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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: , ,

Out of the Mouth of a 12-Year-Old

January 6, 2013 By 3 Comments
You have taught children and infants to give You praise,
silencing Your enemies and all who oppose You. (Psalm 8:2)

 

They asked Jesus, “Do you hear what these children are saying?”
“Yes,” Jesus replied. “Haven’t you ever read the Scriptures?
For they say, ‘You have taught children and infants
to give You praise.’” (Matthew 21:16)

I don’t make New Year’s Resolutions anymore. I admitted to myself a few years ago: I just don’t keep them.

Last year, I tried something different. I asked God to give me a word: just one word, a word from Him for the new year looming before me. It wasn’t a deep yearning or anything. It seemed to be “the thing,” to have a word for the year.

So I asked, sort of haphazardly. I asked God for a word.

The next evening, I took my first walk of 2012. When I walk, I use a phone app to track my distance and my pace, and to play songs in random order while I walk. It’s quite an adventure, really, to not choose the music myself. I like to think of it as God being my personal DJ. I truly believe He talks to me through the music.

The moon was beautiful, and Jupiter was right beside her. The evening sky was still blueish; the night hadn’t stolen all the light yet. I was walking and listening. I was almost home when this Chris Tomlin song shuffled into play. The lyrics absolutely resonated with me. I thought, “Hey! Maybe this is my word!”

Awakening by Reuben Morgan & Chris Tomlin (click to listen)

Wow, right? As I walked, I found myself weeping, lifting my hands and crying out to the Lord.

But wait. There’s more.

After my walk, Michael and I watched The Two Towers in The Lord of the Rings movie trilogy. It’s something we do every January or so: watch the extended version of all three movies in a row. In the scene where Gandalf releases King Theoden of Rohan, I started laughing and crying, clapping and hollering, “He’s waking up! Michael, look! Theoden’s awakening!”

Awakening.

Now it’s a year later, and I’m looking back for the awakenings in 2012. I can point to a handful of events, which include my girl maturing in ways I didn’t think I was ready for. (Yes, I’m referring to menstruation. We survived.) But God really brought it home to me yesterday as I was looking through my journal. I have a habit of jotting ideas down on random pieces of paper which I then collect in my journal. When it’s time to write, I look for those ideas to chase. I was looking for a certain set of notes I’d made, but what I found was a handful of Cami papers. I don’t remember specifically when I stuck these pages in my journal. I’m sure I found them when I was cleaning her room. She and I have determined that she wrote the following thoughts sometime after reading six of C.S. Lewis’ Chronicles of Narnia, all seven of J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter books, and Tolkien’s four main books about Middle Earth, all in the span of about six weeks. Not only did my girl’s reading ability expand dramatically, but her love for and her knack for telling a good story were awakened.

She said her brain was overloaded with information when she wrote these pages. I know it was before September because the pages are written in all capital letters except for the e’s. Cami changed her handwriting style this fall when she taught herself to write calligraphy. I share the following Cami thoughts with her permission.

INTRODUCTION
The world has just gotten crappy.
Here’s how:
There always seems to be a war going on somewhere, there’s drugs, there’s guns, people hurt one another on purpose, there’s litter everywhere, and where’s the modesty gone?
Have you seen what garbage there is on TV??!!
The world is just. plain. crappy. What more is there to say?
Sometimes, places like Narnia, Hogwarts or Middle Earth seem much more real than real life.

ABOUT WAR
Many boys (perhaps even you) have wished that they could fight in the U.S. Army. But do they really know what war is like?
Have they ever wondered whether or not they would live to see tomorrow?
Have they ever walked out onto the battlefield after it was over: all around, wreckage lay; but even worse, all around people are crying over dead brothers, fathers, sons, friends, and maybe even sisters.
Have they ever dreaded seeing their closest friend among the dead?
No, they have not.

And what about weapons?
Here’s a daffy definition:
“Firearms — a type of metal wand that muggles use to kill each other.” –Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix by J.K. Rowling
I’m glad that there are at least responsible people out there. In war, innocent people, even little kids younger than me, are…killed.

ABOUT TELEVISION
It’s nice to know that there are still good books, and at least some things on TV are still decent.

