Autism

Dear Self …

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“Watch over your heart with all diligence, for from it flow the springs of life … Let your eyes look directly ahead and let your gaze be fixed straight in front of you.  Watch the path of your feet and all your ways will be established.”
Proverbs 4:23,25-26

I have another blog post or two in the works that I thought I would be sharing by now but these last days have just been so heavy, I’m not ready to share those yet.  I actually wasn’t going to write at all, but I decided that I needed to write to myself tonight.

I have to remind myself who God is.

I have to remind myself who I am in Him.

I have to remind myself that evil will not win in the end.

I have to remind myself that I can’t fix everything, nor should I try.

I have to remind myself that despite the horror in current news, despite the gossip and bitter lies I read on social media, despite the personal grief I am carrying in my own heart …

I have to remind myself about the truth of the goodness of my God.

“I shall remember the deeds of the Lord: Surely I will remember Your wonders of old. I will meditate on all Your work and muse on Your deeds.  Your way, O God, is holy; what god is great like our God?  You are the God who works wonders; You have made known Your strength among the peoples.”
Psalm 77:11-14 

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I sat at my desk for hours today trying to plan out the upcoming school year.  I will have a ninth grader and a tenth grader that I am homeschooling, while my oldest son will continue at his private autism school.  There are so many demands, variables, and changing factors in my family’s life, which fall on my shoulders, that it often seems an impossible task to plan and keep life running somewhat smoothly.  So today I thought, I planned, I read, but mostly I stressed silently inside until I made myself almost sick.

I listened to my own anxious thoughts as I looked at all the papers scattered about, the books, the syllabuses, the plans, and the 100 open tabs on my lap top, before I finally stopped.

This is exactly what I am not supposed to do.

I have a bad tendency to try and figure everything out on my own until I find myself crushed beneath the weight of my own expectations.

I have to remind myself that the Holy Spirit who lives in me will guide and direct the way as I lead my children on our mutual journeys through life.  I don’t have to carry these burdens alone and I don’t have to have all the answers to all the uncertainties of life.

I just have to follow where He leads.

“Search me, O God and know my heart; Try me and know my anxious thoughts; And see if there be any hurtful way in me, and lead me in the everlasting way.”
Psalm 139:23-24

 

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When I look at the darkness around me and feel the weight as I have been lately, it is easy to give into despair and entertain a sense of hopelessness…

When my oldest son struggles with his moods and behaviors…

When I fear the future…

When my other children ache beneath the load they have been called to bear…

When I hear a diagnosis …

When the loneliness of a isolated journey threatens to crush the very breath out of my lungs…

When I am tempted to complain …

When I feel second-best …

When I feel unwanted …

When evil seems to win …

I remind myself who God is.

I take my eyes off of me and the circumstances I face, and I look to the very One who chose me, died for me, and indwells me today.  He changes my perspective as He fills me over and over again with His endless supply of strength and grace.

“Nevertheless I am continually with You; You have taken hold of my right hand, With Your counsel You will guide me, and afterward receive me to glory.  Whom have I in heaven but You?  And besides You, I desire nothing on earth.  My flesh and my heart may fail, But God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.”
Psalm 73:23-26

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So here I sit after a time of remembrance, reflection, repentance, and confession and my outlook is different.

The circumstances have not changed and when I step away from my computer tonight, some of the weight will still be pressing on my soul.

But I make a choice to follow my God and His ways …

And trust Him in the midst of it all.

“Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God.  The the Peace of God which surpasses all comprehension, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.  Finally brethren, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is of good repute, if there is any excellence and if anything worthy of praise, dwell on these things.”
Philippians 4:6-8

 

Dear Self … Press on.

Dear Reader … Press on.

A Single Thread in the Greatest Tapestry of All

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As a young girl, I loved to do embroidery and cross-stitch. There was something  exhilarating about creating a design from thin pieces of string, a needle, and material.  To this day, though I rarely do any sort of crafting myself, I find myself drawn to the beauty of art created by thread.  The details a true artist can make come alive and the stories that can be told through this exquisite art form are mesmerizing.

Now, here is something I’ve been thinking on lately … when I look upon a tapestry and observe the picture or story being presented, I always notice the use of color and I usually notice the various stitching utilized.  But I never pay particular attention to any one thread or string used.  The story and the beauty of the piece will cause me to search for details about the creator and ponder the skill they possess.  But never do I ponder or seek information about one particular piece of thread that is used in the overall design.

I have yet to point to an individual thread and say, “Wow! That piece of thread is amazing!  Look how it sewed itself into the material!”

No, I will look at the tapestry and say, “The creator of this piece must possess exceptional skill to create such beauty with simple pieces of thread.”

I believe I can say with confidence that neither does a single thread draw attention to itself nor claim the glory for the masterpiece.

The creator receives the glory … not the thread.

Without the artist, the thread can do nothing.

 

blue blur close up craft

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When my first born began to exhibit significant developmental delays many years ago and received the diagnosis of autism, I prayed constantly for his healing.  I sang praise songs, I spoke verses over him, and I was convinced that I knew the will of God for him.  We certainly were not to be ‘held back’ with the diagnosis of severe autism and I could not see how anything less than a full healing could possibly be the will of God.

Over the years, the severity of his autism continued to grow and significantly impact not only his life, but my own and the rest of our family.  Despite all I tried to do to ‘fix’ his symptoms, little progress was made and the journey grew incredibly hard and isolating.  Family and friends could not relate or understand this reality and I began to hide as I grew discouraged and overwhelmed with a sense of failure.

“Did I not have enough faith?”
“Did I not do enough?”
“Is the severity and impact of my son’s diagnosis all my fault?”

I truly believed it was.

It was when I reached the very end of trying to weave my own version of our story that the Lord picked up the threads.

“My life is but a weaving between my God and me. 
I cannot choose the colors, He weaveth constantly.

‘Oft times He weaveth sorrow; And I in foolish pride
Forget He sees the upper, and I the under side.”

