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Clean-Up

May 18, 2012 By Joan Leave a Comment

Not long ago I woke up to pounding and hammering – and it was NOT a headache. The house I am living in is being remodeled to make handicap rooms.  (I admire ANYone with the courage to remodel.)  It took a team of grown men just one day to make significant progress – or cause significant damage, depending on your perspective. They left a huge gaping hole where the side of the house had been, with wires and boards hanging open, unconnected, exposed.

But hey, that was nothing compared to the massive corresponding mountain of debris on the lawn. If a giant tornado had ripped open the house, shredded the parts, and dumped them in a pile, I think it would’ve looked similar. What a tangle of rotten boards, good boards, bent nails, old wasp nests – all things fascinating to little boys – torn insulation, siding, drywall, gutters…and things I don’t even recognize! It’s been weeks, and the family is still tediously sorting through the debris, salvaging the good lumber, drywall, which they are using in reconstruction.

Can you picture this? Then you can picture our relationship’s destruction and rebuilding after the tornado of a manic season rips through it.

But you don’t need me tell you this, if you’re living it. What you probably want to know is how we put it back together…….

V-e-r-y C-a-r-e-f-u-l-l-y.

I can remember when my husband used to feel that since the destruction was part of his disorder that I could/should just dump all the debris in a box, labeled “manic disorder” –  shelve it, and move on. I tried that.

But somewhere in that debris was our relationship. Though he often does not, I DO remember the words, the tones, the actions, the emotions, MY emotions (if nothing else)… and it’s not always clear to me afterwards, exactly what goes in the “to the dump” box, and what are real issues that need pursuing if we want to rebuild.  (And you can bet I’ve been tempted to put the WHOLE relationship in the dump box sometimes – and so has he!)

I’m not a professional, and this is not Manic Recovery 101. (Someone needs to write that book). This is a simple outline of what we’ve found helps us survive and move on…build character….not walls.

Review: We’ve learned we do have to “recreate/review” the history of the “off” season (as tedious as that is, and as much as we may want to skip over it). It helps each of us understand when things went off the rails…and what we can learn from it, and what we need to throw into the “discard” bucket.

Repentance, remorse: There is a level on which it doesn’t matter WHAT caused the 6 inch gash, it still needs stitches. Regardless of what prompted the inappropriate words or actions (sin, disorder, misunderstanding) if something harmful was said or done, repentance and restitution is needed to clear the air. No excuses. It doesn’t mean trust is restored – that takes t-i-m-e. It does mean everyone agrees on what was harmful, what isn’t, and that is how trust can begin. I am helped when someone asks, “what did I do that hurt you (this time)?”

Relax: Humor helps! My loved ones with bipolar disorder have great senses of humor, and make good natured jokes about the things they said, or did, when off-the-reservation (as my husband describes it). Believe it or not, it helps reduce the tension for everyone. They lead out in showing the hard times are not a “taboo” topic.

And did I mention it was tedious? ;)

Rebuilding,

Joan

 

Filed Under: Bipolar Disorder, Marriage Tagged With: ,

Silence is Golden

May 17, 2012 By Sarah Leave a Comment

I swear sometimes, I’d pull a Van Gogh to get a little quiet in my house.  I’ve tried every permutation of “Be quiet!” I can think of, including but not limited to, “Zip it!,” “Let’s play the quiet game!,” and “You make me want to stab my eardrums with an ice pick!” I am not proud of these of course, but there is only so much volume a human can take.  There is a reason air traffic controllers wear protective headgear, after all.  Not a one of my children is a quiet personality, preferring to observe rather than partake.  In fact, they all partake so much that I’m often tempted to hide in my closet when they start a screaming tattle fest so that Matt has to break it up.

