When Tragedy Strikes Your Community

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The community of Charlotte is grieving deeply over the recent accident that took the lives of a 2 year old and his brother delivered by emergency c-section.

It’s the kind of tragedy that leaves no words. The grief this family faces is unimaginable. The community has been rocked. You don’t have to intimately know a family to grieve alongside them. That is what families in Charlotte and beyond are experiencing right now.

No matter what tragedy hits or where it hits, God is still in control. While we can’t make sense of this, and we cry out to God and ask why, if we are His, He holds us and comforts us, He carries us, He mourns with us.

I recently had a friend ask how we can reconcile how God allows these tragedies to happen. The answer is that we can’t reconcile tragedy. It’s horrendous, it’s painful, it’s raw and burning. There is no reconciling on our end. But we aren’t left to hurt alone. God has reconciled the wrongs in this world through the cross. And while we grieve here, and we are held in His arms, He whispers reminders of His promises to us. He will comfort us as a mother comforts her child (Isaiah 66:13). He will hide us in his shadows while these calamities pass by.

He will cover you with his feathers. He will shelter you with his wings. His faithful promises are your armor and protection. Psalm 91:4

He has a place for us in eternity when we have accepted His son, and this….this is our hope. This is the ONLY way we can get through tragedy. Knowing that one day there will be no sorrow, no sadness – that is where we place our eyes. We hurt, we cry, we grieve, we suffer, but He’s taking us to a place unlike anything the mind can conceive. (1 Cor 2:9)

There is a God who created a perfect world, sin entered this perfect world and messed it up. But God put a plan in place to save us from our pain before the pain touched our lives. From the beginning of time, God pointed us towards reconciliation and restoration. It is the cross.

The cross reconciles the wrongs, the injustice, the wounds. The cross restores our souls. The cross tells me that when I’ve accepted Christ, my hope is in eternity with Him, not left in a state of mourning here.

The thing that stilled my grieving heart this morning was this article. A family forgiving the man who took the lives of their two children because they know they too have been forgiven. And asking the community to forgive. Only God. Only God make a heart ripped open forgive.

Would you pray for this family? We are surrounded by stories too heavy to bear. We are surrounded by life that is too much to handle. He knew that, He reached down, He righted it all in the cross. And His desire is that we lean into Him as He carries us from here into eternity. This world may try to crush us, but He promises that His children won’t be crushed. He holds us.

If you do not know Jesus as your personal Savior, I invite you to turn to him today, right now. He is waiting for you with open arms. If you have questions and don’t know what it means to accept Christ as your Savior, please email me. I’d love to share with you how you can enjoy eternity with the lover and creator of your soul.

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Fast Pass to Pure Grace

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On our recent trip to Disney, the boys and I raced through the fast pass lane on Space Mountain. We flew right by the ones waiting in the regular line. When we got to a stopping point, Zachary turned and asked, “What if someone entered the regular line, then when no one was looking, crossed into the fast pass line, then got to the final fast pass checkpoint and got caught?”

“Well, they would either send them back to the regular line, or they could choose to tell them they couldn’t ride at all.”

His face turned serious, which is so rare. “Well, I would just let them go through anyway.”

Now, Jacob is my child who must see justice served, but Zachary is a rule follower, so his answer surprised me.

“Why?”

His eyes, full of softness, met mine. “Because that is pure grace.”

Grace, an over-used, often misunderstood word. I had been a christian for years before understanding what grace actually meant. I’ve now come to realize grace can never be fully understood. It’s beyond our human ability to comprehend such a free, wild, and extravagant gift.

I know the definition of grace is an unmerited gift. It’s a gift we don’t deserve, a gift we didn’t earn. Salvation I don’t deserve. Salvation I can’t be good enough to earn. There are no scales. You see that would be unfair. And God is fair and just, beyond that He is wildly compassionate and loving. So in love with us, He extends grace.

