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.)

Steadfast Love

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

Red Shoes Rock

There's a small movement occurring across the world right now.... and I’m not referring to the Ice Bucket Challenge.  This grass roots movement is called Red Shoes Rock. The idea is to wear red shoes from now until September 9th (Fetal Alcohol Spectrum Disorders Awareness Day) and every time someone comments on the red shoes, the wearer educates another person about FASD.  (As if I need another reason to buy me some new Red Shoes!)

Today my shoes took me to a place of grace, flowing with hope and source of peace.

God surely knows that on this FASD journey I need grace. Boy Wonder also requires grace on a daily basis. Living on the Spectrum can cause him to be THE. MOST. ANNOYING. CHILD. EVER!!  In our house we have run the gamut of annoying OCD habits.  Lest you think I exaggerate, here are just a few:
Whistling that would put even the Seven Dwarfs to shame.
Humming incessantly as long as he’s awake.
Biting nails like they were his Last Supper.
Picking skin until it is scarred and bleeding (we should've bought Band-Aid stock!).
Sucking fingers as if they were slathered in sugar.
Right now however, its clapping. Non-stop clapping. Eating and clapping. Walking and clapping. Reading and clapping. Playing and clapping. Clapping. Clapping! CLAPPING!! So yes, in case you wonder, grace is needed in my home.

Here’s the catch: The more irritated I am at his annoying traits, the more grace he needs...yet the longer the annoying habits manifest themselves in my presence, the less likely I am to give the grace.

Still the real irony is found in the fact that the less I am to give him grace, the more likely I am to lie in bed at the end of the day and ask God to give me grace.

And once again, I find that my child with disabilities truly has the ability to teach me oh so many lessons which I need to learn. God has pointed out many of my short comings through his young atypical life.

So when Sunday morning rolls around and I slip beautiful Red Shoes on my feet, they are walking me into a place I need to be. My soul is parched and desiring Living Water. I need the sweet grace of the Holy Spirit to fill me with cool, refreshing water of life that I may overflow into my family.

Where will your Red Shoes take you?

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

Through his Eyes

I watch from my window as the snow falls. Last winter, this snow was a normal, weekly occurrence in our lives; this year we are living thousands of miles away, in a land that rarely sees snow, and has now declared a state of emergency (no, literally, they have!) because there is almost 4 inches of snow.  Now the neighborhood kids have gathered in our cul-de-sac, right across from our house, the location of the steepest driveway, now turned sledding hill.

Some of the boys walked by and my son, Snow Boy, like most tween boys, thought it would be fun to throw a snowball --  after all, eating snow & throwing snow are his most favorite winter sports! The other boys threw back. Snow Boy threw again, but managed to splatter ice into one of the younger boys eye. Unintentionally. The neighbor boy cried. Hysterically cried.

Snow Boy threw more at the other kids, even though they said stop. They told him to go away. He laughed and ran right into the midst of them. The little boy went across the street to tell his mom - which, of course, triggered the reaction in Snow Boy that it was now time to flee.

I hear my son yelling "cry baby" and "you liar, you said you'd play".  I go out to calm him, and try to explain to the other boys that when you ask him to play, he is going to play. Continually play. He will not stop just because you say stop; you may be tired, but he is just getting into it.

In the meantime, my Snow Boy continues screaming to the other kids, "you lied! you lied! you said you'd play! you're a cry baby." I firmly tell him while giving him the mommy-evil-eye, "shut your mouth now and walk away”.  I make sure the other boy is ok; the neighbor mom comes out and say's ..."its fine, it happens in the snow, just be careful when you throw snow." She is not upset. The neighbor has no visible evidence of injury on his face.

I take my Snow Boy inside. He has melted into tears. I sit across the table from my son, trying to be patient, trying to help him calm his body, attempting to have a rational discussion, trying to grasp for the words that will make a connection with him. He sits there with eyes red, a blotchy, puffy face swollen from tears mingled with a runny nose, hiccuping as he tries to tell me about it.

