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The Coldest Dish

March 7, 2013 By 1 Comment

Capitalization on Emotional Frustration.

Noah’s in the revenge business. He prides himself on Machiavellian tactics and instincts. He’s hired his services out to his sister, seeking payment out of her piggy bank. He’s left booby-traps and nasty notes around the house. Is this a by-product of brotherhood? Are boys more natural score-settlers? An older boy in student care at Noah’s school is giving him grief, and night and day, Noah talks about “getting even.” I wonder if he feels this burden more intensely because he’s somehow marginalized by his peers. We mothers never fully know what transpires after we drop our children off at school, and I am quietly terrorized by the thought that this little boy is ridiculing Noah for being “different.” Because Noah is. And I see it more clearly every day (this, a part of parenting a high functioning autistic that I intensely dislike – the part where things get worse before they get better).

Noah could have passed this trait onto his little brother Jesse, or perhaps it’s just the natural dynamic of male siblings. But in either case, it’s such a prominent theme in our home that Jesse recently suggested a “revenge meal” by telling me he wanted to eat both Hot Pockets for lunch, rationalizing that by eating both, when Noah went to ask if he could have one for dinner, “dere won’t be any lef, because I eat dem all.”

When Noah feels as if the world has him under its heel, it does little good to remind him that vengeance is the Lord’s alone (Romans 12:19). He still seethes and grits his teeth and makes a fist. Noah loves the Lord, alright. He just doesn’t trust Him to even the deck. I am certain his thirst for revenge is what keeps Noah in karate – a sport in which we thought his interest would fade (for Noah, if you play a few notes, you’ve mastered the piano; throw a few footballs, you’re Peyton Manning. You get the idea). The self-defense/combat mechanisms of the sport entertain his ninja death squad fantasies. Noah doesn’t like feeling like he’s been “had.” But then, neither do I. More than once, I’ve let others laugh at my expense, only to go home and quietly seethe about what I should have said at the time. I wish I could say that I’d chosen to turn the other cheek at the moment of offense, but I’m not that magnanimous. Keeping my mouth shut is only the result of a too-slow wit. “Argh! Why didn’t I think of that at the time!?” Noah feels this, too. I can tell this when he comes to me, and says, “The next time Johnnie says XX, I’m going to give him a piece of my mind!” Yes, we’re both very brave after the fact.

Really, both Noah and I need to thank the Lord we don’t say what we “ought to” at the time. Rolling over could be the Lord’s way of gently pushing our cheek in the other direction. Maybe He knows we’d be in a heap of trouble if we started running our mouths. Maybe He knows the heart of the offender, and he can see through to the hurt behind the insult. Maybe He’s just teaching us what’s required to be “at peace with everyone” (Romans 12:18). And though I’d like to say I’ve had one good Rocky versus Drago moment in my life, it’s probably for the better that I haven’t. I find that most of my “gut” reactions do better when they don’t get very far.

I’m sure that’s just how the Lord intended it.

Sarah

Filed Under: Asperger, Autism, Challenge, Conflict, growth, humility, Social skills, Uncategorized

Sibling Sorrow

August 31, 2012 By Leave a Comment

“You number my wanderings;”

I wonder which number I am on, God … 140? or more like 2,589,380? Why number them?

“put my tears into Your bottle …” Psalm 56:8

Do You have separate bottles for each cause of my tears?

If so, one is definitely labeled Sibling Sorrows. It should be about full by now, holding my tears for the sorrow I feel whenever I watch pain between my children.

We have amazing children. We don’t deserve them, and can’t thank God enough for their lives. Personally, I admire how they valiantly wade through life muddied by hidden disabilities without giving up. Just this spring they proved themselves again, as young adults, playing crucial roles on the search and rescue team for my husband’s lost mind.  I wish you knew them. (If you’re reading this site, then you know something of what they have weathered.)

