a few more hours, and I would have been in a coma, that would have caused my death.
I remember waiting to be "cured," for when this crazy roller coaster could be over, and I could go back to drinking a Super-sized Mello Yello without trying to figure out how many carbs were in it.
Like I said, a pivotal day in my life. What I saw as punishment, God used as a refining fire to draw me to His desires for me. To limit me, so I would have to listen to Him. To help me to see how many abundant blessings He poured out on me. To never take for granted life, and to appreciate the lives He graciously entrusted to me. I learned that faith is not measured, the body will fail no matter how "healthy" we appear, and that we are only sustained each day by His loving, gracious, and sovereign Hand. And I am grateful.
I remember going to school and sitting in the gym...feeling like an elephant was on my chest.
I remember making it to first hour, and just needing to go home.
I remember my teacher, Miss Smith, mocked me and said to me, "Next time, come to school when you are healthy."
I remember my dad picking me up from school in the little black Nissan-full of irritation because he was in the middle of a bathroom remodel. (He loathes house maintenance!)
I remember him sending me up to bed-you don't get to come home from school and play!
I remember where my bed was-against the wall, in the corner.
I remember hearing dad come up the stairs, thinking I was sleeping, and me making sure he heard me wheezing.
I remember the doctor's office. He checked my breathing, but no pneumonia, no pleurisy.
I remember him walking out of the office to check a medical book.
I remember sitting on the table, looking at my dad, begging him to ask a question to the doctor.
I remember the little cup of water.
I remember the finger stick-I even remember the big meter they used.
I remember the doctor walking out again.
I remember my dad's tears...my heartbreak for his pain...and my confusion.
I remember going home to pack.
I remember the suitcase I used.
I remember my dad's phone call (from home...this was before cell phones!) to my mom, telling her we were going to Children's.
I remember her response-thinking he was trying to cover for breaking one of the bathroom tiles she had bought!
I remember the plastic chair I sat in outside of the Admissions desk.
I remember the bed, and the sudden amount of flurry.
I remember my first IV, the veins rolling, me trying to be still, the pain!
I remember Joan, my nurse. "You can be anything you want to be, except a missionary...but why would you want to do that?!?"
I remember the intern doctor I thought was awfully handsome. (Give a girl a break...I was 13!)
I remember the visitors-I had a lot of visitors!
I remember the balloons-some even had my name on them.
I remember the teddy bear with the pacifier and the pens dad bought me.
I remember the praying bear Church bought, with satin angel wings.
I remember the hospital pull-out bed my mom slept in.
I remember the hourly arm or finger sticks they did.
I remember the team of doctors and nurses talking about how "lucky" I was-a few more hours, and I would have been in a coma, that would have caused my death.
I remember waiting to be "cured," for when this crazy roller coaster could be over, and I could go back to drinking a Super-sized Mello Yello without trying to figure out how many carbs were in it.
Like I said, a pivotal day in my life. What I saw as punishment, God used as a refining fire to draw me to His desires for me. To limit me, so I would have to listen to Him. To help me to see how many abundant blessings He poured out on me. To never take for granted life, and to appreciate the lives He graciously entrusted to me. I learned that faith is not measured, the body will fail no matter how "healthy" we appear, and that we are only sustained each day by His loving, gracious, and sovereign Hand. And I am grateful.
Monday, September 8, 2014
To Cry or Not to Cry
It was a rough morning. Saying anything different would be a pretty big lie. He didn't want to get up. He didn't want to get dressed. He didn't want to eat. He didn't want to brush his teeth or go to the bathroom. He let me know loudly and with tears. The list could go on, but I'm sure you get the idea. We finally got out of the door, into the car, and drove the two minutes to school...edging on the late side, but close. I prayed with him as we walked up to school, and he was settled for a moment. A police officer was on the sidewalk, making sure kids and parents were following the street crossing rules. I was going to stop and "introduce" Titus to him, I don't want him afraid of those who protect him! As we walked by, Titus said, "Oh! Hello Officer!" My surprise and joy bubbled right out of my mouth, and I didn't even care. I was thrilled to the point of verbal exclamation that my precious boy knew, respected, and acknowledged the officer. The officer greeted Titus, they shook hands (melt my heart!!!), and then we proceeded on.
As we neared his entrance door, things started going south. I got down on my knees, and held him. Another prayer, some back rubbing, and a few kisses to try to calm him and let him know how much I love him. Then, we sat on the sidewalk, waiting for his teacher. She came out along with one the extra staff assigned to the room. Titus was ready to run-pacing, crying, and verbalizing his desire to go home. I looked to one of them, and asked her what they would prefer I do. She told me to leave him there, and walk away. I cannot express the vice-grip fear took at that moment. If you've ever had a strong child run away, or watched an unknowing toddler run in front of a car, then you will know the almost paralyzing amount of fear I had. I walked away, terrified at any moment I would see him darting toward the street. As I walked down the sidewalk, other mom's were discussing their child's new friends in class. The majority were in his class, but no one brought up his name. So, I braced my shoulders, and walked as quickly to my car as I could. Don't cry, not yet.