I marvel at other people’s quiet children.  When visiting my brother in California a few months ago, I asked him where his three daughters had gone to – it was so quiet in the house!  Like, 30 straight minutes of quiet. “Oh, they’re in Jozy’s bedroom, playing.”  “Why can’t we hear them?”  “I don’t know…” he trailed off.  “SAM! I don’t understand it! WHY ARE THEY SO QUIET?!”  Sam, who is likewise quiet, shrugged his shoulders.  “Beats me.”  My friend Rhonda’s children are also
perfectly tame-tongued angels.  She well remembers the weekend we spent at the beach and all 10 of us were seated around the table, with my three in the throes of torturous wailing, and her three, sitting quietly and coloring on their placemats.  I was bereft for weeks, thinking I’d been doing something wrong.  My kids can’t even whisper quietly.  You’d think they were raised in a wind tunnel.

Our house occasions a constant stream of chatter.  Take Noah’s recent report on George Washington Carver.  Lines like – “would you want to hear this remorcibill [sic] story? Ok then.” – demonstrate the way he is as much a presenter as anything else.  I guess this is part of who he is as a kid with Asperger’s – the stream of chatter is one-sided, oratorical in nature.  There is nothing he loves more than an audience.  Ask him how his day was, and he will relay the whole thing down to the detail of what peg he hung his coat on, what chair he sat in, what the student next to him had for lunch, and how long their recess was.  His is not the quiet form of autism.  But it’s apparently the best possible form for our uniquely woven family, loud as we are.

As a natural introvert, I have prayed often for a quiet house.  I am energized by solitude and silence.  But I didn’t marry a quiet man (ostensibly, the first of my mistakes in this regard).  And then comes the realization that were my prayer to be granted, my mother’s quandary wouldn’t disappear, it would simply be different.  My brother’s youngest struggles to speak at all, and she is almost five.  Another mother-friend of mine tells me that while her middle child is quiet and introverted his emotions are locked tight beneath his studious exterior, and she angsts over pulling him out.  Quiet children are no easier than loud children.  They just require earlier cochlear implants.

It’s times like this when my children’s screeching provides a setting for my writing that I can’t do anything but laugh.  Even as I typed that last sentence, my daughter Grace said to Matt as he was toweling her off in the bathroom, “Daddy, it’s hard having three kids, isn’t it?”  To which he and I burst into simultaneous laughter.  It’s the loud kids, the vocal kids, the verbally expressive kids who often come up with the most hilarious stuff.  Stuff we might have missed if our house were more serenely silent.  Psalm 32:3: “When I kept silent, my bones wasted away through my groaning all day long.”  My children aren’t ones for internal groaning.  They’ve learned that sometimes, a kid has just gotta let it fly.

- Sarah

Filed Under: Asperger, Family, humor, Relationships

@.%. is a swear word?

May 16, 2012 By Kara 1 Comment

@.%. = M.A. – - – as in Medical Assistance (a federal or state run program that provides benefits for children with certain types of disabilities, such as cognitive or developmental, i.e. Autism)

Yep, I swore. I must have. They fawned over my husband and I as he looked at glasses frames, needing a new pair because he’d broken his over the weekend. I’d mentioned that I was also looking for my son because we recently learned he also needed glasses. I was getting a look at what they had for kids’ frames and would come back with him later, possibly that night after school. The clerk was so helpful and happy to show me options, even bringing out more frames from her back room.

And then I did it. I said “the naughty word”. My son has M.A. and we were thinking that we’d like to also get him a pair of frames through his M.A. insurance. We figured he could use those glasses when he was playing sports or in the yard. It was like someone turned the light off. I can’t even describe for you the STARK contrast in customer service from that point on. Wow, it was like they were saying – “Please leave now. If you want to use M.A. (even though we offer it as an option) we don’t want any of your business.” I was so thrown off, confused, dumbfounded – honestly, I just didn’t get it. I went so far… I actually came back there with my son!? He tried on frames, and his senses went into overload. It was overwhelming, for many reasons, but I don’t doubt he sensed the rude attitude oozing out of the clerks.

Grrr. It took me several more days before I was able to find out why this “M.A.” was so *awful*. I straight out asked another honest and compassionate provider who explained to me why that clinic may have acted that way, albeit – they were not justified in doing so. It’s costly for them to offer these frames and service to people. That simple. Wow. I called up the head optometrist at the clinic and explained to him what happened.  How disappointing it was to be treated that way. Especially when you consider we live in a small community and we’re likely to need glasses again in the future.  We came in there trying on frames for two members of our family, we were actually planning (and told them this!) to buy a pair of nice glasses through our private insurance and out-of-pocket expense and then on top of that do the M.A. glasses, and geez… you OFFER this (insurance) program – it is a provider’s choice whether or not to offer it. How rude.