But they are human too. And you better believe this journey has wounded them. Some of the defenses they formed, against their confusion and pain,  has caused and continues to cause pain to each other. It hurts me to witness it. When they were young, many times I should’ve intervened long before I did. Now I want to fix it (of course) but can’t. Jesus has brought us a long way, but we’ve far to go. I want each one to really BE there for each other (in healthy ways) so they can experience family the way they deeply long for, and God intended … but

anger at the injustices,

confusion about the causes,

mistrust and fear of speaking up,

disappointments over dashed dreams,

pain seeking a blame,

shame and sins …

all these can trigger them. Then, like an armed heat seeking missile with no target to lock on, the closest target within range often is a………SIBLING, who is dealing with their own pain, and cannot absorb more.

Some don’t rant and rave. They retreat … hiding way inside themselves (or others) seeking safety, til there’s no finding them. I miss them, when they do that.

When I cry out to You

THEN my enemies will turn back,

This I know because

God is FOR me.

Ps 56:9

As for me, I will call upon God, and the LORD shall save me.

Evening and morning and at noon I will pray,

and cry aloud,

and

He       shall          hear          my            voice.

Ps 56:16,17

Just had a comforting thought … (thankyou, Father).

Jesus is also their sibling. So technically, spiritually and family-wise (stick with me here) it’s our kids plus one more. Jesus shoulders being Firstborn for my firstborn, He’s the I’ll-defend-you Brother, their enthusiastic-I-want-to-spend-time-with-you-sibling.  AND He is completely healthy emotionally and spiritually — so He can take whatever they give Him without hurting them in return. In short, He is everything they can’t find in each other. He’s the perfect brother, who can and will always show up (no excuses), invest (no matter the cost), listen (with undivided attention), inspire (by example), be patient and kind (in attitude and word), pour life giving words into them when they lose hope, serve (their smallest needs) — and do it all because He is so overwhelmed with LOVE for them (not because He must)….

Thankyou, Jesus. We really need You.

Joan

Filed Under: abuse, Bipolar Disorder, Conflict, Family, God's presence, mental illness, Relationships, siblings, Uncategorized

Saturday Night’s All Right

August 5, 2012 By 2 Comments

I had a meltdown this weekend. Right there in my laundry room.

I had it coming. I started a new eating plan this week: a low-carb, low-fat, change-my-body-chemistry type of eating plan. Mount Laundry erupted continually throughout the week, refusing all my efforts to tame it. We took a field trip to the Botanic Gardens with some friends, and the homeschooling activities I so meticulously planned backfired (the girls were bored).

Saturday was going downhill fast; Cami didn’t clean her room on Friday like I asked her to, so I said “no” to her inviting friends inside to play. It was too hot to be outside (although she tried, bless her heart), so all her friends went home. She harrumphed. She said, “It feels like none of my friends want to be with me.” I couldn’t make it better. Not even a little bit.

Then my husband told me he was meeting a friend at the shooting range after he spent the morning at a gun show.

I kind of lost my mind.

You know how I found it again? I was weeping, trying to (inwardly) calmly assess why I was feeling the way I was. My husband said he felt like he was doing everything wrong. I admitted that I was jealous (of his time with a friend? of his time with his hobby? of his having extra time at all?), that I was believing the lies in my head, the lies that told me what a horrible housekeeper I am, what an ineffective mother I am, what a petty wife I am, how things will never change, I’ll never be any different, it’s no use so why try.

As I began to confess the lies I was hearing, my husband uncrossed his arms and crossed the chasm of the laundry room towards me. And he hugged me. He spoke truth over me, spoke it until I heard it, until I believed it. He hugged me—told me he loved me—until I found my mind again.

Then he went to the shooting range, Cami played in her clean room with a neighbor friend, and I folded a lot of laundry.

Not such an explosive Saturday after all.

Grateful for God’s grace and Michael’s love,

Cassandra

Filed Under: Conflict Tagged With: , ,

White Fang

June 14, 2012 By Leave a Comment

Just call her Killer.

