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Seeing Red

May 16, 2013 By Leave a Comment

Jesse has an infatuation with firefighters. And, for that matter, fire trucks, fire engines, and firehouses.

Not unusual, you say? Little boys love firefighters, policemen, army men, you add? True. So, let me elaborate a bit.

He’s had 2 fire-themed birthday parties, dressed as a firefighter for 3 consecutive Halloweens, owns 4 fire fighter costumes, 1 fire fighter umbrella and raincoat set, 4 model fire house sets, 22 fire engines and 31 firefighter figurines of various size. Each day, he methodically lays out his firefighter costume, invites me into his “fire house” and shows me his gear before suiting up. We have made no fewer than 6 impromptu stops at fire stations we’ve passed on our journeys, and have waylaid something like 10 firefighters from their very real duties in order that Jesse might sit on one of the engines, wear a helmet, or ask “where is your black and white fire dog?” (He’s been often disappointed to learn that Dalmatians are mostly relics of a by-gone firefighting age. If he sees a Dalmatian in his firefighter story book, he LITERALLY expects to see one at the fire house. That literal nature? Yep, that’s ASD.) There are even firefighter coloring books, firefighter pajamas, firefighter DVDs. For a period of time, all Jesse would watch on television was a 1987 firefighter training video we were able to stream through Netflix. He could recite it word for word. It started out as cute. Sometime after viewing 15, it got downright annoying. He had all of us, and PARTICULARLY his older, emotionally labile brother Noah with ASD himself, seeing red.

As you’ve probably guessed by now, a restricted or limited interest (one that plays out in real life more like an obsession) is one of the hallmarks of an Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD). These are kids who know every Star Wars character ever introduced, or who can name every dinosaur that ever trod the earth. But I was surprised to discover recently that the MORE restricted the interest, the HIGHER the anxiety – that the latter often incites the former. http://ultimateautismguide.com/2011/06/autism-news-anxiety-restricted-interests/  And, with anxiety being the defining emotion of Asperger’s and other ASD’s, it goes to reason that these kids are destined to experience both – some, more intensely than others. I thought Noah was one for restricted interests, but my sweet Jesse has shown the capability to outpace him red engine for red engine.

This morning, I walked into Jesse’s room and found yet another pile of engines and figures to be re-shelved:

Just a small selection.

But this time, instead of seeing the mess, I HEARD what he was saying. So I sat down.

“Can I visit your fire station?”

He grinned, freckles and dimples squinched up. “Yes. Yes, you can.”

Then I asked Jesse why he liked firefighters so much.

“Because.”

“’Because’ is not really an answer, Jesse. Why do you like them more than anything else?”

“Because they put out fires and save people.”

They “save people.” I exhaled, and squeezed my arms around him. I will do what I can, with God’s help, to make him feel safe and ease his worried mind.

And in the meantime, I suppose there are worse things he could be interested in.

- Sarah

Filed Under: Anxiety, Asperger, Autism, Change, Family, growth, siblings, Uncategorized Tagged With: , ,

The Reed’s Place Restaurant

October 9, 2012 By Leave a Comment

A lot of times I just say “no” when my daughter (neurotypical, 11 y/o) asks if she can cook dinner. If I don’t say no, I come up with a reason why it isn’t a good day for it and put her off until some indefinite date in the future. Honestly, the main reason I’m hesitant for her to prepare dinner is because it is a deviation from our routine. And, any deviation from our routine is a potential derailment from the train tracks that keep our life running somewhat smoothly most of the time.

But, last week she went to the grocery store with me and while we were there she asked if she could fix dinner. I couldn’t come up with a good reason for her not to. She rattled off the proposed menu and we tweaked it a little. She was so excited to cook for us and wanted to “make it a nice dinner for us” and I felt like it was wrong for me to deny her that opportunity to serve her family. All through the store she was giddy with excitement about the upcoming meal.

After we arrived home she began working on getting the dining area ready. She wanted to pretend it was her restaurant and we were the guests. She put up a sign for us not to enter the kitchen and another sign for us to remain in the waiting area until time to be seated. Each of us was given a ticket for the meal. She also found a program on the internet to create a menu and printed menus for us so that as we sat down we could place our order. She wanted to have an apron so she brought me a pillow case and we created an apron for her using a belt. Her creative juices were flowing and I was thrilled to see her so into it.

As soon as it was time for the family to arrive Stephen (AS, 15 y/o) immediately disregarded the sign on the door and walked into the kitchen. She protested. He justified it by saying that he had to put something up. He left and entered the kitchen a second time for another reason. She protested again. He finally went to the area where we were asked to wait and waited with his father (I was excused because I had to help remove items from the hot oven).

