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Spittin’ in the Wind

May 24, 2013 By 1 Comment

Consider the work of God: who can make straight what He has made crooked?  In the day of prosperity be joyful, BUT in the day of adversity consider that God has made the one side by side with the other, so that man may not find out anything that shall be after him.   Ecclesiastes 7:13, 14

Believe it or not, God makes some things c-r-o-o-k-e-d on purpose, and you are WASTING YOUR TIME if you try to straighten them out. I’ve tried. The results are about the same as spittin’ into the wind.

So, if I could go back in time (which, btw, I have NO desire to do), and have a frank talk with myself (like I don’t already talk to myself), THIS is (some) of what I would say:

  1. Honey, relax. If your children get to high school (and I know that’s an “if”), they will NOT be in diapers. (I thought we would never get through potty-training.)
  2. Yes, God knew EXACTLY what He was doing when He assigned each child (regardless of temperament, talents, or disabilities) to you, to parent.
  3. Don’t freak out when your mother, who you greatly admire, declares none of her children were anything like this. God didn’t give them to her.
  4. I know you don’t think you need to change, but you do. And wonder of wonders, this husband, this child, this season of life, is going to help you change.
  5. Remember: Jesus saves. Not education.
  6. No matter what anyone says, there is no one “right” way to educate a child.
  7. Welcome to war. There is no AWOL, so quit looking for an out. Make it count – ask God for ALL the spoils.
  8. You will need help, so get over it, humble yourself, and ask.  Lone Rangers do not last long.
  9. Suffering comes to EVERYONE. (I thought if I did enough right, I could avoid pain. Wrong.)
  10. Sweetie, God is perfect goodness, so His plan for you is perfectly good. It is never, ever pointless pain.
  11. There are RICHES in this dark place. Mine those treasures, girl.
  12. God will NOT fail you or your children. Ever.
  13. Sometimes you WILL feel BETRAYED by God, but it will never be true.
  14. I know you think this will never happen, but when you see the end results, you will completely AGREE with His choices for your life!
  15. You can (and will) live without everything you THINK you need (marriage, friends, children, good reputation, being understood, predictability) but you cannot live without GOD and His Word.

Live and learn. I know I am preaching to the choir….

Affectionately,

Joan

Contact: Joansjourney@chosenfamilies.org

Filed Under: ADD, Bipolar Disorder, Encouragement, Expectations, humor, learning disabilities, mental illness, Uncategorized

Anxiety Wears Sneakers

February 23, 2013 By Leave a Comment

My son (age 16, Aspergers and Learning Disabilities) and daughter and I were walking around the mall last week when I noticed a “Now Hiring” sign in a game store. “You could work there,” I told my son. He replied, “Mom, do you want me out of the house or something? You keep mentioning places I could work.” Oops. I didn’t realize how often I mention jobs or careers to my son.

I think it is the sneaky sneakers of anxiety. They sneak up on me, into my heart and mind and, eventually, out of my mouth. Unless I am actively identifying my anxiety and presenting these concerns to the Lord (with thanksgiving), I become anxious, particularly about my son’s future. I wonder what kind of job he will be able to do, how he will be successful, how he will handle stress and chaos, who he will find to marry, and many other future issues that I have no control over.

On the surface, I am doing my best to educate him, socialize him, and help him overcome his learning disabilities. On the surface, I am not worried about tomorrow but there is an undercurrent that I think all parents have that threatens to suck us into the riptide of worry and anxiety. Then, suddenly, I find that I have “borrowed trouble” from tomorrow. I have allowed the sneaky sneakers to catch up to me.

I really don’t know the answers to these questions and I have no idea of what he may end up doing for a living. The possibilities sometimes seem more limited than they are for my neurotypical daughter. But they are not! We have a God who doesn’t know the meaning of the word impossible. We have a God who promises us that, if we present our requests to Him, with thanksgiving, he will keep those sneaky sneakers away and guard our hearts and give us peace instead of anxiety. What an amazing, loving God we serve!

Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. – Philippians 4:6-7

~Brooke

Filed Under: Anxiety, Asperger, learning disabilities, Parenting, Teenager, Trust, Uncategorized, work Tagged With: , , , , ,

Grace, Growth, and Gratitude

February 10, 2013 By 4 Comments

Seven years ago this week, we withdrew our daughter from public school kindergarten.

I had such high hopes for Cami in the classroom. I loved kindergarten! As inquisitive as my girl was, I just knew she’d love it, too.

Cami's first day of kindergarten, 2005

It was hard to leave her at the Kiss and Ride spot every day and drive away. I remember leaving the parking lot, weeping and praying that the Holy Spirit would guide her, that God would protect her. My family and friends told me, “It will take time to adjust, but you have to let her go. It’s time to let her grow up.” Yet, in my heart of hearts, I think I knew things were going terribly wrong at school.

Hindsight’s great, isn’t it? Looking back, I can see how God had His arms wrapped around us both as we struggled to find His path for us. I thought it was weakness on my part, this burning desire to keep her home with me. I thought it was misbehavior on her part, the temper tantrums before and after school and the frowny face notes that came home with her.

I know now that she was being bullied—physically attacked and verbally threatened—daily by a little boy in her class. I know now that she couldn’t understand many of the auditory instructions given to her by the adults in her world. I know now that Cami could neither see nor hear properly, and that her brain had to reorient after she had both eye and ear surgeries in that kindergarten year.

I know now how magnificently and thoroughly God answered those mommy heart cries of mine as I drove out of the school parking lot every day. I know how He protected her, and guided her, and loved her when I didn’t know how.

We’ve grown a lot in the last seven years. We’ve found our groove with homeschooling. We’ve found a way to more than just survive each day and the challenges that come our way. We’ve learned how funny auditory processing struggles can be and how fully God redeems and restores misunderstandings when loving each other is of the highest value in a family.

We’ve found abundant springs from our Father in this land He’s given us to make fertile. There’s fruit everywhere I look these days.

And it is glorious.

Cami & Roscoe listening to the woods, 2013

Thanking Jesus for His amazing grace in our lives,

Candi

Filed Under: Homeschool, Journey, learning disabilities, Parenting Tagged With: , ,

Venti (Twenty)

November 8, 2012 By Leave a Comment

I’m sitting in Starbucks as I write this, and feel compelled to share it only because it differs in large margin from where I normally write. Where I normally write is in the corner of my bedroom, on a desk barely large enough to contain my few writing implements and resource books. I write mostly in my pajamas.

Right now, I feel like a duck in a hen house.

This place is crawling with Audi-driving hipsters. They are the wives and well-dressed babies of local dermatologists. They are the partners of large law firms recently off their fox hunts. They are software neophytes (venti-something’s) who’ve biked here from their cavernous, video-gaming offices up the street.

They chitter with each other, coo over their babies, read the Times. They order their lattes to a certain temperature. One hundred and forty for this one, 135 for the other. I cannot tell the difference. Mostly, I’m just content to burn my tongue a little and then wait until it cools off. They order with certain panache, coming to the counter with a confidence that eliminates the need to even scan the menu board. They order their “regulars.” They are identified by name by the baristas.

What I am doing? I am scanning the American Bar Association homepage, and trying to figure out if it’s worth spending $150 to order a CD rom that provides a comprehensive overview of special education law so that I can continue to track Noah’s highly specialized educational entitlements. The Individuals with Disabilities Education Improvement Act of 2004 (IDEA) requires that school districts provide disabled individuals with a “free and appropriate education” (FAPE). My husband and I have recently spent quite a few hours (venti, or more) meeting and corresponding with our local elementary school in a novel attempt to develop a service plan for Noah who – though he does not attend school there, but attends instead a private Christian school over the line in Pennsylvania – is still entitled to a “FAPE.” This means we have to act as though he is attending the local Maryland school, turn over our health care records and assessments for Noah, request they develop a service plan for him based on the documentation, decline the service plan because we plan to utilize it at another school, and then take the formal findings and plan to the Christian school where Noah attends in order that they might have access to government funding that will help them provide specialized materials and services for Noah.

Did you get all that?

THIS is what I’m doing in Starbucks this morning, sitting next to my venti coffee.