Matt and I have been accused of loving chaos. We must. It’s the only explanation I can muster for why we thought that chewed shoes, urine-saturated carpet, and incessant barking were missing elements in our already crowded lives. I bet if I’d have polled other parents of Aspies (especially those with other animals), or even parents with other kids – we’d have been told to flee the prospect of getting a puppy. Maybe it was baby fever. Two of our friends had just had babies. In fact, the night we picked our Texas Heeler, Zelda, out of the litter, we had just left the maternity ward at the hospital. I remember raising her sweet face to mine in the car ride home and cooing to Matt, “We have a baby!”

Never, EVER trust a woman with heaving hormones. She will prove to be convincing. And your ultimate undoing.

I love Zelda, but now my house is a war zone. The problem of Noah and Zelda keeps growing as they do. (You can read about its origins in “The Flow Down”.) They scrap and tussle, and one of them always ends up crying. We are animal lovers. We have two dogs, a fish, a guinea pig, and a horse to prove it. But Noah’s flailing, his screaming that “She’s killing me!” and his pathetic sobbing are just about to fry the last sane hair on my head. All I want to do is get the pork chops in the oven. Instead, I’m having to try my puppy for attempted manslaughter. FIFTY TIMES A DAY.

Here’s what it looks like.

“Kids, go outside and play with the dogs.”

Two minutes later, I pull back the sheer curtain to watch Noah lift Zelda off the ground by her jowls. She is growling the playful growl of puppyhood. He lets her down, and she leaps up at him, wagging her tail. I am silently thanking God she is a gentle soul, and running for the door to yell at Noah to be gentle (for the 459th time that day), but before I can make it, I watch him crouch to her level and extend his arm, which Zelda naturally bites. He pushes it in her mouth – back to the heaviest of her teeth – but when I pull open the door, Noah falls to the grass, looks up at me and starts his heartbreaking wail that “She’s biting me!!”

For the first few months, I thought we’d chosen the wrong dog, that she was naturally aggressive toward people. Then I observed her with my other children, and other than her increasing size (which is a threat to the smaller children only because she loves to jump up and kiss them, and in so doing, drops them to the floor), she is the most affectionate dog I’ve met. So why was the biting still an issue with Noah?

It wasn’t until today that I figured it out – why his stimming, his flapping and facial tics have slowed immensely in the past few weeks. Zelda’s heavy teeth are providing him the pressure his brain is looking for. There isn’t a need to flap when your arms are already “grounded” by your dog’s jaws. He has the bruises to show for it. (In that vein, I’d like to personally thank Noah’s teacher and the staff at his Christian school. Were Noah a student anywhere else, I’d probably have had social services on my doorstep already. Noah arms make it look like he’s been boxing with a rattlesnake).

So, what to do about my son, and the dog that obliges him with her teeth? Well, that’s where I am now. I guess today’s victory is simply in having located Noah’s lock. Now I have to find the key.

In the meantime, I’m going to troll eBay for a padded suit.

- Sarah

Filed Under: Asperger, Challenge, Conflict Tagged With:

Pound of Flesh

June 7, 2012 By Leave a Comment

“NOAH! Jesse is touching your Nintendo!” Grace is sitting at breakfast, munching her toaster strudel. She is our meddler, our fire starter. She is very good at her job.

Noah comes tearing over from the couch, bent on annihilation. I try to stop him in his tracks – “Noah, NO! He barely touched it – he’s already put it back!” But I am too late. Noah flies past me to his brother with open hands; hands that grab his brother’s arms and squeeze and pinch in unison. Noah shakes with the effort. His teeth are gritted. He says nothing – only squeezes. This is almost worse than yelling alone, because I can subdue yelling quicker than physical violence. There is no need to tell you, of course, what this did to Jesse. He still bears the bruise.

