Autism

He is Faithful

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“To You, O Lord, I lift up my soul.  O my God, in You I trust,
Do not let me be ashamed; Do not let my enemies exult over me.
 Indeed, none of those who wait for You will be ashamed;
Those who deal treacherously without cause will be ashamed.

Make me know Your ways, O Lord; Teach me Your paths.
Lead me in Your truth and teach me, For You are the God of my salvation;
For You I wait all the day.
Remember, O Lord, Your compassion and Your lovingkindnesses,
For they have been from of old.
 Do not remember the sins of my youth or my transgressions;
According to Your lovingkindness remember me, For Your goodness’ sake, O Lord.”

Psalm 25:1-7

These were the words I read early this morning as I sipped my coffee and pondered the days ahead, even as my soul remained downcast and unsure.

To You, O Lord, I lift up my soul … in You I trust …

I opted to interrupt my normal Bible reading to spend some time in Psalms this morning. It has been a challenging season and by last evening, I was becoming increasingly discouraged to the point of inching ever closer to the vile pit of despair. Like Peter in the narrative in Matthew 14, I was allowing my focus to shift away from the Savior who has called me to walk on the water, to the stormy waves that surround me on every side.

Those waves can be pretty intimidating, my friend.

However, God’s Word, especially the Psalms, is a refuge in the storm.

A shelter, a guide, and a perspective changer. A sword that is discerning and sharp.

Good and upright is the Lord;
Therefore He instructs sinners in the way.
He leads the humble in justice,
And He teaches the humble His way.
All the paths of the Lord are lovingkindness and truth
To those who keep His covenant and His testimonies.
 For Your name’s sake, O Lord,
Pardon my iniquity, for it is great.

Psalm 25:8-11

Truth be told, I think those waves begin to loom larger when we first begin to take our eyes off of Christ and instead, place the focus on ourselves. When we focus on our own efforts and what we are doing instead of looking to Him and trusting in Him to lead and guide us. Then, when we get smacked with a wave and find ourselves beginning to sink into the depths of the storm, we cry out in anger, “God! What are You doing to me?” Or perhaps in fear, “God! Where are You? Why have You deserted me?”

God forgive us.

“Who is the man who fears the Lord? He will instruct him in the way he should choose.
His soul will abide in prosperity, and his descendants will inherit the land.
The secret of the Lord is for those who fear Him. And He will make them know His covenant.”

Psalm 25:12-14

As Peter sank into the waters, he then remembered to cry out to Jesus for help and the Lord immediately lifted him from the waters and brought him to the boat with the others. But what is our response? Do we immediately panic and plead for God to rescue us from the towering waves? Do we thrash about in the stormy waters trying to find our own way to shore? Do we cry out in anger against the Lord for allowing the waves in the first place? Or do we tremble in fear at the thought of drowning in the storm even as we sink lower into the depths?

I sometimes wonder what might have happened if Peter had kept his eyes on Jesus?

But much more often, I wonder what might happen if I keep my eyes on Jesus?

My eyes are continually toward the Lord,
for He will pluck my feet out of the net.
Turn to me and be gracious to me,
For I am lonely and afflicted.
The troubles of my heart are enlarged;
Bring me out of my distresses.
 Look upon my affliction and my trouble,
And forgive all my sins.
Look upon my enemies, for they are many,
And they hate me with violent hatred.
Guard my soul and deliver me;
Do not let me be ashamed, for I take refuge in You.
 Let integrity and uprightness preserve me,
For I wait for You.

Psalm 25:17-21

The waves are real and the storms of life can be incredibly violent at times, there is no doubt about that. But as I pondered these things this morning, a different Scripture came to mind from the book of Matthew … here Jesus says,

“Come to Me, all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest. 
Take My yoke upon you and learn from Me,
for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. 
For My yoke is easy and My burden is light.”

Matthew 25:28

As I then pondered this passage, the stormy waves around me began to lose their intimidating height because I realized I have the incredible privilege of learning to walk on these waters while sharing the yoke of my Savior.

I could get lost in that thought all day.

In fact, this is where I will end this unplanned post … contemplating the beauty of Who my Savior is and His boundless faithfulness … and the incredible privilege I have to learn from Him as He shares His yoke with me.

Suddenly those waves no longer seem as daunting as I ponder Him.

He is faithful.

A Shed. A Shop. A Vision.

/ walkingthisjourneysite / 1 Comment

Dear Reader~
I know, this blog has been silent for a long time. I also know I can’t expect people to stick around if I am not consistent in writing but truthfully, the last few months have been hard. Adjusting to my present reality, coping with significant losses, caring for elderly parents as needs and significant health concerns arise, and being a full-time caregiver to my adult son with autism has been quite an adjustment. Most days I simply do not have any brain energy left to form two words together, let alone enough to fill a blog post. But this simply means that when I do write, the words are coming from deep inside and are the words I believe the Lord would have me share. Such is the case with this post. Read on and if the Lord stirs you to help whether through prayer, physical work, or financially, I would be immensely grateful.

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Years ago, while my oldest son began attending a specialized private school for children with autism, I was in a conundrum regarding schooling my younger children. Actually, it was more than that, I was backed into a corner. A corner that did not fit into my plans or desires. With my defenses up, I argued with the Lord for a long time but finally, I could no longer fight against Him as the walls pressed in tighter and tighter with each passing day.

I reluctantly made the decision to homeschool my younger children.

It was never an ideal situation for me or something I desired to do. It was, quite simply, an act of obedience.

So for the entirety of my children’s school years, I walked the very tricky tightrope of homeschooling two children and caring for a son with severe autism with little to no support. I often questioned why God allowed certain things and why life had to be so difficult all the time … why did it feel like I was slowly dying from the inside out?

Photo by Julia Kuzenkov on Pexels.com

Truly, truly, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit. John 12:24

I am finally reaching a wonderful place of hindsight and while I surely cannot see all that God was doing in that incredibly long season, I can see some of the fruit that came with learning to live a life of obedience and dying to self. My younger children have seen God provide and work in unbelievable ways and, as one is excelling in college and the other is in her final year of high school, over and over they have expressed gratitude for the journey we have walked together. They are thankful that they were homeschooled and that they were challenged to mature, taught to think for themselves and question everything, and learned some hard lessons in dying to self and obedience.

Homeschooling my children was never my passion and I never felt qualified or capable but God blessed my obedience to the calling He placed on me and then He provided for them.

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

I have been crucified with Christ; and it is no longer I who live,
but Christ lives in me; and the life which I now live in the flesh
I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave Himself up for me.
Galations 2:20

Why am I sharing all this? Thoughts I probably have never really shared with anyone other than a lone confidant? The reality is, I am finding myself once again backed into a corner … a place not of my own choosing but a place where the circumstances are crushing and all other options have been taken away.

It is a place where the only option is obedience to the calling God seems to be placing on my life and stepping out in faith, trusting Him for what I cannot see nor accomplish on my own.

My oldest son aged out of the school system in June. This certainly was not unexpected and I knew it was coming. His team and I spent years planning for his adult years and my hopes were that he would be able to eventually move into a group home, have enough supports to work a part-time job, and enjoy a life of his own without me being a constant presence. My personal plan was to be able to get a job, become financially independent, and lead a quiet life. That is really all I wanted.

But bit by bit, the walls began closing in and I had to take a step backward. The organization that had opened group homes for individuals with needs like my son and who made so many promises realized that they weren’t being practical and there simply wasn’t enough funding for what they were trying to do. The homes have all been closed with very little hope that they will open again.

Then the pandemic hit and in the fallout, every single plan we had worked on for my son fell apart before my eyes. Every single one. Where once there had been at least a certain amount of options, now there were none. Each week brought the walls inching in closer and closer until I found myself with my son home full time with me as his 24/7 caregiver and support person.

I am backed into a corner and it is a hard one.

But what is the difference this time? Now I can look back and see how God was faithful over the years of raising and teaching my children. I can see how He used an unqualified and often weak mother to bring up these children for His glory. I know the beauty of obedience and dying to oneself.

I know what God can do with a heart that is willing and trusting.