Have I become desensitized to the word grace? Have I spoken of grace with such ease that it’s lost its magnificence on me?

Grace goes beyond comprehension. Pure grace, well, that just causes me to pause. If Zachary had simply said the word grace, I think I’d have smiled and nodded along with him. When he placed pure in front of grace, my thoughts came to a halt.

Grace is pure. Grace doesn’t need pure added to it. Grace needs nothing added to it. Grace is grace. Pure is pure.

The grace I daily extend tends to come with a price. But then that’s not grace. I’ll forgive you if you offer me a proper apology. I’ll accept you into my circle of friends or family, but you must behave a certain way. I’ll do this favor for you, but I hope you remember you owe me one.

My grace may come with conditions. His grace, no, it’s pure, no strings attached.

Grace is God as heart surgeon, cracking open your chest, removing your heart—poisoned as it is with pride and pain—and replacing it with his own. Rather than tell you to change, he creates the change. Do you clean up so he can accept you? No, he accepts you and begins cleaning you up. His dream isn’t just to get you into heaven but to get heaven into you.”
Max Lucado, Grace: More Than We Deserve, Greater Than We Imagine

Grace should cause my heart to skip a beat. Grace should cause me to look at every situation in light of eternity. Grace should not become a commonplace word in my vocabulary, desensitizing me to its magnitude. Grace changed everything. Grace is changing everything. Grace came for me, and grace came for you.

Look for grace today. He bathes us in it, but we may find ourselves so accustomed to His graces they have become a bit too common. Pray today for an awareness of His moment by moment grace.

Lord, capture our heart by your grace.

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My near-death experience

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Saturday I had a near-death experience. Or it felt that way at the time, and even more so as I reflect back on the event. I can’t help but wonder what I will never know. Were we spared because we prayed?

This question is tough and unanswerable. We all know someone who prayed for protection or safety, yet the Lord called them home despite their prayers.  We’ve all faced circumstances where we prayed for healing and healing didn’t come. We’ve all received no’s to some of our prayers.

What we don’t know is how many yes’s we’ve received in the invisible world. How many times did we pray for hedges of protection, and in the spiritual realm those hedges are the very thing that saved our lives, but we never knew.

Identifying the no prayers seems a bit easier than identifying the yes prayers. The no’s are clear and obvious. The yes’s can be categorized as coincidence or “luck”.

If our eyes were opened to all the yes’s we’ve received, would we ever forget to pray again? I wonder.

Do we pray like our very lives depend on it? Do we believe it? Or have our prayers become an act of religion?

We took a trip to Georgia to celebrate my nephew’s graduation. Visiting my sister is a treat because their house is a true experience. Farm, land, 4 wheelers, pool, trampoline, and lots of wide open exploring. A boy’s dream.

As I walked outside her house, the warm Georgia sunshine hit me full on. Sounds of summer and celebration took all anxious thoughts and cares right away. Beach tunes, splashing kids, adult conversations weaving in and out, the smell of charcoal, and the sound of 4 wheelers coming and going. Activity swirled at a pace set to relaxation.

Steve and Zachary pulled into the front yard on the 4 wheeler. I took note how big Zachary is on the 4 wheeler. Gone are the days his little body fit snug into Steve’s as he held tight. Zachary hopped off, and with his still boyish grin, Steve nodded my way, “Hop on and let’s go for a ride.”

My nephew may have graduated but I’m not too old for some 4 wheeling fun. I climbed on for a ride on a freshly created trail. It was nice not clinging for dear life. The trail was fairly narrow and bumpy, so our speed stayed in my safe zone.

Steve has learned the hard way that I’m not much fun when I’m scared, and because he wants me to join him on his little adventures, he is wise to use caution.

I don’t know if I said this out loud to Steve or only thought it, but there were lots of small stumps and bigger than sticks smaller than logs obstacles. I noted how we had to be quite careful because these small innocent stumps could likely do some damage. About 1 second later it happened.