 

The journey since then has been considerably different.  The Lord has often done what I could not.  He has opened doors that were formerly closed, however, He has also allowed others to remain closed.  My son is not ‘healed’ of  autism and yet, he has grown.  The Lord has walked me personally through many steps of spiritual maturity and growth and, as a result, He has allowed me the privilege to teach those same lessons to my children.  Not because He cured my son of autism … but because He is working through my son and his autism.  The difficulties, the hard parts, the dependence on One greater than ourselves … these are the very things that cause us to grow, to change, to look continually towards the Savior.

Often, given the nature of my life and the lack of impact I feel I have in my church and community, I feel insignificant.  I feel like I haven’t done enough … or that I am not good enough.  I believe the story and testimony of another must be of more value than my own.

However, I’ve come to view life as a series of threads that God is weaving into a masterpiece tapestry that He has been crafting since Genesis 1:1.  The thread of one is not greater or of more value than another.  Rather, each become intricately linked together as the Father weaves a story that, for now, we can only partially see.

Remembering that the one to receives the glory is not the single thread, but the Creator of the tapestry.

For the thread, without Him, can do nothing.

Not ’til the loom is silent and the shuttles cease to fly
Will God unroll the canvas and reveal the reasons why

The dark threads are as needful in the weaver’s skillful hand
As the threads of gold and silver in the pattern He has planned.

 

My son woke early one morning this week, upset and out of sorts.  I startled awake and quickly clambered out of bed, wrenching the very knee I just had surgery on.  I limped about, feeling a bit discouraged as I pondered the reality of this life.  But as I helped my son get ready for his day, I began singing softly to myself, without much thought of the song that left my lips.

There is power in the name of Jesus
There is power in the name of Jesus
There is power in the name of Jesus

To break every chain
Break every chain
Break every chain

Suddenly my son locked his eyes on mine and my mostly non-verbal son said one word… ‘Swing.’ 

Everything stopped in that moment as the significance of that one word rolled over me.

One year ago I sat outside on our porch swing with my son as we waited for electricity to be restored after a storm.  I remember it was such a difficult time as I sang those very words to my son just before the Lord led me to present the gospel and his need of a Savior.

One year ago, I sat on the swing and led my son to Jesus.

The memory of that unbelievable moment still fills me with wonder because at one time, it seemed an impossibility.

As I recollected this, our eyes remained locked together as I said, “Yes, you remember that I sang that song to you as we sat on the swing and that was when you asked Jesus into your heart.  You remember that?”

His eyes remained on mine … and he smiled.

 

He knows, He loves, He cares;
Nothing this truth can dim.

He gives the very best to those
Who leave the choice to Him.
(The Tapestry Poem by Corrie ten Boom)

 

You know, I don’t know how different our lives might be had God answered my prayers the way I wanted Him to many years ago.  But this journey has taught me that my story is not mine alone.  The thread of my life is not mine alone to determine the course.  When left in the hand of the Father, the thread learns to actively follow where it is led and in His hands, I have found, is no better place to be.

Some day, we will get to hear the story in its entirety and see the tapestry complete … and then we’ll understand.

For now, I am content to trust Him and follow where He leads.

A single thread in the greatest tapestry of all.

accessory bobbin close up clothing

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Summer Writing 2 : When I think I Can’t

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There are days … moments … seasons … when I think I can’t …

I can’t face one more day.

I can’t face the night.

I can’t face one more meltdown…

Not one more rage…

Not one more demand on my exhausted mind and body.

I can’t face one more feeling of isolation.

I can’t face one more season of loneliness.

I can’t face one more trial borne alone on my weary shoulders.

I can’t face one more …

Have you experienced this as well?

When everything inside of you is screaming that you simply can’t … ?

It is a feeling I know well.

This morning I woke feeling just as fatigued as when I went to bed the night before.

We are in break weeks, which I shared about here, Summer Writing and I make no apology for the overwhelmed, exhausted place I am in.  It goes with my journey.

I am human.  The road is challenging.  I am pouring out constantly.  Little is coming back in.  My cup is mostly empty.  My strength depleted.  It is hard to face the demands of another day.  Sometimes, I feel like I can’t.

I recognize these times in life as crossroads.  The road is definitely going a certain direction, but at various points, it splits and I must choose, which path I will go.

photo of pathway surrounded by fir trees

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To the untrained eye, the paths look relatively the same.  But to the pilgrim who has journeyed this way before, there is more than meets the eye.  The one path is the way of righteousness.  It is the path that Christ Himself walked.  It is the path of trust and surrender.  It is the way of sacrifice.  It is the path that has little appeal to most who pass this way because it is not the easy way.

The second path is the way of self.  It is a much broader path than the other and considerably more alluring.  It appears as being a more level path but it gradually slopes downward, while the other rises above.  On this path, companions, such as Self-Pity and Self-Indulgence, run wild and free, ready to lead you further than you may want to go.

To the one who is familiar with the snares the enemy uses, there arises inside a warning cry not to follow that second path.  It looks harmless at onset, but many a pilgrim has gone that way, never to be seen again.  They become lost and they spend the remainder of their lives wandering aimlessly, never moving forward. Never rising above.  Some have taken that path only to recognize their mistake.  The journey back to the path of righteousness is often particularly arduous and difficult and rarely does a person make it without some scars.

mountain-landscape-1469554893GnI
I stood in the quiet this morning, once again facing the crossroad that is particularly common on my journey.  The words ‘I can’t do this’ echoed in my thoughts and my foes, Resentfulness and Self-Pity, stood ready nearby to entice me down the path of self.

But as I stood there, I remembered all the times the Lord had been faithful as He led me on the paths of righteousness.  I remembered the battles hard-fought and won.  I thought of the incomprehensible peace that has been a part of my life because of following Him.

So when the whisper, “I can’t do this” came once more, I whispered back …

“You’re right.  I can’t.”

“But He can.”

 

The Lord is my shepherd,
I shall not want.
He makes me lie down in green pastures;
He leads me beside quiet waters.
He restores my soul;
He guides me in the [c]paths of righteousness
For His name’s sake.

