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Surprising Spring

March 25, 2013 By Leave a Comment

…but whoever drinks of the water that I will give him will never be thirsty again. The water that I will give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life. John 4:14 ESV

I love to journal and it is one of the tools that help me stay emotionally healthy since my first bout of depression sixteen years ago.  However, I have recently (and accidentally) added a new, non-written, mode of processing my day and spending time with the Lord while………..washing dishes!

Up until we moved in October I had a large dishwasher so I loaded all of the dishes up and kept up my fast pace of life, missing an opportunity for reflection and prayer. Our new home only has room for a small built in dishwasher, so instead of running it multiple times a day, I hand wash the larger dishes. I need to be gently hand washed and made clean from my day.

I have found my dishwashing time therapeutic, as most nights I am able to have 10-15 minutes of limited interruption and I love it! Every night is different (and truth be told, some nights the dirty dishes sit in the sink until morning!) but I am learning to find ways to connect with the Lord in the midst of my day, instead of trying to add one more thing. Who needs one more thing to do?! Plus, I find shorter, more frequent times with the Lord keep me focused on Him and aware of His Presence. I crave His life giving Presence.

While we all need to be connected to the Lord, those of us on the hidden disability journey often require extra strength and grace on a daily basis. We need to combat the fear, disappointment, and frustration that attempt to invade our lives and make us dry. I am thirsty for Living Water.

Let’s be creative in finding time to process our thoughts and feelings (vent if needed) and stay connected with the Lord. If you are inclined, please share what you have found helpful, no matter how simple, to prime the pump and encourage others.

Your fellow traveler,

~Lynn

 

Filed Under: balance, Depression, Emotions, God's presence, Journey, Self Care, Uncategorized Tagged With: , , , ,

What I Know In My Know-er

March 3, 2013 By 2 Comments

“I’m sorry I freaked out a little earlier,” I said to Cami.

“You freaked out earlier?” She sounded puzzled.

“A little,” I said.

The only reason she had no idea I had a major meltdown today was because of my husband. Her daddy. My best friend.

Earlier, stresses had escalated in my head to where I was weeping and texting my heart out to Michael, who I thought was in the basement, but who came upstairs to where I was and texted with me from the other side of the locked bathroom door, two floors away from where my daughter sat reading her library book. She never saw or heard my ugly-cry.

I reached my limit, y’all. I’d put on a smile and looked for the humor and tried to feel thankful just one time too many today. Instead of feeling snug and comforted in a garment of praise, today I’ve felt so angry—that way-down-deep angry, the angry that rises up when things just aren’t fair and God lets them stay that way.

I’ll spare you the details of why my heart’s all stirred up because those details aren’t really the point of this post.

The point of this post? My feelings don’t change who I am:

I’m still accepted by God,
saved and seated with Jesus in the heavenly realms,
alive and one with Him (Ephesians 2:6).

I’m still forgiven by God because
He canceled the record of charges against me.
God destroyed the record of my wrong-doing
by nailing it to Jesus’ cross
(Colossians 2: 13-14).

I’m still God’s friend (Romans 5:11).

I’m still a child of the light and a child of the day.
My dark feelings do not make me a child of the night
or a child of the darkness
(1 Thessalonians 5:5).

I am still standing firm in Christ because God makes it happen.
I’m still anointed by Him.
I’m still sealed with His Spirit (2 Corinthians 1:21-22).

I’m still a new creation.
All the old is still gone (2 Corinthians 5:17).

I’m still held securely by Jesus, and
the evil one still cannot touch me (1 John 5:18).

I still have everything I need for life and godliness
through my knowledge of Jesus and
His divine power at work in my life (2 Peter 1:3).

I’m still the object of God Almighty’s lavish love,
still His child, still His little girl (1 John 3:1).

I’m still angry this evening. And oh, so weary. I’m also still loved and known by my husband. I’m still entrusted with the care and raising of my precious girl.

I’m so grateful that God’s Word is still God’s Word, even as my emotions change from hour to hour. He remains faithful.