What do you do when you realize your kid has been labeled by the other kids as the neighborhood bully?

I talk. He cries.

He talks. I listen.

My words are empty to him. He doesn't get it.  In his mind, this is black & white: “There is snow, I like to throw snow, everyone must like to throw snow. Getting hit in the face with snow doesn't bother me, it must not bother anyone. I have a high pain tolerance; everyone must have a high pain tolerance”.

I try to help him understand that when he sees someone crying, he should stop and ask if they are hurt. I explain that when someone is crying, he should stop and say "I'm sorry it was an accident, are you ok?".  Instead he laughs and throws again, oblivious to their pain.

My heart aches for him.

I see the intense pain in his eyes, as he truly does not understand why the kids are angry at him. He truly doesn't know why they won't play with him. I gently try to be honest and point out to him the difference in his actions and theirs. It’s not making a connection with him.  He just wants to play; he longs for a friend.

This boy. This FASD. This enigma. My soul pleads for answers, for breakthroughs in communication. I want to scream to the world: My son is not mean! My son is not an angry boy! My son is most definitely not a bully!

But all the world can see is the boy who has thrown rocks, the boy who has whacked others with a stick, the boy who has yelled names, the boy who shoves, the boys who throws snowballs, the boy who is different. The neighborhood bully.

They don't see through his eyes.

Through his eyes: he whacked because you all had light-sabers (sticks) and he wanted one too...only his pain tolerance is incredibly high, so getting whacked with a stick is all part of the game if you want to be a Jedi...in his eyes.

Through his eyes: he called you a name because you said something off handed in sarcasm or a joke. He only thinks in black and white, in the present, in his eyes.

Through his eyes: you had the football and it was his job as the defense to do whatever it takes to get the ball to his team....even if that is taking you down. It doesn't matter that this is Nerf football and you are 4 years younger than him.

What I see in his eyes as I sit across the table is a tender-hearted little boy in the body of a tween, who feels alone and ostracized from everyone else. I see a child who doesn't understand why all the kids, of all ages, want to play with his younger sibling, but not with him. I see rejection and confusion.  And I want to shelter and protect.

I sigh again. I plead silently for words to comfort and ease his pain.

I open my arms and hold him on my lap, rocking with him in a warm embrace.  It is enough to help him through this moment. It is enough grace for now. Still, I pray without ceasing that someday others will see through his eyes.

Ordinary.

Ordinary.

Such a simple word.

I really had no grasp of the depth of the meaning until my son arrived in my life: disabilities and all.

Ordinary is a gift.
Ordinary should never be overlooked or taken for granted.

This morning, as we had a few extra rare moments of empty time before heading out to school, my son was tossing his lighted-eye-ball-glow-in-the-dark-glitter-bouncy ball in the air.  I stopped my hurry and puttering of being a mom and said “toss it to me”.

A huge smile came over his face and he tossed me the ball. He squealed with delight as I caught it and tossed it back to him. Joy flooded his face as we continued to toss the ball for 5 minutes. He laughed loudly, freely. He was thrilled I stopped to play toss with him.

Ordinary. There is no such thing when you have a child with disabilities.
One never knows what will happen from one moment to the next.
An ordinary ball. An extra ordinary child. A few moments. It all adds up to a gift.

I’m thankful God gave me this boy to teach me that there is nothing “ordinary” about life.

A Matter of Perspective

Three days ago I logged on to my MacJournal and wrote an entry about celebrating the 10 years of my Boy Wonders life. Reminiscing and laughing over all the precious moments we’ve shared with him.

Little did I know just a few short hours after writing that entry, I would be in a clinic listening to a doctor attempting to diagnosis my sons allergic reaction, telling myself to breathe calmly without panic, all the while mentally praying, begging God to spare Boy Wonders life. Nor did I realize that I would spend half of the next day, and the following, back at the clinic while my boy was being given an IV and heavy doses of antibiotics to aggressively combat the infection raging through his lymph nodes. All because of this little plant.

Oh how life changes so quickly.

