Winning The Heart of Your Child

This blog has been silent for over a year. Sometimes writing helps process life. Sometimes life can't be processed in words. I do know that cancer changed the trajectory of my life forever. Just as disability did before cancer. Just as adoption did before disability.  Just as infertility did before adoption. Life happens in the blink of an eye.

In the blink of an eye, Boy Wonder entered high school and Rockstar Kid became a teen.  At 5, I was their world. They wouldn't dream of heading into school at morning drop off without a hug, a kiss, a verbal "I love you mom".  Now as teens, they barely acknowledge I'm in the car. And it would be their worst nightmare if drop off included a hug or a kiss on the cheek.

What happened to my little boys? I blinked and they are tweens, growing into teens, heading for manhood. Hormones have taken over their bodies...I often wonder, do I still have their hearts?

Over the years, I've read so many parenting books: books on discipline, books on scheduling, books on emotions, books for neuro-typical kids, books for children with trauma, books for a child on the spectrum, books for strong-willed boys. Every book had its niche, and I could glean one or two things from each book, but needed to toss the rest of the chapters because it didn't fit my child.  Then puberty hit and, wow!, did I feel hopeless and confused with parenting.  What do I read for the strong-willed, hyperactive, hormone-engulfed, I-love-you-just-kidding-I-hate-you-emotionally-charged, adventurous, I-want-independence, I-need-you, phase of my boys life?

Big sigh.  Lots of prayers. Lots of do-overs. Enter Mike & Kristen Berry. Cue the music. Carve out a moment of your day because Winning The Heart of Your Child is going to be released February 5, 2019, and I was given a pre-release copy to read and review.

Pour yourself a drink, find a quiet spot, and dig into this book.
Whatever season of life you are in...childhood, tween, teen...this book is one you'll turn to over and over. It's practical. It's straightforward. It's honest.

Whether your child is typical or on the spectrum, biological or adopted, boy or girl, you will find encouragement and wisdom from an author who's been there/done that. This is practical, smart parenting.

The first portion of the book is about The Great Misunderstanding in parenting.  For me, this provided real insight into why my reactions and my approaches haven't worked. And boy did it hit home!

The second portion of the book is Parenting for the Win, with 9 keys to building a lifelong relationship with my kids. Nine ways you can begin or continue to connect with your kids or teens.  Let's just say that I underlined so many points in these chapters, you're going to want to get the book!

The final portion of the book is Moving Forward. It's where you get practical and daily. It's the part I'll need to write about later, because, honestly, I'm still moving forward. My little boys are growing young men. They don't need me, but they desperately need me. They don't want to talk, but they want me to listen. They don't want me involved, but they want to know I care.

My biggest critique of the book....Key 5: stay involved with your child..." be ready to set aside what you are doing when your children want to talk".  Whaaaa! but I just want to keep reading this chapter of this book.  I'm supposed to put what I read into action, so I take a deep breath and close the book and make eye contact and I listen.

Now it's your turn.
Go to this website to grab your own copy of the book:  http://www.winningtheheartbook.com/
If you pre-order from the website before Feb 5 you will receive :
    Access to Exclusive Winning The Heart Book VIP Facebook Group
    A Special 3-Part Video Series on Understanding Your Influence
    A Downloadable PDF Library Of Extra Content
    An Entire Library Of Colorful Images for Your Phone, Tablet, or Computer
    A Special 3-Part Audio Series on Parenting On Purpose
    A 16-Week Facebook Video Study Series


(*Here's where I need to disclose that I did receive a complimentary copy of this book, in exchange for writing a review. The opinions about the book are 100% my own. I also do NOT receive any compensation when you click on the links and/or purchase a book. I'm recommending it because I actually really like the book.)

Unshaken Hope

Continuing to share some excerpts from my journals over the past few weeks. Learning to look for more stones of remembrance along the way.


August 28th

The God of all comfort is who I cling to in these moments.  He is the only hope for those living with disabilities. He will see me through this temporary disability just as he continues to do for my child's permanent disability.


August 30th

Today was filled with much doubt and nagging fear, thoughts such as this cannot be happening and how am I supposed to handle this. Maybe it's all the hormones, maybe its the boys being cooped up inside and unable to breathe because of smoke filled skies, maybe it's the days of waiting for what is unknown. Today was just all around depressing.

Tonight I read Psalm 43:5 "Why are you cast down, O my soul, and why are you in turmoil within me? Hope in God; for I shall again praise him, my salvation and my God"

I will not allow this cancer to cast me down and bring so much turmoil into my life that I miss moments with my family. Hope, not worry. Live in the gratitude of the moment, because the next moment is not guaranteed.


September 1, 2017

This morning we met with Dr. H for my pre-op appointment. He did an ultra-sound to show us where the cancer is appearing. It looks hopeful that it is not spreading.  Now the countdown to September 12 begins.

In the afternoon we escaped town to head to the coast for fresh air. I need ocean therapy. And Boy Wonder absolutely thrives in the sand and salt water, where every sensory craving he has is blissfully and continually met.

Desperation can cause you to Sing

Many years ago I read a book by Chuck Swindoll entitled "Stones of Remembrance", which discusses and meditates on the significance of building "stones of remembrance" to recall what God has done in our lives.  On this new journey, I began journaling so I could see and remember what God is doing.

Excerpts from my journal this month:

August 15, 2017

I've been reading a book entitled "The 23rd Psalm for the 21st Century, a Jewish shepherds story" by Lon Solomon.  I love so much about this book!  God is reminding me that this is just another valley.
"God has seen every crisis and is aware of every need we will ever have - and he has already been through the mesas of our life making provision for them all."

And it reminds me of a Steve Green song:

Hidden valleys produce a life song
Hidden valleys will make a heart strong
Desperation can cause you to sing
Hidden valleys turn shepherds to kings.


August 17, 2017


Psalm 23:5  "You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies."

Cried and cried but seeing the fingerprints of God again.    Today, God, as my shepherd went before me and prepared an open appointment at 8 am this morning. God prepared a table for me in the tunnel of an MRI. He quieted my should with calm and truth (and a xanax). 



August 19, 2017

Continuing to lay stones of remembrance as I marvel that God goes before me as my shepherd. 
Holding my child in my arms as he cries uncontrollably over the unknown things in his mamas diagnosis.  God is their shepherd too.   I need to trust that God also has my boys in his care. That his plan and purposes were established before they were mine and will remain long after I am gone.

What if December Looked Different This Year?

This Christmas our family is learning to give, and, well, I’m a bit embarrassed to confess,  it's not as easy as I thought it would be. I’m a little more OCD than I'd like to admit, I’m a bit more impatience than I thought I was, and I actually like all my worldly American comforts.