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I fear no evil, for You are with me;
Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.
You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies;
You have anointed my head with oil;
My cup overflows.
Surely goodness and lovingkindness will follow me all the days of my life,
And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.
Psalm 23

 

Summer Writing

/ walkingthisjourneysite / 2 Comments

Summer.

Thoughts of summer tend to inspire all kinds of images, memories, dreams, and plans.

Just this morning, while the rest of my family slumbered peacefully as I weeded flower beds outside, I was reminded of my own childhood summers.  I would often sleep in and when I finally stumbled down the stairs, the house would be quiet … my mother no where to be seen.  Yet, all I had to do was look out the back patio door and there I would usually find her, bent over, pulling weeds from the garden.  Back then I thought that the most terrible thing … working outside in the garden during those lazy early summer mornings.

Now, I see it differently.

I couldn’t wait to get outside this morning and even though I was quite weary and the temperatures already warm, I eagerly embraced the task of weeding my own flower beds.

Time has a way of adjusting our perspectives, doesn’t it?

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I’ve been thinking about perspectives quite a bit lately.  And writing.

Summer too.  Oh, and homeschooling.  Autism.  Family.  Relationships.  Personalities.

Children.  Hurt feelings.  Misunderstandings and feeling left out.  Faith.

The current culture.  The future.

So basically … life.

My oldest son, who is 18 and has severe autism, is currently on break from school.  There are those who are critical of this kind of honesty, but I can readily admit these are some of the most challenging days of the year for me personally.  When he is home, my radar is on 24/7 and it doesn’t take long for me to experience a certain level of burn-out as he begins to break down from the extended break in his routine.

It is a balancing act trying to keep him busy and productive without overstimulating him with too much activity, changes, and demands.  What an entire team of professionals do during a single day cannot be replicated by one weary mother who is balancing some extreme autistic behaviors, the needs of other children, and many diverse tasks and responsibilities.

During this burning-out phase, parts of my brain tend to slow or even shut down so that other parts can continue to function.  My thinking and overall reaction time slows, while my stress response actually quickens.  I sleep more but never feel rested.  I enter the familiar realm of survival.

It is what it is.

Typically in the days before I begin burning out, I write more.  I share little stories or the day’s events on social media.  I take more pictures.  It is a desperate attempt to reach out and connect because I am always afraid of getting lost in this world of survival.  I focus and share on the positives, wanting others to see and experience the smallest of steps of our journey.  Then suddenly, a switch flips and everything changes.

There is a hazy fog that fills me until I can only see the very next step ahead of me…

And sometimes not even that.

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This morning, I stepped outside into the quiet morning air with my coffee in one hand and my gardening gloves in the other.  I pushed the wheelbarrow over and then slowly, methodically began to weed my flower bed.  I would stop to sip my coffee and look around me before reaching back down for another invasive weed.  I contemplated both the beauty of the flowers and the quiet … and the One who created it all … and what all influences our perceptions.

When I was young, weeding a garden in the early morning hours when I could be sleeping, was unthinkable.  Now, it is a time to gather strength.  A time to be alone in the silence and talk with my Savior.  A time to listen to His instruction.

My perception of pulling weeds, and pretty much everything else, has changed over time.  The way I understand life and perceive it have altered considerably through life experiences, a deepening walk with God, a transforming worldview based on the truth of Scripture, trials, and the resulting maturity.

There is little that I see the same as when I was a child.

As it should be.

The difficulties of my youth, the things I cried into my pillow about, now seem less significant in the light of more recent heartaches.

Yet, to the naive child I was, those heartaches were deep and real.  I would never go back to that child and tell her that her tears were silly.  I would never tell her other people’s problems are more important than hers.  No, if I could go back, I would wipe her tears, teach her more about the Savior, walk with her through the heartaches, talk to her about making wise decisions, and then encourage her to see and reach out to the heartaches around her.

To the young woman who was so desperate to be loved that she hinged her entire identity on it, I would never dismiss her fears.  I would wrap my arms around her and direct her back to the One whose very love redeemed her and fills her life with more purpose and identity that she could possibly imagine.  I would encourage her to deepen and strengthen her walk with Christ before even considering dating or marriage.  I would caution her to seek Christ first and to make wise decisions.

To the married woman in a broken relationship, longing for a baby of her own, I would never make light of her desire for motherhood or the brokenness she was experiencing.  I would sit beside her, wipe away her tears, pray with her, and encourage her to love the children that are already in her life.  Invest in them, trust the Lord for her own future, learn the process of contentment, make wise decisions, and above all else, look to Christ first in all things.

You see, hindsight makes me look at all the various difficult seasons in my life very differently.  Because of the journey I have been on and the countless ways I have see God work on my behalf over many years, I understand things differently now.  But, I had to walk through all the very real and very hard things to learn this about Him.  The child I was could never begin to understand what I know now … nor could the woman I was five years ago.

My perception has changed and therefore how I respond to life has changed.

“When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me.”
1 Corinthians 13:11

One time I was asked by a person in ministry, who was walking through a very hard season in life, how I handle it when people complain to me about things that seem trivial in comparison to my journey.  Does it bother me?  I thought for a moment and then answered honestly that it used to bother me.  When a young mother would complain about her baby waking in the night or how tired she was, my insides would scoff as I thought about the years of sleep deprivation I have experienced …

But then I grew up.

I matured in my faith and I began to recognize the purpose of my trials and the strength of my Savior.  He developed in me an empathy and deep compassion for people and more than anything, this has deepened into a desire to be an encouragement to others.

So now when a young mother mentions how tired she is and then apologizes as she realizes how weary I am, I try to be quick to reassure her.  Her fatigue is very real.  Just because I am weary from years and years of sleep deprivation, does not make her any less weary.  It doesn’t make her fatigue any less important.  I always try to validate her and then encourage her that it is simply part of the journey and the Lord who walks with her can be her source of strength on the most weary of days and nights.  I want her to look to Jesus in the difficult times, as well as, the good.

Why else has God brought me through all these years if not to point others to Him?