Here I am 2 days later, biting my tongue, ready to send him to the woodshed and give him a smack on his rump, while he is screaming at the top of his lungs, melting down. He’s angry because something didn’t go his way; he’s frustrated he can’t get his air rocket out of a 75 foot tall pine tree. When I approach him while calling his name, he looks at me and blatantly ignores me as he angrily throws rocks at the street and treehouse. When I ask him to come in and calm down on the step, he stomps and screams and rips the ace-bandages and sling from his arm. When I ask him to move outside to the back porch step until he is calm, he rages and kicks all the patio furniture and rips his clothing. When I attempt to talk to him he screams at me in frustration.

Oh how life changes so quickly.

He’s on the back patio screaming; I’m in the kitchen fuming and talking to God… “Seriously God, I was begging and pleading with You just days ago to save this childs life. I went 3 nights with no sleep, constantly monitoring his breathing and temperature. For this?!? Really!?!“  A few other conversations raced through my mind while I was attempting to make a decent dinner for our family, get my husband ready to leave town, pay attention to lil brother…and now drop everything to deal with the hysteria of Boy Wonder who lost his toy rocket. Big sigh. Big complaints going through my head. Big sacrifices I make for this child. I don’t deserve this.

Then a still small voice from God whispered to me, “Wait a minute, dear girl, you're looking at this all wrong. Instead of rationalizing that three days ago you were begging for his life and now you're angry at him for throwing your plans out of sync again, you need to change your thoughts and have a new perspective.  You should be thinking, “I blessed you. I saved your sons life. Why are you pulling your hair out over this? I saved his life because I need you to guide him in the days ahead.  I need you to think eternally. This two hour long meltdown is just a small scene on the landscape canvas I’m painting of your son’s life. This too shall pass. Put your boots on: you're going in. This is a moment of grace and sacrificial love you are able to give to Boy Wonder. Don’t miss it.”

Oh how life changes so quickly.

I went to bed praying for a bigger perspective, for more grace, for deeper love, for a thankful heart to count my blessings while I have them.

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.

The Fingerprints of God

We had another one of those days: days when frustration and anger fill my child with rage at a disability he doesn’t understand.
Another day when he screams at me, “why do I have to have this disability?”.

The words quickly swell in my head… because a woman chose to drink while she was pregnant…because sin is rampant in this world…because we are living in a world that is not heaven.
But he’s too young for any of those logical, truthful answers.
My heart grieves for him. I don’t always understand the Fetal Alcohol either.

I know at this moment what he’s longing for is comfort for solace, for acceptance, for love.
So I hold him. I rock him close.
I cry with him and tell him I am so, so sorry.
I tell him I am on his team and we will fight through this unknown together.
And I whisper to him words from a song I love….

“Never has there been and never again
Will there be another you
Fashioned by God's hand
And perfectly planned
To be just who you are
And what He's been creating
Since the first beat of your heart
Is a living breathing priceless work of art and...

Just look at you
You're a wonder in the making
Oh, and God's not through, no
In fact, He's just getting started and…

I can see the fingerprints of God
When I look at you
I can see the fingerprints of God
And I know it's true
You're a masterpiece
That all creation quietly applauds
And you're covered with the fingerprints of God”

Thank you Steven Curtis Chapman for penning the words to Fingerprints of God from your heart so many years ago. My son finds solace through this music and for that, I am ever grateful.

Facing Our Fears

I am a good mother. I know I am. I may not be perfect, but I am a lioness where my cubs are concerned.

I can control what food goes into my shopping cart and therefore, what food goes into my childs body.

I can decide to which friends house I allow them go for play-dates, thus controlling what they are exposed to.

I choose whether or not to wake them early on a Sunday morning for church, thus I control whether or not they are influenced for good or evil.

I can choose whether to turn on or off the tv, the Wii and the iPod: thereby I control what type of media influences they are bombarded with.

I can choose whether or not to spend money at the movie theatre, so I control what their minds are exposed to at any given age.