You see, this Christmas, my husband and I decided we are not giving each other gifts, and our kids are each getting 1 gift and 1 adventure date coupon. Instead, we are opening our home to a teenager who is an Eastern European orphan, “N” (her name and location are being withheld for privacy & safety reasons).  We are partnering with Project 143 to give orphans hope.

In the past we've gone to other parts of the world, this time we are bringing the world to us.  We've come to recognize even though our hearts stir us to go into all the world and share the good news of Jesus, our family dynamic is such that we just can't. We already have a child who has a disability requiring adult supervision at all times. Taking him into places with unfamiliar smells, where he is on sensory overload, and can't find a quiet room full of Legos, is too much for him (and me!).

Here’s the thing: my excited, motherly heart tells me to splurge on N this Christmas. I want there to be stacks of presents for her under the tree; I want to take N on a shopping spree at Nordstrom; I want to give her a Pottery Barn bedroom; I want to have a day away at Spa W being pampered from head to toe; I want her to spend a day wandering Powell's Books and buying everything that takes her fancy; I want her to go to school to have friends; I want to teach her to ski, to bike, to ride a horse, and I want her to put her toes in the ocean.

Then I stop myself and remember…all she really needs for Christmas is a family.

What she really needs is hugs every morning, prayers every night, grace throughout the day, boundaries and unconditional love. To know she is loved, and she is accepted. To know the Messiah came 2016 years ago and she can receive the free gift of salvation through Jesus Christ who loves her.  So we are going to do our best to meet those needs from Dec 20th to Jan 15th, and plant seeds of hope we know will continue throughout her life.

This song by Matthew West truly expresses what we hope to do this year: Give This Christmas Away.

Hope that does not Disappoint

Often, living life in a home where there is a child with “high needs” can be exhausting.  It can easily be discouraging when we see our children failing to meet the milestones that typical children are soon passing.  If I'm not careful, that discouragement so quickly crawls into the crevices of my mind and I must remember that I am learning to live a different dream for my child.  

 
There is sometimes a grey cloud cover on this journey, hovering ominously on the horizon, as if Eyeore has taken up residence in my home. And I don’t want him here, gloomy and mopey, always certain that the next step on the journey will bring disaster and more disappointment.  I want my home to be one where Christopher Robin would love to live: full of anticipation, adventure, laughter, and hope.

Hope, in my mind, is a key word for parents, for caretakers and for children living with developmental delays. Actually, especially for children with special needs. 

Hope. Not as in I want something to happen or be the case,  not referring to the lucky feeling when we hope to win the lottery, nor focused on the wanting when we hope to get a bike for Christmas.

I’m referring to lasting hope.  
Hope that does not disappoint. 
Hope that is bigger and deeper and surer than any diagnosis. 
Hope that looks beyond the possibilities of cures and medications.  
Hope, the desire of some good with the expectation of obtaining it. 
This is my hope that does not disappoint: Christ my Savior, with the promise of heaven to come.

Hope which reminds me even though we had major behavioral set-backs today, I know that tomorrow is a new day filled with grace. Hope that reassures me in-spite of my shortcomings as a parent, my child can set his sights on One who is greater than me. It is the object of my hope: the sure and steady anchor in the storms of disability, Christ alone.

And in light of that hope, on hard days, I can choose to take a deep breath, to offer an embracing hug and kneel in quiet prayer and say the words “I love you, I forgive you”.  It is because of a future hope, secure and true, that I know that I know, that my child has a purpose and plan in life. It is this hope that gives me confidence that even when I fail and we have to try again tomorrow, one day there will be no failures, there will be no more disability.  And I exalt in the hope of that glory! For THAT hope, that anchor for my soul, does not disappoint.

Longing and Gratitude

Since the day I first watched this brief video it has been embedded in my mind. The simple, yet utterly profound, words of this young man living with Cerebral Palsy (CP) have been pondered in my heart over and over.

My child does not live with CP, however, I would dare to say my Boy Wonder, who has FASD & Autism, experiences so many of the same feelings as Roger Flournoy, Jr. when he stated: 

"I want to be everybody's friends and that hurts me because I can't help the fact that I have CP".

Boy Wonder is one of the most handsome young men you will see, therefore, the expectation is that he is typical. However, place him in his peer group and watch as the FASD unfolds itself in his dysmature behavior and social dysfunction.  He did nothing to deserve FASD, and there is no cure for FASD. He will struggle his entire life with the hurt feelings of rejection because of a  neurological disability.

You may not realize that CP and Down-syndrome are visible disabilities that often cause people to shy away because they don't know how to respond to the physical differences they see in someone.

While Fetal Alcohol Spectrum Disorders and Autism/Aspbergers are invisible disabilities that often cause people to shy away because they don't know how to respond to the emotional differences they see in someone.

All of these often lead to the same core feelings for our kids: loneliness.

“The hardest thing is loneliness. I am my own greatest enemy when I am left to my loneliness.” Roger

My heart weeps when I hear those words! For Roger, for my neuro-typical son, for those who are non-verbal, for all the thousands of kiddos living with FASD.  The loneliness is so real.

Spoiler alert: the wisest words on this 4 minute video are these, "Jesus paid the ultimate price and if I don’t totally worship him it’s like I don’t appreciate him dying for me."  Roger Flournoy Jr

Those are the words I have pondered over and over in my heart the past few days.  Oh, that I would have the simple, deep joy of this young man living his entire life with CP!  Even with his disability, even in his loneliness, he is choosing to be filled with joy that can't be shaken. Gratitude. Overwhelming gratitude.

I hope you will take the time to watch his story unfold and allow his words reflecting the peace and power of Jesus Christ, to fill your soul with gratitude as well.

Nourish

Welcome to a new week! I don't know about you, but my soul was wonderfully refreshed yesterday as I spent time with God and took a day of rest with my family.  I have no doubt that God had our spiritual, emotional and physical bodies in mind when He incorporated a "Sabbath" rest for us.

It's Monday: back to school, groceries, laundry and helping people achieve personal goals in their lives. We're also under a thunderstorm and flash flood watch, so I've got a double batch of muffins in the oven right now, waiting to be eaten during that afternoon crazy hour when our bodies need refueling & rehydration. Now that I've nourished my soul, here's a fantastic way to nourish the body. 

Gluten Free, Dairy Free, Refined Sugar Free Banana Muffins in minutes.