Many kids, if they want something, they want it right now. And I should know, for I was like that once.
However, maybe everyone should take Treebeard’s advice, even grown-ups:
“We don’t say anything, unless it’s worth taking a long time to say.” — The Two Towers by J.R.R. Tolkien

And what about some of the words used???
Honestly, I forget what half of them are, and I don’t know what the other half mean.
And I don’t want to know.
So don’t tell me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Plus, television makes smoking cigarettes look cool.
Here’s what I say to that:
Bleck! How do people stand the smell of those things??!!!

ABOUT BEING “COOL”
This part is for kids.

There are two kinds of ways to be “cool”:
1. Wear sunglasses, be agile, etc.
2. This one is chosen much less: to truely be cool, just be…you.
It may not be encouraging that i chose that way, and now I’m considered a weirdo and an oddball, but…that’s because I got caught up in something, shall we say…supernatural.
And no, I’m not a wizard or anything related.
Though, I have found that my life is like that of a hobbit’s in a couple ways:
I’m judged by height, for one.
However, hobbits have a problem opposite than mine.
Someone who doesn’t know what a hobbit is would mistake one for a kid: mostly, they’re four feet tall!
Me, well, some think I’m either a grown-up or a teenager.

When I asked Cami what other ways her life is like a hobbit’s, she added,

People don’t always want stuff to happen to them, but sometimes it happens anyway.
One particular picture comes to mind:
a hobbit standing on his front step, waving his mail at a wizard known for his fireworks, and saying,
“No, no, no, I do not want to go on an adventure!”

Guess what happened to Bilbo next?

An unexpected adventure, that’s what.

When I asked Cami if I could share her thoughts here on ChosenFamilies.org, I told her that her words brought tears to my eyes. She said, “It made you cry? Really? Why?”

“Because I didn’t want you to ever have to know about any of these things.” I began to cry again. She hugged me, and I said, “The truth is, Cami, Daddy and I can’t keep you safe. We have to trust God to do that. And that’s really hard sometimes.”

When Cami wrote down these thoughts last year, Newtown, Connecticut wasn’t in the news yet. Her awakening to the fallen state of our world came through reading quality fiction, books that portray deep-heart truths through made-up stories. Yet even with all our best efforts to shield our precious girl, real life creeps in. We couldn’t hide the Newtown tragedy from Cami even if we wanted to. Her friends in the neighborhood were talking about it. They prayed for the Newtown families in her Sunday school class. Those words she wrote last summer carry the weight of reality now.

When I read Cami’s words aloud to her, I asked her what supernatural thing she got caught up in. I asked her if it was her faith. As I was uploading this post, she handed me another paper, a paper with words written in her beautiful italic calligraphy printing.

Why is there war? Why is there drug abuse? Why do people have to die? Why do people hurt each other? Why?

These are all questions that many people ask. Another question is: Why would God let something like the shooting in Connecticut happen?

I don’t know why either. But I do know this:
God loves us, and He cares about what happens to us. He sees us. He knows what we’re going through.

God even loves the man who did the shooting. Even though that man doesn’t deserve it, God still loves him. In fact, none of us deserve God’s love. Come to think of it, why would God even look at us?

Though we don’t deserve it, God came down in the form of a man, fully God and fully man, and died on a cross for our sins.

So no matter what we do, God loves us.

And oh, how He loves us.

Only God could.

Looking forward to how He works out my word for 2013:  Unhindered.

Cassandra

Filed Under: Parenting Tagged With: , , ,

The Fight for Peace

December 5, 2012 By Leave a Comment

“Peace be with you!” John 20:19

I recently found myself identifying with the apostle Peter in a new and deeper way while reading through the Gospels and his overestimation of his faith and trust in Jesus. I was reading Mark 14:27-31 where Jesus predicts Peter’s denial and Peter emphatically insists he would never disown Jesus but would die with Him. Peter wholeheartedly believed that no matter what he would stay faithful. As we know, within hours Jesus’ prediction comes true and Peter “broke down and wept” (verse 72).

I was reflecting on a similar personal disappointment in my own relationship with Jesus and my overestimation of my spiritual growth through a recent trial. I was sure that after experiencing the Lord’s provision in such clear and powerful ways for our family, I would no longer be anxious about our finances.

I was wrong and have spent the past two weeks battling anxiety and fighting for my peace.  Between racing thoughts, trips to the bathroom for my upset stomach and sleepless nights, He has heard my cries and met me in my emotional turmoil. He is helping me stay focused on Him alone and slowly I am regaining my emotional equilibrium.