Jesse receives M&M’s for using the potty. Noah is sure to ask for his own. Grace gets something from the treasure box for cleaning her room. Noah screams it’s unfair, that he needs something, too. If a friend is picked as classroom helper, Noah will make sure to inform his teacher of when it ought to be his turn. Anything he deems unjust warrants hitting or squeezing or pinching. He can go from quiet to raging in a blink.

Noah always gets his pound of flesh.

I’ve often thought how foolish these struggles are between my children: the fighting over a television channel, the screaming over the last honey bun, the terrorizing that accompanies a stolen toy. They don’t speak to each other afterwards. They slam doors and throttle each other.   I slide unwillingly into my role as referee multiple times a day. How easy it would be to compromise and be done with it!

Enter conviction, stage left. Funny how these miniature people magnify our own shortcomings.

“Do not seek revenge or bear a grudge against anyone among your people, but love your neighbor as yourself. I am the LORD.” Leviticus 19:18

“Do not take revenge, my dear friends, but leave room for God’s wrath, for it is written: ‘It is mine to avenge; I will repay,’ says the Lord.” Romans 12:19

Sometimes God’s word requires a bit of interpretation. But you don’t need a Master’s of Divinity to figure out that the Lord is telling us to stop the fighting and let it go, already.

I’m prone to blue-face parenting just like everyone else. I repeat and cajole and sometimes it’s like screaming into a hurricane for all the good it does. Really, the only way for me to get this message through to my kids at this malleable stage in their lives is to model it first.

A very good friend of mine recently closed off certain areas of her life – and certain people – for no apparent reason. She took up with other friends, completely redirected her interests, and let other relationships (including ours) completely lapse. I was shattered. We had lived our lives side-by-side. We had traveled together. Our children were in the same class. But now she was suddenly shutting me out as easily as turning off a light. For weeks, I fumed and deliberated. I complained to Matt and my other friends. I grumbled constantly and carried a grudge that I’m certain seeped through my skin each time I saw her.

Finally, I gave up. I realized two things: (1) there’s no art, as Shakespeare said, to find the mind’s construction in the face. I didn’t know what was going on behind the scenes. She was searching for something. Maybe she just needed time to find it. (2) There is no injury so great that the Lord cannot repair it. Whatever she’s done to me is not mine to repay.

Lord, may my life be a paradigm of forgiveness and grace. May I learn to let things go and practice loving over grudge-holding.

And please, Lord. Let Jesse stop touching Noah’s Nintendo.

~ Sarah

Filed Under: Asperger, Challenge, Conflict, Emotions, Family, Forgiveness, growth, Relationships, siblings, Uncategorized Tagged With:

@.%. is a swear word?

May 16, 2012 By 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: , ,

Power

April 19, 2012 By 2 Comments

To the crowd of parents for whom parenting comes easily: I salute you. You, of the Mommy and Me classes, filled scrapbooks, and hand-made baby food. The closest I ever got to making baby food was mashing an over-ripe banana for Noah. Your children are tidy, and quiet, and obedient. They don’t talk back. My two-year-old looked at me today and retorted, “Shut up, mama.” I have a law degree. You’d think I’d be able to present him with a case for why this is inappropriate.

I made a visit to my friend’s house recently. She is an ICU nurse at a major hospital in Baltimore. She has two kids, an immaculate house, and the kindest, most complacent children I’ve ever met. Her children are apparently drinking some magical elixir given to her by a genie. This is my best explanation for her situation.

This parenting business is tricky, sticky, exhausting, and inscrutable. I wing it every day. I have given up on parenting manuals because of conflicting advice and the sheer force it takes to finish a book in less than a year. I occasionally catch a few minutes of “The Nanny,” and that’s all it takes to convince me I’ve already dropped the ball. You see, it all requires WAAAAY more follow through than I’ve been mustering. “Time outs” are more like “you’re in trouble if you can get up and walk yourself over to the mat.”