A young mother’s perception of the early days of motherhood will adjust and change over time.  The present season we are in is usually the hardest season because we are learning and growing just as our children are.

The same is true for our fellow believers who are walking through life, with difficulties big or small.  I don’t get to determine the size of someone’s struggle or trial … I do not know their life experiences nor the depth of their faith.  I do not know know how they perceive life and I cannot expect them to view their difficulty through the same perception I have.  I can only love them, point them to Jesus, speak the truth from Scriptures, challenge them to make wise decisions, and pray that their faith would grow as they walk through whatever season of difficulty they are facing.

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As I pulled the weeds from my garden this morning, I asked the Father to pull the weeds of sin from my own life and to continue to grow and strengthen me even as the hazy fog of survival mode threatens to overwhelm me.  All I could hear in the silence was to continue to look to Him in all things, practice contentment, make wise decisions, show myself some grace, and write … write what I have learned and trust to be true.

The truths that strengthen me during some of the most wearying days of the year.

So, I offer to you my summer writing … because of Him.

 

 

 

 

Trust

/ walkingthisjourneysite / 2 Comments

I heard the first sniffle but decided to ignore it.

As well as the second … and the third.

These sniffles are often a precursor to an explosion but I was hoping that wouldn’t be the case this time.

It was late.  I was tired.

I didn’t want to do this.

In fact, I said that to my son … “Please, let’s not do this tonight.”

But, for some reason, the computer he was using would not connect to the internet, which meant he could not watch the YouTube videos he fixates on.

Which means … his button got pushed.

And before long, those sniffles led to the explosion I feared … an especially ugly one.

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I am not especially skilled in technology but over the years, since I have a son with autism who is obsessed with technology, I have gained a certain amount of knowledge.  Given some time, I can usually problem-solve and determine if it is a problem I can fix, if I need to call tech support, or if I actually need to take the computer somewhere for service.

On this night I struggled to problem solve but found it impossible given the behaviors and noise level.  My ears were ringing from the noise, my body fatigued from the day, and my head aching from the unintentional blow to the face when I got in the way of a flying elbow.

I was sure it might be an easy fix but I just could not figure it out and given my son’s loud behaviors, I couldn’t risk calling tech support for guidance.

I tried to calm my son.  I tried to explain that if he would just calm down, I could call and get help but as long as he screamed, I was not able to call.

I couldn’t begin to fix the problem as long as he continued in his behaviors.

He raged on.

He asked for ‘Internet’ over and over and over again.

But he would not do what was needed in order for me to address the problem.

I tried explaining that only that one computer wouldn’t connect to the internet.  He still had his I Pad and he could use my lap top.  There were options.

But he would not listen to the other options available to him.

He was just too angry to listen.  Too determined to have things be a certain way.

Finally, I sent him to his ‘calm-down’ chair.  It is simply a set place to get himself together … calm down … get behaviors under control.

When he finally reached a point of hovering just under the crisis line, I sank into my own ‘calming down’ spot and began to plead with the Lord.  “Please Lord, I can’t do this again.  Could you just make that computer work so we could have peace tonight?”

Oh how I long for peace.

But I’ve been down this road before and I know that God doesn’t smooth the way out for me very often.  Usually there is something to learn … something for me to teach my son … a connection that needs made … a skill to develop.

So, I followed up my plea with, “But Lord, if that peace and an easy answer isn’t what you have for us tonight, then please guide me in what to do … and provide the grace and strength that is needed.”

Because I was fresh out.

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My son stayed just below the crisis point but still fixated on the uncooperative computer.

I mostly stayed silent because I knew he wasn’t ready to listen.

But I watched and waited … wondering how the night would play out and mentally steeling myself for a disrupted night of sleep.

He finally reached a point of coping by accepting my computer as a temporary replacement.  I placed it beside his computer so he could still sit at his desk and watch his videos.

Yes, he was coping with the situation … but he was still obsessing.

Trying to control and determined how things should be … but not trusting.

Not trusting the woman who protects and looks out for him every moment of the day.

Not trusting the one who has guided him through many a trial and challenge.

Not trusting the one who loves him most dearly.

Choosing to rage and stomp in anger … instead of trusting.

As a mother who is generally patient and compassionate, it was enough to irritate me.

“Honestly,” I told the Lord, “if he would just listen and trust me, life wouldn’t have to be this stressful.”

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My son has autism and his obsessive, controlling nature is part of it … but it is also part of his sin nature.  He is determined for things to be a certain way.  He is also very smart and able to learn … but we still have to walk through these behaviors almost every time something happens to disrupt his sense of control.

As his mother, I long for him to simply turn to me and allow me to walk him through the challenges of this life without all the drama and anger.  I love this young man and I work constantly to teach him the needed skills to live the freest and fullest life possible.

His autism is not his greatest obstacle … his anger and need for control is.

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Friend, you likely do not have autism, but I wonder if you can relate to my son’s struggle?

I know I can.

I want life to be a certain way.  To look a certain way.

There are certain things that I want to be in place so I feel safe and loved.

I don’t like disruptions and truthfully, I really hate it when I am reminded that I am not in control.

However, how we respond in the challenges, disruptions, and crises of life is a pretty clear indicator of our level of trust in the Lord.

Are our responses similar to those of my son?  Do we fly into an immediate rage and stomp about in anger?  Do we panic and assume the worst is about to happen?  Do we seek control over others and the situation?  Do we rant and destroy others with our tongues in this place of anger or fear?

As our Father in heaven watches, what do our responses to these temporal situations tell Him?  I wonder if He feels the same frustration I sometimes feel with my son?

The same grief as I watch him struggle with the same thing over and over?

The same desire to see freedom and growth?

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I have spent a lot of time over the years pondering my relationship with my son and my relationship with God the Father.  But this week, I considered how deeply I long for my son to trust me fully.  To rest in my care and guidance.  And I had to ask myself, how much more does God the Father desire for me to trust Him in all things?  To rest in His sovereign care and guidance?

