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Reminiscing (A Photo-Psalm)

April 21, 2013 By Leave a Comment

We’re headed south on another unplanned family trip, this time for a funeral. In addition to packing for ourselves and the dog, and gathering the homeschool supplies and the specific-to-my-eating-plan food, I also attended the Accessibility Summit at McLean Bible Church this weekend. My brain and heart are still spinning from the useful information, the new connections, and the sheer delight of meeting some of my fellow Chosen Families bloggers face to face.

Whewy.

It’s too much for one blog post. It’s too much for one weekend! With no hope of focusing my attention directly enough to give you a readable anything today, I thought I’d share some snapshots of precious moments in my life with my girl in the hopes that you will giggle like I do when I look at them and remember. All through the Old Testament, God told His people to remember what He had done for them, the many ways He loved and cared for them. Just think of this post as my photo-psalm of praise to God, my Rock and my Shelter. He has done so far above and beyond what I ever dreamed possible for me and my child.

From this small scary beginning at 2 days old

At the beginning,
when she couldn’t breathe on her own
and I couldn’t hold her,
You were there.

In every minute of the screaming, You were there.

In every minute of the screaming,
You were there. 

Waiting for playgroup to start, 6 months old

When we hosted playgroup at our house for the first time,
and we didn’t know what to expect,
You were there. 

Playing with Buddy Dog, 2 years old

When she squinched up her eyes and growled at the dog
because she wanted his toy, 

when she let him wear her necklace,

when she let him wear her necklace,

when she played in the bathtub when it wasn't bathtime,

when she played in the bathtub during not-bathtime,
unsupervised with necklaces galore around her neck,

when she buried herself in her toybox and shut the lid,

when she buried herself in her toybox and shut the lid, 

when she climbed into the sink, unlocked the medicine cabinet, and drank the cherry cold medicine, You were there, Lord. You kept her safe.

when she climbed into the sink, unlocked the medicine cabinet,
and drank the cherry cold medicine,
You were there.
Lord, You kept her safe.

When I chose her outfit,

When I chose her outfit,

and when she dressed herself, Your arms were always around us.

and when she dressed herself,
Your arms were always around us.

When she recuperated from ear tube surgery

When she recuperated from ear-tube surgery

and when she prepped for eye surgery, You held us close to You and close to each other.

and when she prepped for eye surgery,
You held us close to You and close to each other.

Through the rough seasons

Through the rough seasons

and relaxing times,

and the relaxing times,

You love us well, God.

You love us well, God.
Thank You for giving us each other to love.

What a good God we serve.
Happy Church Day!

Candi

 

Filed Under: Praise, Sensory Processing Disorder 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:

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: , ,

Sorrow and Grace

December 29, 2012 By 1 Comment

This year brought the deepest sorrow my heart has experienced in this life. My marriage ended in divorce. Along with the feelings of failure and disgrace came the sorrow of what this means for my children. It does not seem fair that children with special needs must also know the pain of a broken home.

This Christmas season has caused me to ponder the Baby who came to dwell with us. How does this impart joy into all the broken places of my heart? His coming does not make everything instantly better or okay. Life hurts. It is struggle. Those of us parenting children with special needs know this very well.

Yet the One who calls the stars out by name and sustains each with His power chose to come to us. Right into our pitiful mess. Right into our suffering. He chose to suffer with us and for us. Each time our heart hurts for our child who struggles, we join in His suffering. Pain is the pathway to experiencing Christ in all His fullness. Though we may wish to know Him any other way than through our hurt, our suffering is often His chosen instrument to probe and chisel the deepest places in our heart.

My attempts to solo parent push me closer to the throne of grace. I am thankful for a Father who understands what hurting feels like. I am thankful He offers grace to rise up and meet the need of the moment. I pray you find His grace today in the moments when you need it the most.

“Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.” Hebrews 4:16

~ Rebekah

Filed Under: grace, Grief, Uncategorized Tagged With: ,

His Deeds

November 26, 2012 By 2 Comments

Oh (Joan) give thanks to the Lord,

call upon His name;

make known His deeds among the peoples (of Chosen Families)….

I Chronicles 16:8

Tonight as I sit by the absolute last embers in the fireplace, watching my college girl scooch as close as possible to those fading embers to stay warm (in true “cinder”rella fashion), I’m reflecting (in a dazed sort of way) on all the things that happened this year – so many things I did not know were coming….

if it were not for God’s deeds on behalf of our family, we would be toast.