We took a turn at a safe speed, but the back tire hit a stump on the side of the trail. As Steve steered left, our left rear tire hit a stump and it pushed us right. Right at the time Steve was accelerating for the upcoming straightaway.

Everything happened so fast, I remember having all of these thoughts and questions quick firing. It likely took 1-2 seconds for us to hit the tree, but it felt like longer as I watched us accelerate to the tree. I remember not being scared because I thought when you hit a tree you stop, but the 4 wheeler performed what it was made for. It climbed right up that tree like it was climbing the side of a mountain. I fell off the rear, landing flat on my back, and I know Steve fell off and landed on top of me. What I can’t figure out for the life of me is how in the world the 4 wheeler didn’t crush us.

The details in the moments after falling are foggy to both of us. I remember lying on my back, looking straight up and seeing the 4 wheeler in a vertical position. 2 wheels in the air, 2 wheels on the ground, headlights shining to heaven.

I remember Steve being somewhat on top of me, but also somewhat holding the full weight of the 4 wheeler up, protecting me. I can only imagine what fear he saw on my face. I must have looked in shock.

Steve said, “You’re ok. You’re ok. Now move. Move!”

In that instant I realized I hadn’t died, but if I didn’t move fast, I might die. At any moment, that 4 wheeler could fall back on me with a crushing force.

Steve holding it up seemed supernatural. There is no way he could brace that 4 wheeler from his back the way he did. I mean he’s strong and all, but not that strong. Right then he was my hero.

I scurried to my feet and retreated to a safe distance to watch the 4 wheeler roll over and down, dumping chains and first aid kits from hidden compartments.

That’s when I started to tremble. It was only then that I felt the fear. We could’ve died. As hard as we hit the ground, had there been a rock instead of dirt, everything could have been different. Had Steve not held up the 4 wheeler, it could’ve crushed us.

I wish I could say that was the end, I thought it was the end. I thought that was the worst part, we’d be back to my sister’s in no time.

I had no choice but to get back on, though I had hoped I’d never have to again. Somehow we ended up off trail in a part of the woods that I saw no way out of. We were in deep, no carved trail, and steep hills that seemed impossible to a 4 wheeler.

I jumped off and walked while Steve rode up the ravine that felt impossible. I watched it flip a couple more times.

I was taken by his calmness. I felt a basket case, but I was too terrified to even speak. I thank God Steve handled each step with a quiet calm that hushed my fears.

As I watched him riding up what looked impossible, I prayed out loud for God to do the impossible and to protect Steve in the process.

Eventually, we made it out unharmed and the 4 wheeler still works. It did the job well.

As I have thought on that incident, I go back to the day before we left when the boys and I prayed while we packed and cleaned in preparation for the trip. We prayed for safety and protection, for hedges to be placed around us.

I must admit, I often pray these prayers out of habit and duty. I wonder if I pray them in disbelief even at times. I’m sure I do. What if we hadn’t prayed? How do we know if it wasn’t us calling on the power of God for protection that saved our lives that day?

I’ll never know that answer, and that is ok.

This isn’t the first time I’ve wondered this. I looked back at my prayer journal prior to Zachary’s Lyme diagnosis and read specific prayers for the strengthening of his body and immune system. This was before he had any symptoms. What if those prayers hadn’t been released to God? We just don’t know, so why take the chance? He’s placed power closer than a whisper’s reach.

What God has impressed on my heart is a desire to deepen my prayer life. To opening my eyes for a moment by moment need for Him. He actually has been stirring this in my heart for weeks. I’ve been reading a few books on prayer, I’ve been spending more time throughout the day simply talking to God. I’m finding constant companionship with Him is a treat I’ve been missing out on in the busyness of life.

Summer seems a good time for slowing down and praying more. Each moment I encounter is shaped by prayer. If we are given that kind of power, we’d be crazy not to use it.