I work to be a good and Godly mother to my children but my best efforts will always be tarnished by sin.  But God’s love is holy and pure, untouched by sin.

“If you then, being evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give what is good to those who ask him!”
Matthew 7:11

My thoughts on this topic are still developing so I am sure what I have written is a bit jumbled.  But I will share anyways because I wonder if this line of thought might also be helpful for someone else?  Maybe it would be helpful to consider how you respond when life gets disrupted and seems to spin out of your control?  Perhaps it would be good to ask the Lord how responsive you are to His leading and discipline?  How obedient to His call?  How trusting of His guidance and plans for your life?

What a gracious and long-suffering Father He is.

 

 

Where Beauty Dwells

/ walkingthisjourneysite / 1 Comment

In the darkness of the night, while the rest of my family slept upstairs, I sat up with my son as he escalated into a full-blown autism rage.

Given that his verbal skills are very limited, he was not able to explain to me why he was awakened at two in the morning or why he was feeling so enraged.  In these situations, I am always left guessing and trying to stay two steps ahead so I can either avoid these storms altogether, or at the very least, keep him safe and help him deescalate as quickly as possible.

On this particular night, however, all the pieces fell into place for a truly terrible storm.

As the worst of the storm began to ease, what was left of my strength and self-control broke as if it were delicate china plate dropped onto a hard tile floor.

A million pieces, jagged and sharp, scattered everywhere.

Shattered.

My heart was broken.

It was a dark night of the soul.

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

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When I went outside to pull weeds in my flower beds the next morning, it was a matter of will … not heart.  Time to invest in outdoor work is limited and procrastination only creates a bigger job that still needs done later, so I am learning to do what I can, when I can.

The memory of the previous night was deeply entrenched in my thoughts and with each pull of those tenacious weeds from my flower beds, it felt as if I was pulling every dream and every hope I have ever had and simply tossing them away.   Some of the big dreams that yet remained, but mostly it was the more simple dreams that I hold onto most deeply … friendship, companionship, community, belonging, love.

The pervading question that has been following me though out my entire life broke through once more in a weakened cry towards heaven … Why am I here?

Please Lord, is this all you have for me?

A cry whispered, not in self-pity or with a complaining spirit, but simply with a heart that has been broken time and time again.

“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.”
Psalm 25:15-18

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As I cleared out the beds of weeds and freed the budding flowers from their grasp, I was reminded once more of the beauty springtime brings to my home.  My ancient lilac bush with its fragrant blossoms filled the air, while I cleared around my astilbe and forget-me-nots.  The bleeding heart that I transplanted last fall, now grew splendid and full.  Even the lush (and overgrown) green grass captured my attention as I pushed the wheelbarrow through the yard.  I found myself stopping just to stare at the sweet little dandelions and violets that speckled it, like freckles across a little girl’s sun-kissed nose.

Everywhere I looked there was the glorious color of spring.  Each step revealed a new fragrance and a new part of nature awakening from its long winter’s nap.

The Lord used this beauty of new life to reawaken a soul disillusioned and weary.

Beauty was the word I heard over and over.

And you know, that began to trouble me.

“I would have despaired unless I had believed that I would see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.  Wait for the Lord, Be strong and let your heart take courage; Yes, wait for the Lord.”
Psalm 27:13-14

 

 

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In the days since that difficult night, there have been more challenges and entire days spent outside working, meditating, and seeking God’s wisdom.

‘Beauty’ … a word not typically applied to me continued to whisper through my thoughts.

When I began to tackle the long-neglected bank in the front of my home, I soon found myself immersed in a project much larger than I anticipated.  The weeds were deep but beneath them were elaborate root systems and winding through it all were many vines of poison ivy.  The bank was ugly.  It was overrun with weeds, dead grass, trash tossed from the cars driving by on the road … and that poison.  As I worked tenaciously and ripped at those weeds, I began to see small remnants of beauty from years past.  The fern-like greens of poppy flowers sprung out in relief as I tore the weeds that were overpowering them.  Dozens of earthworms wriggled and squirmed as I loosened the earth around them.  Beautiful, massive rocks placed for landscaping began to emerge and even though I was weary from battling the vines and weeds, I was becoming entranced by the beauty that lay hidden and neglected for so many years.

It was and continues to be a process to unearth and awaken that beauty, but I can almost see what it is to become.  What it was meant to be.  What it could be.  Even though I am covered now in poison ivy and rain is falling, my thoughts are often focused on the work that yet needs to be done … the work to reawaken the beauty of that bank.  A gentle beauty that I hope will be a welcoming sight to all who pass by.

It is a slow transformation process.

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I have spent a lifetime longing for and seeking after beauty.

Nothing I tried ever worked and truthfully, I know I don’t have much to work with.

But, even girls like me long to be seen as beautiful.  We want to be loved and cherished as much as anyone.  We long for the day that someone will see beauty in us because often, we cannot see it for ourselves.

When I married, I foolishly followed my naive heart.  I thought the only reason someone would marry me was because I was loved … I was finally seen as beautiful.  I tried to do whatever it took to earn a love that I thought was meant for me.

What took me years to understand was that people don’t always marry for love.

And sometimes, no matter what you do, you will never be able to earn love.

The reality took years to sink in and the impact it had on my soul was even more devastating than the pervasive poison ivy and weeds that overtook the bank in front of my home.

I know what it is to live a life completely imprisoned in sin and brokenness.

I know what it is like to be unwanted.

Disillusioned.

Alone.

I also know what it is to be a mother watching her child suffer with a hidden disability and unable to tell me what is hurting him so deeply.

I know what it is to go without sleep for years.

Without touch.

Without communication.

Without hope.

I know and have experienced more that you may realize.

And because of all this, I am confident in what I am about to say.

I know Jesus is the answer.

Jesus comes into our lives with more love than we can possibly imagine and He takes on the difficult task of ripping out the lies of deception that are entangled throughout us.  He takes the tools of truth and loosens up the hardened soil that entraps us so He can set us free and transform our lives into beauty for His glory.