I should have gotten up at that moment and walked out of there. I would have, had I been more educated about what they were doing to me, why they were treating me that way. But I guess this time God was using my lack of knowledge at the time to keep my mouth shut until He was ready for me to calmly face the situation.

Sadly, I still gave them my business. And we’re skipping on the M.A. frames. I don’t really like that I’ve caved on all fronts. I guess you could say I took one for the team. Trying on frames is hard for Owen (7 with Autism), and we actually found one he liked there that fit him. I couldn’t put him through looking at lots of different places. BUT, I have learned from this situation, and I really do hope that somehow God will work in the hearts of the people at that clinic… in particular one very rude woman there who needs a serious reality check. Really, get over yourself lady. There’s more to life than judging a sweet little seven year old who happens to have a hard time trying on glasses frames, gets wiggly, and his mother who happens to say “the naughty word”.

*Disclaimer: I wanted to note that I have had positive experiences with some M.A. providers (dental, medical) but sadly had very negative experiences with two eye care providers in our small community.

Filed Under: ADHD, Anxiety, Autism, Conflict Tagged With: , ,

Created by God

May 14, 2012 By Louise 3 Comments

Reading Cassandra’s post I was reminded of a time that seems so long ago now. I was seriously dating a young man who was born with a double cleft lip and cleft palate. As we talked about getting married and our future together we also discussed not having children because of the fear of bringing a child into the world to face the pain of a future with a birth defect. This young man knew personally the pain and cruelty of staring eyes, taunting children, and hurtful words. He knew that he did not want to subject a child to that torment. Nor did he want to subject me as a mother to the pain of watching my precious child suffer through the emotional pain as well as the physical pain associated with the numerous corrective surgeries. We were young and idealistic and thought we knew what was best.

Bobby (6 months old) after 2 reconstructive surgeries

As time passed and we continued dating our relationship progressed and we became engaged. We mostly avoided the subject of children because we had an understanding. We both loved kids and babysat for friends at church, but that nagging feeling of wanting to protect a child from being born with a birth defect kept us from seriously considering that we might really want to be parents one day in our later married lives.

After Bobby graduated from college we got married. It had been a long dating and engagement period. We had been together for eight years at that point (I won’t mention how old we were when we started dating because we do not advocate dating at that young age and I don’t want to have any upset parents posting comments.) After a while I started having baby pangs so I started doing some research. I wanted to find out what our chances of having a child with the same birth defect Bobby has would be. We didn’t know all of the circumstances surrounding his mother’s pregnancy, but we did know she was over 35, and there were a couple of other factors that could have contributed to the birth defect. It seemed to us there was a high probability that it was not genetic. The odds were good that our child would not be born with the same birth defect.

We took the information and went to see my ob/gyn. He heard our case and then said, “You don’t need to have a baby unless you are prepared that there is a 100% chance for your baby to have a birth defect.” That really threw us for a loop. It was hard to hear, but he was so right. In all of our calculations and fear, we forgot that we were supposed to trust God to give us the child that he intended for us to have—a child that is “made in His image.”

“For everything created by God is good, and nothing should be rejected if it is received with thanksgiving,” 1 Timothy 4:4 (HCSB)

With prayer and humility we trust God to make us the parents he wants us to be. It was no longer important to know whether or not our children would have special needs. We knew that God had chosen us to parent them and that whatever needs they had, if we would receive them with thanksgiving we would be blessed. And, oh, what a blessing it has been!

 

Andrew, Katie, Stephen, Me & Timothy - Mothers' Day, 2012

~Louise

 

Filed Under: humility, Parenting Tagged With: ,

Double Conversation

May 14, 2012 By Lynn Leave a Comment

I wait for the LORD, my soul waits, and in his word I put my hope. Psalm 130:5

I am weary from one of the busiest weeks I have had in a long time, in the midst of one of the most stressful 3 months in recent or distant memory.