That’s what I know.

Candi

 

Filed Under: Bible, Self Care, weariness Tagged With:

The Plunge

December 13, 2012 By 1 Comment

Noah and I are sitting alone at the back of the deli we frequent during our Tuesday night Karate/Gymnastics run. Grace is vaulting herself into the air across town. Matt is getting Jesse a haircut next door (a hair “cut,” is in this instance, loose vernacular for hair “shave,” as despite Matt’s explicit instructions, the “stylist” – again, using the loosest of vernacular – ignores his instructions, and takes clippers to Jesse’s whole head. Think Full Metal Jacket on a 36-pound frame). I am relishing the quiet conversation with Noah who falls to one of two extremes – harbinger of a verbal onslaught, or penitent monk, sworn to silence. Tonight, he is the former.

“And then we did flying side kicks, and I have a belt test on Saturday mom, so don’t forget, and I got there in just enough time to spar with a girl that I haven’t met before, and then another kid that I took down on the first try – “

Then his face scrunches up. He presses his eyes together, and his mouth makes a crinkled “O.”

“Mom, my tummy hurts.”

“Well honey, you just chugged 20 ounces of Powerade. Might it have something to do with that?”

“Probably.” And then he is right back to shoving macaroni and cheese in his mouth. “Where did dad take Jesse? To Hair Cuttery or the new place? What kind of haircut is he getting? Is he going to come back here – “

There’s the pained face again. Noah is normally “ticky” at dinner anyway, having spent the reserves of his self-control at school, and giving in to impulses like face-making and finger-flicking when he’s able to let down. But tonight there is something else going on with the face he’s making.

“Oooooh mom. My stomach is just KILLING me!” I can hear the intensity in his voice, and I fear that a scene is coming.  Thankfully, we’re just steps from the bathroom, and I suggest to him that he might want to visit it.

He’s out of his seat now, and pacing. “I don’t know, mom, I don’t know.”

For those of you who’ve read a few of my posts, you know that Noah has certain bathroom “oddities.” For example, he will not perform a certain bodily function anywhere BUT his own bathroom. This flavors our family excursions with the intensity of a channel swim through shark-infested waters. Additionally, Noah will only perform said act fully unclothed. Yes, George Castanza style – naked as the day he was born. Intensity, intensified. He has been known to hold up a port-o-pot line at an outdoor festival because re-dressing oneself is hard in a noxious six foot cube, and it’s even harder in the summer heat when a line of un-sober partygoers is telling you to hurry up. He will demand we re-route the car and go home if we’re 30 minutes down the road, just so his business can be done in a comfortable space. I could go on.

Now, Noah is truly beside himself. “Oh mom, oh mom! You gotta help me.”

He flies into the bathroom, leaving me at the table by myself. Help him with what?

He’s out just a moment later. “Mom! I need you to come in here! Please, please.”

I glance up at the men’s restroom sign, and back at my son, and try to explain – as quickly and efficiently as possible – that because our “hardware” is different, I’m not allowed to go into the men’s bathroom, and to do so could make for both an awkward situation and a possible citation.

This explanation doesn’t satisfy him. He is very nearly yelling now. “Mom! PLEASE! You have to come in and help me!” I’m getting stares from other tables.

Okay mother-conscience. It’s go time.

“’A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, when he was attacked by robbers. They stripped him of his clothes, beat him and went away, leaving him half dead. A priest happened to be going down the same road, and when he saw the man, he passed by on the other side. So too, a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. But a Samaritan, as he traveled, came where the man was; and when he saw him, he took pity on him. He went to him and bandaged his wounds, pouring on oil and wine. Then he put the man on his own donkey, brought him to an inn and took care of him. The next day he took out two denarii[e] and gave them to the innkeeper. Look after him, he said, and when I return, I will reimburse you for any extra expense you may have. Which of these three do you think was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of robbers? The expert in the law replied, ‘The one who had mercy on him.’ Jesus told him, ‘Go and do likewise.’” Luke 30:37.