For instance, this time last year I did NOT know my husband (in a matter of weeks) would be in a full blown worst-in-twenty-years manic episode.  There are some things I just do NOT need to know ahead of time. God decided that would be one of them.

BUT, I also did not know God would use that episode to help us change doctors and medications — something we had been needing for YEARS. God accomplished those Medical and Marital Deeds through the manic episode.

I did not know, simultaneously, I would have to move an aging relative into assisted living. I’m too sentimental to be good at those kind of decisions…much less during a long manic episode.  But unknown to me, God would do many Moving and Logistical Deeds on my behalf, helping me dismantle and condense 84 years of life and belongings into a single room, in a city 16 hours from where I lived.

Don’t get me wrong – I still felt like God had double booked trials last winter (unnecessarily). But, as can be expected from Omniscience, He knew what was coming the REST of the year, and why that task had to be done THEN. (I thanked Him later). Not only that, but the “double booking” forced my blistered soul to live with elderly saints for 2 weeks, giving me fresh courage to endure the long manic siege.

On a different note, I did not know if my son, with learning disabilities, and ADD (and aversion to all medications) would graduate college last May. It would not have been the end of the world it he had not. But he DID! If you are reading this, you know God did 16 YEARS worth of Educational Deeds to make that happen.

Nor did I have the slightest clue this son would choose a bride this year. You would think, with the bipolar and then some disabilities around here, he would just go take a long walk off a short pier. But no. Because God is merciful, He answered our son’s prayers, and ours, leading him to a Jesus-loving life mate. Even though she lived half way around the world, one of God’s deeds was to make their paths cross!

I wish we had been the only ones with a manic episode this year, but we were not. One  dear in-law suffered as well, disrupting their young family for months, as the long search for the right med blend depleted their resources.  They were just getting some relief when they came for Thanksgiving….

SO…the sweetest moment of Thanksgiving for me was after dinner, when we were taking turns, naming God’s deeds on behalf of our family. It has been a HARD year because of hidden disabilities. But lo and behold, here we were, alive and well (all things considered)…I wept as I listed His deeds….

Thank you, dear Chosen Families readers, for letting me “make known His deeds” to you each week…for understanding what I mean, even when I am not skilled enough to explain….

Dearly Dependent on His Deeds,

Joan

 

 

Filed Under: Bipolar Disorder, God's presence, Gratitude, Thanksgiving, Uncategorized Tagged With: , , , ,

There’s Room for Everyone

September 30, 2012 By 5 Comments
The way Cami processes information can look very messy. I used to get upset because her room seemed to me a “disaster” on a constant basis.
I shudder to think I might have used that word aloud and shamed her for what it looks like when she soaks in life.
Two of my husband’s Facebook posts this week:
The remnants of my daughter at “play”: Bible open to Proverbs 17-18, thesaurus open to the w’s, colored pencils and a sketchbook, an empty snack bowl, and a half-read novel (taken this morning while she was still asleep).
Cami calls this display her “Self Portrait”. She had no idea I posted that other photo yesterday. Look closely and you’ll see a book of poetry she’s writing, a Latin and a German dictionary she’s reading for fun, a book about Scottish clans and their tartans, and some other little hidden gems. Look, I know I’m incredibly biased but I seriously have an amazing daughter. Takes my breath away sometimes.
Photo: Cami calls this display her "Self Portrait". She had no idea I posted that other photo yesterday. Look closely and you'll see a book of poetry she's writing, a Latin and a German dictionary she's reading for fun, a book about Scottish clans and their tartans, and some other little hidden gems. Look, I know I'm incredibly biased but I seriously have an amazing daughter. Takes my breath away sometimes.

When her daddy asked her why she had spread out the items on the floor, Cami said, “So I can get to everything I need.”
Never again will I complain about having to step over things in her bedroom floor. As long as there’s a path to the light and the window, I’m okay with it.
Breathing in grace for us all to be who we are,
Cassandra

Filed Under: Sensory Processing Disorder Tagged With: ,

Saturday Night’s All Right

August 5, 2012 By 2 Comments

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

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

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

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

I kind of lost my mind.

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

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

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

Not such an explosive Saturday after all.

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

Cassandra

Filed Under: Conflict Tagged With: , ,

On Handling Unpleasant Emotions

July 11, 2012 By Leave a Comment

Ben and I are walking down a road right now that neither one of us could have ever imagined.  Ben is being asked to lay down so many things that comprise the very essence of who he is.  I am being called on to take on more and more responsibilities.  God, in his providence, has arranged our circumstances so that we both feel stretched beyond our limits (and have for many years).