With very little emotional reserves, my daughter’s SPD has been zapping what little I have left.  As is often the case, she is able to take something positive and turn it into a negative because of her hidden disability.

She had excellent behavior at the children’s program I was teaching at church this past Sunday, so we showered her with extensive praise and a special snack when we returned home.  However, she decided the next day that she wanted to be rewarded with a new toy, and our discussion about how we don’t always “get something” for doing the right thing or doing a really good job didn’t help the whining and emotional breakdown in the backseat of my car on the way home from preschool today.  She was stuck and no attempt to switch subjects was working.

Feeling the last ounces of emotional energy evaporating, I said a quick silent prayer to the Lord for wisdom because I was running on fumes.

Almost immediately, I remembered that I still had a few dollar store prizes from when we used a treasure chest as positive reinforcement for desired behaviors last year.  I wasn’t sure what was left, but prayed it would be enough to end this emotional breakdown: hers and mine!

Little did I know the Lord was going to use this conversation to comfort me with a much needed reminder. Here’s how the rest of the conversation went.

Me: We can’t go out to lunch or buy a new toy, but I have an idea of something we can do.

Gracie: You do! (Pause) But what if I don’t like it?

Me: I know you very well and you will like it.

Gracie: Wait! (with panic) It looks like we are heading home and that’s not special!

Me: You don’t know what I’m thinking. I have a plan.

Gracie: Are you sure?

Me: Yes. Do you trust me?

Gracie: Yes, but…

Me: Just wait and trust me.

Now it was halfway through this conversation that the Holy Spirit helped me to realize that He was speaking to me through the words coming out of my mouth to my daughter as only He can.  I desperately needed to be reminded that He knows me and understands the difficulties I am facing right now and, despite how things appear, He has a plan.

Perhaps you need the same reminder today.  He knows and understands YOU! He has a plan for YOU! Wait and trust Him. He is faithful.

~Lynn

 

Filed Under: Challenge, Encouragement, God's presence, Parenting, Prayer, Sensory Processing Disorder, Trust, Uncategorized Tagged With: , , , , ,

Life Light Up

May 13, 2012 By Cassandra 1 Comment

With less than an hour before I go on my first date with my husband in literally years, I’m thinking of this Chosen Families community. I’m thinking of how none of our lives are–or ever will be–”normal”; how much of our days are filled up with managing someone’s environment, someone’s transitions, someone’s angst; how we have to purpose to take care of ourselves because no one’s taking care of us.

I’m also thinking of the term hidden disabilities. I remember lying on my couch when, after two years of infertility treatments, we were finally pregnant. I was simultaneously giddy and terrified. My doctor cautioned me to not tell anyone yet in case I miscarried the pregnancy. I remember praying, “Lord, please. Please let this baby live. Please let me have a healthy baby. And please, Lord, don’t let this baby have special needs. I can’t handle having a disabled child.”

Well.

Now, on this day when my girl will go next door and help the neighbors’ babysitter so my husband and I can go to dinner and a movie with said neighbors, I honestly tell you: I’m glad God didn’t affirmatively answer my prayer. I can’t imagine Cami being any other child than who she is. Who she is has shaped me into the mom I am, and I gotta say: when I’m “momming” (which is all the time), I feel God’s pleasure. He’s got me right where He wants me, and I’m finding more and more that it’s right where I want to be. In my deepest place, I know He made me to do this: He made me to be Cami’s mom.

He also made me to be Michael’s wife, and Jay and Judy’s daughter, and Betsy and Melisa’s friend. Most of all, He made me to truly worship Him, to love and adore Him with my whole existence. I can’t do all that, y’all. I can’t. Most days, I can’t even get the kitchen cleaned.

There’s this song that God snuck onto my walking playlist. It’s by Christy Nockels, so I knew I’d enjoy listening to it. What I didn’t bargain for is how this song is quickly becoming my wail of faith. I sing it at the top of my lungs walking in my neighborhood with my headphones in. I want to believe it. I want to mean it.