You'll want to make these right now.  Best news: they are healthy and they are quick! 30 minutes and you'll have them prepped, baked and cleaned up. No kidding.  I think I based my recipe on this one I found on Pinterest. but I've been making them for so many years, I'm not sure. Enjoy it nonetheless!

Banana Muffins:

• 1 medium/large ripe banana, peeled   (FYI, ripe bananas are soft and brown & very high glycemic. Green bananas are lower in sugar, but don't give the liquid to the recipe)

• 1 large egg
• 1/2 cup creamy GF peanut butter or sunbutter (DO NOT use almond butter!)
• 3 Tbls agave 
• 1/2 to 1 tablespoon vanilla extract
• 1/4 teaspoon baking soda
• 1/4 teaspoon cinnamon
• 1/8 teaspoon salt
• 1/2 cup mini Enjoy Life chocolate chips (gf, df, nut free)

DIRECTIONS:

Preheat oven to 375 standard or 350 convection

Grab your Demarle silicone mini muffin pans.  Or, prepare mini muffin pans by spraying very, very well with cooking spray; set aside.

Grab a blender: Vitamin, Blendtec, Magic Bullet...whatever spins your world.

Add to blender in this order:  agave, egg, vanilla, banana, peanut/sun butter, cinnamon & baking soda, then blend on high speed until smooth and creamy, NO MORE than 1 minute. Seriously. You'll heat up the butter and your chips will melt into a gooey mess. Just sayin.

Add heaping 1/2 cup Enjoy Life chips and stir in by hand; don't use the blender because it will pulverize or melt them.

Using a small Pampered Chef scoop, drop 2 scoops into mini muffin pans. Each muffin should be filled to no more than 3/4 full (any fuller & the muffins will not rise properly).

 

Sprinkle each muffin with a generous pinch of chocolate chips. Just because I love chocolate.

For best results, bake at 350 convection for 9 minutes
Or, bake at 375 for 10-12 minutes

Do not over bake. Muffins will rise greatly in oven & fall as they cool on counter. Do not panic. They will taste fantastic!!!

Allow muffins to cool in pans for about 10 to 15 minutes.

Makes 12-14 mini-muffins. They will be eaten before you can pack them away.

I make these ALL THE TIME. I always double the recipe because these muffins freeze fantastically and hold up perfect in school lunches.  Here's a few more options I've tried during the zillion times I've baked them...

Variations:
Add 1/3 cup unsweetened natural cocoa powder and 1 Tbls more of agave
Add mint chips instead of chocolate chips.
Add 1/2 tsp of bakers coffee spice blend

To make them sugar free completely:
These are good, but aren't as fabulous as the above recipe.

• 1 cup + 1 Tbsp almond butter
• 1 egg
• 1 banana
• 3 tbsp coconut milk
• 3 Tbsp stevia powder
• 3 Tbsp cocoa powder
• 2 Tbsp cocoa nibs
• 3/4 tsp baking powder

Steadfast Love

Words filled with hope and promise to get us through each day, moment by moment.

The 12th Man

The 12th man.

If you live on the west coast, particularly the Pacific Northwest region of the United States, an image immediately popped into your head when you read those words: the 12th man.

A certain friend of mine (whose identity shall remain nameless as they mourn loss in Wisconsin) said this weekend, “I’m sick of hearing the hokey 12th man garbage”.  However, if you’re a Seattle Seahawks fan, you know you ARE the 12th man. As the 12th man, YOU are part of the team. 

Follow all the social media posts and hashtags such #12thman, #weare12 or #12manstrong and you'll see its a real phenomena.  Get this: on Instagram alone there were 474,320 posts with the hashtag #12thman.

An article in USA Today quoted the coach as saying, “When you have 12’s behind us like this today, and you have the belief these guys have in one another, there ain’t nothing you can’t do,” Carroll said. “And as crazy as that sounds, they pulled it together. They pulled off a great comeback victory.”

In case you're still unclear about all the 12th man hype, Wikipedia says this, “The 12th man or 12th player is a term for fans of teams playing American football or association football. As most football leagues allow a maximum of eleven players per team on the playing field at a time, referring to a team's fans as the 12th man implies that they have a potentially helpful role in the game. Infrequently, the term has referred to individuals having a notable connection to their football team...”

A few nights ago I lay awake thinking about the 12th man. Raising a child with disabilities requires an incredible amount of endless energy. There isn’t much down time and it often feels like life is throwing endless yellow flags at you. You learn to make the most of every yard you gain.

When emotions run high in your child, joy overflows: there is constant singing, babbling in their own happy language, whistling contended tunes, telling you over & over & over & over how much they love you. Yet emotions can take a quick turnover where it often gets physical: arms start flying, holes appear in walls, clothing gets torn, toys destruct, tears are shed, Legos are broken, dreams are tackled and the wind is knocked clear out of you.

It's when you feel defeated, discouraged and unable to make another move, at that very moment ... the 12th man becomes invaluable.

As a parent, I need my 12th man!  I need to know there is someone out there cheering me on, someone telling me to get up and try again, someone encouraging me to press on for another day.  My child can have tremendous swings in mood and in physical health which means I’m on a direct text line with the school; the 12th man is the one who doesn’t give up on me in spite of my seemingly unpredictableness.

I need a 12th man cheering on my behalf, after having my child screaming for hours. I need a 12th man who dresses up and says “let’s go!”, after spending the day telling my child “please just let it go”. I need a 12th man team who stays for the long haul when my child has just entered the hospital for the 3rd time this month. I need to be 12 man strong when there is yet another IEP battle to wage against a principal who just doesn’t get it, still.

If you’re raising a child with disabilities, who is your 12th man? 

Here’s a few ideas to get your own cheering squad started:

• Reach out to other parents in your child's Lifeskill/ERC class; they need to be 12 man strong just like you!
• Ask your pediatrician if there's a local support group. I’m in a closed Facebook group for other moms in my city who are raising kids with autism.
• Call local churches or Joni & Friends to find a support group.
• Can’t find a local group: ask another mom of an exceptional child to meet you at the park...you’ll be surprised how fast word will spread & others will join you.
• Join a closed or secret Facebook group where you can safely vent to other caregivers who understand your childs unique needs.
• Follow blogs of others who are on this journey with you.  Jolene Philo, who writes Different Dream for my child, has a great link up every Tuesday where you can follow the blogs some exceptional families.
• Special Needs Parenting.net reminds you that you are Not Alone, providing resources from amazing writers who are caregivers too.
• Forward this post so others can learn to be your 12th man.

On the other end of the playing field...are YOU a 12th man?

