Growing a Boy: Help Me Sail

I knew it would be hard. Yet the hard has not been at all what I expected. Days crying, researching, withdrawing from the world, not knowing what to do. Most days my head feels like it is barely bobbing above the water. I gasp for air. One more wave will surely pull me under. This is not the life I imagined having yet here I am. I seek to have a heart of gratitude, to see the good in all that is around me. I also recognize in the blip of life, these moments are small but the decisions I make in these moments will leave lasting evidence and imprints on my child.

I have a disabled son.

He may not seem it to the looking world. I think that is some of the challenge. The somewhat invisible challenges are often harder for onlookers to embrace because they are not seen--they are not tangible. To be honest, it is hard for me sometimes to embrace them too (and I am his mom). 

Entering first grade, I had such hopes that our boy would thrive. He overcame so much in kindergarten that I thought without doubt he would keep propelling forward in the world of academia. A month into first grade--- road block after road block we have hit. I am left with the desperately difficult decisions-- do we keep going? Do we repeat 1st grade? Do we just "get through" this year and then move to a new school next year? On the surface (or even typing them), the decision does not seem that big. Am I overreacting? Am I hype focused on something that doesn't really matter?

But it does matter. I am his mom. I am his first advocate (along with my husband). We lean into our faith...no matter how little our faith might feel in the face of these mountains. In a moment of desperation, I purchased a necklace on Amazon. A necklace, you may be asking, what does that have to do with your struggle? The gold chain, with a circle pendant, holds a mustard seed. A small, almost unnoticeable mustard seed. If you are the believing type, you may recall the parable. A faith of a mustard seed can move mountains. That is the hope I am clinging to. If I can just hold it together, "muster up" a bit of faith, I can sail through the storm--not drown. The Hope that rests in Jesus alone is enough. He is good. In His love, He gave me my medically complex son. Truly a gift. Through my son (and many tears and toil), my faith deepens. I see God answer prayers in subtle ways. I find ways to uphold others in my community who are also struggling. In my suffering, I strive to serve. To remove my eyes from the pit in front of me and look up and look around. What beauty to behold. Just in this past week, I have seen not one but TWO double rainbows--at just the right time. A visible reminder of God's love and promises to me. What joy and hope. In this past week, a dear friends sent me and unexpected "just because" "I'm thinking of you" gift. Wow! God does see and hear the deep longings of my heart. 

I recognize we are all suffering in some way. We are all facing hardships of varying kinds. I am not alone. I try to fix my eyes on the author of my faith, share my struggles with others, see the struggles of others and cling to my mustard seed of faith. God will work out the details. I simply hold my hands open and up. I surrender, Lord. I give you my little faith, my tears, my toil, my deep pain. Prevent me from drowning. Instead help me sail.

Growing a Boy: I "just" want to be his mom.

As you can imagine, this school year started with many complexities. My plate is crowded with obligations and responsibilities. Does my son have a disability? Yes. Does he need different scholastic accommodations than traditional students? Yes. Does he require therapy within and outside of the school day? Yes! Do I have other children, a job, and a household to run? Yes. However, there needs to be a surrender in the middle of the chaos.  As our family falls into somewhat of a rhythm of the school year, I find myself anxious. I am asking myself questions like:

o   Am I pushing too hard for supports/accommodations?

o   Is it worth disrupting my son's school day for therapy? (and all the make-up work!)

o   When are too many resources/therapies just that…too many?

o   Do I let him grow “as is” or intervene?

 

I find that my phone is tethered to my side during the school day, “just in case” the school calls to tell me that my son had a seizure or something even more catastrophic. Is this a healthy way to live? No.

 

What if I am "just" his mom? What if I fully surrendered my son to the Lord? I realize that my thoughts and feelings are based on fear and worry. When I live here, life and joy are taken from me.  How, then, do you reconcile the practical everyday questions with the life of surrender and trust? 

In all honesty, I don't want to mess this up...for my son or for myself. I don't want to be so wrecked that I walk around with a perpetual lump in my throat, a pit in my stomach, and a doom cloud floating over my head. Sadly, this is how the days have felt recently. God, just take my anxious thoughts. Allow me to surrender. Can I "just" be my son's mom? Can I stop being an advocate for him? 