On this Mother’s Day, wherever you are, whatever your circumstance, I want to remind you–and myself–of the Truth: we are living sacrifices (Romans 12:1). The Almighty God of the universe is building Himself a house to live in, and we are the living stones He’s using to build it (1 Peter 1:5). We need to make level paths for our feet, so that the lame–we stumbling ones–won’t be disabled, but rather healed (Hebrews 12:12). We need to hold on to our confidence and persevere so that when we’ve done the will of God, we will receive what He has promised. Very soon, He’s coming back for us. We live by faith, yes, and if we shrink back, He isn’t happy with us. But we’re not of those who shrink back and are destroyed, but of those who believe and are saved (Hebrews 10:35-39).

Our lives light up in Him. When the world watches how we negotiate these “hidden” disabilities, God’s glory, His grace, His mercy shine through the struggles.

Take a few moments today, and listen to this prayer. Close your eyes and let the music fill you up with faith in Him who called you to be a Chosen Family.

Life Light Up MP3

Life Light Up

With You, I can go anywhere
I can do anything
You are the song I bring…

With You, You are the air I breathe
‘Cause You are my everything
And I am Your offering…

I may live and I may die
Either way You’re glorified
Bless the day I give my life away!

Let my life light up like the city lights
And let it burn for You in the darkest night

In You, I can begin again
I’m part of a bigger plan
‘Cause You are the Great I Am!

In You, Your life is in my veins
And You’ve broken all my chains
‘Cause You are the God Who reigns!

My light will shine on earth
And my Father will be praised!!

Written by Nathan and Christy Nockels
© 2009 worshiptogether.com Songs / sixsteps Music (admin. by EMI CMG Publishing) (ASCAP)

In Jesus, the Author and Finisher of my faith,
Cassandra

Filed Under: Bible, Challenge, God's presence, Journey, worship Tagged With: , , ,

My identity – Me, as my son’s Mother

May 12, 2012 By Trauma Mama 5 Comments

I get a call from the principal’s office – your son was in a fight and is being suspended.  I go into school, again, and hear the sordid tale of my son (who truly was provoked) not restraining his impulses and getting into fist fight with the other child.  I get a call from the other child’s parents about the incident.  I get an email from his teacher about missing homework, about his rudeness to her in class.  We apply for him to go to a private school and have to write a whole page about his emotional and behavioral challenges.

I work so hard at being a good mother to my wounded child.  I quit work when we adopted so that I could make up for the deficits my son experienced that first year in an orphanage.  We have done intensive therapy, I have read books, we have tried meds, I am part of a mothers’ support group for adopted children, I have gone to seminars, I have implemented systems at home.  And yet, there I am in the principal’s office, again.

He looks fine on the outside, as a matter of a fact, he is a handsome and athletic boy.  I know people are conjecturing about what must be missing in his home life that gets him into trouble so regularly.  There are some dinners after an unpleasant altercation where my husband and I stare at each other glumly and have nothing to say … who wants to rehearse the disfunction as dinner table conversation?  Who wants to examine again the dreams of a normal family that have died?  The pain, the disappointment, the heartache can barely be borne.

And then we come to it again – we are stewards.   We must be faithful.  We did not create this dysfunction, we are helping to heal it. Whether or not our son chooses wisely, we have given him every chance for a good life.  We cannot be tied to the results.  Despite what others see or believe, we are good parents, actually great parents, and will be regardless of what happens in our son’s life.

So, on Mother’s Day, in spite of the fact I will probably be treated meanly because I am the second mom and the first mom abandoned him, I will remember that I am a good mother, contrary to appearances.

~ Trauma Mama

Filed Under: adoption, Parenting Tagged With: ,

Manic Mates

May 11, 2012 By Joan Leave a Comment

Someone wrote a few weeks ago, in the crisis of a manic mate. I could so relate. And here’s what I say, in 400 words or less!,  to any of you waking up to a manic mate:

It is scary when your mate’s mind is so out of control. I know your exhaustion is beyond exhausted. In your mate’s super charged state of energy and thinking, they can mess up things 24/7, faster than you can repair, explain, defend, mediate. You cannot keep up. It’s just not possible.