I can choose to allow them to sleep in or to wake them a few minutes earlier to give us time to open Gods word at breakfast and learn without hurry together.

I choose school options of public, private or homeschool, and I can control what kind of education my children are given.

What I can’t control is their future.  

As a parent of a child with disabilities… that can be a very frightening thought.

After all, I am his advocate, his lifeline, the one who “gets him” without him having to explain, the one who is often able to predict how he is going to act/behave in a situation.

Which only leads to another terrifying thought:  What will happen to him if something happens to me?

Although I have walked in a relationship with Jesus Christ the past 30 years, my faith is tested in new ways each morning I awake to parent this amazing boy with needs so different that mine.  And so it is there, in those quiet hours before dawn as I pour out my fears and read Psalm 139 that God speaks to me in a gentle whisper:  “I created this baby boy. I took care of this precious little one in a womb where he was not wanted. I carried him safely from a sterile hospital to a cold, dark, dirty orphanage. I had my angels surrounding him for two years before I placed him in your care. Do not think for one moment that I will ever leave him. I will never forsake him. I will continue to provide for him whether or not you can.”

And with those words so eloquently penned by the Psalmist, the fears that attempt to strangle me are pushed back into the dark caverns from which they came and I am able to face another day of raising this special child.

Psalm 139… Good News Translation (GNT)

You created every part of me;
    you put me together in my mother's womb.
I praise you because you are to be feared;
    all you do is strange and wonderful.
    I know it with all my heart.
When my bones were being formed,
    carefully put together in my mother's womb,
when I was growing there in secret,
    you knew that I was there—
      you saw me before I was born.
The days allotted to me
    had all been recorded in your book,
    before any of them ever began.

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...”

On Being a Lifeline

We floated the river this weekend as temps reached a scorching 91 degrees - which here in the high desert is HOT, HOT, HOT. As such we were joined by hundreds, honestly closer to a thousand or so of other like-minded, over-heated residents of this outdoor adventure community.

There were couples on air mattresses, grandmas in kayaks, rednecks soaking up skin cancer and lung cancer, SUP's a plenty and families on rafts roped to kids in tubes. The latter would include us: 1 large float tied to 2 smaller floats.

About halfway down the river, after being tugged on continually by my son and his rope, I looked at my husband and said ,"Just once in my life I’d like to float this river without having someone tied to me and constantly pulling me. I just want to relax and float free".

He laughed and replied," Ummm, sweetie, that's your life everyday isn't it."

An epiphany! Right there in the river surrounded by water, noise, sun and people.  Yes, that IS my life!

I am tied to my son.
There is no relaxing.  There is no free float.

Today on the float he hung on to my rope and wouldn't relax or let go for one moment. I did loose my cool with him after being tugged the wrong way one too many times: I threatened to untie the rope if he didn't stop.

And so it is in daily life.  He rarely let's me out of his sight without panicking. To go to school, yes. But for me to go on a date or overnight -- the rope just got jerked involuntarily out of his hand and he fights anyone or anything to regain control and reattach to me.

I realize that indeed he does need the rope attached to me for many safety reasons:  like having no judgment. None. Zero discernment. No ability to differentiate between a stranger and a friend. Not being able to learn from a mistake -- YES fire always burns, NO you cannot eat the dog food or drink from the toilet, NO you cannot walk in front of a speeding car or swing or bike.

I try so hard to be his lifeline and give him the security he needs.  But I do loose my cool.  There are days when I just want to yell at him, "what is wrong with you??? Argh!! Why can't you just cooperate for one afternoon? Is that really so much to ask?"


I know the answer even before the thought or words flow from my tongue.  I need to remind myself that he is developmentally 4 or 5 years younger than his chronological age. His disabilities are invisible, yet oh so very, very real!  He is so handsome, he looks so innocent and "normal". He has no outward signs of FASD. Sometimes I think I need to make him wear a t-shirt emblazoned with the message " Be patient with me I have FASD".

Even on long hot summer days it's good that God gave me such a patient and amazing husband to gently make me aware of the importance, the high calling of being a lifeline, the reality of being tied to someone who so desperately needs me to be there for him.