I also know how hard that is.

However, when God backs us into a corner, it is not time to argue or indulge in self-pity, it is an opportunity to trust Him and step forward in faith.

This is where the shed comes in.

Over the last few years, I have pondered and prayed over what would lie ahead for my son as I watched the options slowly fade away, I began to consider what I could do here at home, in my rural Pennsylvania community where there are no real options for individuals like my son. Could I start a program patterned after others in surrounding counties that might provide more opportunities for folks with extra needs who require additional support? Maybe I could start a business that might potentially provide job and/or volunteer opportunities for my son and others? What could I … what should I do?

After months of constant caregiving and many challenging life circumstances, I have found myself completely depleted of energy and resources … and now God seems to be saying, “It is time.”

I had set aside a room in my home as a workspace for my son and me a few months ago. I work with him building birdhouses and I make candles, soaps, and such. But this work area is in my office/library and it simply is not working well for us. So as my son enjoyed his pool this summer and I worked outside nearby, an idea from the past resurfaced … what if I cleared away all the overgrowth and debris from an old shed foundation on our property and placed a new shed there? A shed that could house a work area and more …?

This is where the shop comes in.

As I pulled weeds and picked up broken glass, I prayed continually. You see, in my rural community, my son’s situation is not an isolated one. Many individuals and their families are faced with extremely limited resources and almost no help. Parents are forced to leave their careers once their child ages out of the school system or other family members offer care until they reach an age that they can no longer help. There are some programs but waiting lists are substantial and often the programs do not match the individual’s needs and honestly, in our community, it often seems as if our children and families are invisible. While most of us are used to fighting for our children, I find that as we age, we oftentimes simply grow weary … weary of asking for help and not being heard … weary of covering all the bases for our child with special needs and our other kids … weary of fighting so many hidden battles every single day … weary of crying ourselves to sleep at night and fearing for our child when we are no longer here … and weary of living in a world where no one seems to see our children and their potential.

Sometimes when our children reach adulthood and we realize the absolute lack of resources and concern within the system and our communities, we just shut down. We give up. We stop asking for help.

This is where I found myself after these last few years. A place of shutting down. A place where I just didn’t have any more fight left in me. A place of absolute and abject weariness.

I’m not alone in this.

So as I pondered not only a shed but the rest of our four acres, I began to see potential … not only for my son but in time and Lord willing, for others as well. I began to envision a cottage garden overflowing with flowers and herbs that I would use in my own soaps and salts. I pictured vegetables and berries growing nearby and paths that would draw a weary soul into a sheltered place to rest. I envisioned patches of lavender and sunflowers that exuded peace and joy. And in the midst of it all, I saw a shop … a shop and a small greenhouse. The shop would house a work area for various projects but it would also contain enough space to open a small store where we could sell the work of our own hands but also, the work of others.

Most importantly, I saw a shop and four acres of land filled with opportunities. My son is capable of many things when he is given the opportunity and the support he needs and I am confident that he could partake in almost every aspect of running a small business. The same is true for many people with special needs and varying disabilities.

I close my eyes and all I can see is a place where individuals with varying needs would be welcomed and valued for who they are because, like everyone, they are deserving of an opportunity.

And Lord willing, if I can provide this opportunity for my son on a small scale, maybe one day, I can be a part of providing it for others within our community.

That’s the vision.

Want to be a part of it? The most important thing any believer could do for us is to pray… pray for the Lord’s provision and leading. Without Him, there is no vision. However, if you are interested in supporting the purchase of a shed, a GiveSendGo site has been set up by a friend and you can find it here ->
https://givesendgo.com/G9BWD?utm_source=sharelink&utm_medium=copy_link&utm_campaign=G9BWD

I don’t expect this sharing site to remain open for much longer but I do have a special savings account set up at a local bank that will remain open as a means of supporting this ongoing vision.

Thank you so much for reading these thoughts and for any support and wisdom you may have to offer. Lord willing, I hope to write and share more in this space in the days to come but for today, this is sufficient. ~Tanya

My Soul sings

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I plan on updating my blog soon so this will likely be my last piece on this format but I have a story to tell. A story of God’s faithfulness.

When I was a very young girl, my family had an old piano tucked away in a back room. It was terribly out of tune and many of the ivories were broken but it was my first introduction to an instrument that would one day become my greatest companion.

My older sister began taking piano lessons and my parents invested in a newer piano, which proudly sat in our newly finished living room. But in just a few more years, it was my turn to learn and that piano gradually became an extension of me. I’m sure I drove my poor mother almost crazy with my youthful playing but nothing brought me more joy and peace than coaxing music from those keys, no matter how jarring that music must have been.

I was still quite young when I was asked (or told) to play accompaniment to our church’s congregational singing at our Wednesday night services. I even remember the very first song I played … ‘I Gave My Life for Thee‘ (written by Frances Havergal).

I continued to play accompaniment for church all through my teen years and up until age 21 when I moved on. But it was at home, without eyes watching and on my own instrument, that my greatest joy was experienced. Playing the piano was what kept me sane during the tumultuous teen years when my family was walking through incredibly hard and dark things. I would come home from a difficult day at school, drop my books, and head right to those keys. I would play until my fingers could play no more, starting strong and slowly easing into the softest of notes as the stress of the day faded away.

Playing the piano had the same effect as writing does for me now. It was how I processed life and coped with life’s heartaches.

That piano moved with me into my first apartment and then it moved again a few years later when I got married. Eventually, we moved to our present home, and naturally, my piano moved with me. But around this time, the piano tuner noted that my piano was in bad shape and there was nothing more he could do with it. The entire inside needed to be rebuilt and honestly, the piano was not worth the cost and I certainly didn’t have the resources to rebuild it or buy a new one.

Eventually, I began to play less often. Life was stressful as my oldest son’s autism was often intense and life became increasingly difficult. Over time, the piano’s condition deteriorated until I could no longer bear the sound of its broken notes.

As I look back now I understand that I was just as broken as my piano. I was a jumbled mess of off-key notes and shattered ivories and just as the music ended for my beloved piano, the music began to die in me.

It has probably been 13 or so since I have played with any regularity. It has been 13 years of really hard things and 13 years of being broken down and slowly rebuilt.

I had to learn to process life differently and thankfully I had a Pastor who stepped into that role. What I once could only process through my piano, I had to learn to process in words as we walked through a long counseling process. In time, I found my words were most easily expressed in writing and I found a new creative outlet.

But music has always been the language of my soul …

a language that I thought had died.

Photo by Steve Johnson on Pexels.com

My son with autism turned 21 this week. I have to be honest and admit that I have long been afraid of this season of life because soon, the school van will stop coming and the routine of his school days will end. The adult world for an individual with a profound disability is a scary place and it has only grown more uncertain over recent years. All the plans and dreams I had for both him and I have disintegrated and I honestly have no idea what lies ahead.

In addition, I am watching my parents’ age and know my time with them is limited and, at the same time, I have had to come to terms with my life inside a dysfunctional marriage. My time as a homeschool mom is coming to a close as my second child will also be graduating this year and my daughter will then finish next year. I recently had to put my dog, my most faithful companion for almost 14 years to sleep just the other week and a few days after that, I learn that my Pastor was resigning from our church. I don’t even know if I have a future with the church at all considering the needs of my son and my rapidly increasing limited freedom to attend and be involved.

The depth of loneliness in these last weeks had reached new depths and the milestone of my son’s 21st birthday was one I did not feel ready to face.

But I should have known God was up to something. Even in the loneliest places, I have known a sense of peace. Even as I cried tears of sorrow over the losses, my heart could only whisper praise and thankfulness to my God who has sustained me through every season of life and in whom I knew I needed to trust for the future … no matter how scary it may be.

The Saturday before my son’s birthday, I was cleaning my home and preparing a small party for him. At one point I stopped and picked up my phone and opened Facebook and to my surprise, the first thing that popped up on my screen was a posting from Marketplace … of a baby grand piano.

Lord have mercy. What pianist’s heart doesn’t beat a little faster when they see a baby grand? Even one like me who hasn’t touched the keys of any piano in years?