I daily confess my deep need for Him in my life and surrender to Him fresh each morning. I admit that I had become complacent in our relationship for a couple of weeks leading up to this episode and it was enough to lose my footing. How quickly I turned to self-sufficiency and lost my way.

As always, there was no condemnation or shame for my humanness. I felt His forgiveness and deep love for me, his precious daughter. Our intimacy has been restored and we are moving forward, but this time in His strength and not my own. Anxious moments still come, but they are not as severe or long lasting. I recognize the significant progress I have made in this area and look forward to more freedom.

May we all experience the Prince of Peace in all His glory this season.

~Lynn

 

Filed Under: Anxiety, Emotions, Forgiveness, growth Tagged With: , ,

To Fit or Not to Fit

November 4, 2012 By 3 Comments

Since my daughter could first communicate, Cami has tried to express how different she feels from the “norm.”

In the year she was two, we watched Walt Disney’s Dumbo. Every. Day. You know the story: a baby circus elephant is born with ginormous ears, which everyone makes fun of and end up making him famous because no one has ears like Dumbo and whoever heard of an elephant that can fly?

After Dumbo, she discovered Spirit. Spirit is a wild mustang stallion in the Old West days, before the railroad stretches across this country and tries to tame every wild place. Finally caught in a horse round-up and sold to the Army, Spirit is appalled at the willingness of the other horses to submit to the bit and bow their will to the hand of man. The movie-making here is brilliant: none of the animals actually talk, as in a Disney film; rather, the movie captures the animals’ personalities and communication through engaging animation. Spoiler alert: Spirit never does give in.

The Christmas she was three, Cami fell in love not with Santa, but with Rudolph (the Red-Nosed Reindeer). She drew pictures of Rudolph, had dreams about Rudolph, and spied Rudolph in the store Christmas displays. Rudolph has a glowing nose and doesn’t fit in with the other reindeer. But when Santa has a specific need—to guide his sleigh through a foggy Christmas Eve—Rudolph’s specialness is just the ticket for Santa.

When she was four, Stitch, the strange-looking alien experiment in  Lilo and Stitch, captured Cami’s imagination. Lilo, a lonely little orphan girl, desperately wants a dog, so her big sister takes her to the animal shelter to pick out a pet. Lilo sees Stitch, who has disguised himself (but only slightly) to look like a really strange dog. Even though the shelter worker tries to dissuade her, Lilo is insistent on adopting and loving Stitch. The movie tells of their adventures together as they live out ‘ohana. (“Ohana means family. Family means nobody gets left behind or forgotten”). Cami spent her preschool year drawing her own “experiments,” or as Stitch would call them, “Cousins!”

As she’s grown older, Cami’s choices in entertainment have matured, but this theme—”I don’t fit with everyone else, and that’s okay because how I am is weird-in-a-cool-way”—recurs.

There’s Jane, a girl who trains as a knight’s apprentice. Her best friend is Dragon, the last of his kind left in the world.

There’s Bolt, an actor dog who thinks he really is a super hero. By the movie’s end, he experiences the “real world” and really is a hero to his owner and his traveling companions.

Of course, there’s Pippi Longstocking.

If I pay close attention to what Cami reads, writes, draws, and watches, she communicates just fine. Dumbo, Spirit, Rudolph, Stitch, Jane, Pippi, Balto, Hiccup and Toothless, Harry, and Frodo all tell me one thing:

Cami is not only making peace with who she is, just like she is, but
she celebrates who she is, who God has made her to be.

As I stumble through this life as Cami’s mom, I often worry that I’m failing her, that I’m not equipping her for the “real world,” that she’ll arrive in adulthood and resent me for all I haven’t taught her. All along, the Greatest One Who doesn’t fit the norm (and that’s the point)—Jesus, God with skin on—teaches us both how to be brave and discover who He died for us to be. He urges us on to stick out from everyone else and be who He lives for us to be. All we have to do is watch Jesus; He shows us how it’s meant to be done.

I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.
(Jesus in John 10:10)

So thankful to walk this soil with the coolest daughter on the planet,

Cassandra

Filed Under: Journey, Uncategorized Tagged With:

The Great Cami Calamity (On How God Gave Us a Dentist)

July 29, 2012 By Leave a Comment

A few days ago, Nancy wrote about her struggle to find a therapist for herself. We face a similar dilemma with Cami on many of the “normal kids’ doctors” front. God is so faithful, though, to guide us to the health professionals who are best for Cami and her needs. Sometimes, God leads us by trial and error. Other times, it takes a calamity.