I crack open the door (to what I am imagining is certain dismay from the tables behind me), announce my presence, and come in. Noah is in the back (and only) stall, crying and tugging on the handle because he cannot get the door shut. I suddenly realize his dilemma – he was in too much pain, and too embarrassed to ask for help.

I slam the door into the frame once, twice. It doesn’t budge. I try it a third time before realizing that the frame is warped, and so (with strength I imagine comes from the same place as for those mothers who manage to single-handedly lift cars off of their trapped children) I brace my back leg against the wall, and with the other, push as hard as I could against the frame while yanking on the door. It slides into the frame with a click. Noah is audibly relieved. I leave the bathroom triumphant, but a little heart sore, wishing I’d have come to him earlier so that he needn’t have pleaded so desperately.

I thought of the Parable of the Good Samaritan on the way home, and the simple kindnesses that mean so much, and which we neglect to show. I thought of Noah, my child in discomfort, who could not articulate what he needed, but only that he needed, and the gratitude on his face when he rejoined me at the table. I was privileged to show him mercy – me, his mother, who ought always do so. Please, Lord, let me always be my children’s Good Samaritan. Let them be able to always count on mercy from me.

And Lord, if it’s just the same to you – maybe next time, I can show mercy in the kitchen.

- Sarah

Filed Under: Asperger, Challenge, Communication, Executive Function, Journey, Parenting, Self Care, Uncategorized Tagged With: , ,

The Recent Boot-Tying Incident

December 2, 2012 By Leave a Comment

Every week, when it’s time to think about this community and what Cami-story I’m going to share with you, I try to find uplifting moments, ways my child is living, thriving, in spite of her “hidden disabilities.” God showers His grace on us so prolifically, so constantly, sometimes I feel guilty because we haven’t had “hard” times in a long time. Not as hard as things used to be. I read other families’ stories, and I think it might sound like we–the Virginia Dickerson Family–have it all together. Life is working for us right now. We’re in a good place, so what do I have to say that can possibly help anyone else?

It isn’t like I feel this space is only for sharing our tough spots. Yes, it is for that. But it’s also for sharing all of the times God shows up in tangible ways, the way He makes beautiful things out of ashes and dust. I never want to brag except to brag on Jesus and all the ways He wraps His arms around my messy family, the myriad of ways He shines in us and through us.

And then we buy Cami new boots.

I have to confess: Cami’s taller than I am. Which means her feet are bigger than mine are. She’s been inching up slowly and steadily, but we haven’t bought her shoes since last year. Honestly, I don’t remember the last time we bought her shoes. (And the accusation in my head is shouting, “Bad mom!!”) Shoes haven’t been on my radar much because Cami wears her Crocs all. the. time. They easily slip on and off, and her toes have plenty of room to wiggle. The great thing about Crocs? They don’t have shoelaces. It’s really hard for kids with dyspraxia to learn to tie their shoes. Which is probably why we avoid shoe shopping.

Except:

This winter season is colder, and colder sooner, than last winter. Cami’s Crocs aren’t keeping her feet warm. Or dry. So we pulled out the shoes from last year, the shoes she tore up but good by dragging her feet along the sidewalk as she coasted down the hill while sitting on her skateboard over and over last summer. It took us six months or so to convince Cami to wear the non-Croc shoes. Her dad bought her special shoe laces that Cami doesn’t have to tie, so she didn’t mind not wearing her Crocs to skateboard. Lock Laces are great for my girl with dyspraxia.

The laces aren’t the problem this year. “But Mom,” Cami explains, “my feet are colder in these shoes than when I wear my Crocs.”

“But your Crocs aren’t winter shoes, honey. And it’s winter now.”

“I’ll just wear really thick socks.” My mommy-knower knows that the colder days are almost here, and really thick socks won’t be warm enough. On our Thanksgiving Getaway, we plan to take Cami to Luray Caverns. I know the time has come to push the issue.