Here’s how you can be a 12th man for a family raising an exceptional child:

1. Call and just say, hi.
2. Meet them at the park for fresh air & coffee.
3. Offer to watch their child for 1 hour so they can do laundry or nap.
4. Offer to do their laundry.
5. Write a simple note of encouragement.
6. Tell them you are praying for them.
7. Ask how can you pray specifically.
8. Ask how they are doing...then stop to listen without offering advice.
9. Call and just say hi.
10. Invite some or all of their children for a play-date.
11. Take a meal...don’t wait for a crisis. Take a meal tomorrow.
12. Don’t give up on them, remember their life is exceptionally stressful.

Perhaps God had a #12strongteam in mind when writing Hebrews 12:12-13  So take a new grip with your tired hands and strengthen your weak knees. Mark out a straight path for your feet so that those who are weak and lame will not fall but become strong. (NLT)

I challenge you today: thank your #12strongteam, find a #12thman, BECOME a #weare12 for a family.

I Slipped

It was one of those afternoons, Dear Hubby was out of town on business again, (which of course, involves dining & wining others a concept I’ve all but forgotten), as I’m at home learning how to eliminate 54 foods (favorite foods!) from Rock Star's diet. It was raining again still; PMS was on its way. Boy Wonder had completely smashed his glasses in anger at school just a couple hours prior; I had somehow managed to not blow my temper in the car when I saw what was left of his glasses and read the letter from the teacher describing what happened - especially since this was the second time in the past 10 days he’d broken them.

I had maintained my cool; I was inhaling deeply and exhaling a prayer. The ever fragile time-bomb, otherwise known to disability parents as the hours between 4 and 7 pm, slowly ticked away.  As I went to transfer the laundry from the washer to the dryer, I realized Boy Wonder had been suspiciously silent for the past 10 minutes, so I stepped out of the mud room to investigate, which made me remember I should pull some frozen meat out of the garage fridge for dinner tomorrow, but then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw the dog following me to the garage and realized it was time for him to go potty, just then I heard Boy Wonder yell for me from the back patio, so I spun around to head back up the mud room steps when it happened: I slipped.

And I went down in searing, instantaneous pain. It hurt. Everywhere: my shin, my knee, my hip, my elbow, my broken fingernail. How I managed to not leave a blue-streak longer than any Ralphies father had hanging over Lake Michigan, I will never know. It hurt that bad!

The noises continued whirling: the barking of the dog terrorizing the neighbors cat, Boy Wonder asking ‘where are you mom?’, Rock Star wanting homework assistance, my phone dinging, the dryer buzzing.  Still I sat on the floor in the mud room, allowing the tears to fall freely. I was in pain and I did not want to move.   I just wanted someone to come rescue me, someone to tell me to go lie down, someone to bandage me.

When it crosses my mind: “Isn’t this just like the journey of raising a child with disabilities?”

How often I slip as a parent!  I am not perfect and this road is full of twists and turns and slippery slopes. Over-exhaustion causes me to be short-tempered with my spouse. Frustration of always being needed causes me to speak in unnecessarily harsh tones to my children. The pressure of needing to maintain a clean diet depletes much of the joy of cooking. Endless therapy appointments prevent me from having “me” time. Unpredictable and unexpected illnesses cause me to break my rare social dates with friends. And once again, I feel myself tumble down.

Each slip, causes another bruise.
Each fall brings a bit sharper pain than the last slip.
It is often a solitary journey- this life with disability - to slip and find no one there to lend a hand.

Yet on the hard, cold cement floor of the mud-room, nursing my already-turning black & blue bruise, breathing in and out, I hear the gentle voice of God whisper to me through all the noise: “Encourage the exhausted and strengthen the feeble. Say to those with anxious hearts, ‘Take courage, fear not…your God will come’.”  Isaiah 35:3-4

It is in this unexpected slip I am reminded that I MUST schedule quiet time into my calendar. I MUST guard my alone-with-God-morning and treat it more precious than coffee time with a treasured girlfriend. I MUST pencil a technology-free block of time into the start of my week, without fail. I MUSt follow the example of my Jesus who often withdrew from the crowds and went away to pray. For when I neglect this sacred time…I slip.

Soothing words for my aching wound flow from the One who comes alongside me on this journey:

If the Lord had not been my help,
    my soul would soon have lived in the land of silence.When I thought, “My foot slips,”
    your steadfast love, O Lord, held me up.When the cares of my heart are many,
    your consolations cheer my soul.
Psalm 94:17-19 ESV

What I Know

I write not because I have the cure or the answers.
I write because it is all I know.

I know my son does not understand his FASD. And what he does understand he does not like.
He is frustrated with himself and with the crazy stimuli of this world constantly bombarding him.

Why him?
And why me for his mother? Who am I?
I am not wealthy: I cannot pour money into a cause like Donald Trump, Bono or Jenny McCarthy.
I do not have the clout of Oprah.
Nor the knowledge of Diane Malbin.

I am me.
Middle class, average mom.
Unorganized.
Easily distracted.
Anxious.

I know that God did not want his birthmother to drink and I know God did not want my son to have FASD…yet, I know that God chose to place this specific child, with his specific disabilities, into my family, as my son, so that I could learn patience.

So I would come to rely on God.

So I would take up the mantle of an Alcohol Related Neurological Disorder... that I would become passionate for a cause that I would otherwise view as an inconvenience and interruption… that I could educate those in my world of the life-long, incurable - -yet 100% preventable - - disability of FASD.

This I know. 

Joy Comes in the Morning

Deep breath in.  Please God give me wisdom.
Now exhale. Oh God, how do I reach him?
Again. Breathe in deeply, fully. I’m waiting God.
Slowly exhale.

This has been my mantra for the week. Breathe in. Pray. Release the air. Pray.
Each breath has been a cry of my heart to gain insight into my son. This complicated, fragile boy  placed in my care.

I pray, I ask: God, you did place him in my care.  So I assume you trust me. You believe that I can raise him. You believe that I have enough wisdom and love and grace and patience to be his mother.

This week has brought great doubt to every area of my life.

This month has seen grief wash over me like the ocean waves rolling in with the evening tide. Oh the pieces of my heart that have been pulled under with each surge of anger that washes over this Boy Wonder.  I’ve lost count of the times he has yelled in anger “I hate you!”.  The wave that knocked me off my rock was to hear him scream “I hope you burn in hell and I live in heaven and I never see you again!”.  I stopped in speechlessness and physically took a step back.

There has been a storm front looming over the horizon each day the past few weeks. Short bursts of anger. Name calling. Disrespectful comments.

Little by little gathering momentum, until unleashing in full fury upon our household in one fell swoop. Red faced. Sobbing. Hysterical high pitched screams. Ear piercing screams. Screams that cause the puppy and little brother to cower in the corner. Anger, frustration, terror.