There are losses happening, and you can’t change that. BUT… God saw this coming, He is in charge of this flood, He is going to hold your head above water and bring good out of what looks like only chaos and destruction. It’s amazing how He does it, but He does. You will see.

This will last longer than you hope, but it will not last forever. That is why they are called BI polar – at some point, they will come DOWN, meds or not. The most important thing you can do is retain your own ability to think clearly, since you are thinking sanely for both of you right now. Let go of everything you can – this is a crisis (though they don’t recognize it).  Get any rest you can. Keep working with the Doctor until you know your mate has come back to their senses.

Get support – you need it. For now, do try to educate the relationships most affected, the best you can. If they don’t get it (which most people won’t) it’s OK. For some very good reason, God is allowing all those people to experience your mate in their manic state. God is working something in their lives, and you don’t have to prevent it, or make it go away for them. You can’t anyway. Educate those who have ears to hear, don’t waste precious energy trying to change the minds/opinions of those who can’t see/accept/understand right now.

And cry. This hurts. Things are being lost, and you can’t see the end yet … neither you nor your mate asked for this. God knows that, and He is tender towards you both right now. Blessed are they who mourn, for they shall be comforted.  (Matt. 5:4)

Praying for you, right now –

Joan

Filed Under: Bipolar Disorder, Marriage Tagged With:

Whoa

May 10, 2012 By Sarah 1 Comment

Stuart (aka “Caspian”) in a rare moment of quietude.

I never struggle in trying to find a topic on which to write. The topic always finds me – sometimes quietly like a reverie, sometimes ungraciously as a brass band. Today, it was more the latter than the former.

I was at the barn today, riding my new gelding, Stuart. For those of you who know me, you know there’s little else I love in this world more than horses (save for the obvious husband, children, etc. etc.). I was a desperately horse-crazy child. I collected model horses, read books on horses, drew horses, dreamed of horses. All I was missing was the headgear and the Kirk Cameron poster. I never owned a horse or truly got a chance to ride until I was a grown up and my time was “my own.” (Notice the use of quotation marks here. With children, I lost most of whatever “my time” was actually left.) I’ve been at it about eleven years, with breaks for children and illnesses and travel in between. I’ve had a few successes in the show ring, but nothing noteworthy enough to mention. Lately, I’m thinking this might be the result of how hard I’ve been working. Which is very, very hard.

I am one of the hardest working, most doggedly determined woman you’re ever going to meet. My vices are many, but sloth is not among them. If I set out to fold laundry on Monday, at 11:59 pm on Monday night, I’ll be folding the fourteen hundredth sock pair, but by George, I’ll have gotten it all done. My life before the bar exam became forcibly monastic: I stuck to a rigorous eight hour a day study routine for six weeks before the big test. I took 22 credits a semester in college to get out with one (and nearly two) B.S. and two minors in three years. I’m fairly awesome at self-flagellation. Doesn’t stand to reason that I would have had such a horrific riding lesson today then, does it? Unless I’m actually working TOO hard.

I came in with my guard up today – my horse had had 5 days off. This is a potential nightmare for the new owner of a young Thoroughbred. I needed to prove to him I was still in control. But the harder I worked on perfect form, the more I tried to do his job for him, the more aggressive I was, the more agitated Stuart became until everything fell apart. We had some very ugly near-misses over a few fences. I imagine my guardian angel is having a cocktail somewhere to unwind. If I had just loosened up – it’s ONLY RIDING! – things might have turned around. I just need to work a little less, trust a little more, and open my hand.

I am exactly this way with Noah, as with all things in my life that I love. The more I love something, the more likely I am to suffocate it with a death grip. I am excellent at the striving part. I am quite weak at the letting go part. I will task Noah to death, correct mannerisms and social gaffs, double-check his tutoring work and strive to interrupt his compulsions. What I think I might need to do is lighten up a little. We have Noah’s diagnosis about as in-control as we can get it. We’ve wasted no time with doctors and therapists. We’ve had a plan from the outset, and stuck to it. Unfortunately, that plan doesn’t leave as much room as I’d like for the simple joy of simply being.