So we go to Walmart. Normally, Walmart is one of the many public places we avoid. Fluorescent lights, lots of people which means lots of crowd noise mixing with the store music, and lots of different stuff everywhere all combine to create a Cami Shutdown. However, sometimes we all have to do unpleasant things that we don’t want to do, like try on shoes in Walmart the day after Thanksgiving. We find one pair of boots her size that are acceptable, and she’s overwhelmed by my asking her to make choices when her dad walks up and says,

“Well, if we’re going to buy some boots, let’s look at the real boots.”

Whewy. We start all over, and I go into try-to-manage-everyone-and-everything mode. I haven’t been in that icky place in my heart for quite awhile. But here I go, handing Michael pairs of work boots for Cami to try on; waterproof, steel toes, high ankles–he’s right: they are a much better investment than the ones I settled on. But what I know, what’s making me freak out a little (okay, a lot) is that Lock Laces aren’t going to work on these boots.

Cami is going to have to learn to tie her own shoes.

She seems agreeable to that feat. Here in Walmart on our Thanksgiving Getaway, she seems willing to do the work and learn how to tie her shoes. Michael spends the next two days coaching her on making bunny ears with the laces, then making the bunny run around the rabbit hole, then making the bunny run in the rabbit hole and out the other side…. I don’t pay close enough attention to the little story he’s made up, so here we are at home this week and it’s time for Cami to put her boots on so we can go outside, and I don’t know the bunny story.

I send her upstairs to fetch her boots from her room, and she’s gone a long time. That isn’t unusual; sometimes, Cami’s room acts like a black hole that sucks her into distraction from the task at hand and keeps her attention for hours. But this time is different. She comes downstairs carrying her boots and wearing her Crocs. She drops the boots at my feet, flounces down on the couch beside me, and crosses her arms with a harrumph. “I’ll never be able to tie my own shoes,” she mutters.

Oh. “Is that what you’ve been doing up there this whole time?”

“Yes.” Deep breath, a shudder, then, as she throws up her hands, “What other twelve-year-old doesn’t know how to tie their own shoes?”

“Oh, darling,” I say, and I gather her in a hug. Nothing I can do, no words I can say will make it better. That’s a cruddy feeling. “Are you feeling stupid, Cami?”

She nods, and the tears start slipping down her cheek.

“Cami, you are not stupid. You are smart. You are capable. You are enough.” The air feels charged with spiritual battle. It’s one of those moments of clarity when God takes over and we humans simply become His vessel for change here on earth.

I put my hand on Cami’s head and start praying aloud. “Oh, Lord Jesus, I ask you to shut the enemy’s mouth. Lord, make him be quiet. Please clear the lies he’s speaking to my girl. Please speak truth in Cami’s deepest heart. Thank You that You have made her in a wonderful way. Help her see that, Jesus.”

Silence. Then a sniffle.

“In Jesus’ Name,” another sniffle, “Amen.”

We take a few moments to just breathe, then I say, “Okay, girl. Get you some Kleenex and wipe your tears off because you’re going to tie those boots.”

As she closes up again, I pat her knee and say, “Come on. You can do this. We’ll do it together.”

She wails, “But I’ll never be able to remember how to do this!” as I’m calmly and quickly tying the boot closest to me.

The Holy Spirit reminds me: this isn’t the time to be Helicopter Mom (you know: swoop in and rescue). This isn’t the time to do it for her. This is the time to empower her to do it for herself. “Okay, Cami. One boot is done. Now you do the other one. Cinch up the laces and tie a half-bow.”

“A half-bow?”

“Right. You know how to tie a bow. I know you do. So tie just the first half of a bow.”

She ties a half-bow.

“Now, hook the laces around the hooks and make another half-bow.”

“Really?” she says. “But I thought….”

“What?” I’m going for the bottom-heart issue. “What did you think?”

“Ohhh, I’m so confused!” as she throws up her hands and starts to really cry.

I take a deep breath. “Okay. You’ve come this far; you can do this. Tie a half-bow.”

She does. “I can’t seem to ever be able to tie it tight enough.”

I tell her, “I know. I have that problem too sometimes. That’s why I tie my shoes in double knots.”