We were seated and our “server” gave us our menus and asked to take our drink order. Stephen asked for a drink from the menu (but he already had a cup in the refrigerator and wanted her to give him that cup). When she didn’t quite understand what he was asking for instead of trying to explain it to her he got up, went into the kitchen, and got it himself. She protested.

In the world of make-believe Stephen struggles to play along with his sister. When she was younger and insisted that her dolls were real babies, he couldn’t allow her to have that fantasy. When she wants to operate The Reed’s Place restaurant in our kitchen, he has to be the one person that doesn’t fully cooperate.

As my daughter grows older and her personality continues to blossom I want to allow her to express her creativity. I also want to teach my son that he should appreciate her for who she is just as we appreciate him for who he is. That means accepting the fact that she loves to sing and dance and pretend that she is serving us in a restaurant. So, table for four, please…

~Louise

 

Filed Under: Asperger, Parenting, siblings

Smoke on the Water

September 13, 2012 By 1 Comment

It’s an auspicious start to the school year when your 3-year old comes home from preschool with a disciplinary note in the first four days of school. “Hitting,” “kicking,” and “destroying,” were the verbs his teachers employed. “Frowning,” “hair pulling,” and “sighing” were the verbs that followed.

For over a year, I’ve taken Jesse to music classes and story times, playgrounds and sporting events; anything to get him appropriately socialized in preparation for the upcoming school year. He was excited to follow in Noah and Grace’s footsteps. He wasn’t the only one. “Freedom!” my mind screamed. I stifled a fist pump after depositing them all in their classrooms. Fantasies of mornings on the porch with my laptop and a cup of coffee abounded. Perhaps I am of a different breed than those crying-on-the-first-day mothers. I am, I think, more of the crying-when-the-school-year-ends types. I mean, I’m going to get them back in only SEVEN HOURS. That is not nearly enough time to miss them.

But, I also had my reservations.

Jesse is energetic, funny, musically inclined. His dimples and blonde hair carry him farther than I’d like to admit. He’s also clumsy, obsessed with fire trucks, prone to singular arrangements of objects, and highly aggressive toward others. He prefers to play by himself, his memory is exceptional, and he’s quite verbal. Unusually verbal. Think “Of COURSE I’m not going to school mom, that’s ridiculous!” kind of verbal. Or, “That fire fighter will certainly fall off that ladder – it’s far too tall for him” sort of verbal.

Uh-Oh.

When Jesse was eighteen months old, we had him evaluated by the Kennedy Krieger Institute, the same highly respected clinic from which Noah’s diagnosis springs. Our pediatric neurologist had suggested that we have all our kids evaluated for developmental delays because these diagnoses seem to run in families, with a particular predilection for brothers. Statistics show that the risk of an ASD diagnosis for male infants who had an older sibling with ASD was more than 26 percent.

During his initial evaluation, Jesse was diagnosed with a language delay. But without therapy or intervention, the delay righted itself in three months. He went from a 5-10 word vocabulary to complete sentences in the time it takes for Katy Perry to dye her hair.

It is possible that Jesse may have a developmental delay like his brother Noah; that he will, himself, receive an Asperger’s or other Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD) diagnosis. This is the smoke I see creeping toward us, the insidious lurking that threatens to disrupt our status quo. And in an effort to prevent another round of “you’re being over-reactionary” commentary, I’ve kept my mouth shut. Well, until now, when I’m blogging about it.

I lay bare my mother’s heart today because I have come to the conclusion that a diagnosis isn’t going to make two coons worth of difference to Jesse or us. Of course, it will change how he is educated. It will change how we spend our free time as we look to find appropriate therapies. It will alter the tactics we employ during his most difficult struggles. But an ICD-9 code means more to our insurance company than it does to us. Yeah, you hear that, Aetna? I’m coming for you.

At bottom, and more importantly, who Jesse is will not change because of a label. And believe me, his meltdowns will be no easier to weather just because someone in an office in Baltimore has given what he has a name. (When your preschooler is spitting at people in Wal-Mart, it’s hard to stomach either way.)

God does not abandon the work of His hands (Psalm 138:8). There was no cosmic “whoops!” when our youngest was born. Instead, God’s power is made perfect in all of Jesse’s weakness (2 Corinthians 12:9), and He’s raised all of us up for a purpose – that His power might be shown (Exodus 9:16). So ultimately, Jesse is put together just the right way, for the right time, and the right parents. No question, no mistake. Only perfect construction, fueled by perfect power.