But my heart began to beat even faster when I saw the local location of this piano and the cost … only $500! I have never seen a baby grand for sale at that price. I showed the listing to my daughter and confided in her that I wanted this piano so badly … but I knew logistically, it was out of my power to attain. I did not have $500 and I knew moving such an instrument would be difficult and I knew I would face more resistance than I had the strength to deal with. Owning a piano such as this one was beyond me.

So I let it go.

But God did not.

The next day, the day before my son’s 21st birthday, was his party. I only had a few family members there because I needed to keep it small for his comfort. As a few of us were sitting around the table, my Mother randomly mentioned she had been talking with a man at her church about finding a piano for me. I told her that I had just seen a local baby grand for only $500 and when I was questioned if I had called about it, I had to honestly admit that I didn’t have that amount of money right now. My Mom looked at me and said that she and my Dad did … and they would love to loan the money to me for this piano … I could pay them back later. This announcement set off a series of events that I could never have imagined for immediately those closest to me grew excited and begged me to find the listing again and to reach out to the owner. My hands started to shake and I couldn’t find the post anywhere so my sweet daughter took my phone and searched until she found it. Surrounded on most sides with encouragement, with only one lone voice of doubt and gloom, I contacted the person who listed the piano and set up a time to see it the next day.

It was surreal. I was going to look at a baby grand piano with the intent and means of purchasing it … this was something my mind could barely fathom.

The next day I sent my now 21-year-old son off to school and with an envelope of borrowed money, we drove a short distance to look at the piano. We met the owner’s daughter at the door (the owner was in the hospital at the time), and as we walked inside the first thing I noticed was not the piano, but a painted mural on a wall with a Scripture verse … a significant one.

Yet those who wait for the Lord
Will gain new strength;
They will mount up with wings like eagles,
They will run and not get tired,
They will walk and not become weary.
Isaiah 40:31

Friends, I have been weary. I have been barely holding on for months and I have questioned how I could possibly keep going. This verse has often come to mind but I reached a point where I had begun to dismiss it but there it was, beautifully displayed right in front of me. Then I looked to my side and there stood the piano … and something came alive in me.

I listened to the story of this instrument and learned that it is close to one hundred years old and that it has been a cherished part of this family since 1981. The Mother/Grandmother of this family was the owner of the instrument and everyone was attached to it. But due to downsizing, she had decided to get a smaller piano and needed a new home for this piece, not an easy thing to do with such a large instrument at its advanced age.

I didn’t sit down to play but I touched a few keys tentatively and felt the smooth touch. The notes sounded especially sweet to me and I knew without a doubt this piano was meant for me. I glanced at the hymnal that sat on top and then I looked in the eyes of the owner’s daughter and told her that I would love to give their piano a new home where it would be cherished and well cared for as it has always been. I handed her the money and after more conversation, we left, at this point uncertain how I was going to get it moved.

I listened to all kinds of planning and worry about moving the piano ourselves the whole way home but I felt such a peace that somehow, it would be okay. As soon as we got home, I had a message from the woman I had just met with asking if she could call me, and of course, I said yes … honestly a little concerned that there was a problem and they had changed their minds. Her words, however, stunned me for she gave me the numbers of professional piano movers and offered to pay for the move herself, up to a certain amount.

My goodness, when God does a thing … He does a thing.

Two days later, that beloved baby grand stood in my home.

I contemplated what would be the first song I would play on this instrument and the answer was clear … ‘Great is Thy Faithfulness’ (Thomas O. Chisholm) …

Because God is faithful.

On my son’s 21st birthday, a milestone I have long feared, God provided and brought music back into my life. In a season of loss and change, He has brought comfort. In a season of loneliness, He has brought a companion. The baby grand now stands in my living room as a testimony of the faithfulness and love of my God.

He will provide in all the uncertain days ahead, just as He has provided in the past.

He has brought music back to me and because of Him …

My soul sings.

My soul sings
Now my soul sings

What blessed assurance
I’ve found in You
I’ve found in You
I won’t be shaken, I will not be moved
How steadfast Your strong hand
Is keeping me
Is keeping me
I won’t be shaken, I will not be moved
Oh, blessed assurance

*CityAlight ~ Blessed Assurance*

The Shadow of a Dream

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I listened as rage poured from my son. Verbally unable to adequately express whatever turmoil had built inside him, anger had built up and exploded like a volcano with lava erupting from its depths.

At 20 years old, he is a relatively big guy, certainly much bigger than me. It can be a little intimidating sometimes. This week, in particular, has been rough.

My son has autism and intense anxiety. Often sweet and usually gentle, he also is filled with landmines and ticking time bombs that can explode unexpectedly.

Life is often uncertain for me as his mom and caregiver. The weight of responsibility weighs on me constantly and fear for his future and mine nags at me night and day.

People have said that I should place him in a home for my own health and for the sake of my other children who are presently 18 and 16 years old. When I share this advice with them, wondering at their thoughts, their immediate responses are always frustration, touched with anger. The thought of forcing their brother out for their sakes is incomprehensible to them … and wrong. But more than that, they understand the reality and as my 18 year old wisely stated …

“Do people really think you have options? If you had different options, don’t they realize you would have already done them?”

Life is often hard but my teens understand hard realities.

These are not the dreams I had for life. This is not what I had planned.

When my son was first diagnosed, the entire direction and course of life was abruptly and forever altered. Doctor’s appointments, therapists, IEP’s, private schools, report and report after report, and meetings galore soon consumed my days. Worries, fears, and anger filled the nights as I was stayed awake to keep my son safe. Those years were undeniably heavy and I was horribly ill-equipped in the tasks before me.

I found myself desperate to find meaning, purpose, and even my identity in the autism journey and because of that, I often made my son’s diagnosis about me and my journey. I did some writing and was given opportunities to do public speaking and was often told my words were inspirational. “Ah, here,” I thought to myself, “this is my purpose. God, you heal my son and I’ll tell the story.”

But an interesting thing happened over the years. The opportunities to speak became fewer and fewer … the journey itself became increasingly harder … my responsibilities grew as I began homeschooling my younger children … my son’s behaviors grew more and more intense and exhausting … and I found myself often isolated.

It is hard to be ‘inspirational’ when you are falling apart bit by bit as your drag yourself through each day. It is hard to be ‘inspirational’ when you find yourself questioning the character and goodness of your God. The ‘fiery furnace’ was effective in revealing the true nature of me. It was not a pretty sight.

Sometimes I pause in my busy days and I remember. I reflect on those years and what has led to this place where I am now. I wish I had known then what I know now and I wish I could do things differently even though I have no desire to go back in time. Sometimes, especially lately, I find myself once more growing fearful and worried for the days that lay ahead.

My son will be transitioning out of school next year and into the adult world, which is presently in dire straits. There may not be funding for him and even if we can access it, it may not be much and there may not be staffing. I cannot really plan for our future because there is so much uncertainty and not much upon which to place my hope.

Except for God.

Can I tell you what I would tell the younger me if I could go back in time?

I wouldn’t tell her how hard the days coming were going to be. She wasn’t ready.

I wouldn’t tell her how lonely and isolated her world would be. She would have ran.

I wouldn’t tell her she was about to discover what the dark night of the soul means. She would have ended it then and there.

I would tell her that no matter what she thinks in the days ahead, God will never desert her. I would tell her that while it seems God is not hearing her cries or answering her prayers, He is working in a totally different way. I would tell her to love her son and not worry about family or friends who will desert her. I would tell her to love her son and not listen to the doctors. I would tell her not to pressure herself or her son to be anyone other than who God created them to be. I would tell her to trust God and rest in Him when nothing makes sense. I would tell her she has so much to learn in the days to come and all the hard things are part of the process. I would tell her to repent and turn from her selfishness and pride sooner rather than later. I would tell her stories of how God will provide in the smallest of ways and sometimes, in ways that will blow her mind. I would tell her that God doesn’t need her to be a certain way or to be perfect or like anyone else. I would tell her that His will and His plan for her son are not dependent on her doing all the right things.