And then a lovely, freckle faced mother sits down next to me. She wears no makeup. Her belly is still swollen from recent birth. She sees either the safety of an understanding face in mine, or just an empty seat, but she places a portable baby carrier on the counter we share. Inside, is a mewing, spider-fingered two week old named Jack. I ask her about him. I tell her he is beautiful and that she should cherish every moment of his small-ness. I reminisce to her about my own Noah and how, while he was never truly small (nine pounds at his arrival, no less), he is bigger now than I ever could have imagined.

I am sometimes mired in the steps of our journey, and seeing this woman, misty eyed with infatuation for her newborn, brings me back to where we began, before I needed to research things like educational entitlements. Jack has a baby smell, and I am taken back to afternoons nursing Noah in our white glider, looking out over the backyard, listening to a disc of lullabies. I remember what it felt like to tear up for pure joy, carrying a heart I thought would break under the strain of perfect happiness.

I smile, and tickle Jack’s foot, and wish his mother all the best. Then I turn back to my computer, sipping my venti coffee, and logging another hour of research on Noah’s behalf because soon, he will be venti, too.

- Sarah

Filed Under: Asperger, Challenge, Contentment, Family, Gratitude, Journey, learning disabilities, school, Uncategorized

Learning Glitches ≠ Stifled Creativity

September 23, 2012 By 2 Comments

One of the greatest gifts God has given us as a family is the privilege to educate Cami at home. When we first had her evaluated, Cami’s learning disability list was long: dyslexia, dysgraphia, dyspraxia, sensory integration disorder (specifically auditory processing disorder), and “other learning disorders.” It was overwhelming.

We brought Cami home from public school in an act of desperation. She spent her school days either hiding in the hallway or crawling under tables. She hated kindergarten. Who hates kindergarten?

My girl.

Seven years later, I am amazed at the difference in my child. She loves to learn. Her boundless curiosity drives our homeschooling (for the most part). If I can get her to want to learn something, then I just step out of the way and she learns it.

The biggest delight I have in homeschooling Cami is the creativity that rises up in her and leaves me speechless. Last week, with her permission, I shared here on the blog part of the book series she’s writing. Today, I’d like to share the poetry she’s been writing this month.

And a drawing from her latest sketch book:

In her little poetry book, Cami wrote, “Just because I’m twelve years old does not mean that I can’t write good poetry.

If you turn the page, you’ll find that it’s true….”

Self Portrait

I’d prefer to duel an orc than go on shopping trips,
And I just plain drink my tea instead of taking little sips;
I don’t collect pressed flowers, just cool rocks,
Not to mention sticks, books, and socks;
Who cares about dresses? Who cares about pink?
I guess I’m more of a tomboy than other people may think.
And I ain’t cute!

 

The Great Lion

I see the stars twinkling high above me,
Through the branches I see the constellations—
The Leopard, the Hammer, the Ship.
You placed each star in the sky, You know each by name.
To You, mountains bow;
To You, every ocean roars;
At Your coming, the trees dance and clap their hands:
Festive Holly, with his spikey crown,
Mighty Oak, an old man,
And Beautiful Beech, the fairest of all.
At Your mighty roar, Your enemies tremble in fear,
At Your call, ordinary people become kings and queens,
At Your Word, the darkness leaves,
At Your Name, my fear disappears.
Forget your wars, cast aside your differences!
Narnia, Britain, America,
All nations of all worlds, be joyful!
The Great Lion is come!

 

When I Grow Up

It seems that some people think
that I’ll grow up to be a painter,
but I don’t want to spend all my days painting.
Frankly, I think that’ll get boring.
When I grow up…
I want to be an explorer,
I want to be a knight,
I want to be an archaeologist,
I want to shine a light,
I want to be a secret spy,
I want to be a wizard,
I want to be a pet-shop owner
who only deals with lizards,
I want my friend to be a talking tabby cat,
’cause when you’re a writer,
you really can do all that.

 

King Roscoe the Third

Our dog is a bit odd,
You may find he’s fairly weird,
He meows, he never barks,
He also has a beard!
He drinks his water very loudly,
He can chew anything,
But would you call electing him president
“Going a bit extreme”?
He rolls around on the floor,
I built him his own house,
One eye is crooked,
He’s a movie star,
He’d never hurt a mouse.
So, as you may see he is a bit odd,
But then again, so am I;
Roscoe’s a gift from God.