I think I'll go make a rope bracelet as a reminder.

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.

Being the Sibling

One recent evening, bedtime was a bit difficult, okay it was a major issue, for Little Brother. He went into one of his moods: dawdling, in his own world, stubborn, defiant, proud, disobedient. It had been a long week and I was frustrated and tired with husband out traveling for work all week.

Little Brother pushed my limits, so I reacted and I told him to get on his pajamas and get in bed. No books, no lotions. When I told him I still loved him even though I needed to give him a consequence I was mostly tired and angry.  As he lay with covers pulled up to his chin, body curled into a fetal position, eyes stubborn with unshed tears...well, I gazed at him, right into his eyes and my heart just broke for him.

My precious little boy: only 6 yet so strong willed. So resilient.  I scooped him up on my lap and hugged him tightly and gently rocked him.  With a quiet gentle voice I whispered, “Is it hard for you being his little brother?”

The dam of tears burst forth and his body shook as he whimpered “Oh yes, mommy!”

He’s only 6. Just six years of life, yet he’s had to bear so much: abandonment, neglect, orphanage, trauma, relocating to a foreign country, Celiac, and a big brother with FASD. Is it any wonder he is strong willed and defiant: it’s his only way to survive what life has thrown at him!

I told him how proud I am of him for being so kind and patient with brother; how I appreciated that he didn’t tease brother or make fun of brother; that he was so compassionate and loving; and that God had picked him as the most perfect brother that Big Brother could ever want. I told him he was such a gift to our family and to brother.

I’m not sure that my words impacted him as much as the tone of my voice, my holding him and rocking him did.

It was good for me to have these moments when something breaks through my weary every-day-mundane routine and I’m able to see beyond Little Brothers stubborn, stand-your-ground-defiant attitude.

I need the reminders that Little Brother is tender and only 6; that his attitude is his protection and defense; that my soft words, my communication and my touch will go much farther with him than a consequence ever will.

Jealousy, Resentment or Reality?

I want to establish this in your mind before I begin sharing: my husband is a generous man. Whether it’s a stranger or a family member, he will offer assistance when needed. Sometimes money; sometimes muscles.  And he's been known to bring home flowers on a Tuesday just because he loves me. I drive a car that keeps me & my kids safe in any weather. I've been showered with my fair share of bling.

Recently, as a gift, a girlfriends husband gave her a week away at a beach-house with her girlfriend.
At the beach.
With a girlfriend.
With no children.
For a week. All pre-arranged as a surprise for her.

I can hardly fathom the concept.
Jealousy rises ferociously in my heart.
Not because this friends husband set the bar so high, it’s simply that this is gift is so far out of my reach, there is no use longing for it.
But I do.   I long for it to the point of silent tears flowing across my cheek.
Its something I’ve wished for, hoped for, for quite some time.  Eons before her husband handed her this gift, my heart had craved time alone at the beach.
Yet, maybe I'm not so jealous as I am a bit angry and resentful.

The fact is, I have a little boy with a list of medical and neurological disabilities, and I’m not sure my family would survive if I were gone more than 36 hours.
I don't know what it's like to go away - - to leave and actually leave my responsibilities behind.
My sons disability is my life.
He is dependent on me in ways that go beyond the Webster defined meaning of codependency and attachment.
Oh, I have tried to remove myself for a couple days: I've gone to a women's retreat for a weekend and left my son. Something always goes terribly wrong. And the reaction it causes in my son continues for days, sometimes weeks, after I return.

My generous, wonderful husband and I have been planning on going to Greece to celebrate our milestone anniversary. We've planned and saved, bought guidebooks & maps, pinned ideas and hoped with anticipation.
The reality is setting in: I left dear son for two nights with hubby a few months past and all hell broke loose with our dearly loved & trusted respite care provider. It was no fault of hers. It was all the little guys doing.
I left for 1 night last month and the backlash was horrendous at home and at school.
If I can’t leave my city, how can we possibly go to Greece???