And if it turns out that Jesse has no ASD after all – that he’s just quirky, exceptional, and VERY strong willed? Well, we’re ready for that, too. Because either way, we’re going to need a seat belt.

- Sarah

Filed Under: Asperger, Challenge, Diagnosis, Family, God's presence, siblings, Trust, 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

Once More, With Feeling

July 12, 2012 By 1 Comment

I heard someone far wiser than me once say that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over, but expecting different results. Should that be the case, I am long overdue for an involuntary commit.

My son, a master of repetition, who’s Asperger’s Syndrome is often known by this characteristic, has taught me to repeat things as well. Even the cinematic caricatures play it right: “I’m an excellent driver. An excellent driver.” Aspies love routine, doing the same things over and over. They love the predictability of sameness. Repetition even fuels their relationships with others. Like a relationship with siblings, for example. When Noah repeats nonsense in Grace’s and Jesse’s ears, continually pokes their legs, or regularly shoves their car seats, they pretty much want to punch repetition in its face.

Two days ago, I sat on a bench in a TCBY – somewhere between the karate and gymnastics shuffle we’ve done every Tuesday night for a year – and looked out the window to where a thin, smartly dressed mother sat with her two daughters – younger than mine, quieter than mine. They were dressed in starchy, floral dresses with oversized bows in brushed hair and miraculously, ate their frozen yogurt without missing their mouths so much as once. I used to want to dress my kids like that, I thought. Now, all I want to do is find something that’s clean.

That they were quieter children and neater eaters than mine wasn’t even a consideration, so far was it out of the realm of possibility. But it was the LISTENING that baffled me. Mom said “stop,” the kids stopped. Mom said, “throw the rest away,” and into the garbage can went a perfectly good scoop of pralines and cream. I pressed my face longingly against the window.

Driving home that night, with a set of sugared little people screaming at each other at such a decibel that even the roar of the wind through open windows couldn’t squelch it, I yelled, “Grace, if Noah’s bugging you, JUST IGNORE HIM! IT’S NOT LIKE YOU DON’T KNOW HOW TO DO IT – YOU DO IT TO ME ALL THE TIME!!”

Noah bugs Grace, Grace screams in protest, I beg them to stop. Torment, scream, reprimand, repeat. I could posit here that something has to change. Certainly, my kids’ behavior does. But maybe something has to stay the same. I have to keep doing what I’m doing, AND expect different results – even if they never come. Matt and I set the standard for our children. We ask them to toe the line whether they want to, or are even capable of it. The sameness in our instruction is the parity to Noah’s repetitive behaviors. Regardless if he ever changes, our guidance mustn’t.

If you’re reading this closely, you realize that I’ve just said the crazy must continue. But show me a parent who isn’t just a little bit daft, and well … you’re reading this, aren’t you?

- Sarah

Filed Under: Asperger, balance, Challenge, Change, Family, Parenting, siblings, Uncategorized

Minimum Distance

June 28, 2012 By 1 Comment

Motherhood is not for those of us with personal space issues. The moment those little sea monkeys start to grow behind your navel, you’ve got to make peace with the fact that your entire endocrine system exists for the benefit of another human being. They come out clawing for food from YOUR body, they are only comforted by the laying on of YOUR shoulder, they are possessed of scrupulous aim when it comes to projecting every possible bodily fluid onto YOU. They pull your clothes, they follow you into the bathroom, they trip you up. For the most part, children do not understand the concept of maintaining a minimum distance.

Now, as a physically affectionate person, I might be less bothered by this than most. Jesse sitting on my lap while he eats his dinner (because this is the only way I can seduce him into finishing what’s left on his plate); Grace playing with my hair as I read her a bedtime story; even the foot pressed into my side when Jesse scrambles into my bed like a puppy in the early morning hours and falls back to sleep – none of this annoys. I love the physical closeness of my children. I long for it. As they grow, I have become keenly aware of when it is absent.

The Bed Thief

The Bed Thief

Noah’s method of hugging is now tilting his head toward me and letting my arms surround him, or turning away from me, and backing in toward my trunk. These do not feel like real hugs. When I kiss him, he looks away. He does not touch me of his own accord. I must always initiate. Grace tears toward me at the end of the camp day to squeeze my middle and lift her face for a kiss. Noah strides by me, headed for the corner chair and his Nintendo DS. He always maintains a minimum distance from me – and from others. Unless he is torturing his siblings. He can sit on Jesse without batting an eye.