And then I hear stuff like this:

“[Autistic kids] don’t have a father around to tell them, ‘Don’t act like a moron. You’ll get nowhere in life….’ [They should be told,] “’straighten up. Act like a man. Don’t sit there crying and screaming, idiot.’ In 99 out of 100 cases, an autistic kid is a brat who hasn’t been told to cut the act out.’” (Comments of radio talk show host Michael Savage, July 2008). http://www.nytimes.com/2008/07/22/business/media/22sava.html?_r=1

Oh that you were a fly in my kitchen, Mr. Savage, and I, with three fly-swatters and dead-accurate aim.

I’ll tell you what parenting feels like most of the time: a power-struggle. It’s the struggle in a public place between you and your overloaded son with autism. It’s the quiet struggle between your inner critic and the barely-audible “tsk-tsk” of the woman two booths over at the pizza joint – or that microphone jockey who thinks what your son has is a case of poor parenting. It’s the struggle between you and your husband on the best way to handle a conflict between your children, or the struggle between the will and the mind, when the will wants to pull the covers over her unwashed hair, and all the mind can think is, “The critical task of raising these kids MUST be undertaken well.” (And also, “They’ll get me back in therapy someday if I don’t get out of this bed.” But mostly, the more important stuff.)

When it comes right down to it, I lack the power for any of this parenting business. I am but a vapor in the wind, a mist (James 4:14). Vapors aren’t a terribly powerful phenomena. It stands to reason that I can do nothing without power from another Source – He who made the mist in the first place.

“I pray that you will begin to understand how incredibly great His power is to help those who believe in Him.” (Ephesians 1:19-20).

Power for parenting’s workload; the power to see it through, and well. I could use some of that right about now.

- Sarah

Filed Under: Autism, Confession, Conflict, Encouragement, Family, Uncategorized Tagged With:

A Time for War

March 3, 2012 By 2 Comments

“There is a time for everything … a time for war and a time for peace.” Ecc. 3:1, 8 b

It’s been all out WAR around here, and if you happen to have an extrovert bipolar in your marriage, then you know what I mean when I say it’s no secret, either. I’ve never read the famously long novel, War and Peace, by Leo Tolstoy … but I could WRITE one on the cycles of War and Peace in a bipolar marriage!

I don’t mean door slamming, screaming kind of war. Although there’s been plenty of intensity. For us, the battles play out in church offices, doctor offices, all our relationships, where I am fighting to get my husband the help he needs, but because of his intelligence and persuasiveness, others don’t know whether to believe me or not when I say, “He’s not OK, help us.” Right THERE is where I feel the most pressure to sin – to get bitter, to blame, to quit. I can almost feel the point when Satan begins to take advantage of my man’s physical disability in order to inflict soul damage in ever widening concentric circles.

Then the war is really ON. Honestly, my struggle is not just about whether my husband will eventually regain sane perception or not. Maybe he will, maybe he won’t. If he does, and I’m too bitter to want reconciliation, then what? If he doesn’t, and I blame others for “failing” us, then where’s fellowship? If I quit, and say “God didn’t come through for me …” — then I’ve lost my faith. There’s so much to lose. And it’s so easy to lose! It scares me.

That’s why, for me, regardless of my husband’s state of mind, I know I lose when I no longer believe God is hearing me, and sending help (preferably before I crater). Every war eventually gets around to my battle to b-e-l-i-e-v-e … that God will bring good out of this war, and repair all the damage this long siege has done. That’s The WAR.

Will the Lord cast off forever: and will He be favorable no more?

Has His mercy ceased forever?

Has His promise failed forevermore?

Has God forgotten to be gracious?

Has He in anger shut up His tender mercies?

David’s words … Ps. 77:7-9

SO many people were praying for us … and I kept looking for any sign of a breakthrough. (I felt like Elijah, looking for that little rain cloud.) It was scary to see NO improvement, for so long. When would the meds take hold? When would his insight return? (two VERY different issues). I finally couldn’t wait any longer, and had to fly out of town to tend another family crisis. (BTW, do bipolar crises ever come alone?? It came with our first baby, my parents’ dying, a child in the hospital….)