This is a struggle for me.

 This is a part of motherhood not mentioned in scripture or parenting books.
This goes beyond the normal motherhood lack-of-sleep, tired, always putting-yourself-last-for-the-sake-of-your-children syndrome.
Raising a child with special needs requires far more.
And to be honest, there are days when I just don't have it in my selfish human nature.

Do I want to get away by myself for an entire week of writing, meditating, reading? Oh my! Absolutely! I can't even fathom the idea.

Do I want to be with my husband  on an island in Greece with zero (0) children, no phones and no work?
Yes! A thousand times yes!

The reality is this: it’s not my season in life. And the harsher truth is this: it may NEVER be my season in life, where my son is concerned.

I wrestle with my selfish sinful heart daily. Ok, let's be honest...  if I don't spend time with God on a regular basis, I'm not worth anything to my family who so desperately needs me.

My child needs me in ways that my friends family will never depend on her.  He needs me in ways that I will never, ever be able to communicate to my girlfriends. 

For now, for this day, for this moment… holding my sons small hand and guiding him through life is my calling. And if I look into his eyes and remember that his life is a gift to me, that he is an eternal soul who needs my love and wisdom, who desperately needs me to be his external brain… then the jealousy will melt away like the snow falling out my window.

Still, I'm not giving up all hope that one day the white sand and blue oceans of Greece may be mine.

A Mothers Theology

I love driving my youngest anywhere because he sits in his car seat and sings songs he has made up. He sings about whatever is on his mind, creating his own little melodies, singing usually off key, but oh so content.  The songs are always from his heart so I’ve learned to just listen quietly without correcting or commenting until he is finished.

On a dreary still-winter, not-quite-spring morning as we drove to school his musical composition began with the long sad walk down the Via Dolorosa, how the mean people put Jesus on a cross and stuck him with a spear, how a lady named Mary came to see him (pause, right mom, her name was Mary?), how the angel Gabrielle came and said don’t be sad the Holy Spirit took him away, then Gabrielle (that's not a typo - - he INSISTS the angel is a girl!) left and went to another Mary and told her to name her baby Jesus but they went to the town and everyone was closed so they found that place with hay and made a bed for her baby, then Joseph went to Egypt where the Pharaoh was mean and made the people slaves but the momma put the baby in the basket and the princess saved him and he grew up and went and saw the bush on fire and God said “TAKE OFF YOUR SHOES, THIS IS HOLY GROUND” so he did and he heard God say I AM. So he took off his shoes and went and saved the people and they came to the sea and Moses put out his hand and the sea opened and the people went across but the chariots drowned but the people complained. And God was mad. And the  people complained again and its so sad.

And…. then we pulled into the school parking lot and I had to interrupt him. Granted, his chronology was quite out of sync, but his knowledge was right on track.  Before we said our morning drop-off prayer, I made a point of telling him how proud I was of him singing from his heart what he knows about Jesus, and I prayed for him to share his love of Jesus with his friends so they could have Jesus live in their heart someday.

All the while he sang his composition, my heart rejoiced that he is singing about Jesus.

Now remember, all of this took place in the course of 10 minutes. 

As I dropped them at school, in the solitude of the car, the Holy Spirit quietly encouraged me with these thoughts:  my children are listening, my children are learning, my children pick up their theology from me. Their theology is whatever I live for them. Be encouraged as a mom: the years of reading Bible adventures, of repeating Catechism with them, of memorizing Scripture, of praying for them….it is not in vain. 

Do not fret over new diagnosis from doctors, do not grow weary over hours spent in therapist offices. Do not grow tired over the never ending pile of laundry and the dirty floors. Keep on training even when it appears that all they do is fight and whine and need attention. No, they have not kneeled down by their bed and asked Jesus into their heart, but they are soaking up my theology daily. I am laying a foundation for them that all the gates of hell cannot shake.  Do not be discouraged dear mother, take hope and peace in the power of the Holy Spirit to move in their hearts, even at this young age.

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.