I would tell her all the things I had to learn the hard way and I would whisper in her ear, “It’s going to be harder than you could ever imagine but God is going to prove Himself greater than it all. Trust Him.”

These are the things I am telling myself now … today.

All those years ago, I did not have any idea what lay ahead and I was afraid. I tried to find meaning in all sorts of ways and now as I look back, I only see that I made it about me.

It is no surprise that all those dreams turned to cinders in the fiery furnace of these years. It is no surprise that I find myself mostly surrounded by ashes as so much of my efforts and pursuits have burned away as dross.

But I also see what has been refined in the fire…

Me …

My children.

This is where I see God making beauty from the ashes.

I was thinking about dreams today.

I have one.

I have always wanted to own my own shop, ever since I was a little girl. I have dreamed on it over the years. I would sell the books I hoped to write. I would sell the candles that I poured. I wanted a shop in the middle of town where I could finally be in the middle of things and part of a community. I had all kinds of plans.

Most parts of that dream are in the pile of ashes.

But some of it remains and it too has been refined in the fire.

You see, my dreams these days consist of a little, white cottage-style shop right where our old, ugly cinder block barn now stands. I see a cobblestone or brick walkway drawing a visitor into the gentle warmth that lies behind the closed door. Inside I see crafts and goods created by the skilled hands of others from local and afar. I see a table or two tucked into a corner near the counter where teas and coffees are served. On one side I envision an open space surrounded by windows and filled with books, both new and old. A spot that beckons the reader to peruse, explore, and learn. Outside the shop, connected by another path, I see a small greenhouse with just enough greens to brighten someone’s day. Around that corner and connected to the back of the shop, I would build a room. A space that could serve as a retreat or a possible source of added income. And all of this is surrounded by the lovely four acres that God has given to me to love and someday to hopefully share with others. I dream of this land being a refuge for others as it has for me.

A refuge even as the storms of life rage.

My greatest dream is that I long to share this with my son and others like him that the world wants to cast away.

A place to work. A place to be part of a community. A place to be loved and welcomed. A place where God is at work and honored in all we do and I am not the focus, but only Him.

For He is our refuge.

This is my dream. It is but a shadow of a dream since I haven’t the means or abilities to make it happen. But even as I hold it loosely and hold the fruition of it up to Him, I know my lack has certainly never stopped God before.

I walked by a flower bed yesterday and I was startled by a burst of color I had not seen there just days before. Most of my flowers are slowly fading as October guides the way into autumn, so I had to investigate this unexpected delight. To my surprise, it was a plant I had planted earlier in the spring. It was supposed to bloom in the summer but never did it even bud. I thought it had died in the brutal summer heat we experienced this year and honestly, when I weeded that flower bed the last time, I pulled some of it out, thinking it was just another weed. Something stopped me that day, I remember, and I left the rest of those greens in place, thinking I would deal with them later.

But now that the burning heat of summer has passed, that plant has bloomed into a lovely display of late autumn beauty.

It was only a shadow of a plant. Planted in the spring, forgotten about over the summer months and scorched by the sun’s heat, and then ripped from the dirt and mistaken as a weed … only to arise from the ashes and gloriously bloom at just the right time.

God’s time.

That’s how He works.

How blessed is the man who does not walk in the counsel of the wicked,
Nor stand in the path of sinners,
Nor sit in the seat of scoffers!
But his delight is in the law of the Lord,
And in His law he meditates day and night.
He will be like a tree firmly planted by streams of water,
Which yields its fruit in its season
And its leaf does not wither;
And]in whatever he does, he prospers.
Psalm 1:1-3

The Perfect Storm ~ A Perfect Savior

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“Be not far from me, for trouble is near;
For there is none to help.”
Psalm 22:11

Her weary, red eyes were dull as she shielded her face from the sun’s harsh rays, flinching in pain as another piece of driftwood crashed into her. It was bad enough that her boat had capsized in the waves caused by the great storm, but now she floated helplessly as the restless water continued to toss the splintered pieces haphazardly about, mindless of her plight. She had lost track of how long she had been drifting along, sometimes trying to swim, but mostly just grasping at pieces of her old boat as they drifted by and clinging tightly, it hopes one would carry her to shore.

She no longer cared upon what shore she landed for she was despairingly desperate to feel solid ground beneath her feet once more. The dreams she cherished when she first set sail, the plans she painstakingly mulled over as she planned her trip, and the boat she had meticulously crafted herself all had descended to the deep, destroyed and swept away by what only could be described as a perfect storm. A storm so unexpected and intense that she never could have planned for it.

She was not even sure how she survived.

But here she was, clinging to a splintered piece of driftwood as she drifted along in the current, alone and afraid, searching for land but seeing none. Her will to fight was fading fast, her desire to live seemed to be sinking with the setting sun. Hopelessness encircled her, ever-threatening like the fearsome sharks that lurked nearby. Her grip on the driftwood was slipping as her eyes slowly blinked once — then twice — and then remaining closed as she let go, her body sinking silently into the depths.

It seemed the storm had won and the deep waters were eager to claim their prize as darkness began to engulf her lifeless body as she sank lower still. But suddenly a brilliant flash of light tore through the waters, enlightening the blackness as a strong hand reached down and grasped her limp one, quickly lifting her from the depths, bringing her into the light once more. She gasped as new life was breathed into her lungs and slowly opened her eyes to see the eyes of her savior.

In my most recent posts, I have alluded to what I perceived as unanswered prayers from the past, as well as, my concerns for the future, specifically as it pertains to my son who has autism. You can catch up with those posts here, Taking the Next Step and Thoughts on my Son’s Birthday – How Deep the Father’s Love.

For this post, I intended to delve deeper into those prayers of the past and how the Lord is changing my understanding of prayer and teaching me to fully trust Him in all matters of life. That is what I started to write but, as I sat in a quiet place and pondered the past, old memories rose to the surface, details that had been lost in the stress of the season, seemingly irrelevant at the time. I wrote down a timeline and then began putting some of the old shattered pieces together and soon, I saw a picture I had not seen before. It was a picture of the final blow that sent me floundering for years, destroying the boat I had built to reach the land of my dreams, and leaving me adrift in the ocean’s current.

It was the picture of a storm — a perfect storm.

If I were to develop the above story a bit more, I think it would illuminate the life of a woman determined to reach a desired land, desperate for the safety she was certain it held. I would have to ponder it a bit more but I believe if we picked up her story at the beginning and followed it through, we would have seen how she built her little boat on her own and placed all her earthly possessions inside, believing she had no other choice; Not seeking guidance, but rather, relying on her own understanding and instinct while being driven by fear.

We all have a story and sometimes I tell portions of mine not because I am particularly comfortable opening the doors of my past but because stories have a way of illustrating the way God works in the life of a believer — even when she thinks He is nowhere around.

Just over 15 years ago, I stood in my little log cabin with my three young children — a four year old son with autism, an almost two year old son, and an infant daughter. This was the day the storm sent the wave that finally crashed the little boat I had built myself and repaired time and time again. This day is forever lodged in my memory as the day I shattered as my boat, or the very foundation of my life, finally fell apart.

I know the years that led up to this cataclysmic moment and I’ve always known it was more involved than PPD (Post-Partum Depression), but there was one detail I had forgotten — one event that I’ve talked about before but I never pieced together with this season of life.

2005 ~ I was expecting my third baby, just 20 months after my second one. The needs of my firstborn son with autism had escalated to their highest point and this was the season where he rarely slept. I usually dozed on the floor of the tv room while he watched Thomas the Tank Engine or Veggies Tales all night long. Days were spent keeping after my toddler, who was a challenge, and running my older son to therapies, appointments, or preschool. This was also the season where I began to understand the realities of my marriage and the utter helplessness I felt in it. The way my mind worked during this pregnancy began to change and I shifted to a life lived in overdrive, always striving towards something.

I was intent on reaching a land of stability and love. A world where things felt normal and secure. Years before I had built my little boat and in it I had set sail, certain I would reach my dream. But, by the time my third baby was due, my ship was battered by the harsh storms that had already hit it. There were leaks and missing pieces but I drove myself and my ship hard, determined to reach that distant shore. The harder the storms hit, the harder I pushed.