When we moved to Virginia, Cami was five years old. She had tubes in both her ears and wore glasses for strabismus (eyes crossing). Although we didn’t have a professional diagnosis, we knew Cami processed life differently than other kids her age. That meant Cami’s Mommy (me) was a nervous wreck taking Cami to a new doctor. Or dentist. Or anyone who would poke and prod her.

We found a reputable pediatric practice. The doctors were doctors–not mean, but not overly personable. The nurses gave her shots and wanted to take blood to test her cholesterol. It took three of us to hold her down for the blood test. I’m sure people in the parking lot could hear her screaming. It hurt my heart to see Cami so scared and upset. We eventually discovered that Cami trusted the nurse practitioner, so we made all out appointments with her. Until she moved away.

We found a reputable pediatric dentist. The first few visits went fine, and then it happened. We went in for a routine cleaning at the end of the day. When they lowered Cami’s head too far backwards, she couldn’t breathe through her nose. Of course, the dentist stuck his hands in Cami’s mouth, and Cami started flapping her hands and pushing to sit up.

The dentist tried to keep her in a lying-down position so he could finish his work (counting teeth, I think). Cami fought harder. I stepped in and said, “Wait. Let her sit up.” I knew my child wouldn’t disobey an adult’s direct orders unless there was an extenuating reason. In this case, she couldn’t breathe.

The situation quickly deteriorated because now, she was crying. The dentist said (and I quote), “Oh, come on. You’re too old to act like this.”

Well. She was seven, and we were new on this hidden-disability road. I didn’t trust my mommy-knower back then like I do now. Cami was due for her first set of dental x-rays, and here she was, melting down in the dental chair. The dentist was looking at me like he expected me to make her “behave appropriately.” So I tried.

I tried to comfort her. She blew her nose which helped her breathe better when she was lying down. I held her hand while the dentist finished the exam. She’d had her teeth cleaned, so she was already overloaded with stimuli. I know that now. I didn’t know that then.

We pushed ahead through the x-rays. Everything was holding together until I had to stand out of Cami’s sight behind a wall during the x-ray. She lost it. She started screaming, “No! I want my mom! No! Don’t you keep my mom from me! Don’t you make her go away! Mom!” Oh, my heart broke.

I stepped around the wall and said, “That’s enough.” We didn’t get an x-ray. We sat in the car and snuggled until we were both calm enough to drive home. We never went back to that dentist again. No hard feelings, just not a good fit for Cami and her different needs.

I dreaded finding another dentist. So I didn’t. I made sure Cami brushed her teeth, I limited her sugar intake, and I prayed. A lot. I knew Cami needed to have her teeth cleaned. Just like she needed to have her ears checked. And her eyes checked (dilated every six months: talk about trauma!). She needed wellness check ups and vaccinations. It felt like every time I turned around, we were visiting another health professional and returning home in meltdown mode.

When Cami was nine, she crashed her scooter. It was a Saturday afternoon, and the neighborhood kids were riding scooters on the sidewalk. One friend tried to pass Cami, who ended up veering into the grass, which stopped her scooter but not her. She hit the ground so hard, it broke her helmet. And both bones in her left wrist. And her front tooth.

We never did find the piece of her tooth. We did, however, find a compassionate, understanding pediatric dentist who waited in her office on a Saturday afternoon until we could get Cami there. She calmly talked Cami through x-rays, never letting her tone of voice change in response to Cami’s fear and screaming. I was so impressed.

Cami’s positive experience with the new dentist helped her find language for the visit to the emergency room the next day. Although Cami said her wrist didn’t hurt her, I could see she wasn’t using it. We spent our Church Day that week at the ER getting her wrist x-rayed just like she had her teeth x-rayed.  She told me, “It must be all right, because it didn’t hurt when they x-rayed my teeth. So this won’t hurt at all.” Whewy.

By the end of the week, Cami had a temporary cap on her tooth and a green cast on her arm. Not only did God lead us to the right dentist for Cami, but He also led us to one of the best pediatric orthopedists in our area. What started as a calamity ended up equipping my girl to handle some tough stuff. Three years later, Cami loves going to the dentist. Really. Cami uses her words when she’s uncomfortable or when she needs to sit up, and the dental staff listen to her. I think the listening—their validation of Cami’s expressed needs—makes a big difference in Cami’s dental experience.