We pray.  We ask God to change our circumstances.  But our tendency can also be to grumble.  To complain.  To charge God with not being good to us.

Ben and I were talking today, and we realized that behind all of our complaining, underneath all of our anger and frustration and grumbling, what we are really experiencing is grief.

The Bible has a lot to say about grumbling and about complaining, and none of it is good.  But the Bible also has a lot to say about grieving.   The losses Ben and I are experiencing are very real.  We are grieving the loss of Ben’s health.  We are mourning the loss of his freedom and ability to do many of the things he loves.  We are saddened by the fact that I need to take on even more work to help our family financially.  And we are grieving over the impact of all of these things on our children.

In 1 Thessalonians 4:13, the apostle Paul reminds his readers not to “grieve as others do who have no hope.”  My prayer is that Ben and I would not grumble or complain, but that we would grieve as those who have hope.  I pray that our grief would remind us that God promises us that there will be a day when God will wipe away every tear from our eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.  Lord, help us to live in light of that day.

~ Nancy

Filed Under: Challenge, grace, Grief Tagged With: ,

A Promise of Home

June 10, 2012 By Leave a Comment

My family just did something crazy.

We took our dog, one audio book, lots of good music, and snacks and drove through seven states, traveling 2, 581 miles in 14 days’ time. We visited long-time close family friends with kids with hidden disabilities who are brilliant young adults now. We visited with two cousins, five uncles, four aunts, four grandparents, and two great-grandparents from both sides of our family. We went to the beach and to the mountains. All in the span of two weeks.

A Rainbow on I-40 in Tennessee on the Way Home

It was a good trip, loving on people we only see every once in awhile, letting them love on us. The last time we saw most of these folks, Cami was three years younger and many inches shorter. When you see someone day after day, you don’t realize how much they change and how quickly. I watched our extended family expect to see little-girl Cami—who couldn’t control her emotions or express her frustration in a socially-appropriate manner, who couldn’t read or write, who couldn’t successfully navigate the space around her. Yet on this trip, our family met young-lady Cami—tall, slim, poised and polite, writing and illustrating her own novel, coping with constant noise and hullabaloo more successfully than her mom.

Our Family in Destin, Florida

Several family members remarked how well we’ve done raising Cami and schooling her. Those comments flabbergast me because we struggle so much. It doesn’t feel like we’re succeeding at anything.

It’s all God’s grace:

His mercy expressed through His promises to us in His word.
His provision for us through encouragement and counsel from other parents who walk ahead of us on this same road.
His purpose for us as we shout encouragement and counsel to those families behind us on this road.
The privilege to watch Him craft an amazing young woman out of someone who used to be a confused, frightened, frustrated little girl.

If we have any success,

it’s all Jesus,

transforming three messy broken individuals

into a life-filled place,

into a home.

 

Our Family, Blue Ridge Parkway in Virginia

It’s a blessing to be one of His Chosen Families.

Cassandra

Filed Under: Extended family, Family, vacation Tagged With: , ,

Dealing with Difficult People…

April 25, 2012 By Leave a Comment

Louise and I are at Orange. It is so great to be here surrounded by so many ministry leaders from around the nation. We arrived, set up our booth and headed off for the first seminar, “Dealing with Difficult Families.”

Steve Adams of Saddleback Community Church shared a practical and challenging word about dealing with difficult people that can help all of us. Bottom line: Listen, learn and love.

When dealing with difficult people I need to listen to them. They need to know they have my undivided attention. I need to look at them. Uncross my arms. Put away my handheld device. Forget others walking by. Really listen to them. We have all been here. There are times when we need to deal with difficult people — got any challenging family members to deal with? I have to LISTEN. This requires getting outside of myself and focusing on them. I have to remember “it is not about me.”

When I listen I will LEARN. What is on their heart? What is driving their concern? Is there something I can do to help? How can I serve this person in front of me?

And why would I serve them? Why would I care? Because the love of Christ compels me to LOVE them. He LOVES them. If I am the body of Christ, His love compels me to love them also. This is the driving response that comes from His heart and His Spirit. I do not possess the capacity to love the difficult person apart from His grace. But the good news is: He has given His grace. He is sufficient to the need.

I was also struck during this breakout by another thought. As families living with hidden disabilities we often deal with very difficult issues. But that doesn’t mean we have to be “difficult people.” Our goal should always be to share our difficult challenges in a kind, loving and truth-filled way. After all, we are addressing our concerns to another person who is loved of the Father. He would have us speak the truth in LOVE.

Because He lives,

Shannon

Filed Under: Challenge, grace Tagged With: , ,
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