The night I gave birth to my daughter, my third little love, I had already been awake for over 24 hours. My son had not slept the night before and I had been pushed hard all day to keep up with him. When it was time to bring my sweet daughter into the world, I did not have any strength left and my body began to fail. It was the frantic yelling of my midwife that kept me awake long enough to finally birth my little girl. The only thing I remember in the moments after was the now quiet voice of the midwife telling me she was so sorry she had to yell at me and then softly telling the others to let me rest — I was too exhausted to remember anything else.

Despite this, I made sure I was discharged from the hospital 23 hours later because I was needed at home. Once there, I promptly drove myself to the store because we needed groceries and I knew I would be completely on my own the next day. I never stopped moving. I never stopped trying to fix my little boat. I never stopped watching for the destination I was so desperate to reach.

This much I remembered and this is what I thought led to an emotional crash later that year that was so devastating but, as I reflected this week, I remembered what else happened that year — that was the summer I took my oldest son to see the Developmental Pediatrician, the one who officially diagnosed him with autism. I remember I left my toddler with my parents but I had my infant daughter with me when we entered the doors of that office. This was the appointment where I was told my 4 1/2 year old son had severe autism and would likely never talk and would never be independent. There was no kindness or compassion but rather, a harsh telling of facts.

I don’t remember anything after that until one particular spot on the way home — a stop light at the top of a hill just a few miles from the hospital. It was there darkness overwhelmed me, completely obscuring the far shores of the land I hope to reach one day. It was then I lost hope.

On the outside, all continued as normal. I still ran my oldest to various therapies with two little ones in tow. I still cared for my home, ran a small business, and did as many of the ‘Mom things’ I could. I still drove myself with an intensity that sometimes amazed others. I still never slept and dealt with countless autistic meltdowns. But on the inside, I had detached. I had lost the hope of reaching dry land. My boat was listing badly and taking on water but I no longer had the means to repair or cover the holes.

It was the perfect storm and those waves that started after my son’s appointment stirred up more waves that dredged up hidden memories of the past. All of them combined continued to pummel me for days, weeks, and even months. These waves hit under the shadow of that darkness, telling me that God obviously did not care about me or my prayers. The lightening strikes that accompanied the storm hit me with the harsh words that He had left me alone in this fiercest of storms. It was in that storm I began to repeat to myself the words I heard in the darkness that I was truly alone and God was not there.

The final wave hit that day as I stood in my little log cabin with three little loves all around me. My boat shattered beneath the force of those waves and I was tossed into the depths of the sea, grasping for anything to hold onto, constantly pummeled by the debris around me.

I floated helplessly along, carried by the currents, subjected to the fiercest of elements.

I would have told you all was lost.

I would have told you there was no hope.

I believed this completely for there seemed to be no other explanation for the storms in my life.

Yes, I believed there was a God and that He was holy and good —

I just stopped believing that He loved me.

My eyes were dull and blood-shot with exhaustion as I cast one last glance towards the land of my dreams and then they slowly began to blink, once — twice — and then remaining closed as my hands slipped from the wood to which I had been clinging. The darkness cheered as I began to slip into the depths of the water that were so anxious to claim me as their prize. But the darkness had not reckoned with the Light that broke through those depths, nor the Hand that reached down to grasp mine. The darkness had forgotten that it was trying to claim a life that belonged to another — One who never lets go of His own.

It was a perfect storm most certainly —

But it was no match for a perfect Savior.

I share these words cautiously, as they represent difficult memories I prefer to hide. Memories that have long been shrouded with a sense of shame and failure. But now looking back, I no longer see it exclusively as a devastatingly hard season but rather, I understand it as when God stepped in to rescue me. As I study and learn more of His sovereignty, I realize that the One who created the water and could calm a storm by simply speaking, is the same One who brought the waves that destroyed that boat of my own making. As long as I was self-sufficient and depending on myself, I did not need my Savior. As long as I worked to build my own identity, I could not find it in Him. As long as I believed He did not love me, I lied to myself and mispresented the truth of Him to others — especially my children.

That day now represents to me the turning point of my life. The beginning of a new journey — at times, an even harder journey than before for the way of the cross is a life of sacrifice and dying to one self.

Then Jesus said to His disciples, “If anyone wishes to come after Me,
he must deny himself, and take up his cross and follow Me.
Matthew 16:33

I am not sure entirely how to close this post. It has taken a few days to process and write these words and I planned this morning to pen an ending that would offer encouragement and hope to a reader who might be in a season of life when the storms are heavy-hitting. But my autistic son must have decided I needed a refresher in sleep deprivation so he has kept me awake since midnight — just like old times. As a result, my brain is a bit muddled this morning and I simply cannot find the words to express the point I long to make. So, I am going to close this instead with a passage from the Bible that I held onto through some of my hardest years — a passage that offered hope when I thought there was none.

I waited patiently for the Lord;
And He inclined to me and heard my cry.
 He brought me up out of the pit of destruction, out of the miry clay,
And He set my feet upon a rock making my footsteps firm.
He put a new song in my mouth, a song of praise to our God;
Many will see and fear and will trust in the Lord.
Psalm 40:1-3

There will be storms, fierce storms in this life —

But they are no match for A Perfect Savior.

Thoughts on my Son’s Birthday – How Deep the Father’s Love

/ walkingthisjourneysite / 1 Comment

It is wonderfully appropriate that when I first began writing this, the song playing in the background was, “How Deep the Father’s Love for Us”, for nothing more identifies our life together than God’s incredible love for us. It is with those words in mind that I write my thoughts today.

My son turns 20 years old today. Of course, his birthday and his life looks considerably different than most young people this age because of the way autism significantly impacts his life. He is not in college like many of his typical peers nor does he work a job or attend a trade school. Driving a car is not an option nor is having his own apartment. In fact, as far as I can see, he will continue to live with me and I will continue to be his 24/7 caregiver for all the days of my life. What happens beyond that, only God knows.

This is not the life I expected for my firstborn child and it certainly is not the life I dreamed of for myself.

But both are lives covered by the love of a merciful and gracious Heavenly Father.

When I discovered I was expecting, it seemed the pieces of my life were finally coming together. I had waited and longed so greatly for a child of my own but I recognize now, as I reflect back upon the years, that longing was rooted in selfishness. I wanted a child so I could feel complete. I prayed many years for a baby and when I learned I was carrying this firstborn child of mine, my prayers intensified. I begged God not to give me a child with an illness or disability; I pleaded, as most do, for a healthy baby.

For the first few weeks of my pregnancy, I held the sweet secret close to my heart. I was not ready to share the news because no one knew of the heartaches that led up to that positive test. No one knew what was happening in my world or the deep secrets I carried and I found I simply wanted to cherish my happy news myself before I had to share with the world. But, just six weeks into the pregnancy, I developed heavy bleeding that sent me rushing to the doctor. For the next several weeks, I had countless ultrasounds and blood tests as doctors struggled to determine the cause of the bleeding and whether the life inside me continued to live.

For indeed, there was life inside of me even then.

Ultrasounds continued to show a tiny heartbeat, beating still despite the doctors’ dire warnings. Blood tests continued to show elevated levels in my blood, indicating I was still pregnant. The bleeding gradually lessened as the life in my womb continued to grow, but I only grew more fearful.

It is hard to explain my thought process at the time, but I believed that I had to earn love, even the love of my Heavenly Father. When it seemed likely I would lose my baby, I began to sink into a place of survival, willing myself to withstand another failed attempt of being worthy enough to be loved. I numbed myself and I waited — waited to see what would become of my baby — and me.

At the 20 week ultrasound, I saw a wriggling little body moving all around as I watched that little heart beat steady and strong. I received the welcome news that my baby was whole and seemingly perfect. For the first time, since I initially saw the positive pregnancy test, I began to feel a shadow of hope again.

But it was only a shadow.

It was that shadow that carried me through the remainder of the pregnancy as other dreams continued to fade and struggles grew. It was what carried me through the crisis of an early and traumatic delivery. It was what covered me even as I cared for my baby under the watchful eyes of the NICU nurses for the first six days of his life.