I can’t wait to read her first screen play!

Grateful for God’s provision and healing in my girl,

Cassandra

Filed Under: learning disabilities Tagged With: ,

What does God say?

September 10, 2012 By Leave a Comment

My 10 year old daughter was diagnosed by the school psychologist as having a learning disability in Grade 3. School was a struggle beginning with Kindergarten. The recommendation at the time was to take her for further testing to rule out any other disabilities. I took her in to start the process to rule out any other problems.

She was asked to fill out paper work as well and one of the questions was how did she feel about the problem that she was there for that day. To my surprise she said that she felt stupid when she needed the teacher to scribe for her in class and when the class had to wait for her to finish copying from the black board before everyone moved on. The very things that were put in place to make school easier for her were causing her to feel bad about herself.

I am determined to teach my daughter what God thinks of her because when our self esteem is based on what God says about us and who we are IN HIM it can’t be shaken. God is always reliable and His relationship with us is stable and reliant on Him not us. We are to submit and allow Him to change us and work on our lives to accomplish the work that He has started in us.

I need to read Psalm 139 to my children on a daily basis until they know what God says about them and they believe it.

Twyla

Filed Under: Bible, God's presence, learning disabilities, truth Tagged With:

On the Edge of Glory

September 8, 2012 By 3 Comments

It is amazing to me how fast time flies. It seems like yesterday I was picking up Daniel (ADHD, Aspergers, learning disabilities) from preschool and hearing once again about how he had bitten someone or was having trouble with his letters and writing. Even with his challenges, I knew he was an amazing boy. Then, when we got the Asperger’s diagnosis in 3rd grade, although I had to readjust my expectations, I still knew he was an amazing boy.

I wonder how many of us would actually want a “normal” child. Yes, we want our children to fall within certain social or academic parameters to make life easier for them and for us. And we want them to look normal in their dress and appearance to some degree. But do we really want them to BE normal? I thought I wanted normal children – ones that follow the rules and succeed in school and are always obedient. But when the Lord gave me the two I have, and one of them struggled in school and in social life and in behavior, I realized I didn’t really want normal kids. Yes, I cried a lot when I couldn’t figure out what to do about social conflicts, academic challenges, or difficulties. I prayed a lot too. But, most of all, I loved my little critters and really enjoyed them.

As time has flown by, the Lord has taught me so very many things. One thing that he has preached to my soul over and over is that he has great plans for both my children. Now, as Daniel is sixteen and only two years away from his senior year of high school, I realize that he is on the edge of those great plans, on the edge of glory (God’s glory, that is). Daniel is showing me that all that struggle and therapy and regular schooling and homeschooling and prayer and Bible study and encouragement is going to be worth it. He is becoming a responsible driver, a child who is quick to help when I ask (even if he doesn’t see the need on his own, he is willing to help if I point it out), a young man who wants to learn about the Lord and grow in his faith (even if the noise and chaos of youth group and Sunday School can overwhelm him), and an eager learner. He has learned about himself over the years and can tell me how he wants to learn something and the pace at which he wants that learning to take place.

I am so thankful that as time continues to fly by, God will continue to reveal his glory in and through Daniel. I can trust in God’s faithfulness that I have seen in His promises and in our lives. So, for those of you who are struggling (and I know we will continue to have heartaches and struggles too), know that there are beautiful times ahead where God will begin to reveal the young man or woman that your chosen child will be someday. He will show you in many ways how HIS glory will be revealed in your life and your child’s life. Keep up the praying and moving forward – to the glory of God.