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When We Stop Trying To Figure God Out

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Before I began writing, I was a CPA. I still have that side of my brain, the part that wants to analyze, categorize, and finalize.  I want to look at life and see the full circle.

Typically, whatever I’m experiencing, I’m looking for what God is doing in it and through it. “Oh, that’s why that happened.” “Maybe God is doing this so that….” “I think God allowed this so that…”  Basically I’m trying to figure God out all the time. I want to understand God’s work in my life.

Sometimes I see how the different pieces of my life fit together, but sometimes I don’t. I look for what He is doing in the life of my children, my husband. I look at the problems we face, and I look for the reasons, the pieces that when put together can make it all make sense.

When Steve and I were younger (we’ve been together since middle school), he was quite the jokester. He still can be that way. But I was gullible and believed anything, and he got a real kick out of seeing what he could get me to believe. Then we would laugh at my naiveté. We’ve grown up. A little.

When he wanted me to really believe him, he would say, “Just trust me.” Not once did he ever ask me to trust him when he was actually kidding. He honored that phrase and held to his word.

Because he never broke my trust when he asked me to place my trust in him, he earned my forever trust.

God asks me to trust Him every second, every minute, every hour of my life. Unlike a boy or a man, God is incapable of lying to me because God is truth. God is faithful.

At times trusting God is easy. At other times it seems near impossible. The task is too large. The problem is unsolvable. The history is too extensive. The wounds are too deep.

No matter what we face, God whispers, “Just trust me.” Just trust me.

It’s simple, right? All we have to do is trust. He does the rest. Might not look the way we planned, but He is always good and right. The pieces might not fit the way we are attempting to fit them together.

A few weeks ago, my soul seemed more restless than normal. I could sense God telling me to still my soul, to calm my anxious mind, to simply trust Him with every detail of my day.

Maybe that is how my soul gets still. When I stop trying to figure God out. When I stop trying to see how all the pieces of my life fit together in one neat, tidy picture. I can’t see what God sees. Some of my pieces fit into the lives of others I can’t see, and so do yours. On our end, we will have incomplete pictures, but from God’s view, it’s a perfectly complete picture. Beginning to end, what we can’t see.

I vowed to stop the constant figuring out of God and to begin trusting Him more. On my own power, I can’t last long. Each morning I’m asking Him to help me simply trust Him. To hold up my hands in surrender to the analyzing ways I’m prone to and go back to the days I believed anything, but this time I want to believe that with God anything is possible. Even trusting Him with every detail of my life.

Isaiah 55:8

“My thoughts are nothing like your thoughts,” says the LORD. “And my ways are far beyond anything you could imagine.

 

Romans 11:33-34

Oh, the depth of the riches both of the wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable are His judgments and unfathomable His ways! For WHO HAS KNOWN THE MIND OF THE LORD, OR WHO BECAME HIS COUNSELOR?

Max Lucado writes in Before Amen, “In our desire to understand him, we have sought to contain him. The God of the Bible cannot be contained.”

I think I’ll stop trying to figure God out now. Like a simple, once gullible girl, I’ll choose to simply trust.

Trusting Him leads to deep soul rest. Deep, deep soul rest. I can let go of the need to understand, for only He sees it all. I don’t need to understand everything. I just need to trust Him. He is God, and I am not.

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We Only Have 18 Summers

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Last week was an emotional week full of activity. Thursday Andrew graduated kindergarten, Jacob and Zachary each won awards in their grades that had me and Steve sobbing messes, and Friday ended the school year.

Saturday I attended the senior graduation ceremony at our small christian school. I expected it to be like any other graduation I’ve attended. Basically a reading of names, a quick inspirational speech or two, the passing out of diplomas. We expected to pop in, show our support to our senior class, and quickly escape to Andrew’s baseball game. I took Jacob and Zachary with me to show them what they have to look forward to one day.