I continued to carry that fragile shadow of hope when I finally brought my newborn baby home, completely unprepared for the days that lay ahead. I rocked my baby for endless hours as I sang over him and pleaded for God’s working in his life. Over and over, I told the Lord what I wanted him to do. What I was convinced He needed to do.

The sleepless newborn nights eventually transitioned into not meeting developmental milestones, toddler night terrors, countless appointments with doctors, therapists, and specialists and finally, the words, “Your child has classic autism. The most severe kind. He will probably never talk and he will never be independent.”

The fragile and weak hope that I had been tenaciously hanging onto dissipated in that instant, for it seemed as if God Himself had turned His face away from me.

But that little heartbeat that fought against all odds in the womb of his mother, continued to beat strong.

For the little person who held that heart was being held in the merciful hands of a Heavenly Father.

My son turned 20 years old today. The little heart that fought to keep beating as the placenta surrounding him hemorrhaged, has grown into the strong heart of a young man. A young man who continues to live with some very challenging aspects of autism and deep anxiety. A young man who continues to struggle with being able to express himself and rarely uses words. A young man who will always need 1:1 support and constant supervision. A young man who loves well and works hard to develop self-control even when in the deepest of internal battles. A young man with a crooked smile that shoots straight to the heart. A young man who loves his mamma and who is treasured in return. Today is his birthday.

I considered all the things I wanted to say on this birthday but the amount of them would fill several pages and take a lifetime to write. I pondered the stories I could tell and the heavy concerns I carry for the future as adulthood is looming ever closer. I weighed the lessons of the years of raising a child with great needs while balancing raising two other children who have their own needs. So much I would love to share on this day I pause to remember his birth and all the many years that have followed. But I will end this post with these two thoughts that are most pressing on my mind ~

First, I wish the world could understand the value of all life. In the womb, as my tiny baby fought against all odds to grow — he had value. As a newborn who stopped breathing and required around the clock nursing care — he had value. As a toddler who stopped meeting milestones and regressed with his language — he had value. As a young child with boundless energy, no words, and challenging behaviors — he had value. As a pre-teen with emerging anger issues and great anxiety — he had value. As a teen with all these issues and more — he had value. And now, as a young man who does not meet the norm of society and who continues to require constant supervision and care — he has value. His value was not assigned at birth when I held him and gave him a name. His value comes from God alone — the Creator of all life. He knew my son long before I held him in my arms and He counted the very hairs on his head. Life, all life, has value.

Secondly, as I considered all these years and contemplated the stories, the challenges, the victories, and the heartaches, I am left with this one final thought … How deep is the Father’s love for us. God could have answered my prayers as I wished and given me a child with no extra needs. He could have allowed me the sweet, easy life I wanted simply so I could ‘feel’ like I was loved and worthy of love. He could have patted me on the head and mollified the great need I had with superficialities that would have never satisfied the deep longing in my soul. Instead, according to His own plan, He gave me a child with such intense needs that I would have to walk a lonely journey to learn the truth. That truth? I do not need to ‘feel’ any superficial kind of love to be okay because I have learned that I am loved fully and completely by God. My value, just like my son’s, comes from God above. He knows my son’s name and He knows mine.

On this, my son’s 20th birthday, I can only lift my eyes to heaven and say ‘Thank you.’

How deep is the Father’s love towards us.

*How Deep the Father’s Love for us, written by Stuart Townend

Taking the Next Step

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“By faith Abraham, when he was called,
obeyed by going out to a place which he was to receive for an inheritance;
and he went out, not knowing where he was going.”
Hebrews 11:8 

She reached the crest of the hill and there, overlooking the valley below, she finally saw it. A river so wide, the bank on the other side was indiscernible. Up until this moment, it had only been a thin blue line marking a boundary on her weathered map but now, she had her first glimpse of the real thing — and it was a terrifying sight to behold.

Other travelers she had met, those somewhat familiar with this river, warned her that it was especially treacherous in the section she was to cross and, now that she could see the watery giant herself, she understood their concerns.

She knew there was no bridge that spanned those waters, nor was there a ferry nearby to carry her across. All she could see on her map was the long, winding road of her journey leading right to the very edge of the river — and there it seemingly ends. She knew not how to cross nor what lay beyond.

Standing silently on the hillside, overlooking the river below, she pondered the remainder of the path that would lead her down towards its banks. She considered the dreams she had been carefully crafting all these long days on the trail, plans for crossing the river and hopes for the land that lay beyond. Now that she had seen the river, however, she understood it was beyond her power to navigate and cross alone — her hopes and plans suddenly seemed futile and useless. Hopelessness tugged at her as she shifted her gaze back towards the path that would lead her downward, into the valley where the great river waited for her.

There was nothing else she could do — but take the next step and trust that her map would guide the way.

I sat at my desk, allowing the words of the email I just read to sink into my thoughts like a rock tossed into the lake, slowly working its way to the bottom. My almost 20 year old son with autism is growing ever so much closer to aging out of the school system, a system that has been a guiding force in one form or another since he was three years old. Back then, the age of 21, which signifies the end of his schooling and transition into adult life, seemed so far away. It was but a cloud on the horizon, yet now, we are just over a year away from the adult world that is not suitable at all for an individual with his depth of need.

His adult years were rarely far from my thoughts once my son hit his teenage years. That’s when the word ‘transition’ began to become a constant refrain in meetings with school and staff. At the age of 14, it becomes a regular part of plans and communication. The school setting he was in at the time was no longer suitable for him and they offered no plans or support in regards to the adult years that lay ahead. After much prayer and seeking of direction, the Lord opened a door that had long been closed to me and He provided a way for my son to attend a much better autism school, with a program that has a strong focus on preparing students for life after school.

At the time, there were great hopes and big dreams, which were just starting to form and take place. Group homes designed for individuals like my son who require a high level of support and care, as well as, an adult day program, which would support job building skills, volunteer work, and all manner of community involvement. As fearful as I had long been of the future, I began to feel a sense of relief and hope about the new possibilities that now lay ahead for him — and for me.

Unfortunately, like many big dreams, built on intense needs, grandiose ideas, and massive hope, it all began to dissolve before my eyes. The funding for such programming in the adult world for those with great needs is very limited — simply put, the cost to fund and staff these kind of homes and programs is substantial and that level of financial support simply is not there. As a result, the decision was made to close all the group homes. The adult program continued to function but the demand was great and the finances so limited that it was uncertain if it would still be an option for my son once he was of age to need their services. Each step I took with my son, leading closer to his adult years, the more I learned how difficult it is to access the funds needed and how limited our options would be. Yet, I held tightly onto the remaining hopes of the adult program since they had assured me that they could come to our community and build a program for my son here. Whenever my thoughts or conversations regarding my son’s adult life transpired, I held out that option like a lone, flickering candle in the dark.

Two weeks ago, I met with the team (via phone conference) that is vested in and working toward his transition from school to adult life. We discussed our limited options and the devastating impact the closures from the pandemic have had on his schooling and preparation into the adult world while they continued to reiterate the challenging obstacles of getting the support he needs. I continued to hold out the hope of the adult program — surely that would be the lifeline.

I hung up the phone from that meeting, drained and exhausted. I stood on the crest of the hill, overlooking the river of transition for my son, the great divide between school years and adult life. The journey leading up to the point had been so hard and now, the hopes I had for both of our futures were fading away as I gazed at the immense body of water.

Then I saw the email — it was a response following up on my query regarding the adult program that I hoped would come to us and work with my son in our community. I was informed that they have tightened the area in which they will work and to which they will travel and, unfortunately, we live well outside that area. The candle I had been holding was snuffed out and I lost the last hope I had. The last plan to help my son and I cross that great river of transition, into the unknown world of adulthood and autism.

Hopes, dreams, and plans … years of working towards goals only to have them dissipate before my eyes, never coming to fruition. So now I sit on the hillside, while my eyes gaze over the broad expanse of water below, and I can only wonder — what now?

 Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen. 
For by it the men of old gained approval.
Hebrews 11:1,2

Now I have to tell you, I love stories with happy endings and honestly, for years I have dreamed of the Lord giving my son and me a ‘happy ending’ of our own by this point of life. I thought things would be different. I hoped and prayed they would be different. I longed for healing for my son, not necessarily from autism, but from the deep anxiety and incredibly challenging behaviors he lives with and that I live with as his caregiver. I hoped for marriage and difficulties within the family to be different. I hoped for church life and involvement to be different. I prayed for a community and for so, so much more. In full transparency, I thought by now, I would be standing before a group of women and sharing a story of God’s triumphant working in my life and my son’s life — just as I have heard numerous speakers do over the years. I wanted a happy ending because that’s the kind of story that we all love to hear and I didn’t think I would have a story worth telling without one.

But I am going to be even more honest with you — while I appreciate a happy ending, I have never found them to be especially encouraging or helpful. I would often read a book or sit in a ladies conference, desperately hoping she would tell me how to persevere in the incredibly hard situation I was facing — multiple hard life circumstances which held no promise of relief or end. I hoped, just once, that I would not hear a happy ending or another story just to make us laugh, but rather I longed for a woman, while tears of grief rose in her peace-filled eyes, to look at us and say, “My story didn’t end the way I wanted. God didn’t answer my prayers the way I asked Him to but, in the process, He taught me about Himself. He is teaching me to love Him more and to trust Him even when I can’t understand. Yes, I wish I had a happy ending right now to tell you but I wouldn’t trade these hard things I am living in even now for anything. Let me tell you what He is doing in the midst of the darkness. Let me tell you about my Jesus.”

These are the kind of stories I most want to hear and I doubt I am the only woman who thinks this way.

So I sit on the hillside, pondering the journey behind and the path that lies ahead — the path that leads right up to the deep waters of that unknown river. I cannot see a way to cross it nor can I see what lays beyond its far-reaching shores. I lift my eyes up to heaven as I remember the One who has been my guide through every step of the journey thus far and I do the only thing I can …

I take the next step, trusting that my God will lead and guide in all the uncertain days ahead because He alone is faithful and good.

This is my story.

A Day in the Life

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This post may be a bit different than my normal style of writing and, if I can actually stick to my tentative plans, it will hopefully become a regular feature on this blog.

Don’t hold your breath waiting though because my plans are usually just will-o-wisps in the night. A mirage that disappears once reality hits.

By all appearances, I closed a chapter in life over the weekend. It was a hard decision for me as it is something of immense importance and value and something I have been working at for over 19 years. I have begged God and I have told Him what to do more than once — but it has been 19 years of beating my head against a brick wall. I have driven myself into the ground so many times trying to make all the pieces fit and make it all okay. But this year has been tough in more ways than one and as I contemplated it all, it seemed time to let go. Certainly, that doesn’t mean I stop praying for God to work in the situation, but it does mean I am letting go of telling Him what that work should look like. So I closed the chapter on what I tried for so many years to accomplish myself and now I wait. I wait to see what the Lord will do. I hope He opens the chapter again and I hope He blows me away by what He does.

Following that and as I’ve been contemplating so many things, both personal and in the world around me, I’ve decided it’s time to settle into my present reality and try new things. That includes trying to write here a little more often and a little more openly — Not because I think I am an exceptional writer or that my words and thoughts are particularly compelling, but simply because it is something I can do. It’s a way to grow and honor the God I love at the same time.

So welcome to ‘A Day in the Life …’

In preparation for future posts, this will be a little longer as I am going to give a little background and share just a little more about my oldest son, ‘T’, who is 19 years old. He is diagnosed with classic autism, IDD, and severe anxiety and truthfully, he is significantly impacted by it all. He is not completely nonverbal but his language skills are very limited. His receptive language is much stronger than his expressive language, so he understands more than he can express, but if you pay attention, he’ll communicate in his own way. He is quite intelligent and capable of many things, he has a sweet smile and his laughter will brighten any day, but he also has a lot of challenges and behaviorally, he can be considerably complicated. Those who truly know him, love him fully. Those who don’t, tend to be put off or intimidated by what they see and hear.

Can I be transparent with you? It has never, ever been easy with him. There has never been a single area or time where he has followed ‘normal’ or has done what was expected of him. The simplest tasks are hard and they are hard day after day, year after year. Life is complicated every single day and every single day, I feel like a failure as his mother.

Over and over, for so many years, guilt and blame were often heaped on my shoulders by others — but most often by me. As a result, I’ve lived many years trapped within the walls of guilt, shame, and an overwhelming sense of failure … not only because I felt like a failure as a mother but, also in part to a rather complicated marriage which stirred the same kind of emotion.

It’s hard to let anyone in when shame consumes you. It’s hard to ask for and accept help when you believe yourself to be a complete failure.

But this is what is important … being my son’s mother has both broken me and matured me. God, in His infinite mercy and wisdom, gave me a child that wouldn’t fit into any label or follow any natural rule and who would never allow me the courtesy of feeling good about my parenting or myself. He did this not because I am some special kind of mother or one who is strong enough to face the challenges, but rather because it was part of His sovereign plan. A plan I cannot possibly see nor understand. I do know however, that He gave me a child who would require me to become broken, desperate, and needy before a holy God. He caused me to be broken so fully that only His truth could make sense of the pieces that lay shattered before me continually.

I am so grateful to be T’s mother and humbled that God allows me to grow beside him each day.

Over the long months of shut-down due to ‘the virus’, I was desperate for things to do both for myself and for T. My other children are able to fill their own hours but T, well, he needs constant prodding, supervision, and assistance to do anything besides watch YouTube videos, play Minecraft, indulge in problem behaviors, or become destructive in his boredom. Personally, I spent as much time outside as possible working and cultivating the four acres of land we live on because I have a long-term vision for the property. One of the first things I did was to put out extra birdfeeders. I know the birds are more than capable of foraging for themselves during the warmer months, but watching them flutter around my feeders was like watching flowers dancing through the sky all around my house.

So I enlisted T’s help in keeping those feeders filled for our feathered friends.

Now getting T to help with any task is an ongoing challenge. He definitely lives in his own world inside his head and he isn’t always very willing to be bothered to leave it. My approach has changed somewhat as he has aged and it is always tricky to properly and respectfully navigate these waters. He is 19 years old and therefore, he is a young man. An adult. Yet, on the inside, he actually functions and comprehends more as a young child. His emotions and thoughts often seem torn between a maturing understanding and a child-like mind. Since he is technically an adult, I endeavor to treat him as one. Yes, he still will draw on the walls, make a mess in the bathroom, and have meltdowns, but he also tends to respond better to me if I talk to him as I would a typical peer his age. When I get frustrated and use the ‘mother’ voice, he reacts negatively. So my approach at this point is to approach him as a young man as much as possible. When it came to filling the birdfeeders, I simply asked him to help me. I appealed to his need of being needed and valued.

That worked great initially. Once he had settled into the new reality of being home during the shut-down, he appreciated having fewer demands and he grew more relaxed and calm. So if I appealed to him to help me, he was often willing to do so (at least for a little while). We would get the birdseed from the garage and walk around the yard to the various birdfeeders and then he would fill them himself.

Since he is back at school, in person (half days only), he has been less willing to help me out. My guess is, he is already maxed out on the demands he is willing to accommodate by the time he gets home so he is more inclined to stubbornly refuse to do what I ask. He’s not not unlike most of us when we get home from work or school, we simply want to be left alone.

As a result, I’ve been filling those birdfeeders alone while trying to gauge what’s happening, weighing all the possibilities and reminding myself of the goal, and then creating a new plan of approach.

Yesterday, I brought the two feeders that needed filled onto the back porch, along with the birdseed. When the time was reasonable, I showed him the visual and simply asked him to help me fill them. I knew the way I was approaching him was only giving a very minimal demand and I very much wanted to create a successful, productive moment for him, so I quietly stood firm in my request.

It didn’t take long for him to join me on the porch and complete the task.