Sisters, your world might be falling apart and you might be thinking there is no way out.

Maybe you think if you leave your marriage and find a different man, it will be better.

Maybe if you have one more drink, you won’t need to feel.

Maybe if you stay just busy enough, you can hide the ugliness inside with your own works of beauty.

Maybe … maybe.

I can tell you from experience that only Jesus can bring beauty from the ashes of our lives.  Only Jesus can set us free from the life-killing weeds of sin and loosen the packed earth around us.  Only He can undo the neglect.  Only Jesus.

There are no maybes with Him.

“For I am confident of this very thing, that He who began a good work in you will perfect it until the day of Christ Jesus.”  Philippians 1:6

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When I started this post, I was going to call it Moments of Beauty and simply share what I could while staying detached from the word ‘beauty’.  Kindnesses of others … flowers … budding trees … all safe topics from a woman like me.

But as the days and weeks passed, the phrase that kept coming to mind was ‘Where Beauty Dwells’ 

I can’t share with you what I know of beauty unless you understand a little of where I come from and why beauty is not my normal.

My heart knows brokenness and ugliness.

But because of Jesus, my heart also knows and recognizes beauty.

Through the redeeming work of the cross,  He is in the process of sanctifying and transforming me to become more like Him … and that is where beauty dwells.

Maybe not the kind of beauty the world wants from me … but a hidden, internal beauty that seeks only to glorify Christ.

Wherever Jesus dwells and transforms, there is beauty.

What beauty are you seeking?

 

“… And provide for those who grieve in Zion—
to bestow on them a crown of beauty
    instead of ashes,
the oil of joy
    instead of mourning,
and a garment of praise
    instead of a spirit of despair.
They will be called oaks of righteousness,
    a planting of the Lord
    for the display of his splendor.”
Isaiah 61:3

 

 

 

 

 

How Can It Be A ‘Good Friday’?

/ walkingthisjourneysite / 1 Comment

“One day when Heaven Was filled with His praises,
One day when sin was As black as could be,
Jesus came forth To be born of a virgin,
Dwelt among men, my example is He!”

 

It is has been an almost unparalleled season of trial.

So much so that our beloved Easter season is upon us and I am completely unprepared.

I have nothing to give my children, true, but even more than that …

my heart hasn’t felt prepared.

I haven’t done the reading I typically do.

I haven’t thought about the days leading up to Christ death.

I simply have not prepared my heart as I tend to do during this season.

By yesterday, as I stumbled through the day on two hours of sleep, kept after my 18 year old son with autism who seems to have reengaged in behaviors from his younger years during this spring break, and did all the work a mother needs to do whether she is sleep-deprived or not, I felt crushed beneath the weight of the load.  I have felt this way for months but this week has felt too much.

I went to bed feeling somewhat defeated.

Such is the case when the trials of life are of the long-term variety and your journey tends to be one of isolation and loneliness.

Sometimes your body just begins to break down and your spirit groans within you.

Sometimes you just lay in your bed too weary to weep, too broken to speak, yet too overwhelmed to sleep.

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“…He withdrew from them about a stone’s throw, and He knelt down and began to pray, saying, “Father, if You are willing, remove this cup from Me, yet not My will, but Yours be done.” Now an angel from heaven appeared and strengthened Him. And being in agony He was praying very fervently; and His sweat became like drops of blood, falling down upon the ground.”  Luke 22:41-44

 

After a somewhat challenging night of sleep, I woke this morning and was immediately reminded that it was Good Friday.

The day we Christians observe the sacrifice and overwhelming love of our Savior.

When He, after a lonely night of agonizing prayer to God the Father, He submitted His will and prepared to lay down His life … for mine.

And yours.

How can this Friday possibly be considered ‘good’?

Propelling my exhausted body off the couch at the insistence of my dog who wanted to go outside, I began to make my way through the house, letting her out, making coffee, and trying to wake fully.

When I did, I saw the beauty of sunshine.

I saw green grass and yellow forsythias blooming.

I saw trees filled with the promise of spring as buds filled their branches.

I saw new life.

And I began to ponder this day in history.

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“One day they led Him up Calvary’s mountain,
One day they nailed Him to die on the tree;
Suffering anguish, despised and rejected:
Bearing our sins, my Redeemer is He!

 

Sometimes I wonder what Jesus was thinking as He stood before Pilate and Herod.  When He was struck and beaten, scorned and reviled, mocked and stripped?

How did He endure such torment and torture?

When He fell beneath the weight of the cross on the way to Golgotha, was Heaven on His mind?  Or was it the reason for his sacrifice?

The creation that He came to redeem.

When He laid down on the cross, holding still as the soldiers nailed him fast …

When they hoisted the cross into the air, jolting his already broken body …

As He struggled to breathe while listening to the crowd mock and jeer …

Feeling a separation from His Father for the first time …

And all the darkness rejoicing to see the One they hated suffer …

Was He thinking, “One day, a child is going to cry out for forgiveness and because of this day, I will be able to forgive her and call her my own.”?

“One day that child of Mine will face incredible heartache and grief and will want to give up but because of what I am enduring, I will be able to help her endure.”

“One day she will feel broken but because of my brokenness, she will be healed.”

“And one day I will bring her home with Me to heaven and I will wipe away all her tears because sin will no longer touch her life.”

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“It was now about the sixth hour, and darkness fell over the whole land until the ninth hour, because the sun was obscured; and the veil of the temple was torn in two.  And Jesus, crying out with a loud voice, said, “Father, into Your hands, I commit My Spirit.” Having said this, He breathed His last.”  Luke 23:44-46

 

Have you ever wondered what all transpired in the time after Jesus spoke those words and in the days following?

The immense grief and fear of His followers as they cared for his broken body and placed Him in a borrowed tomb?

The awed silence in Heaven as the angels waited and watched?

The laughter and wicked rejoicing from all the powers of darkness and hell?

Sometimes this is what life feels like to us too.

Times of grief … times of waiting … times of uncertainty … times of silence while the wicked rejoice and seemingly thrive.