And she does. She ties them by herself the next day. Then she wears her Crocs the rest of the week because her dad and I forget to remind her to put her boots on.

But we’ll get there.

Slowly, steadily, surely,

Cassandra

 

Filed Under: Challenge, Parenting, Self Care Tagged With: , ,

For the Whiny Places

October 7, 2012 By 1 Comment

Yep. I’m there again.

You know—that place where:

The workload feels too heavy.
I feel overworked and under-appreciated.
I keep dropping stuff on the floor while I’m trying to cook.
The enemy’s whispering, “You don’t have any friends.”
I pick a fight with my husband when he walks in the door.
There’s too much to do and not enough time to do it.
The neighborhood kids are screaming and acting crazy while
Cami crouches low on our porch, writing, writing, writing.
I wish I had time to write.
The dog needs to be fed and walked.
I’m burning dinner which I can’t even eat because it isn’t on my weight-loss plan.

That place. The Whiny Place.

In His Word, God gives us a psalm for the Whiny Places. I love the way Eugene Peterson translates Psalm 42 in The Message:

Psalm 42
1A white-tailed deer drinks from the creek;
I want to drink God,
deep draughts of God.

2I’m thirsty for God–alive.
I wonder, “Will I ever make it–
arrive and drink in God’s presence?”

3I’m on a diet of tears–
tears for breakfast, tears for supper.
All day long
people knock at my door,
Pestering,
“Where is this God of yours?”

4These are the things I go over and over,
emptying out the pockets of my life.
I was always at the head of the worshiping crowd,
right out in front,
Leading them all,
eager to arrive and worship,
Shouting praises, singing thanksgiving–
celebrating, all of us, God’s feast!

5Why are you down in the dumps, dear soul?
Why are you crying the blues?
Fix my eyes on God–
soon I’ll be praising again.
He puts a smile on my face.
He’s my God.

6When my soul is in the dumps, I rehearse
everything I know of you,
From Jordan depths to Hermon heights,
including Mount Mizar.

7Chaos calls to chaos,
to the tune of whitewater rapids.
Your breaking surf, your thundering breakers
crash and crush me.

8Then GOD promises to love me all day,
sing songs all through the night!
My life is God’s prayer.

9Sometimes I ask God, my rock-solid God,
“Why did you let me down?
Why am I walking around in tears,
harassed by enemies?”

10They’re out for the kill, these
tormentors with their obscenities,
Taunting day after day,
“Where is this God of yours?”

11Why are you down in the dumps, dear soul?
Why are you crying the blues?
Fix my eyes on God–
soon I’ll be praising again.
He puts a smile on my face.
He’s my God.

Rehearsing everything I know of Him
(He is good, and His mercy endures forever),
Waiting for my soul to stop crying the blues,

Cassandra

*If you’d like to delve further into a study of Psalm 42, you can read/view John Piper preaching about this passage here.

Filed Under: Bible, Depression, Emotions, Hope, Self Care Tagged With: , , ,

On Ebbing (and Flowing)

March 31, 2012 By Leave a Comment

This week, life is both ebbing and flowing.

I am determined to respond better to my circumstances.  I have put some restrictions in place on my eating, which had gotten out of control with all of my business travel and stress of life.  I am waking early to pray and I am inviting others into my life to actively pray with me.  I have started taking walks in this beautiful weather we’ve been having.

I suppose this is the “flow” portion of my life.  On the “ebbing…”

Things with Ben’s health took a turn for the worse this weekend.  I was in DC for a 5 day conference.  My father took my children and Ben was home alone.  This is the first time we’ve tried this arrangement during my travels.  During the weekend, Ben played two concerts with the Maryland Symphony — work that he absolutely loves and is so thankful to be able to do.  He also experienced at least 9 seizures, if not more.

So life ebbs and flows.  After speaking with Ben and realizing how quickly his health had deteriorated, I was aware of how desperately I wanted to turn to food.  I didn’t.  First I tried to focus on work.  Then I tried to turn to God.  Finally, at night as I lay down to sleep, the tears came fast and quick and unbidden.  I didn’t want to weep.  But the release of tears frees me to pray more.