I didn’t expect to sob for an hour over children who aren’t mine. That was quite a surprise. I embarrassed the daylights out of Jacob, who asked me numerous times to stop crying, or laughing, or showing any emotion for that matter. (I think it’s the 11-year-old in him).

Life is fleeting. It will pass at a speed that will blow us away. I can’t pause time, but I can fully enter it. I can be all in when I’m in.

I knew it before my children were born. I’ve been told by every mom who has reached the point of letting go. Not one person has ever told me that time crawled. None. No one I’ve ever talked to told me when they sent their child off to college that the years were slow. Instead, it’s been “Hold on. Don’t blink. You won’t believe it when it arrives.”

I believe these people. I see the tenderness in their eyes. The pause of contemplation. The grins that tell me they don’t want to tell me how painful it will be.

I listened to 8 seniors (it’s a tiny school) stand on stage and express their hearts to their friends, families, and teachers. Each student shared words from their heart that parents long to hear. Thank you for modeling Christ to me. Thank you for educating me. Thank you for encouraging me and supporting me even when I didn’t show you gratitude. Thank you for investing in me. Thank you for loving me unconditionally.

I could hardly hold it together.

In those 8 faces, I saw my little boys. They will stand on a stage one day, Lord willing. I will look at their man-sized bodies and see the little boys we’ve raised. I will reflect on the years I held chubby hands to cross a street, sat side by side reading aloud for hours on end, tucked into bed praying our hearts out together.

I will miss it. Deeply.

I’ve said it before – Lord willing, we only get 18 summers with our children. That’s it. 18 summers.

I do believe that living intentionally allows us to move from stage to stage with a deeper sense of satisfaction. There is a sense of fulfillment that comes from knowing we chose to live fully in the moments. Doesn’t mean it won’t be hard, but we can at least look back with fewer regrets over how we spent our time.

When my children stand on that stage, I won’t reminisce on the bickering. I won’t remember the exasperation from telling them over and over to clean their rooms. I won’t remember the irritation of a staircase piled with toys, books, and clothes. I won’t think about how tired I was. I won’t be grateful that there will be no handprint smudges up the white walls or holes in sheetrock from a baseball gone wild. At least I don’t think I will.

Because when I watched those 8 seniors, all I could see was love, joy, and gratitude. If it were my boys standing there, I’d be thinking, “My goodness look what God has done with you.”

It’s officially summer in our home. Today I thank God for another school year. For the beginnings of another summer. For hot days and lazy mornings. For a slow pace and curiosity driven explorations. For legos and army men. For bike paths and healthy legs. For wild blackberry discoveries. For time.

Summer is the burying of “Hurry up!” or “Let’s go, we are late.” Summer sees no alarm clock. Summer is for sitting on the couch with Bible and journal until the first boy appears groggy-eyed at the bottom of the stairs. It’s for snuggling as we start our day in His Word together because the clock stopped bossing us around.

Summer is for lingering longer at dinner, not rushing away for showers and bed. Summer is for water tag, horse, or pickle after dinner. It’s for going to bed sweaty and tired, exhausted from a day well played.

Summer is for books read aloud on the couch for hours because we have no place to go.

Summer is for noticing. Noticing what happens when I move slower.

Summer is for backyard campouts, bonfires, and lightning bugs.

Summer is here for now. It will not last long. Like the rest of time, it refuses to halt at my command. I only get 18, so I will take each moment this summer. I’ll hold it, taste it, feel it, fully enter. We will laugh hard and play loud.

With each passing moment, I will say, “Thank you, God, for just one more.”

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So How Was Your Mother’s Day?

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I’m always embarrassed when I enter the checkout line at Trader Joe’s. It’s a small store with small buggies, and I roll in with a cart overflowing. My grocery items made known I was indeed a mother, so the checkout girl scanned item after never-ending item and asked, “So how is your Mother’s Day so far?”

I’m sure she was expecting a complaint. After all, I was at the grocery store, not exactly a massage or pedicure. She asked with hesitation, holding her breath anticipating my response.