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“One day the grave Could conceal Him no longer,
One day the stone rolled away from the door;
Then He arose, over death He had conquered;
Now is ascended, my Lord evermore!”

 

I like to ponder that moment in heaven when God the Father told the angels it was time.

After three days of silence while watching the masses of hell scream in victory, it was time for the true Victor to rise.

The earth shook and the massive stone was rolled away as Jesus Christ broke free from the cruel clutches of death and stood at the door of His tomb … no longer in His broken earthly body, but standing tall as the risen and holy Son of God.

The quiet of heaven must have broken forth with glorious song as the powers darkness and hell now watched in stunned silence.

And then days later, that same Jesus, who had come to this earth as a baby, lived, loved, and served before dying an agonizing death on the cross, rose into the heavens taking His rightful place beside His Father.

The Lamb.

The Sacrifice.

Our Redeemer.

The One who paid the penalty of sin and death so we don’t have to.

The One who defeated sin and stands before the Father making intercession for us.

The One who is well-acquainted with grief and who helps us bear our sorrows.

Because He lives, we can face tomorrow with confidence, peace, and joy, knowing we are secure in Him.

It is a Good Friday indeed.

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“One day the trumpet will sound for His coming,
One day the skies with His glory will shine;
Wonderful day, my beloved One bringing;
Glorious Savior, this Jesus is mine!

Living, He loved me; dying, He saved me;
Buried, He carried my sins far away;
Rising He justified freely forever:
One day He’s coming– O glorious day!”

  ~One Day written by J.Wilbur Chapman (1910)~

beach clouds dawn dusk

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Finding Rest in the Lonely Journey

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If the Lord sets you to guard a lonely post in perfect stillness from all active work, you ought to be just as content as to be in the midst of the active warfare.  It is no virtue to love the Master’s work better than the Master’s will.
Hannah Whitall Smith

 

It’s been awhile since I have written here because my life has been a whirlwind for the last several months.  A whirlwind of challenge after challenge and while I do have blog posts started and others floating around in my mind, this really isn’t one of them.

One thing I have learned about myself is that I have thinking seasons when I am battling through the challenges of life and learning about God and His ways and then I enter processing seasons when I can articulate those musings in writing.

This season of challenge started last fall when my son with autism entered one of his more difficult times of intense anxiety and anger.  Coping with that personally, while desperately trying to help him, homeschooling my other children, teaching a homeschool co-op class, and trying to keep everything as stable as possible for my family as a whole, took a serious toll on me.  Those I turned to for help didn’t seem to understand the depth of the struggle so I worked through it alone, realizing the greatest loneliness of my life.

In November, I injured my knee and that, compounded with a shoulder injury that happened in August when my 200+ lb son had a massive meltdown on one of our walks, and a strong negative reaction to medication I was taking, knocked me down even more.  Physically, I have always been very strong and able to withstand and rebound from almost anything, but this time, I found myself in constant pain and not recovering well at all.

December eventually brought relief for my son as his doctor added a new anxiety medicine and he began to smile once more.  What a blessed reprieve that was for everyone and I found my own spirits lifting somewhat as a result of not dealing with his intense anger issues day after day.

January and February were filled with school closings and delays for my oldest son and this created a fair amount of disruption and schedule changes for him, my other children’s homeschooling and co-op, and for me as I had to cancel quite a bit on my calendar and work in my cleaning jobs days when I could.

When I accepted that the knee pain was not going away and was limiting what I could do, I visited my doctor and learned that a ligament was stretched and inflammed and the meniscus were likely torn.  This led to wearing a knee brace and taking inflammatory medication for two weeks, which helped the inflammed ligament but not the torn meniscus.  I found this out the hard way when I was walking across the parking lot of our local grocery store and my leg completely gave out and cramped up so badly, I couldn’t move or put any weight on it.  I had to call my husband to come pick me up, drive me back across the parking lot to my van so I could drive it back home (using my right, uninjured knee of course).  I was completely incapacitated for a couple of days and could only move around using crutches and eventually a cane.  I eventually saw an orthopedic doctor who gave me a cortisone shot, which provided significant relief allowing me to cautiously return to most of my activities, including regular exercise.

When I went in for my physical earlier this week, my doctor and I discussed the likelihood of future surgery for my knee and she determined that my left shoulder has a strained and inflammed rotator cuff.  I didn’t bother to mention the discomfort I woke up with in my right shoulder because I figured I had only slept on it wrong and it would soon work itself out.

Boy, was I wrong!

By that evening, I was in agony.  A throbbing pain in my right shoulder that kept me awake all night as I struggled in vain to find a position that would allow me enough comfort to rest.  In the morning, I didn’t say anything to anyone but silently dealt with the pain as I got my son with autism off to school, my other children started on their day, and prepared to finally be able to attend a ladies Bible study at our church.  I felt very rough but figured the pain in my shoulder would eventually have to ease.  I was only at Bible study a short time before I received a text that I was needed at home so I swallowed my disappointment and left.  I am so glad I did.  The pain in my shoulder began to spread down my arm and throughout my right side, as my fingers tingled and grew numb.  By that evening, I noticed a couple of odd spots on my wrist and hand and experienced some of the most intense pain of my life, while my body responded with a low-grade fever.

To my dismay, the next day I was diagnosed with shingles.  A illness I had previously believed only affected folks much older than I.  My family was very surprised when I shared this news and admitted to how much pain I was in but now they have watched the rash/blisters spread and seen my lips whiten with pain when I attempt to do certain tasks.  They are stepping up to help as much as possible.

So, here I am this morning … the shingles have not responded to the medication as I had hoped and I am still in significant discomfort.  My right hand (and arm up to my elbow) is covered in a painful rash and only my index finger tip has been spared, allowing me to slowly peck away at these words.  My shoulder and ribs still ache from the pain but thankfully, it is nothing like it was earlier this week. I am exhausted from the toll this illness has taken on me, as well as, from my own sleep disturbances and those of my son.