I am emotionally exhausted. I am physically tired. I am spiritually drained. I go to my room and kneel to pray. I cry out in my mind, for I know that the sound of my voice could not be heard over the deafening screams coming from down the hall.

I cry in fear. I cry in desperation. I cry because it is all I know to do.

I am fairly certain there is an unseen battle taking place in my home: Satan is waging war for the soul of my son. An all out forces of evil attacking his young spirit, causing him to say irrational things.  Things in my heart of hearts, I know he doesn’t mean. Things I know he will regret by nightfall. But words that pierce, words that hold consequence.

Thus, the battle wages down the hall in an adjacent bedroom….and in my mind as well.

How can God create this precious young boy with the incapability of understanding consequences…and expect us to raise him in a society that expects consequences?

I am not at peace.

My faith is being shaken, yet I am determined to search Scripture, to wrestle with God until I resolve this.

Two hours later, an exhausted, blotchy faced boy with swollen red eyes, lies listless in his bed, looking defeatedly into my eyes. With tears he whispered, “its’ not fair…Jesus lives in brothers heart but he won’t live in mine. I can’t hear his voice like you do.”

Oh God! He is listening to the theology we teach him. In his own way, he is not turning a deaf ear.

I held his trembling hand in mine and gently told him, “Oh sweetie, Jesus will live in your heart any time you want him to. But you have to ask him. You must be the one to tell him you are truly sorry for your sin. You must be the one to confess your sin, to tell God that you believe that He sent His only Son Jesus to die on the cross for you. I cannot ask for you.  And I promise, when you do ask, God promises that He will never ever leave you. You will hear his voice. You will not always do good, but you will be able to try.”

This is not the first time we’ve had similar conversations. Boy Wonder has always said he doesn’t want to talk to Jesus. He doesn’t want to pray. He doesn’t want to confess his sin.  So I’ve never pressed the matter.  I have no doubt in my mind that I could have easily convinced him to say a prayer and be “saved” many years ago.  But I’ve waited, wanting for it to truly come from his heart and not from copying me or brother.

Tonight, he did. Simple, mumbling & muttering, humbly he said “Jesus I am sorry. Please live in me.”

Salvation.

Oh God, let it be so! Let tonight be the beginning of a new path for this boy.

Will his FASD, his ADHD, his ASD be cured in the morning? No. In my wildest dreams I could only dare to hope for such a miracle.

What I do long for…what I hope and pray is that from this moment on the Holy Spirit will have the upper hand and will guide my boy. That the power of the Holy Spirit will be so great that Satan will now flee. That the demons that have plagued my son will be gone.

Weeping may endure for the night, but joy comes in the morning.

A Mothers Prayer

Raising a child with disabilities can be so draining.  Can I just say those words to you who are on this journey with me...because I know you get it! You know I'm not complaining. You know that tired feeling when its only 9 am and you've already changed soiled sheets AND soiled clothes, had 3 melt-downs and spilt breakfast on the floor.

It was on one of "those" days that I flung myself into my worn red-leather rocker and open my Bible to Psalm 119 with a sigh and heavy heart.  I love when God pours water into my parched soul, flooding me with the relief I so deperately long for.  As I read these verses, they resonated so deeply in me as hope for my son filled my heart...

Psalm 119: 73-80 became my prayer:

Your hands have made me and fashioned me; give me understanding that I may learn your commandments.
Oh God, I pray that my son will know that God made him.... made him exactly like he is - disabilities and all!

Those who fear You shall see me and rejoice, because I have hoped in your word.
I pray that others would see God reflected in my son's life. That this boy would hope in God. Not in a cure. Not in therapy. Not in medication alone.  

I know O Lord that your rules are righteous and that in faithfulness you have afflicted me.
I pray that even when life is hard and consequences seem to overwhelm him.... when he feels like life is unfair and that he always has restrictions...even then that my son would know that God is fair.
That he would know that God has allowed this affliction - this horrible disability...and although I don't understand why, that this boy will trust that God is righteous and faithful!

Let your steadfast love comfort me according to your promise to your servant.
God, comfort my son! On all the long days when he is lonely, be his friend. On stressful days when he is confused, be his wisdom. On ordinary days when he is tempted in his innocence and ignorance, be his compass, be his conscious.  In moments of discouragement and frustration, be his steadfast love.

Let your mercy come to me that I may live; for your law is my delight.
Give my son mercy. Give him grace and strength for each new day! Let him look to You, God. Help me to help him hide Your word in his heart, that You would be his delight. In a confusing materialistic world, be his desire.

Let the insolent be put to shame because they have wronged me with falsehood; as for me, I will meditate on your precepts.
This is my prayer: that those who shun my child, those who prey on his ignorance and his innocence be put to shame.  Let those who tease him be punished.  Allow Your words to penetrate his mind so that he will meditate on Your truth.  May Your precepts give him courage.

Let those who fear you turn to me, that they may know your testimonies.
Most of all God, I pray that You will be glorified in his life. Let others see Grace & Hope when they see what this little boy has overcome.

May my heart be blameless in your statues, that I may not be put to shame
Keep this boy pure in heart and ever child like in his faith. Give my boy confidence in You that he may never feel ashamed.

Most of all, I pray that I,  as his parent --in my confusion, in my misunderstanding of his disability - would ever cause his heart to harden.   May I be faithful to follow your statues as I raise him. 

When Life Isn't as Planned

As a young girl I had grandiose dreams of being a mom, raising a house full of children, and making a home into a castle for the man of my dreams. Somewhere along the way those plans morphed to include having a big house set at the foot of the mountains with lots of open sky for boys, ponies for girls, free range chickens and home grown veggies. I saw trees and fields streching for miles with space for orphaned children seeking hope to grow wild and free within the love of a family. God planted the seeds of adoption in my heart and nurtured them gently long before I realized I would need them. 

Of course my dreams were a little fuzzy. I eventually married my prince who turned out to be a farm boy and I learned that ponies don't just roam...they need care and grooming, that chickens are stinky and messy, and that veggies only grow with hours of sweat from the tired farmer.

And most disillusioning of all, our castle remained empty. Inspite of intense prayers and deepest longings, in the quest for expensive doctors and treatments those yearnings were left unanswered. Reality seemed a far cry from dreams of younger days. 

"For I know the plans I have for you”—this is the Lord’s declaration—“plans for your welfare, not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope."

I have never had children born of my womb, but I have two precious boys born in my heart, born in the seeds God planted years and years ago. As I told some friends recently, they may not be mine biologically, but they are mine eternally.