Now if we can only find the right pediatrician for Cami. Without a calamity.

Grateful for God’s leading,

Cassandra

Filed Under: Parenting, Provision, Sensory Processing Disorder Tagged With: , ,

Things I Needed to Know

July 27, 2012 By 1 Comment

Remember the poem, “All I Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten”?  (It is pithy and possibly inspired.) Well, I’ve discovered a few more things I needed to know, after living with hidden disability. You can bet this is NOT an exhaustive list, although it has exhausted me to learn it.

1. Things are not always what they seem – so GO SLOWLY when drawing conclusions.

2. Sometimes things are EXACTLY what they seem – so call a spade a spade. 

3. God was not kidding when He said, “be quick to hear (get the whole story), slow to speak (or you WILL make it worse), and slow to anger (or you will be angry A LOT)….”  James 1:19

4. It is not true I would “do better” or “sin less” if I just had a different race/life other than the one God has set before me: living with hidden disability. My context simply uncovers my sin. It does not produce it. I still must “lay aside … the s-i-n (envying, pride, selfishness…) which so easily entangles [me], and … run with endurance the race that is set before [me].” (Heb 12:1)

5. I did NOT get to choose which race “is set before me” — I DO get to choose how I will respond (thanks to that blessed free will). Note to self: Pouting is not a helpful choice.

6.  I am finite – there is a definite E-N-D to my resources. When the Bible says, “I can do all things through Christ Who strengthens me.” (Phil 4:13) one of those “things” (for me) is saying the word “NO.”

7. Contrary to my younger thinking, “No” is not a cuss word.

8. Just because flexibility is my strength doesn’t mean I can bend enough to survive whatever hits me. I cope not because I can flex enough, but because JESUS is enough. (Enough wisdom, enough comfort, enough hope….)

9. I need help. Some times more than others, from others. That’s OK.

(In God’s description of the body, I am one part, like an eye or something. We don’t see whole bodies of nothing but eyeballs walking around. There’s a reason for that. “the eye cannot say to the hand, “I have no need of you”; or again the head to the feet, “I have no need of you.” 1 Cor 12:21 which would be funny if it weren’t so TRUE.  I need other parts of the body – not the least of which is a brain….)

10. I am not omniscient or omnipotent –  I cannot predict or prevent what comes. I used to torture myself by thinking, “I should’ve seen that coming…” (so I could stop it) But I didn’t. Don’t. Can’t. I can, however, choose how I will respond to it. (yes, I’m repeating myself….)

11. I have learned I am not Jesus, the Savior. Sounds ridiculous, but bears repeating. I cannot save myself, so I certainly cannot save (or fix) my loved ones. At the end of the day, I am truly just “one beggar telling another beggar where to find bread.” (D.T. Niles)

Somewhere in middle school … trying to make sure I am not “always learning but never able to come to the knowledge of the TRUTH.” (II Tim 3:7)!

Joan

 

 

Filed Under: Bible, growth, Journey Tagged With: ,

Growing Pains

April 2, 2012 By Leave a Comment

We wait in hope for the LORD; he is our help and our shield. In him our hearts rejoice, for we trust in his holy name. May your unfailing love rest upon us, O LORD, even as we put our hope in you. Psalm 33:20-22 (NIV)

Growing up is hard.

The other day my five-year-old daughter was experiencing some of the challenges of growing up.  In the chaos of getting ready for school one morning, she had an emotional meltdown that broke my heart.

I don’t remember exactly what I asked her to do, but it was something well within her ability to do by herself.  However, after watching me help her two-year-old brother with almost everything, she broke down and blurted what she was feeling inside.

“You don’t love me as much as you love Ben,” she cried as she stood by the sink and wept.

I immediately embraced her to comfort her and calm her down, which is not always easy with her sensory processing disorder, and we were able to finish getting ready as we discussed the situation.

Realizing that she thought I loved and cared about Ben more than her because I helped him more, I knew we needed a heart to heart no matter how late for school it made us.  So I invited her to come sit on my lap so we could cuddle.