Another challenging issue facing me is that I need to make new arrangements for my children for after-school.  Ben needs to sleep in the afternoons, and I don’t like my kids coming home to an “empty” house.   One of my children is failing math because  Mom hasn’t been with him after school to supervise homework.  This is a bright child who is always responsible; but his lack of understanding has snowballed each week and he hasn’t wanted anyone to know how lost he is feeling in class so he hasn’t asked for help.  Now I need to find a tutor who can help get him back on grade level.

Ebb and flow.

How thankful I am for Hebrews 6:19, We have this as a sure and steadfast anchor of the soul, a hope that enters into the inner place behind the curtain.

Ebb and flow.  But not for our God.

Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever.

 

~Nancy

Filed Under: Epilepsy, Parenting, Prayer, Self Care Tagged With: , , ,

Lessons from the Geese

January 7, 2012 By Leave a Comment

I think it’s extremely inventive of God to use metaphors in nature to teach spiritual truth. And the truth “flashes” with me at the oddest times. . .like in a Jeff Corwin show.

Jeff Corwin is often a guest lecturer at the Dickerson Homeschool. One episode shows him flying an ultralight aircraft with a flock of migrating barnacle geese in France. Here’s the dialog:

What you’ll notice is that there’s a leader in this “V” formation. What that leading goose does is break up that wall of wind to the front. Each of the geese line up alongside. By doing that, the wind resistance to their front is decreasing. Every year, these birds make extreme migration, thousands of miles around the world at up to 6,000 feet above the surface of the earth. What’s incredible to me is how these birds use both instinct as well as learned behaviors for their navigation.

As Jeff talked, I marveled at God’s design for traveling in the “V” formation. The Library of Congress website has more information about that phenomenon. (Get ready: spiritual metaphors ahead!)

Scientists have determined that the V-shaped formation that geese use when migrating serves two important purposes: First, it conserves their energy. Each bird flies slightly above the bird in front of him, resulting in a reduction of wind resistance. The birds take turns being in the front, falling back when they get tired. In this way, the geese can fly for a long time before they must stop for rest. The second benefit to the V formation is that it is easy to keep track of every bird in the group. Fighter pilots often use this formation for the same reason.

So. There’s always a leader out front, breaking up the wall of wind. Each member in the team takes a turn being out in front. When the front-person grows tired, she steps aside and rotates to the not-in-front position for awhile. Every member of the team staggers his/her position so everyone can see each other, keep an eye on each other, look out for each other. Everyone moves in the same direction, yes, but in the “V” formation, the team can migrate far distances at extreme altitudes. Team members use instinct and learned behavior to navigate this travel pattern.

Parenting a child with hidden disabilities needs a “V” formation. There are times when I’ve been leading Cami—in academics and social skills and personal struggles—and I’m tired. Or I don’t know the best way to handle a situation. Or I’m burned out because I haven’t taken care of my own needs. Those times are when I step to the back of our family formation and let someone else lead Cami for awhile.

Because we homeschool, making time for myself to go to the doctor or the dentist or anywhere Cami can’t accompany me can get interesting. Finding childcare for my 11-year-old is not an easy thing. Not everyone understands her quirkiness or makes accommodations for her hidden disabilities. That’s when the “V” formation is a helpful concept.

I’m blessed to have several people in my formation, people whom I trust to love Cami and protect her physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. My main go-to guy is my husband Michael. He is the head of our home and always the Dad, but sometimes he’s also the homeschool teacher, the friendship coach, and the maid. He’s a father that shows up to Cami’s life by really listening to her and remembering what she says. I find that many times, he “gets” her better than I do.

The rest of my V formation consists of a few close girlfriends and some incredibly supportive and trustworthy neighbors. Because none of Cami’s grandparents, aunts, or uncles live locally, it would be easy to feel isolated and abandoned, or like I’m the only one who can take care of Cami. But that simply isn’t true. God provides who Cami needs—and who I need—every single time. And He’s never late. I think sometimes, He’s just waiting for me to move out of the front and ask for help.