“You know, my children are alive, they are breathing, I have three boys. I couldn’t have a better Mother’s Day.” The young man bagging my groceries paused, glanced up, and continued stuffing bags. “It’s neat you look at it like that.”

I wanted to say more to this young man, but I knew if I opened my mouth, he might get more than he bargained for. Like a 38-year-old woman crying over realizing she is ungratefully blessed most days.

Mother’s Day. If I had spent much time on Facebook, I may have been tempted to feel cheated out of “my” day. Selfish, right? I would be lying if I didn’t admit there were a few moments I felt that twinge of jealousy that another mother was being pampered while my day felt just like every other day.

That is when the Holy Spirit spoke louder.

Another day of this. This life of laundry, groceries, church, baseball games, arguing, laughing, crying, tasting, feeling, moving. Life. Happy Mother’s Day! That’s the moment I understood. The celebration is in the ordinary.

I didn’t need to be showered with gifts, pampered with affection, or catered to. I had this day, this life, these children. This is my gift.

I thought back over the morning. Beautiful graces all morning long. A sweet note tucked in my purse from one son, another son clearing away piles from the stairs – without being asked, a husband writing me precious words and jumping to do all he could to show me he appreciates what I do.

So I battled in my mind, which is where the fight for peace happens. I stilled the shouts of the world, and listened for the voice of the Holy Spirit.

Surrounded by blessings almost missed. Like any other day, I’m always tempted to miss the biggest blessings right in front of my eyes. A smile, a hug, a kiss, a breath.

When I took my eyes off of myself and placed them on God, my eyes were opened to the blessings in an ordinary day called Mother’s Day.

Steve apologized several times for what he felt was a “not-so-great” Mother’s Day. I couldn’t disagree with him more. It was the best Mother’s Day of my life. Simply because it was an ordinary day. The gift of one more day to do this thing called mothering.

And just like God, He waited until the end of the evening, after speaking into my heart, really getting into those deep places and moving me, to give me another Mother’s Day gift. A simple moment with my son.

Steve was upstairs reading to Andrew. Zachary was listening to Narnia I’m sure, Jacob was outside, and I cleaned the kitchen. The house was a complete wreck. The screen door opened, and Jacob peeked his head inside, “Hey, mom, can you come pitch to me.”

I glanced at the dishes in the dishwasher, the ones in the sink, the food needing to be wrapped, baseball clothes strewn all over the place. Grass clippings making trails through the kitchen.

“Sure.”

“Really?”

The mess isn’t going anywhere, but he is. He is growing up. I never know when the last time I’ll hear the words “Mom, will you pitch to me?” might come. So when the invitation arrives, I will accept.

I pitched, we laughed. I’m not good, and I’m scared of the ball. He’s ok with that. We sat on the driveway. An ordinary moment. The chatting began. He told story after story. I asked no questions. Just listened and laughed. No nagging, no prodding, no arguing. An absolute treasure of a gift.

He heard another brother approaching, and I saw the disappointment in his eyes as he realized our private time was coming to an end. No earth shattering conversations. Just ordinary.

The day was exactly the day the Lord had made.

Because the day was simple, I was able to receive the gift the Lord had for me in those simple moments that I will hold onto forever. Moments that might not have happened. An understanding that wouldn’t have come.

When I take my eyes off me, I see Him, and I see the gifts that parade in the dailies of my life.

My mother’s day was an ordinary day, which made it the best Mother’s Day possible.

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When Your Child’s Successes Look Different

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In my opinion, grades are overrated. In fact, I wrote about it, reposted it, and it’s been one of my most popular posts. I think because we are such a visual world and share successes with such ease, some of us are left to feel a bit like a failure when our successes take on a different wardrobe.