Holding her tight, I looked into her eyes and affirmed my deep love and care for her.  I explained that one of my jobs as a mother is to help her do more and more things by herself so that one day she will be ready to be an adult and, Lording willing, to have a family of her own. Her face lit up, because she always talks about being a mommy someday.  Then we talked about some of the ways that I show her that I love her so that she won’t believe that lie again.  We prayed together and got up to put on our coats.

As I reflected on our tender moment walking out the door, I sensed that still small voice again. “That’s exactly what I do for you, precious child.” My heart was filled with love and joy over that truth.

Ever since, I visualize my quiet times like that heart to heart with my daughter: a time of peace and love, safe in my Heavenly Father’s arms.

Growing spiritually can be hard too, but if my daughter’s genuine angst moved my heart, how much more do we move the heart of God as we struggle to live in this fallen world?

In the assurance of His unfailing love,

~Lynn

 

Filed Under: Communication, Emotions, Encouragement, Family, General, God's presence, growth, Parenting, Sensory Processing Disorder, siblings Tagged With: , , , , , , ,

On Doing it All

February 15, 2012 By Leave a Comment

“I am a mom who does it all.”

Do I have your attention yet?  There are many different meanings to the statement above.  It can be said with pride, stemming from thankfulness to God for being given so many roles, tasks, and (gulp) people.  It can be said in surprise, as life so often sneaks up on us and requires more from us than we ever could have imagined.   It can be said with tears as we think of all the things on our plate and the responsibilities awaiting us.  Or it can be said in exhaustion and weariness and perhaps, a little bit of regret.

Today I voice this statement with all of the sentiments described above.

I am a mom to three children.  I used to say three young children, but I don’t think that is a fair statement anymore.  Perhaps, if I wanted to be more descriptive, I should say “I am a mom to two young children and a pre-teen GIRL.”  Life has changed since my daughter turned twelve!

I am a wife to a highly unpredictable man who suffers from seizures and an acquired brain injury.  I function as both lover and caretaker, prayerfully balancing my way through both roles in any given five minutes.

I am an employee who manages others and travels frequently, working full-time to support my family as my husband’s disability leaves him unable to work.

I am a child of God, loved by the King and chosen to live with Him forever in eternity.  As I wait for that time, I strive to live fully and completely for His glory, empowered by the Holy Spirit, despite trials and tribulations (and now, teens!).

I am a reluctant expert on Brain Injury.

Life is both richer and more painful than I ever could have imagined.

“I am a mom who does it all.”  Who are you?

 

The Serenity Prayer

God grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change;
courage to change the things I can;
and wisdom to know the difference.

Living one day at a time;
Enjoying one moment at a time;
Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace;
Taking, as He did, this sinful world
as it is, not as I would have it;
Trusting that He will make all things right
if I surrender to His Will;
That I may be reasonably happy in this life
and supremely happy with Him
Forever in the next.
Amen.

–Reinhold Niebuhr

 

 

Filed Under: Emotions, Epilepsy, God's presence, growth Tagged With: , , ,

Remembering for the Future

January 21, 2012 By Leave a Comment

Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid…for the Lord your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you. Deuteronomy 31:6

Our Blue Spruce

The arrival of a new year naturally lends itself to reflection and the opportunity to celebrate growth.   As I have reflected on 2011, we were faced with two significant opportunities for growth as a family.

First, last January was when my sweet three-year-old daughter was officially diagnosed with Sensory Processing Disorder (SPD).  More specifically, for those who are familiar with the SPD world, Sensory Modulation Disorder (predominantly sensory seeking).

This past year was a time of illumination and hard work, as we finally began to understand her behavior and the reasons behind so much of our turmoil.  Between occupational therapy and the sensory diet implemented at home, she has made huge progress and we are so thankful.

The challenges continue, and they quite possibly may intensify as she enters kindergarten next year, but I refuse to project.  We will cross that bridge when it is necessary and continue to trust the Lord’s provision at each stage.

Second, I marveled at the grace of God in getting me, and our whole family, through the miscarriage we experienced this past June.  I wasn’t sure what to expect when our due date came around.  With my history of clinical depression, I wondered if it would lead to a season of darkness.

I have to say that the due date came and went with a little sadness, but was actually a very special time for our family.  We decided to plant a tree (pictured) as a memorial to our baby.  We all helped to plant the tree and then prayed together with great thanksgiving.  This simple act brought me so much closure and joy; I no longer feel like my heart has an open wound.