An eternity later, I got to the car. Breathe deep, don't cry, be tough. I kept thinking this to myself over and over. A moment later, a still and small voice chastened me. Bring your tears to Jesus. I think it will be one of those moments I will never forget. For the first time in my life, I realized Jesus was waiting for me to crumple into His arms. He completely knew and understood the heart-wrenching pain of a hurt child who is not relating to his peers. I did not have to bare them alone. I didn't even have to just, "take His hand." I could fall-weak, broken, afraid...terrified, into His waiting arms, and He would comfort as only He can. So, I cried. Not the puffy-faced "poor me" cry, but a joy-filled release that let Jesus heal. I'm sure I cannot put into adequate words how freeing it was to know that I am incredibly "not tough" and Jesus wants me that way-and meets me right where my knees fail (even when I'm sitting up and driving a car).
As we neared his entrance door, things started going south. I got down on my knees, and held him. Another prayer, some back rubbing, and a few kisses to try to calm him and let him know how much I love him. Then, we sat on the sidewalk, waiting for his teacher. She came out along with one the extra staff assigned to the room. Titus was ready to run-pacing, crying, and verbalizing his desire to go home. I looked to one of them, and asked her what they would prefer I do. She told me to leave him there, and walk away. I cannot express the vice-grip fear took at that moment. If you've ever had a strong child run away, or watched an unknowing toddler run in front of a car, then you will know the almost paralyzing amount of fear I had. I walked away, terrified at any moment I would see him darting toward the street. As I walked down the sidewalk, other mom's were discussing their child's new friends in class. The majority were in his class, but no one brought up his name. So, I braced my shoulders, and walked as quickly to my car as I could. Don't cry, not yet.
An eternity later, I got to the car. Breathe deep, don't cry, be tough. I kept thinking this to myself over and over. A moment later, a still and small voice chastened me. Bring your tears to Jesus. I think it will be one of those moments I will never forget. For the first time in my life, I realized Jesus was waiting for me to crumple into His arms. He completely knew and understood the heart-wrenching pain of a hurt child who is not relating to his peers. I did not have to bare them alone. I didn't even have to just, "take His hand." I could fall-weak, broken, afraid...terrified, into His waiting arms, and He would comfort as only He can. So, I cried. Not the puffy-faced "poor me" cry, but a joy-filled release that let Jesus heal. I'm sure I cannot put into adequate words how freeing it was to know that I am incredibly "not tough" and Jesus wants me that way-and meets me right where my knees fail (even when I'm sitting up and driving a car).
Thursday, June 12, 2014
Taken For Granted
I began a list. This list is slightly different, and not necessarily inspired by a quite famous book circulating among Christian ladies at the moment. (NOT that there is anything wrong with her list!) I think sometimes, in the mundane/the "normal" it is easy to take for granted things that don't come to every parent (or child). As I have written about "several" times before, the Lord in His gracious sovereignty has given me two special boys who have truly helped me see amazement and wonder in the normality of daily life.
Things I will never take for granted:
1. Shoes-and the ability to wear them
2. Socks-whether they have Spiderman (his first pair ever!), Avengers, Skylanders...and now just plain ole' white ones...a little boy willing to wear them.
3. Cookies-you would be amazed at how helpful a cheap, off-brand oreo can be to encourage a will to bend.
4. Giggles-there was a long time in which screaming was a LOT more prevalent than a belly laugh in our home.
5. Hugs-After a meltdown.
6. Hugs-spontaneous, for no reason at all.
7. A loving teacher-we have been abundantly blessed to have two years of amazing teachers who have loved our (sometimes unlovable) son.
8. Words-they took SO long to come! Whether the word is simple and a statement in and of itself, or a whole sentence-amazing! The words are different than others' might be, but they are his, and they communicate...and it is awesome.
9. A wave-the releasing of me. The "it's okay momma, I'll stay here" kind. The "I trust you to come back, and I'll go in" gesture...that sometimes comes with a blowing kiss.
10. A hug and a kiss goodbye-sometimes two or three times before he can walk into school...making sure that I know he loves me...and wanting to be reassured in my love for him. And I love it each time. Sadly, I've seen other mom's on their second round of "goodbyes" get irritated at their child-yelling at them to get into school/back into line. I hope his last forever...but when he hits that age that boys do...when it's just not "okay" to show physical affection to your momma anymore, I'll have some sweet memories. And yes, other mom, I see you scoff...and I'll take your scoff any day to have an extra moment with my boy.