I do live at the foot of majestic mountains under the bluest sky God ever created.   The path He set me on was not the plan of my choosing, it's required many a detour from the dreams of my youth. Raising a child with disabilities has been one of the most challenging tasks God ever assigned to me.

If I could take away my sons disability, I would. Absolutely, with no hesitation, I would.

Yet, the blessings, the lessons, the joy that has come to me because of his disabilities are ones I would otherwise be without.  It's not the life I planned. It's not what I expected or longed for all those years... but I rejoice in the gift of this child...in the future and the hope that is in Christ.

I recently came across this poem which so beautifully describes my life. (I take the liberty of sharing it and would gladly link to the authors blog if anyone has information.)

WELCOME TO HOLLAND

c1987 by Emily Perl Kingsley. All rights reserved

I am often asked to describe the experience of raising a child with a disability - to try to help people who have not shared that unique experience to understand it, to imagine how it would feel. It's like this......

When you're going to have a baby, it's like planning a fabulous vacation trip - to Italy. You buy a bunch of guide books and make your wonderful plans. The Coliseum. The Michelangelo David. The gondolas in Venice. You may learn some handy phrases in Italian. It's all very exciting.

After months of eager anticipation, the day finally arrives. You pack your bags and off you go. Several hours later, the plane lands. The stewardess comes in and says, "Welcome to Holland."

"Holland?!?" you say. "What do you mean Holland?? I signed up for Italy! I'm supposed to be in Italy. All my life I've dreamed of going to Italy."

But there's been a change in the flight plan. They've landed in Holland and there you must stay.

The important thing is that they haven't taken you to a horrible, disgusting, filthy place, full of pestilence, famine and disease. It's just a different place.

So you must go out and buy new guide books. And you must learn a whole new language. And you will meet a whole new group of people you would never have met.

It's just a different place. It's slower-paced than Italy, less flashy than Italy. But after you've been there for a while and you catch your breath, you look around.... and you begin to notice that Holland has windmills....and Holland has tulips. Holland even has Rembrandts.

But everyone you know is busy coming and going from Italy... and they're all bragging about what a wonderful time they had there. And for the rest of your life, you will say "Yes, that's where I was supposed to go. That's what I had planned."

And the pain of that will never, ever, ever, ever go away... because the loss of that dream is a very very significant loss.

But... if you spend your life mourning the fact that you didn't get to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things ... about Holland.

Alone

I’ve been absent from posting for a while.  Not because I don’t have anything to share, but because the truth is life has been too much at times.

Raising a child with disabilities is not easy, in fact it is often very overwhelming to be the caretaker. Even moreso with a diagnosis as complicated as FASD: there is always the ADHD lurking about, and impulsivity often overtakes any shred of rationality, there is lack of judgement and no understanding of cause and effect, and there are Asperger characteristics mixed with Autistic tendencies. Nothing is black and white where FASD is involved. 

After 7 years of taking my much loved son to doctors and psychiatrists and therapists of every sort…. well, frankly, it was just too much during the month of September. I hit the end of my rope physically, emotionally and spiritually, and its taken me this long to pull myself together.  If it weren’t for my dear husband and 3 girlfriends who have kept a tight rein on me, praying and calling and jumping in with my kids, I’d be checked into a mental hospital myself. Instead I began meeting with my own set of professionals and became more transparent with these intimate friends.

So when December 14, 2012 blasted into the forefront of our daily lives, I observed the entire horrific event from a bit different perspective than most.

My mind has been pondering it all: reeling with sorrow for the families; feeling outrage that society/media/advertising has desensitized a generation of young people; hurting for the innocent school children now living in fear; but most of all pondering the nagging “what if’s” in the realm of mental health, especially for those with neurobehavioral disabilities.

I’ve read the viral blog posts, articles written from the Washington Post to the National Inquirer (who knew they still existed??) and the flurry of responses created. I question and ponder. I cry and pray.

You see most of all, my heart grieves not just for Nancy Lanza, but truly for the thousands of mothers like her around the world.  A mother who obviously loved her child. Just like me. A mother who at times fears for her child, and at moments is afraid of her child. To look in the eyes of the one you love with such intensity and not be able to reach them or protect them is the most discouraging, hopeless feeling of all.

My heart grieves because I wonder if she felt like I desperately did during the month of September: alone.

Raising a child with disabilities is frightening for so many reasons, but the feeling of being alone is the most despairing of all.

Did she have any friends? The news reports said 25 people came to her funeral. How sad. A mother is gunned down in her sleep by her son who she utterly loves and only 25 people grieve for her?

Where were her friends as she raised her son?
Did she have respite care to give her a break?
Did she have a counselor in which she could confide?
Did she have a relationship with God where she could pour out her heart like water in His presence?
Divorced from her husband, the boy without a much needed healthy male influence, who was there for her to lean on? 

As you read this, are you a caretaker who is struggling, who is exhausted and feels alone? Are there moments you cry for your child, feeling no hope? If so, be encouraged. Take hope for 2013.

I am not a professional, I am a mother of a child with neurobehavioral disabilities. I am a caretaker just like you. May I offer hope in the following ways:

• call a local church
• open up the Bible and seek wisdom
• call a local disability network
• tell a friend, dare to be vulnerable & ask for help
• find a support group on Yahoo or Facebook related to your specific disability
• contact ministries on the internet or Facebook such as:  Snappin Ministries or  Joni and Friends
• write daily in a journal
• contact a local counselor

As you begin a new year, my prayer is that no other mother ever go alone to face what Nancy Lanza did.  Let’s change that for the world beginning today. I would love to hear from you too.

On Being Adequate

Are you the parent/caregiver of someone with disabilities? Some days it does feels hopeless. Some days are repetitively frustrating.  Some days are exhaustively exasperating. 

I love when I find “new” truths in God’s word. No matter how many times I read Scripture, it's awesome that I always stumble upon something that I’d overlooked in the past.

Take II Corinthians 3:4-6 for instance. “...such confidence we have through Christ toward God. Not that we are adequate in ourselves to consider anything as coming from ourselves, but our adequacy is from God, who also made us adequate a servants...”

Did God write that just for me, knowing that I would one day be a mom of a child with FASD?

Or did He write it for my son who has FASD?

I am NOT adequate in myself. I struggle daily asking God, “why me???”.

Not in a feeling sorry for myself kind of way, but in a sincere lack of self-confidence voice, being overwhelmed with the enormous, all-consuming responsibility that is involved in raising a child with FASD and disabilities.   Now I read these verses and it hits me: I don’t need to worry about it because I - in my own strength - am not adequate, nor will I ever be adequate.