I’m aware that part of this could be that burgeoning distinction that all nearly-eight-year-old boys must make from their mothers. There is a part of him that has begun to recognize that holding my hand is no longer kosher. And then there is the part of him that simply shies from certain forms of physical touch because of his unique circuitry. He loves horseplay, for example – rough housing, being thrown in the air, banging into other kids on the trampoline. But the light touch of a kiss on the cheek, or gently holding his hand creeps him out. He’d much rather I squeeze the living daylights out of him, or mash my entire face against his (which I have done, in an attempt to steal a kiss from him). Not that he enjoys these at all – I believe he more “tolerates” them. But the harder the touch, the more he giggles. There is a direct relationship between pressure and pleasure for my boy. So, when I want nothing more than to physically connect with him at the end of the day, it’s usually a flying body-slam onto the couch, or a twirling bear hug that gives me just a few seconds longer in his arms. And it works out okay. Because the few seconds he tolerates are the few seconds I need.

- Sarah

Filed Under: Asperger, balance, Emotions, Family, Parenting, Relationships, siblings, Uncategorized 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:

Wonderful Interruption

June 5, 2012 By Leave a Comment

I posted last week about the battle in our house because the kids are out of school. Just to update you on our situation … we have all survived another week and things are not sooooo bad. In fact we have had moments that border on civility.

The problem is between Stephen, who is fifteen and has Asperger’s, and his younger sister, Katie, who is eleven and neurotypical. Neither of them likes to back down from an argument and both of them like to be in control. So, learning not to be sucked into an argument or not to always insist on playing the game you want to play is the added challenge we face when trying to fill the empty days of summer. I think we are making some progress, but usually it is three steps forward and two steps back. But today … today I have a little respite. Because this afternoon two of our dear little friends from church have come to play for a little while. And while they are here, even though there are still things to disagree about there are little people to play with. And one big thing Stephen and Katie have in common is that they LOVE little friends and who wants to fight while there are little friends over to play?!

~Louise

 

Filed Under: Asperger, siblings, summer Tagged With: ,

Summer Wars

May 29, 2012 By Leave a Comment

You know the sound of fingernails on a chalkboard? (I guess that is one of those expressions that’s losing relevance with young people—but I’m hoping most of you can still relate). That is exactly what I am feeling in these early days of summer as my eleven year old (neuro-typical) daughter and her fifteen year old aspergian brother are thrust into close proximity to each other and to me. It doesn’t even actually matter if they are in the same room I’m in, they make sure to increase their volume so that I am able to hear that they are arguing.

There are wars of words–what one of them did or didn’t say. There are wars about rules. A barrage of don’t do that. Mom told you to do this. You’re going to break that. So many times these wars are born from efforts of the two of them trying to play together, but sometimes it is just because they are trying to exist in the same house, even to breathe the same air. The problem comes when they each want to be in charge and we ALL know that they can’t both be in charge. It seems like there could be a simple solution to their problems, but when we are dealing with hidden disabilities and the siblings who have to live with them, there is really little that is simple.

So, as we start out this summer which I am deeming ‘the summer of the growing up challenge’ for Stephen (our 15 year old son with AS) I want to emphasize self control when others are provoking you (and little sisters are really good at this—I know because I am one). I also want to emphasize making wise choices for yourself regarding your health. During the summer he will have many opportunities to make choices regarding his own diet, exercise, and sleep schedule. I want to help him understand how his choices influence other areas of his life including how he feels and his ability to handle his temperament. And, I also want to help him learn to recognize his responsibilities as a member of our family. My goal is to move from needing to be reminded to clean up after himself to recognizing and carrying out his responsibly as a part of the activity in which he is participating. When you take off your shoes, you put them up. When you eat a snack, you put your dishes in the dishwasher.

As I have shared before, up to this point our youngest child has seemed to pick up many of her social cues from Stephen (hence their propensity to argue so much). If ‘the summer of the growing up challenge’ is successful, I will be happy for our daughter to pick up a few social and life cues from her aspergian big brother.

~Louise

 

Filed Under: Asperger, Parenting, siblings Tagged With: ,

On Receiving

May 9, 2012 By Leave a Comment

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

It’s overwhelming.  It’s humbling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

We are thankful.  We are humbled.

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

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

We are thankful.  We are humbled.

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

Today, I am the needy.

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

We are thankful.  We are humbled.

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

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

We are thankful.  We are humbled.

God sees.

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

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

 

 

 

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