On the plane, my soul was almost numb from the battle I was leaving, and daunted at the one I was flying into. I hugged my little travel Bible, reading so many verses speaking my pain … until one verse lifted off the page, beaming through my fog –

He has redeemed my soul in peace from the battle which was against me … Ps 55:18

PEACE.

It felt like a promise, and I clung to it like a life raft.

Sure enough, a week into my other situation, the phone call came. The long siege was breaking … repentance and insight were returning … THANKYOU, JESUS. You have seen my affliction; You have known the troubles of my soul, and You have NOT given me over into the hand of the enemy … Ps 31:7

Yes, we have many months of hard work ahead of us … but Jesus has intervened, and the battle has turned, in our favor. There is more Peace, less War.

Redeemed

in peace

from the battle,

Joan

 

 

 

Filed Under: Bible, Conflict, Courage, God's presence, grace, Journey, Marriage Tagged With: ,

Underground

March 1, 2012 By 3 Comments

I am ashamed of myself. Today, the swells of desperation and fatigue swept me under, and I again found myself saying and doing things around my children of which I am not proud. I’ve been told I’m a good mother. I fight the urge to say, “Really? You should see me when I’m at my wits’ end. I’m an utter fraud. Stay a while. I’ll prove it to you.” I’ve lain in bed at night wondering what my children will someday say in a therapist’s office in 20 years.

I’m reminded of what Paul wrote in Romans about his own struggles with self-control: “For I do not do the good I want to do, but the evil I do not want to do—this I keep on doing.” (Romans 7:19)

Can a sister get an amen?

Let me further expound. My husband and I have come to realize that without intending it, we’ve begun to somehow “favor” Noah. We favor him by the attention he gets – the attention that congregates in therapies, and discussions, and moments of correction. It piles high in one-on-one outings, quiet cuddles to calm his nerves, special equipment to ground him. We are doing it with the best of intentions, but we are doing it with a blind eye toward our other children.

I learned this from Jesse. Who, as it turns out, will have none of it.

Jesse’s terrible two’s might rattle the nerves of Genghis Khan. His convictions are more iron-clad, his speech more insubordinate than that of any child I’ve known. I’m convinced he has an adamantium skeleton. But today, at our Mommy and Me class, it was just the two of us. There was no diversion of my attention. I held him in my lap, kissing his exposed ears and pointing things out in the story we were sharing. What did I get from him? A child of an entirely different personality, accompanied by “Oh, sank you mama! Sank you so much!”

My eyes welled with my own gratitude, and embarrassment. I’d dropped the ball.

I’m possessed of an auspicious ability to self-deprecate, which, come to think of it, makes my “short comings,” really more like “long comings.”   So, when I think I’ve failed – particularly in a matter as critical as raising my children – it sends me further underground. Can I salvage enough days, and reverse enough damage to make them happy? Because that’s my job, right?   To make them happy.

Not exactly. Nowhere does Scripture speak of ensuring our children’s amusement, or entertainment, or protection from life’s manifest difficulties. It doesn’t talk about the creation of a “Neverland” experience replete with balloon lunches, ice cream days, chocolate dinners, or circus nights. If it did, we’d have a bunch of obese clowns running around.

What it says is that we are to train up our children in the “way they should go.” (Proverbs 22:6) It says we’re not to exasperate them, but bring them up in the training and instruction of the Lord. (Ephesians 6:4) I endeavor here to try not to exasperate. I vow to bring in peace as much as possible, and instruct them well. Apart from that, I will take the blessing of each new day. I will take another rotation on a giant, unseen axis that provides a clean slate, and eyes that open to my two year old standing bedside with lifted arms, waiting for me to pull him up and under the covers. I get another day to feel his unconditional love – God’s love, through him – and try my best to get it right.