Once he completed what I asked, I thanked him for his help and let him go on his way. He smiled at me and I knew the moment had been successful. Next time I will handle it the same way. There may be times he will be willing to go outside with me to fill them and when that is the case, that’s what we’ll do. But if the only way I can get him involved successfully is to bring the feeders to him, then that’s what I will do.

The goal is simply to encourage him to work with me on whatever task is at hand because, as far as I can see, that’s what we will be doing every day once he ages out of the school system and transitions into what the adult world holds for him.

We’re becoming a stronger team, my son and I, as we grow together.

In the weeks ahead, I hope to share more ‘A Day in the Life’ segments as T and I find more new things to work on together.

I hope you’ll join us.

Life Lessons from my Son

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My son is nineteen years old — and he is profoundly impacted by autism. Unless the Lord grants a miracle of healing, my son will never live on his own and will never not need constant supervision and care. He will likely not become completely verbal and his behaviors will probably always be a barrier to a life of independence. Most people would feel sorry for him. People often feel sorry for me and the rest of the family. Autism is hard and the way it impacts him and those of us closest to him is significant. However, please do not think this means his life and his journey are meaningless — that is not true at all. In fact, I think if you listen, watch, and engage in his world, you will find many life lessons.

The last few days have been especially challenging for my son. I am not sure what triggered the increase in agitation and frustration, but it has been rough — for him and for me. Presently, due to the pandemic, he only attends his specialized school in the mornings, which means he gets home every day in time to eat lunch — his current daily meal of choice is frozen pepperoni pizza. My guy loves his pizza and he really does not like to share (even though I sometimes take a slice to work on that whole sharing thing). Yesterday I made his pizza like normal while also preparing lunch for his siblings. I am not sure what clicked in his head or exactly what instigated his next move, but after he ate one piece, he suddenly wrapped a slice of his pizza in a paper towel and offered it to me. He shared his favorite lunch with me.

My heart melted as I accepted his gift. You see, the day was a heavy one for me as it was an important election day in the U.S. I was at peace myself, but the words, fear, anger, and behavior of others in regards to the election had begun to weigh me down. I was starting to feel fear and dread, worrying about the days ahead. But in that moment, with an offering of sweet kindness and love, the fear began to melt away and my spirits lifted from the depths.

Yes, it was only a slice of frozen pizza, something that most of us might take for granted, but that pizza was of great value to him. It was what he had to give and because of that, his simple offering of kindness, turned my day around.

He shared what he had — he shared his pizza.

Later in the day, my son began to struggle. I could see a meltdown simmering below the surface and as much as I wished to avoid such a scene, I knew we were working our way to an explosion. Things were nearing a boiling point just as he was finishing up his showering routine. I helped him complete the final steps as I quietly reminded him that while the emotions that were churning inside of him were understandable and okay, he needed to remember that taking his anger and frustration out on me was not. We feel what we feel, but learning to respect ourselves and to love others enough to practice self-control of our emotions is so important.

Then that evening, it hit. The boiling at reached its limit and the explosion was intense, releasing all the strong and overwhelming emotions that had been building up for days. I admit, my spirit sighed within me as I rose to my feet to help him through the crisis, like I always do. But this time, he took himself to his ‘safe spot.’ A chair that used to be his time-out location but now since he is older, it is a safe place to work on calming down. Since he took himself there, I opted not to follow or remain in the room with him — I wanted to see if he could control himself and be able to self-regulate his emotions. Within a couple of minutes, he returned to his computer, still a bit out of sorts, but without the intensity of the previous behaviors. I continued to wait and remain silent. Within ten minutes, he was mostly calm and within 20-30 minutes, he seemed completely at ease.

My son’s emotions are deep and they are powerful. They are every bit as valid as yours or mine. The difference is, he is largely unable to process them and is not able at all to verbally express them. It has been extremely hard trying to teach him how to navigate whatever he is feeling inside, while also trying, oh so carefully, not to minimize the emotions and reactions that I can’t even begin to understand. However, I believe it to be important for my son to learn the value of self-control, for his own good and the good of those around him.

I have spent years teaching him Scripture that speak of self-control and I talk to him frequently about the importance of loving others and respecting ourselves enough to not unleash our fury on another. Of course, I also work at teaching coping mechanisms and whatever other tools I can think of to help him navigate this often tumultuous life. But I truly believe, if I can help him understand the concept of self-control, it will be for his benefit and good. Like most of us, sometimes he gets it — sometimes he doesn’t. Sometimes he is that overwhelmed in the intensity of the moment, the mere thought of self-control is unimaginable. But on this particular night, I watched and listened as he stood in the midst of an intense storm raging inside and practiced self-control. He handled it completely on his own — without my help at all.

He practiced self-control and in doing so, he respected himself and loved his family.

Friends, I get it — this is a hard season for most of us. We are struggling beneath the weight of a world-wide pandemic, which knocked any sense of ‘normal’ off the radar. We’re out of sorts and frustrated, whether by the restrictions set in place or by the refusal of some to follow the restrictions. Some of us are experiencing true hardship and life has become increasingly more difficult. Many of us are watching the chaos and hatred swirling around our nation with amazement and fear while some of us are engaged in the fray, looking for a fight.

It is an uncertain time and not one of us knows what tomorrow will hold, but rest assured, almost everyone is feeling the weight of it in some way. So what can we do? I can’t save the world. I can’t fix everything. I can’t make it all better for you, myself, or for my children as I wish I could do. I can’t change the world.

But as simple as it may sound, in light of often harsh circumstances, I can follow my son’s example. I can share my pizza … whatever that means for me. It may be a gentle word of encouragement to a cashier at the grocery store. It may be a nod of greeting to someone on the street or a smile of welcome. Maybe it is something I write on social media or a Bible verse I share. Whatever my ‘pizza’ is, whatever small kindness that is in my power to offer, I can share it with someone else and in doing so, God might use it to lighten their load or encourage their spirit.

Or, maybe I can practice self-control, developing a respect for myself while seeking to love another. I can refrain from posting that angry rant on social media or posting that mocking meme of a public official. I can choose to hold back my impulsive words when I see or hear something with which I disagree. When my kids push my last button, I can step away and deal with the sin in my own heart before I tear them apart with my angry words. Developing self-control takes discipline and time, but the Bible lists it as a fruit of the Spirit — it is honoring to the Lord.

So life lessons from my son — in the days ahead, no matter what happens, no matter how hard things may be or what struggles we may face, share your pizza (my new mantra) and practice self-control.

It might not change the world, but it might impact someone’s life in a way that leads them to the Savior.

And whatever you do, in word or deed, do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him.
Colossians 3:17

Sufficient Grace

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God, I can’t do this anymore.
My grace is sufficient for you.

But, the load is too heavy.
My grace is sufficient for you.

I am all alone.
My grace is sufficient for you.

My tears are hidden.
My grace is sufficient for you.

Broken, dysfunctional relationships are crushing me.
My grace is sufficient for you.

I can’t handle one more meltdown.
My grace is sufficient for you.

I am afraid of losing a loved one.
My grace is sufficient for you.

I am not good enough.
My grace is sufficient for you.

My future is so uncertain.
My grace is sufficient for you.

I’ve made too many mistakes.
My grace is sufficient for you.

I am weak and so very weary.
My grace is sufficient for you.

I am afraid.
My grace is sufficient for you.

But God, You’re not listening, I can’t ….
Child, My grace IS sufficient for you.

But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.
2 Corinthians 12:9-10

His grace is a beacon in the night when we’ve lost our way.

His grace is a lifeboat that lifts us out of the dark waters and carries us safely to shore.

His grace is sufficient in every trial. In every distress. In every storm of life.

His grace is sufficient.

When no other comfort can be found. When no other strength is present. When we stand all alone as the stormy waves crash around and we can scarcely breathe for the sorrow that fills the soul … we can still lift our eyes to heaven and cry out, “Your grace is sufficient, Lord. Even in this. Even for me.“

We rest in His grace alone. He is the strength in our weakness and we boast in Him through every situation and circumstance of life.

This is how we can worship when hopelessness threatens to overpower us.

There is no greater comfort for the believer than His grace.

His sufficient grace.

It is enough.