It’s good to do some migrating, some shifting, some refocusing. It’s good to share the privilege of loving and leading Cami. It’s good to watch God extend His graces and promises to her. Even when I’m not out in front, I’m still moving in the same direction with my V formation: in pursuit of a Savior Who is jealous for us, Who delights in us, Who is awfully fond of us.

What a marvelous journey!

Cassandra

 

Filed Under: Journey, Parenting, Self Care Tagged With:

What We Need Is Here

December 3, 2011 By 2 Comments

Recently, Shannon asked us if we had a favorite poem that has spoken to us in our journeys. Wendell Berry’s “The Wild Geese” immediately came to mind. Her question was a nudge from Jesus, His stirring me to get back to my artistry.

You see, in my other life, I am a writer–not just a blogger, but an honest-to-goodness I-can-write-a-sonnet writer. Even though I put away my poet’s pen when Cami was born (who has time for poetry when walking in the advocate-interpreter-translator-teacher-mommy mode?), I never stopped being a poet. I think that’s why Mr. Berry’s poem stops me in my tracks every time I read it.

I keep a handwritten copy in my nightstand drawer. It reminds me that “what we need is here.”

Recently, I pulled out some old poems from my other life. They remind me that I used to live where Cami lives now, where the imaginary is more tangible than reality. I used to feel what she feels, when she balls up her fists and stomps off muttering, “I don’t want to grow up!” How could I forget?

I strive to live here, now, with her as she negotiates this life God gives us to live. For me, part of that negotiation includes poetry.

The Carousel

Again she came around to where I stood.
I watched bright laughter bubble from her smile,
and found myself remembering the mild
September days in years before.  From wood
and glue I fashioned simple childhood
creations, making short the distant miles
between my dreams and me.  And all the while,
my soul was reaching farther than it could.

In every part of life, a waste of dreams
has marked my pathway.  Growing only old
and lonely, never braver, now it means
to eat at me forever.  To be bold
and reach again for visions set aside
is my only hope.  I want to stop the ride.

 

Unpacking my poet’s pen,

Cassandra

 

Filed Under: Journey, Self Care Tagged With: ,

A New Season

October 18, 2011 By 1 Comment

11 Look to the LORD and his strength; seek his face always. 29 Ascribe to the LORD the glory due his name; bring an offering and come before him. 
Worship the LORD in the splendor of his holiness. 1 Chronicles 16:11,29

The change in seasons has reminded me about the “seasons” of our spiritual life.

Despite the busyness of life this past month, I have entered into a new season of spiritual growth.  By God’s grace, I have a new hunger and I’m more aware of His presence and blessings in the ordinary hustle and bustle of raising two small children.

It came to my attention, through the gentle prodding of the Holy Spirit, that the stress of my daughter (with a sensory processing disorder) beginning preschool had caused my prayers to be very focused on what I needed from God.  This is not bad; in fact we are instructed to bring our prayers and petitions to the Lord, who delights in his children sharing their hearts with Him. (Philippians 4:6)

However, I began to sense that we were moving into a new season and I needed to regain some balance in my prayer life.  So lately, I have tried a new format that I am finding helpful and enjoyable.  I have been spending the majority (at least ¾) of my prayer time, no matter how long or short, focusing on God – Father, Son and Holy Spirit.

This small change has breathed new life into my prayers and helps keep my challenges in perspective.  After spending time focusing on His character:  how powerful, all knowing, unchanging, and loving He is, I am even able to present my petitions with greater confidence.

I have also found myself praising and praying more often throughout the day and have become more spiritually aware of His presence and where He appears to be working around me.  I have been taking more opportunities to talk and even pray with someone, instead of being caught up in my own challenges.

I am trying to make the most of this spiritual season, for I am all too familiar with the “dry” seasons or when I can’t “feel” His presence.

No matter what season we find ourselves, may we commit to being a people who will do our part to always seek Him.