~ Brooke

Filed Under: ADHD, Asperger, God's presence, learning disabilities, Teenager Tagged With: , , , , , ,

MY MY MY

August 17, 2012 By 2 Comments

When my baby was two, my 5 yr old was diagnosed with cancer. It’s fair to say I was way beyond sad and stressed. I was sad because I could not prevent or protect my 3 three little ones from the suffering that slammed into their lives that year. I was stressed because, in addition to the cancer, I had NO idea what to expect from my husband who had become unstable on the home front. He was taking Lithium, which had worked well enough to keep him out of the hospital and employed, but it no longer gave us enough coverage at home. (It would be much longer before he was willing to try new medication blends.) To top things off, we were in a relatively new city, and unlike before (in our old city), or now (2 decades later), no one really knew about his bipolar diagnosis. Not that they would’ve known what to do if they had, but let me tell you – that particular “secret” quadrupled the weight of uncertainty I felt.

Despite everything that was going on, our 2 yr old was developmentally RIGHT on schedule, which means the favorite word was “my” –  as in, “MY daddy” “MY juice” “MY do it.” Since MY mama flew in to care for MY baby while I was gone to chemo, she heard this A lot. So when she came across this verse, she sent it to me, of course, because it clearly belonged to MY baby!

I love You, O Lord,

MY strength.

The LORD is

MY Rock (“crag” – hiding place) and

MY Fortress, and

MY Deliverer,

MY God,

MY Rock, in whom I take refuge;

MY Shield and the horn of

MY Salvation,

MY Stronghold.

Psalm 18:1-2

I kept it above MY sink for years. It became one well-used, faded and wrinkled piece of truth.

I remembered all this last night because that little 2 yr old is leaving for college once again…and I want this precious young adult to cling to these truths, in order to survive this year’s uphill climb of academics and a learning disability.

I wonder what are you facing today in your life with hidden disabilities? I am at least one witness to the truth that MY God longs to be

YOUR God – when others want to rule you

your Strength – when you are tired or weak

your Rock – when important things are unstable

your Fortress – when you need strong walls protecting you

your Deliverer – when you need a refuge

your Shield – when you are attacked

your Salvation – when you need rescuing

your Stronghold – when you need defending and safety.

From MY heart,

Joan

Filed Under: Bipolar Disorder, Courage, Family, God's presence, Grief, learning disabilities, Marriage, mental illness, Uncategorized

Never, No, Not Ever, No

July 4, 2012 By Leave a Comment

Today I watched my ADD, LD son go through airport security to begin a mission trip that will end about 20 countries from now. If that’s not enough to keep an easily bored guy’s attention, I don’t know what is. In case you missed the news cast, he finished school ForEver, so you can bet TSA’s scans found NO BOOKS in his backpack. If he has anything to say about it, he will never sit in a school desk again. Never, no way, not ever.

Let’s just say, and I am just theorizing here, the amount of fun we have in one chapter of life determines how deeply we mourn its closing. If so, we’re in ecstasy! I’ll never forget tucking our son in bed, years ago, before the 1st day of a new school year. It’s a huge understatement to say he did NOT want to start another term…so leaning over the edge of the top bunk, he reasoned (desperately, hopefully), “If Jesus is going to come back anyway, tomorrow would be the day to do it!”

Hard to conjure up a tear or two saying goodbye to something you dread that much.

In lieu of cap, gown, ceremony, etc… (and this was totally appropriate) my husband bought a ton of fireworks to celebrate his son’s Scholastic Independence Day. By the time we were done, the whole neighborhood knew our son had finished school. Magna cum loudly.  (Only time constraints kept us from driving across the border to buy bigger fireworks.) BTW, I highly HIGHLY recommend this method of “commencement exercises” to all you moms out there with those kinesthetic boys. (It’s a great way to celebrate deliverance!)  And I tell you the truth, when those fireworks went off, his face glowed just like he was five, all 23 years of him.

AND being the grown man he is (which means he may be in our line of sight, but definitely NOT under our “control”) he jumped over and through the fireworks (in a safe sort of way), picking particular ones up, throwing them in the air to create a beautiful twirled effect. (Don’t try this at home, I want to say to ANYone reading this) … and I’m thinking, “well, if he gets his hand blown off right before his trip, he gets his hand blown off!” His life, on his terms – his choices, his consequences. You gotta love this young adult phase.