So I’m done working for the night. Noah is downstairs rifling the cupboards for a snack to feed his wiry frame. I’ve put his siblings to bed and daddy is traveling again, so it’s just us on the couch in a few minutes, watching whatever episode of MAD on TiVO that will set him to fits of hysterical laughter. And though it’s past his bedtime, I’m going to sit quietly with him on the couch with his feet in my lap, because I am – as he is – learning the art of the Whoa.

- Sarah

Filed Under: Anxiety, Asperger, balance, Challenge, Family, Uncategorized Tagged With: , ,

On Receiving

May 9, 2012 By Prosthetic Memory Leave a Comment

Over the years, Ben and I have been the recipients of remarkable gifts, grace, and kindness.

It’s overwhelming.  It’s humbling.

In 2001, when my husband was still healthy and working as a professor and professional musician, he experienced a tremendous loss when his instrument was stolen while he was teaching at a local university.  Several weeks later, our Care Group graciously surprised us with an offering they had taken and presented us with a piggy-bank filled with cash in the amount for a new custom trombone.

Eight years later, after undergoing numerous trials and health issues, our Church Group recognized that I was going through Caregiver Burnout.  Wisely, they also noted that Ben was experiencing “patient burnout,” if there is such a thing, and they unexpectedly presented us with a large check to be used for a small vacation for the two of us.

Then, two years later, as Ben sat in the hospital with electrodes in his brain, our pastor presented us with a substantial check to help us with our medical bills.  (Embarassingly, stress from the hospital visit later proved too much; I lost the check and had to humbly ask our pastor to re-write the check after I couldn’t find the “special” place I used to store it).

We have been the recipients of countless meals, gift cards, rides, help from friends…so much help.  It’s humbling.  It’s praise-worthy.

Our previous neighbor spent the past five springs mowing our lawn while Ben was either hospitalized or laid up from seizures.  This past weekend, I came home from a business trip to Chicago to find our NEW neighbor mowing our weed-strewn lawn.

Our “celebrity pastor” sent us a large check with a simple handwritten note from him and his family after Ben’s last hospitalization.  I can only guess that we are not the first recipients of his kind, humble grace.

We are thankful.  We are humbled.

Our families have given us thousands of dollars in cash, countless hours of childcare and help for our other needs and wants.  They have paid for airplane tickets, household appliances, private school tuition, and so much more than words can still express.

As I write this blog post, it’s more than ten years since that initial cash gift was presented to us in a ceramic doggy piggy-bank.  We accepted that money in tears, never expecting how great our needs would become and how our thankfulness would grow.

We are thankful.  We are humbled.

It is never a pleasant place to be the recipients of grace.  I grew up expecting that I would be the GIVER…the one making meals, writing checks in secret, and providing service to the needy.

Today, I am the needy.

My friend brought dinner tonight.  Tomorrow Ben will send an email to our large group of friends asking for rides to physical therapy, doctors’ appointments, and other household errands.  Howard is retired, but he gives up every Tuesday morning to serve our family and give Ben rides anywhere he needs.  Friends and acquaintances have held my hand as I’ve wept tears of grief and anger in countless late night calls and teary-eyed visits.

We are thankful.  We are humbled.

THANK YOU to our village.  Thank you to Don; to Ron and Linda, Beth and Kipp, Dara and Michael, David and Elise, Howard and Arlene, Craig and Kristina, Kinneth and family, Shelley and Don, Pam and Steve, Kim and Wes, Diane and Rob, Laura and Steve, Glenna, Harriet, Silvia, and all of the people at Covenant Life School and church who have helped us along the way.

THANK YOU to our families who have sacrificed so much for us and are there for us every step of the way.

We are thankful.  We are humbled.

God sees.

Romans 8:28:  And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose.

Or, as my family likes to say, “Everything always works out for the best!”:

 

 

 

Filed Under: Acquired Brain Injury, Church Response, Epilepsy, Extended family, Forgiveness, Friends, Gratitude, siblings
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