I trust that no matter what highs and lows you and your family experienced last year, you were able to experience the love, grace and mercy of God in big and/or small ways.  I pray we all hang on to those special touches of our Lord to give us the courage, strength and hope to face 2012 with confidence.

God really meant it when He said:  “I will never leave you nor forsake you.”

Thankful for His Presence,

~Lynn

 

Filed Under: Challenge, Depression, Encouragement, Family, God's presence, growth, Parenting, Sensory Processing Disorder Tagged With: , , , , ,

The Tyranny of Average

January 5, 2012 By 2 Comments

Perhaps better mothers than me would have been thrilled with the email that came today from Noah’s therapist of two years. With palpable enthusiasm, Kathryn explained that she had re-tested Noah according to the SIPT – the sensory integration praxis test.

For those of you who don’t speak the language of autism – that foreign lexicon of psyche terms, acronym-ed tests, and performance discrepancies – “sensory integration” is the neurological processing of all information received from the physical body (eyes, limbs, mouth, etc.). It is the marriage of what the body does, and what the brain receives. When sensory integration dysfunction occurs (as it often does for an autistic child), the processing of this information is disordered. The child’s interpretation of sensations from the body is off-kilter. Hence, the child’s desire to flap, spin or rock; his lack of coordination; his difficulty with handwriting, fine motor skills, or learning new tasks.

Kathryn performs these tests at regular intervals to test Noah’s progress, and while he has been “below average” for the past two years of his treatment, today he re-tested at “average” on seven of the seventeen sub-tests. A little hiccup of excitement rose in my gut. All the time, money and effort we’ve invested – they’re paying off! And then, that black part of my heart spat out: “Average? No child of mine is average!” Harrumph.

Don’t you just hate that parent? Barf.

We are fairly guaranteed that in most areas, Noah will never test as “exceptional.” If the best possible scenario comes to pass, his scores will mete out somewhere in the average range. And yes, it’s not lost on me that such an outcome is really the point of all his therapy. We want to get him as integrated and highly functional as possible, to reduce his diagnosis to nothing more than a shadow. Yet here I am, bemoaning the fact that he is better than “disabled,” but not nearly so “outstanding” as I’d like. So Noah finds himself at only 50% of distinction.

Okay. Maybe it’s MY problem with distinction. Come to think of it, Noah’s never had a problem with his self-worth. In fact, it’s healthy to the point of grandiosity. “I’ve already mastered the piano,” he’s told us. So, too has he told us that he’s “a genius,” “the most special” of our children, and that he shares a secret language with animals. Once believing he was actually Batman, he tested a toy jet pack to its limits from the heights of his top bunk. He was genuinely surprised when he only made it as far as the floor (the “Batman” phase was followed by its natural corollary, the “vampire” phase. This was subsequently followed by the “get out of your bed again and you lose your DS” phase).

I don’t relish Noah’s autism. But I now shamefully admit I may relish the distinction it provides. I’ve burdened us both by introducing my “autistic son,” and not “my son, who has autism.” The singular tyranny of an early diagnosis might lie in the fact that you’ve known your son to be disabled about as long as you’ve actually known your son. I am challenged to sever what we were told at Noah’s five years, from where he is at seven – much improved, more like everyone else. But still fully unique, masterfully crafted, an original.

Noah is so wonderfully made (Psalm 139:14), with a level of care indicating the Creator’s involvement from the very start (Psalm 139:13). As my mama once said, “God don’t make no junk.” Not that I’ve ever had to tell Noah that. But I’ve too often fallen back on my own psychic injuries and mistakenly identified my son by his disability – thinking it was what set him apart. What sets him apart is his tenderness, his penchant for slapstick, and his killer dance moves (including the robot and the flying monkey). He is unique for his turned-up nose and seven delicate face freckles, his to-the-death commitment to chocolate pop tarts, and what he does with Legos in the shower. I could go on, but you’d be reading all day.

Most critically, Noah is unique because God says so, because He carved out a portion of the earth’s molecules for Noah’s precise construct. Noah is unique because he is ferociously and eternally loved. And not just by his mama.

Autism, test scores – they’re simply what he HAS.

Who he IS? Well, that’s something altogether remarkable.

- Sarah

Filed Under: Asperger, Challenge, Diagnosis, growth, Parenting, Sensory Processing Disorder, Uncategorized Tagged With: , , , , ,
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