BUT GOD. I love that phrase in scripture. BUT ...  It means, stop worrying and fretting because just ahead, in the next sentence, there will be an amazing unexplainable, almost incomprehensible truth, that will eliminate all need for doubt if it is just believed and acted upon. So take a deep breath at the “but” and read on….."but my adequacy is from God who also made me adequate as a servant”.

There it is, plain and simple, written forever in black and white. My adequacy is from God!

Therein lies my confidence. I can parent this child because God made me adequate.  And not only did He make me adequate, He specifically made me adequate as a servant.  The definition of  “servant” holds another one of those Greek mysteries which the English language has demolished. It does not mean servile as a slave, but voluntary as an attendant, a reference to the service or advantage rendered to another (as in menial tasks).

I’ve been pondering the implication of these verses for days. My role as the mother of a child with FASD and disabilities is so clearly defined in these verses.

Could there be a more accurate description of what a parent of a child with FASD does than act as an attendant and perform menial tasks. I think not. I am my son’s external brain! I daily assist him with the most menial tasks...
Yes, the underpants go on before the shorts. 
Yes, the milk always goes in the fridge.
Really! There is this thing in our house called a toilet.
No, you cannot play in the snow in just a swimsuit.

Are you the parent/caregiver of someone with disabilities? Some days it feels hopeless. Some days are repetitively frustrating.  Some days are exhaustively exasperating.

Be encouraged that your life is an “advantage rendered to another”. Yes, YOU are adequate to take care of your child! YOU are a blessing.

Find strength and meaning in this: “Not that we are adequate in ourselves to consider anything as coming from ourselves, but our adequacy is from God, who also made us adequate a servants...”

An Inconvenient Life

I read that if people with special needs were classified as a race, they would together be the largest unreached peoples in the world.  In my average size city there are at least 6 elementary schools, 3 middle schools and 3 high schools. Each of those public schools have a Life Skills class with approximately 10 kids full-time. That means that at a minimum there are 120 families with special needs and realistically twice that many families if all the kids on IEP’s, at all schools were counted. A low estimate is there are around 200 hundred families with no church loving them or supporting them emotionally…but there are over 81 churches listed in the public directory. Yet, sadly, not one of them is making an effort to reach this “people group”. These local churches are overlooking an enormous market right out their front window: families with special needs.

I know this for a fact because we have contacted many of them and specifically attended 4 of them with the hope they were interested in starting a disability outreach. The disappointment for us, is that they all talked about it from their mission statements and prayers and speeches: they want to embrace diversity and reach all people and be missionaries… yet in their efforts to reach the world they’ve stumbled over us at their doorstep and kept right on walking.

We have been an inconvenience to many churches; they honestly don’t know what to do with families like mine.

Being an inconvenience is something we have experienced in many places such as restaurants, social outings, birthday parties, classrooms, shops… but the church - - really, it just baffles my mind.  This is supposed to be a place of refuge, yet it is where we have experienced our deepest hurts. Over the years there have been two churches which we attended regularly but were eventually told, “unless you sit with your son in sunday school, he cannot come back.” Tears of disappointment mingle with righteous indignation as those words pierce my deepest soul. As acid poured on an open wound, the rawest pain was at both of those churches we counted the pastor and his wife as truly some of our dearest friends. And while it was not the pastor that asked us to leave, he did not make any effort to begin a disability ministry or intercede on our behalf. Pain does not go much deeper as we dishearteningly left those churches.

Hurt swells and rises in my throat when I know that I am not alone in my experience. If I dare to raise the subject to another family with special needs, I am met with tears of empathy. Why? Why must those who are different be an inconvenience?  Is not the church the safe haven, the hospital for the weak?

On Sunday mornings I wake up with dread. Should I take my child to Sunday School? Should I leave him with me in the service? Should we just stay home? Sunday mornings are an enormous hassle; it’s often not worth the frustration. Is it really worth the effort to go church, to sit with our bodies tense, our minds not relaxed for a nanosecond…waiting to hear the squeal of our child from down the hallway…knowing it is a matter of minutes until the flash of the beeper lights red…  cringing as our number is broadcast on the call box… getting an evil eye from those around us…letting out a deep sigh of discouragement as once again we are called upon to go retrieve our child.

My child needs care and attention 24/7. Twenty four hours a day, seven days a week I am called by God to care for and love my child and I do so willingly and without reserve. By the dawn of Sunday morning my soul is craving after God, my emotions are frazzled, I am on the verge of tears, my body is weary. I want to sit in a pew for 90 minutes and breathe in the sweet peace of the Holy Spirit reviving my parched soul. I want my spirit and heart encouraged and refreshed for a week ahead. I want to know that for 90 minutes I can sit calmly and soak in the truth of God, my mind at peace knowing my child is safe and loved in the same building. Why does the church not feel the cry of  families such as mine?

It grieves me deeply that as I interact with families of special needs all across the United States and beyond, I hear firsthand how many of them are angry at the church, how many of them have been rejected by the church, how many of them have been asked to leave a service. It is just so wrong on every level! Oh how the heart of God must be breaking for His precious children who are desperately craving connection, but are being brushed aside.

Clearly scripture says “Pure and undefiled religion before our God and Father is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress”, and while the “disabled” are not specific in that clause, the heart of Jesus was indeed drawn towards this people group.  Read in the four gospels of Matthew, Mark, Luke and John how often Jesus healed one with seizures, one possessed in the mind, another broken in body or those overcome by physical disorder.  Where, I humbly ask is the heart of Jesus via the church for my child, for my family?

Oh Church, take off your “WWJD” bracelets and charms and look around you! Look out your rose colored windows and allow your eyes to linger on the hundreds of hurting families right in your neighborhood. Moms, dads, caregivers… craving a simple 90 minutes of peace and reflection and spiritual renewal. 

I promise the local church, if they would open their doors, their hearts, their arms to those with special needs, they would not even need pursue them - - families would flock to your church! Then those who know nothing of the saving grace of God, would see Him alive via the action of the church, and they would be unable to deny His love. And those who already know the One who loves without boundaries, would be encouraged and renewed each week!

Whether you read this as a family seeking 90 minutes of peace, or as a church member needing to offer hope… my prayer is that in my child’s lifetime this inconvenience will soon end and never again will a family leave a church feeling more discouraged than when they entered.

Being a Thermostat Mom

With the recent celebration of Mothers Day, it’s given me more time to ponder the role of mom.