Andrew has learning disabilities. He thinks in a way I can’t understand. He processes life differently than I do. I hold fast to the truth that we were created in God’s image, He knitted us together in the womb, He knows the number of hairs on our heads. God does not form us haphazardly. He doesn’t rush and multitask. He doesn’t make mistakes. In fact, He has a perfect track record. He’s never made one mistake.

I hold this truth, and I live in the knowledge that we live in a world of problems, difficulties, and challenges. But God didn’t make a mistake when He formed us. When He made Andrew to think the way He did, He was pleased with what He created.

I also pray every single day that God would connect all pathways in his brain so that learning would come with ease. I live with the tension of gratitude for the gift of learning disabilities and desire for learning to be less challenging.

Andrew is social to the nth degree. He is also very athletic. Because of this it is hard to notice that he is challenged in other areas. Like I mentioned in previous posts, for years I knew there was something when everyone said there was nothing. I lived on a daily basis with watching him live with frustration rooted in his lagging of both receptive and expressive forms of communication. I heard the comments from well-meaning people that focused on the behaviors they noticed and what I needed to do to “get him in line.”

I’ve come to realize that when you have a child with learning disabilities, and you are around others who have never experienced the challenges that come with it, they simply don’t understand. And that is okay. Before I had begun to walk this road, I didn’t understand either. Therefore, I don’t expect anyone to understand the difficulties we face or the exhaustion that accompanies us daily.

But I’ve experienced something this year I wouldn’t trade for anything in this entire world. I’ve experienced triumph in the tiniest of moments. I’ve felt my heart about to burst right out of my chest as I watched Andrew reach a new milestone, a milestone that was never on my milestone chart before.

We entered kindergarten only knowing a handful of letters and no letter sounds, not recognizing numbers, spatially unaware, and a severe lagging in communication understanding and expressing. Most kindergartners are sponges and learn letters, sounds, clusters, and blends with ease. They soak it in, and by the end of the year are reading with ease.

I can’t compare our year to the children in his class or I would become discouraged. His teacher and his therapists reminded me all year to compare where he is to where he started. I stand here a week away from the end of the year astounded at how far we’ve come.

Midway through the year, we discovered that in addition to language processing disorders, he had some visual tracking, memory, etc issues. Turns out his left eye suppressed his right eye. All these year he’s been using one eye. I can only imagine when both eyes are functioning together properly what he will be able to do. I wait with anticipation to see the places God takes him.

I pray over him every night that God would rewire his brain. I’m seeing it happening daily, right before my eyes. I stand amazed at what God is doing.

As a mom I’m naturally protective. I’m quick to come to his defense when I can tell that people don’t get him. I’m always hoping that when he is around his friends, they don’t notice his inability to learn easily and shun him or look down upon him. I know how cruel kids can be, but I also know that kids simply say things they don’t even understand.

I recently overheard Andrew and a friend having a conversation. Andrew pointed out an observation, and someone corrected him. Andrew saw something, but it was actually something else. The little friend said, “Andrew gets everything wrong.” My heart felt squeezed and broken. I knew it was a child who didn’t know what he was saying, and I know loves Andrew. But everything in me wanted to say, “No! You don’t understand. He gets so much right! He can see things I can’t see. He has ideas I’d never have the creativity to think up.”

I held my tongue, and silently let my tears fall on God. I’m ok with that now. That allowing myself to both hurt and rejoice at the same time. I’ve learned that in many of life’s trying moments, there is this delicate balance of heartache and deep joy. God knows I want my son to be like all the other kids while at the very same time thanking him that he is so different from all the other kids.

And now I realize that this post is twice as long as I intended. But it’s my child, so I know you get it.

And don’t we all stand on the side of our kids cheering them on, thinking at times people just don’t get them? It’s ok. God gets them. He made them. And we have the honor of praying over them and for them without ceasing all the ways we want to see God move in their lives. What power we hold through prayer.

Whatever challenges our children face, we aren’t powerless to stand and watch with breaking hearts. We stand and pray with breaking hearts to a good and compassionate God who hears the cries of His children.

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