11. A hand slipping into mine-melts me EVERY time! He has just finally reached the point where he doesn't run away with every glimpse of freedom, and will actually slip his hand into mine, walking right beside me. I'm not going to lie...it has caused me to tear up more than once.
12. Siblings playing happily together-SO much training has gone to get even a few minutes of this wonderment. The grace displayed by (especially) the older two at times to achieve happy harmony is amazing evidence of the Lord's love of our family.
13. Obedience/Cooperation-Just last night, he obeyed when I asked him to pick up his cars (scattered all over the living room). This used to be an impossible feat. But, last night, he did it. He was excited to obey, and I was just so amazed at how far he has come-and hugged him tight enough to make him wince.
As I stated, this list is so far from exhaustive. So much of these improvements/advancements have come in the last year. It is so overwhelming (in SUCH a good way!) to watch him grow. Psalm 139 states that from the womb, God knit every person together-designing and forming in His perfect way. I get to stop and bask in the glow of His creation in my little ones. It is beautiful and wonderful and so many other adjectives. It is not easy, it is humbling, and it is unsure. I think that is one of the most amazing things He has taught me. I don't know what the future holds, but I know Who holds the future...and that is finally okay with me. (Not that it matters, since it is the truth.) As I've been teaching my older two, God designed our family in the perfect way. He knew we would all love each other better than anyone else in the world. He knew we needed the challenge to draw us to Him, and He loves us enough to want us to run to Him when it is difficult. And that is quite hard to take for granted.
Things I will never take for granted:
1. Shoes-and the ability to wear them
2. Socks-whether they have Spiderman (his first pair ever!), Avengers, Skylanders...and now just plain ole' white ones...a little boy willing to wear them.
3. Cookies-you would be amazed at how helpful a cheap, off-brand oreo can be to encourage a will to bend.
4. Giggles-there was a long time in which screaming was a LOT more prevalent than a belly laugh in our home.
5. Hugs-After a meltdown.
6. Hugs-spontaneous, for no reason at all.
7. A loving teacher-we have been abundantly blessed to have two years of amazing teachers who have loved our (sometimes unlovable) son.
8. Words-they took SO long to come! Whether the word is simple and a statement in and of itself, or a whole sentence-amazing! The words are different than others' might be, but they are his, and they communicate...and it is awesome.
9. A wave-the releasing of me. The "it's okay momma, I'll stay here" kind. The "I trust you to come back, and I'll go in" gesture...that sometimes comes with a blowing kiss.
10. A hug and a kiss goodbye-sometimes two or three times before he can walk into school...making sure that I know he loves me...and wanting to be reassured in my love for him. And I love it each time. Sadly, I've seen other mom's on their second round of "goodbyes" get irritated at their child-yelling at them to get into school/back into line. I hope his last forever...but when he hits that age that boys do...when it's just not "okay" to show physical affection to your momma anymore, I'll have some sweet memories. And yes, other mom, I see you scoff...and I'll take your scoff any day to have an extra moment with my boy.
11. A hand slipping into mine-melts me EVERY time! He has just finally reached the point where he doesn't run away with every glimpse of freedom, and will actually slip his hand into mine, walking right beside me. I'm not going to lie...it has caused me to tear up more than once.
12. Siblings playing happily together-SO much training has gone to get even a few minutes of this wonderment. The grace displayed by (especially) the older two at times to achieve happy harmony is amazing evidence of the Lord's love of our family.
13. Obedience/Cooperation-Just last night, he obeyed when I asked him to pick up his cars (scattered all over the living room). This used to be an impossible feat. But, last night, he did it. He was excited to obey, and I was just so amazed at how far he has come-and hugged him tight enough to make him wince.
As I stated, this list is so far from exhaustive. So much of these improvements/advancements have come in the last year. It is so overwhelming (in SUCH a good way!) to watch him grow. Psalm 139 states that from the womb, God knit every person together-designing and forming in His perfect way. I get to stop and bask in the glow of His creation in my little ones. It is beautiful and wonderful and so many other adjectives. It is not easy, it is humbling, and it is unsure. I think that is one of the most amazing things He has taught me. I don't know what the future holds, but I know Who holds the future...and that is finally okay with me. (Not that it matters, since it is the truth.) As I've been teaching my older two, God designed our family in the perfect way. He knew we would all love each other better than anyone else in the world. He knew we needed the challenge to draw us to Him, and He loves us enough to want us to run to Him when it is difficult. And that is quite hard to take for granted.
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