Looking backwards from here (yes, I’m very nostalgic at the moment) things make a lot more sense. He and his other buddies have always been the build-em, blow-em-up, set-em-on-fire kind. (I know, you’re thinking “where were the parents??”) But when all is said and done (not that their lives are over yet), one buddy is a skydiving paramedic, another is a lieutenant in our city’s fire department, getting his masters in emergency management, a 3rd one declined a slot at the Air Force, and another works with the Middle East. I know it’s overplaying my role (because these boys did have parents), but I can’t help feel I made a significant contribution to the emergency response capability of our city, perhaps even our country, given how many of their pyromaniac stunts I had to somehow “manage,” corral, divert, ….

But I digress. True to form, no moss has grown under our son’s newly graduated feet. Only four days from end of classes to American Airlines take off. (3 days longer than his usual time interval between major life events.) He was efficient and experienced as he fit essentials in his backpack – passport, visas, etc…. God has trained him to keep track of those “details” (his words). He was born for this arena – not school. In this setting, he’s super challenged – not super struggling. There’s a difference. I love it!

My son had the last laugh today, because UN-like his mama (when she travels), his bags both came in WAY under the 50 lb limit… multiple countries, and he can do it in under 50 lbs?? I can’t hardly get under 52 lbs going to another state. Touche’ my son – no BOOKS make lighter travel.

“I will never desert you; nor will I ever forsake you.” Hebrews 13:5

In the original Greek there are 5 negatives so the passage reads as…

“I will never, no, desert you; nor will I not ever, no, forsake you.”

It is true. During 16 years of school with LD and ADD, Jesus promised to never desert us. He didn’t. He won’t.

Not forsaken, no, not ever,

Joan

 

 

 

Filed Under: ADD, learning disabilities Tagged With: ,

End of Year Ponderings

June 25, 2012 By Leave a Comment

We have just finished another school year.  And I am exhausted.

No, really.

My dear son is a very bright kid with gross learning disabilities.  He has had an IEP since he was 3 and we did our 14th and final IEP for his senior year this Spring.  The journey has been, and continues to be, long.

It seems every year we have at least one teacher who doesn’t implement the IEP.  We can work really hard to get an excellent IEP document and then spend the entire next school year trying to get a recalcitrant teacher to just do the requirements.  Yes, I can tell it is the end of the year because grace has been strained almost to the breaking point.

I know some of you get what I am saying.

I know they are busy.  And I know they are juggling many things.  Truly, I appreciate that.  The problem is: when they don’t do their job, it is my SON who feels like the failure.  The teacher fails and doesn’t know it, or doesn’t care.  Unfortunately, the feeling of failure falls on my child.

And that angers me.  Really.  I have to pray A LOT when we find ourselves in this kind of place.

One wants to extend grace to allow a season of getting to know your child.  But at some point, a teacher just needs to do what is necessary to teach the child – even if it means he has to get outside his comfort zone to do so.  So often I feel like saying to the teacher:  “IT IS NOT ABOUT YOU!!  If you think it is about you, you chose the wrong profession!”

Alas, I don’t say these things.  But I certainly feel and think them.

I am a very educated parent.  I have a significant level of understanding of the law, the regulations, the requirements.  And I am an advocate by training and experience.  This is how I made my living early on in my professional career.  I think most people would say I am good at it.

But what I have come to see (yet am struggling to accept) is that it doesn’t matter how vigilant, engaged, or gracious I am.  If there is a teacher who doesn’t want to help and just wants to do things the way he/she has always done them, it is going to be a rough year.

I HATE that.  I try so hard to be kind, gracious, engaged, active, encouraging, etc.

I was struck during this latest episode with the distinct awareness that I had done all I could do and the Lord was pleased with my stewardship.  He does not expect me to be able to change the recalcitrant teacher or the disengaged administrator who allows it to happen.  He only holds me and my husband accountable for our stewardship responsibility in being the best advocate for the child He has entrusted to our care.  He will hold them accountable for their failures.

My prayer has to remain for my son.  That God would protect his heart, assure him of His love, encourage him concerning his future.  God has a plan for this boy/man.  Somehow the difficulty of the journey is preparing him for that task.

It grieves me.  But I can trust Him.

Still walking it out,

Shannon

Filed Under: IEP, learning disabilities, Parenting, school Tagged With: , , ,
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