I’ve had the privileged of being raised by a woman who loves God, prayed (still prays) for me, single-handedly took 3 active siblings on many, many adventures, put up with my teenage moods, doesn’t complain or whine, is loved by all who know her and who adores her grandchildren.  And a double blessing for me: my maternal grandmother was all things my mom is and more. 

Now I’m on the other side, having the joy of being a mom for 7 years.  Granted there were painful years of infertility that preceded the joy of children, but I’ll save that for another time, another place.  In all these 7 years, I find myself constantly learning, ever growing right along side of my boys.  Not sure that's a great thing for the boys, but they are troopers and I hope they won’t remember every single mistake I’ve made. I have to trust the grace of God to use the good and the bad to train them up in the way they should go.
               
You’ve heard the saying “if momma ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy”.  I’m realizing just how much truth there is in that humorous little quote.

I’ve been contemplating that while dads are thermometers, and quite essential to the well-rounded emotional health of a child, it’s the mom who is the thermostat in the family. My moods, my emotions, my energy determines the temperature of the rest of the family. If I’m tired and grumpy, my kids are grumpy. If I complain, my kids whine. If I’m critical, my kids follow suit…and usually in public. But when I laugh, when I play silly games, when I have tickle tournaments and pillow fights…the entire mood of my family is buoyed. 

When they leave my presence and head off to school each morning, I want their minds and hearts to be filled with positive words of affirmation. I want them to know that they are the most amazing boys, created by a God who knows every detail of their life and who loves them with an unconditional love. I want them to know that whether they have a green day…or a yellow…or a red day…that they live in a home with a mom who will always love them.

Back to the heading them off to school each morning…I’m realizing to do so takes effort and pre-planning on MY part. Sometimes I need to go to bed earlier the night before. Sometimes it may mean I need to stay up later and pack lunches after putting them to bed. But often it means, this non-morning-body may need self-discipline getting up earlier…early enough to get ready AND to have an unhurried quiet time prior to waking them.

Essentially, I’m acknowledging that much of their attitude for the day lies with me: the thermostat mom. 

There is only 1 week of school left: YAHOO!!! I love summer.

And so this summer, I resolve to take my responsibility of being the thermostat seriously. I’m going to explore life with them; I’m going to laugh often; I’m going to build forts and roast s’mores and splash in the river and throw water balloons. I’m going to pray early in the morning and breathe in the truth of scripture. I’m going to get myself into a routine so that by the time September rolls around I’ll be prepared and in the groove.

Beginning now, I’m setting the temperature for my family.

He knows the way

This journey on the unknown highway of FASD has been an unplanned adventure: it wasn’t written on my heart or in my journals.

I simply do not understand FASD.

This Spectrum Disability encompasses so many variables it is mind boggling.  While there is much information on what FASD is, how to prevent FASD, statistics scary enough to chill the heart of every parent... there really isn't much at all written along the lines of hope for a parent of a child with FASD.

Truth is a parent is always a parent, no matter what age their child has matured to. A parent always looks at their child as their child.  For parents who are raising children with FASD the truth goes even deeper: odds are very high that our FASD child will remain somewhat child like their entire life, not figuratively in a mothers heart, but literally so.

Leading child “experts” such as Michael Thompson, James Dobson, Kevin Leman, Gary Ezzo -- not one has written a guide for the parent of a child with FASD. Search Amazon and find 191 topics on raising boys, but not one of them reaches the parent of a child with FASD.

Our children with these Spectrum Disorders do not fit the mold. Any mold. They are unique like no other.

One day they love on you as if you hung the moon; the next day they accuse you of child abuse. They joyfully comply with the boundaries you have set in the morning, only to have a raging unexplainable screaming melt-down over the very same rule in the evening. They adore and love their siblings, then an hour later blindside them across the back with a giant stick. Whatever I did yesterday that kept them calm, even keeled and healthy...today is sending them into a frenzy.

I am not on a quest for Nirvana yet I have learned about Qigong, castor oil, flower essence and other Eastern medicinal treatments you may not even know existed.  I have charted our eating habits meticulously. I have eliminated all things processed, genetically modified and unnatural.  I have tracked the phases of the moon closer than my own monthly cycle.  I check the barometric pressure and weather forecast every night before bed.

There is no limit to my self education when it comes to my child's well being and training. I will do whatever I can humanly do as his mother to give my child opportunity to reach his full potential.  Yet, that is my great unknown: what is his full potential?  That not knowing if he will mentally even mature to age 16 is something that can worry me to death. Literally if I allow it.

And so I rest my passion, which is at times all consuming and utterly draining, I take my fears of the unknown,  the frightening FASD statistics that tear at my soul and I lay them at the feet of throne of God, and with all my heart I cry out for wisdom.  With tears flowing I remind God that He promised in Job 23 that even when I am confused and when God does not appear to be near -- yes, He does know the way that my child will take. And my soul finds rest in this hope: the journey is His, not mine.

Slowly I peel my clinched whitened fingers off the soul my child.  I do this often, if not daily. It is not a one time release, for I habitually take back what I have given. So continually I am learning, this place of finding rest is one where I must return to.  My soul will only keep this rest as I trust in the promise: He knows the way that my son will take.

I Don't Ask For These Days

I read in James in the morning “if any of you lack wisdom let him ask of God who gives generously and without reproach…”

I prayed for wisdom in the morning.
I prayed that I would be generous and without reproach toward my son today.

I didn’t know in the early morning quiet how desperately I would need that prayer by the afternoon.

It’s raining again today. All day.  A wet, cold, slushy miserable rain; my sons body cannot handle a change in barometric pressure.  The more miserable and penetrating the rain, the more miserable my son seems to be.  Today was such a day for him at school.  Such an afternoon at home.

He is in the quiet room, working on writing…and not at all quietly. 
His face is red and blotchy and tear-stained. His nose dripping faster than the tears. 
He is telling himself angrily “I can’t do it” and repeating “what? what? what?.  I can’t write”.

At school he refused to go to reading group and refused to write.
I have him writing sentences while I clean the floors and now sit to journal my prayers.

I have held him quietly.
I have prayed with him.
I have rocked him.
Now he must face his consequence: refusing to work at school means missing out on play time at home and finishing the school work, plus writing more sentences.  Correctly. Not angry and sloppy.

I know he can do it. I know is able.
His first sentences are perfect and prove his ability. He thinks his consequence is done with two sentences.
I tell him he has two more to write. His next sentences show his anger.

It has been over 45 minutes of him sobbing and crying.
I hold him again to calm him. I leave him to write.
I sit in my office. My own heart is sobbing, my face is tear stained as well.
I sit. Praying. Crying. Journaling.
At times like these it is all I can do to cling to scripture.