~Lynn

 

Filed Under: Encouragement, General, God's presence, growth, Journey, Prayer, Self Care Tagged With: , , , ,

Pretending to be Normal

October 11, 2011 By Leave a Comment

One way to upgrade understanding of my Aspergian son, both as a young adult and retroactively for his early and teen years, is through the eyes of eloquent Aspies now sharing their stories in print. For the Asperger Syndrome community, such stories help wire their radar for minefields to avoid, while offering hope of better days ahead.

Pretending to be Normal by Liane Holliday Willey is one such tutorial in Asperger World language and relationships. As an adult, Liane found her niche as a professor, freelance writer, wife and mother, and offers intriguing strategies for calibrating her Aspie ways for survival and success in Neuro-typical zones.

Now happily straddling Neuro-typical and Aspie worlds, she would decline any “cure” of Asperger Syndrome, as she values its gifts more than she regrets its difficulties. But she also cannot believe she is at such a better place, after feeling as if a psychologically battered, crippled failure by the end of college.

Young Aspies can borrow and customize Liane’s strategies for smoother journeys. For example, she arrived at these “job” rules, which would also be useful for school and other social situations:

• “Mask myself” as possible, resisting patterns unnerving to others. “I knew, for instance, that I could not talk to myself during a job interview.”
• “I would have to dress a certain way in order not to evoke long stares.”
• “I would have to follow (organization and social rules) as best I could” – even when they seemed illogical.
• Reduce stress by:
o Avoiding confusion and noise of rush-hour traffic by leaving early for work
o Seeking solitude when useful to relieve stress – such as empty classrooms before student invasions
o Jobs, when possible (as a college prof) allowing “people-free” breaks (between classes)

Reflection on teen and college years is painful and embarrassing for Liane, but her courageous candor is a gift to the rest of us who love “our” Aspies (ourselves, in some cases), and seek to help Aspergians understand themselves.

As a teenager, Liane was fortunate in a small, accommodating town to find friendships through sports (despite her awkwardness), drama and speech clubs. Superior language common to Aspies landed her in the top 5% in speech competitions. Fashion and hygiene challenged, she found herself hauled into school bathrooms where girlfriends coached her in hair and makeup techniques and protested her “gross” hairy legs. Her popular friend Craig walked her to classes, saved her a seat for lunch and occasionally set her up on dates. Only in retrospect years later did Liane realize how Craig had been her guardian, and how her small town friends insulated her from the agony of the ostracized and enabled heart and mind-cushioning relationships too rare for Aspie teens.

The college crowd was less accepting of a habitually sloppy coed in baggy, masculine clothes who awkwardly sought connection. She found her smiles unreturned, her phone silent, and her efforts to connect resisted. While social skills seemed like a foreign language to her, she defied defeat by developing her own coping strategies.

Liane found that seeking out other isolated students not only boosted her own morale but theirs, as well. She began speaking to sad looking loners, to pause for short conversations, to gently befriend. “I felt good about myself when I received a smile in return for one I had sent. I was happy all day if I could get a lonely peer to talk to me in the cafeteria line. I was thrilled if my starting a conversation led them to continue it. I knew I had made a simple human connection, and that was all I needed.”

Liane discovered relationship wisdom for people generally, not just Aspergians: “To have friends – be friendly!” advised the sage Solomon.

Her “wilderness” college experience was, concluded Liane, probably an essential jolt towards adult roles and relationships. Her small-town cocoon of acceptance and support would not be replicated in the greater world beyond. College was “boot camp” for battles ahead, a boot camp where she learned to tackle stubborn obstacles and infiltrate alien territory in ways that could work for her.

Better days were ahead for Liane, as well as hard-won lessons and wisdom for others who share her journey. Stay tuned. More of Liane’s inspiring and instructive input will soon appear – right here.

~ Eliza

Filed Under: Anxiety, Asperger, Communication, Emotions, Family, Friends, Hope, Isolation, Parenting, Relationships, Self Care, Social skills, Teenager, work Tagged With: , , , , , ,
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