In this, I pray for wisdom. I pray for healing. The trauma of his birth just keeps seeping in. I can't help but remember our son fighting for his little life at just days old...the pumps, the tubes, the medications...the many unknowns. I do not want to live a life dictated by the past. My son is alive. That should be enough, right? But the wounds are deep. Life is fragile. The mind is fickle. Help me, Lord. Take control over my heart, mind, and soul. You be the one that fills me, Lord. You be the one to answer the many questions I have. You grow him because today.... today, I "just" want to be his mom.

 

Growing in Faith: Come and Rest

Have you ever wondered how to experience joy when the world around you feels chaotic? This is a question many of us have asked ourselves. Our questions may seem too big or the unknowns...well, too unknown. But we, as humans, have the capability to navigate, persevere, and conquer the mountains in front of us. 

We get to choose our response:

1) We can be raw, vulnerable, real, authentic, and transparent. Yet, this comes at great risk of shifting our chaotic world onto our friendships --or-- being disliked, ignored, or made fun of.

2) Alternatively, we could give the obligatory, standard response, "Everything is okay." "We are just figuring things out, you know, one day at a time." Yet with this response, we remain unseen and unknown.

Neither response is wrong, but isn't there a better way? 

Yes, there is! The answer is found in Jesus. When we carry the burden alone, we can feel hopeless, without a landing place. Jesus came to carry the burden with us and for us. We can surrender and trust that Jesus is faithful. But are we willing? Are we willing to surrender? Are we willing to learn? Are we willing to rest? Jesus can heal even the deepest wounds. We simply get to come and rest.

"Be still and know that I am God."

Growing in Faith: Widely Complex Emotions {change}

When a season ends, we sit and we reflect. We mourn and we celebrate. We take a deep breath and pause in silence.

What next?

The Band-Aid feels like it is ripped off way too soon, but then you realize that your wounds are healing. They needed air and space so that the skin could be fully renewed.

Seasons in life are like this. What feels like “it is gone too soon” or what feels like “I can’t breathe” when a season changes, we know we are stronger than we were when we first entered the season. Many lessons have been learned. We slowly let our hand off the handrail to realize that we didn’t fall…but in case you were worried, you looked back to see your village standing behind you cheering you on.

You cry. You grieve. Your emotions are widely complex yet you know… 

YOU. ARE. ENOUGH. 

You are seen. You are loved. You, dear friend, have a purpose beyond any purpose you can see for yourself. Just being who you were created to be has left a lasting impression on those around you. You learned to show up—cry with others, pray deeply, listen more closely, and refrain from being the center of every conversation. To be at the table, known by name, is simply enough.

These widely complex emotions are valid. Sit in them. Allow yourself to feel all the feels …then...just then, when you process, cry, and grieve, look up. Know that the Father above looks upon you with deep joy, love, and kindness. You are His. He already knows where the next fork in the road will take you. Trust Him. Trust the road. Have faith that the next season will bring about a great impact on your life. It, too, will change you and heal you in unexpected ways. Lean into it. Change is hard. Change is frustrating and at times anger producing – but don’t sit there. Grieve your loss, come to an acceptance of sorts, and look forward to embrace the beautiful seasons ahead—seasons that have been predestined by the Lord, JUST. FOR. YOU. Yes, just for you.

Those in this season may find their way onto your new path once again, your new road. Welcome them. And at the same time, allow yourself to fully embrace those who walk shoulder to shoulder with you in this new season. Even if the new season is unexpected (or comes far too early), know there is a greater plan. A far greater plan than you may ever know or see. YOU. ARE. SEEN. You are seen so much that, the Creator of all, deeply cares about the widely complex emotions you are feeling. HE. WILL. HEAL. YOU. He will heal you, perhaps not in a physical way, but rather in a deep spiritual way. So let the Band-Aid be removed. Feel all of the feels. Grieve. Accept. Pray. Trust.

GOD. HAS. YOU.

He always has and He always will. Day by day your wounds are healing, your heart is transforming and your new season will change your (body, mind, and spirit) in ways that only the Creator can. Embrace it with deep passion, with deep trust, and great joy. (But it’s okay to take a moment and grieve…allow yourself to sit there for a moment, in silence, washed by the Spirit).

 

Then, move forward in great hope. You have a purpose and a gift the world desperately needs. Share it.