- Sarah

Filed Under: Asperger, Challenge, Change, Confession, Conflict, Emotions, Family, Parenting, siblings, Uncategorized Tagged With: , , , ,

It’s Not Working

January 27, 2012 By 2 Comments

These last few months have been a real bummer in our marriage. Not exactly the uplifting words you’d like to see?  Me either. But it’s the truth. At the moment.

My husband was experiencing severe fatigue, and after a bunch of tests, it seemed perhaps his meds needed to be lowered. These would be the meds that keep him from going into inner or outer orbit, mood-wise.  When my husband gets off kilter, his perceptions get distorted and he feels I am targeting him, disrespecting him. Actually, it’s the reverse. And it’s bad. SOOO, my protective husband explained to the doctor that we (marriage wise) were doing really well and he did NOT want to jeopardize that. I thanked Jesus as I heard those insightful, sheltering words.  My dear man was doing what he could, while clear headed, to protect me. It’s been a long journey to get here. We all discussed this quite sanely, in the doctor’s office, and then proceeded to start the experiment.

I’m thinking, of course, “we’ve gotten pretty good at this – I’ll just give a little bit of feedback, if needed, we’ll course correct, and that’s that.”  Although,  I know, from experience, that if I miss that little window – where he’s off course, but still able to absorb my input – the only way he’s going to figure out things are not working, is when the plane crashes and burns (our marriage). But hey, sometimes there just aren’t any GOOD options….

Of course, during this, there was this huge deadline at work piled onto the daily international drama … and then two major holidays, lots of travel, and somewhere in the mess, it got harder and harder to connect. I tried the usual “reconnect” relationship stuff – (you cannot BELIEVE how many marriage seminars we’ve been to) — And I said the various things I say, like, “Hm, wonder if meds need changing?” I jumped up and down to force a bit of time off for the holidays. I tried to rule out everything else (including my own stuff) before confronting him with the dreaded words: “Honey, I think you are a little hypomanic.” Too late.

I bet there’s not a bipolar out there who wants to hear those wing-clipping words, and who LOVES the person saying them. At these times I feel like the ground crew at the airport, trying to wave off the crash landing of a jumbo airliner  –“Flight 29 Heavy, wave off!” (and let’s just be clear – anytime the head of the home crashes, it’s jumbo size.) Once the crash is over, and they clear the debris, there I am, a greasy spot on the runway.

If there was a window back there, I missed it. Let’s just say, there’s been a partial crash landing (yes, it can be partial) and the fire trucks are rolled out, pouring water on the flames. God’s family has been my dear medics, bandaging my burns. Of course, we will go back to the original med doses, and reconstruct. I’m not a cussing woman, but here’s where I’d cuss if I did.

After sobbing for a few hours last night, I rolled over this morning. My Bible was lying next to me, where my husband should’ve been this last week. All I could moan was, “I gotta have a WORD from You.” It was open to Isaiah 25.

“I will give thanks to Your name (no, I’m not there yet)

for You have worked wonders (no “wonders” around here),

plans formed long ago, with perfect faithfulness. (this is “perfect”??)

For You have been a defense for the helpless (yes … that’s true, I am helpless to stop this … but it’s true, You have defended me before),

a defense for the needy in her distress, a refuge from the storm, a shade from the heat…(“yes, yes, yes, yes” to needy, distress, storm, heat)

He will swallow up death for all time (even death of my dreams), and the Lord GOD will wipe tears away from all faces. (that’s an intimate, tender visual – You close enough to my face to use Your fingers to personally wipe away my streaming tears)

And it will be said in that day (which can’t come soon enough), “Behold, THIS is our God for whom we have waited that He might save us. THIS is the LORD for whom we have waited….”

Is 25: 1, 4, 8, 9

Waiting,

Joan

Filed Under: Bible, Bipolar Disorder, Conflict, God's presence, Grief, Marriage Tagged With: , , , ,
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