However, what I have learned from each ugly battle of this long season of trial more than makes up for any hardship.  The Lord has been so gracious every step of the way and I have learned more from Him than ever before.  It has been a journey of settling into my own identity, following His voice, letting go of the past, walking in Truth, and practicing contentment in every circumstance.  As a result, I feel more loved and cared for by Him than ever before, which allows me to love and care for others more freely than ever before.  My relationship with my children, most especially, has blossomed even more abundantly.

I have learned the beautiful gift of prayer and surrender.  I have learned that it is a privilege to lift the names and burdens of others to this Shepherd who walks with me and, as a result of my own trials, I have learned a greater compassion for those who suffer far more than I.

I have also learned that I have nothing to prove and it is okay to walk alone.

It has been a lonely journey but, through it all, I have learned to rest.

To rest physically with awareness of my own needs…

To rest inwardly with the practice of contentment in all things…

And ultimately, to rest fully in the safety of my Savior’s love.

 

“Contentment, then, is the product of a heart resting in God.  It is the soul’s enjoyment of that peace that passes all understanding.  It is the outcome of my will being brought into subjection to the Divine will.  It is the blessed assurance that God does all things well, and is, even now, making all things work together for my ultimate good.”
A.W. Pink

Life

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Her Story

46 years ago, a woman was expecting a baby.  She was already the mother to an eight year old daughter and a five year old son.  She had severe endometriosis and, by all reasonable thought, should not have been able to conceive another baby.

Yet, to her surprise, she did.

She visited the Obstetrician and when she expressed her wonder at the unexpected pregnancy, the doctor informed her, quite seriously, that she did not have to keep this baby.  It was now legal for her to have an abortion.  The woman was horrified at his words and quickly told the doctor that she wanted her baby.

She wanted me.

This is my Mother’s story and I was the baby that the doctor offered to abort.

My Story

Close to 19 years ago, I sat huddled in a ball on my bathroom floor, as my hands shook and silent tears slid down my cheeks.  I was holding my first, long-awaited, positive pregnancy test.  Only I knew the depth of heartache that had transpired before I held that test in my hands.

Because of those secrets, I wanted to hold this most precious secret close to my heart until I was ready to share the good news, but just six weeks along in the pregnancy, I began to bleed.  Not little amounts but huge, massive clots.  What followed were weeks upon weeks of appointments, blood work, and ultrasounds, as doctors worked to monitor the life of my baby and determine what was going wrong.  I was told that I would most likely lose this precious little life.

I remember looking at the massive clots as they left my body, trying to discern if my baby was among them.  I remember taking the very first images of my baby taken from an early ultrasound to our family members so we could share the good news of life and the potential bad news of death.  In those images, my baby was only weeks in the process of life and yet, there he was … a beautiful, tiny person, in his own right.

By the time I was halfway through the pregnancy, the bleeding had stopped and even though the doctors believed that everything had stabilized, I lived in constant fear that I might still lose this life valiantly fighting inside me.

I remember the 20 week ultrasound and the incredible relief I felt when I saw my baby; His fingers and toes, his beating heart, and wiggling body that seemed intent on escaping from the Ultrasound Technician’s pursuit.  I remember my eyes filling with tears as I learned my baby truly was okay and thriving inside of me.

For the first time, I felt free to enjoy the journey of pregnancy and soon, fully embraced the journey.

I remember the flutter inside when my little one grew large enough to make his presence known.

I remember his little feet seeming as though he was trying to kick his way out as he grew larger.

I remember my belly rolling from one side to the other as he wiggled and squirmed.

I remember the odd sensation when he developed a case of the hiccups.

I remember the feeling of life growing inside of me.

Instinct to protect this little life grew stronger with each passing day.

I woke in the early morning hours of February 28. 2001 to a puddle of water in my bed … three and a half weeks before my due date.  I was alone and terribly afraid for myself and my baby.

I called my husband, who was states away driving truck.  I called the mid-wife, who told me to get to the hospital.  Then I called my parents, who drove me there.

What followed was a long, uncertain day and finally, a rushed and rough delivery with numerous issues along the way.

But finally, this little life was born.

My son, Tyler Jacob.

At 37 1/2 weeks gestation.

Perfectly formed.

Completely whole.

And absolutely beautiful.

That night, as I finally dropped into an exhausted slumber, my sweet baby lay in the hospital nursery, fresh from his bath, and sleeping himself.  The nurse was caring for another newborn when she looked over and noticed he was turning blue.

He had stopped breathing.

He was taken to the NICU where he stopped breathing several more times.

His 6 lb 4 oz body looked so tiny when I finally was able to hold him in my arms once more.  I rarely left his side for the next six days.  They kept me as long as they possibly could but soon discharged me and sent me home, leaving my heart behind with that tiny boy.

Each day I went back down to the hospital and sat beside him.  I watched the nurses and doctors work lovingly and diligently over the many babies in that NICU.  I watched other parents hover and care for their often, very ill babies.

I remember the day we finally were able to bring Tyler home.  I dressed him in the newborn outfit that completely engulfed his tiny frame.  The nurses took his picture and then we carefully placed him in his car seat for the journey home.  As all of this was transpiring, a mother sitting across from us was holding one of her twin preemies who was failing.  The baby was connected to all kinds of wires and life-giving support as the mother nestled her close for skin-to-skin contact.  Their Priest stood nearby as he prepared to baptized this little life.  I saw as that dear mother wept wave after wave of silent tears as she tried to say good-bye to the precious life she worked so hard to save.

I have never forgotten that mother … or her tiny, desperately ill baby.

And I certainly did not know what battles lay ahead for my own baby.

The Value of Life

Just over a week ago, I learned that the state of New York legalized abortion right up until birth for any reason.  I read the words before going to bed but I could not process the images rolling through my mind.

When I woke the next day, I watched news footage of the bill being signed and people … those voted into office … rising to their feet, with huge smiles on their faces, and applauding.  I watched the One World Trade Center as it was lit up pink in celebration.

I was overwhelmed with grief as I considered the absolute disregard and even hatred for human life.

I was deeply troubled as I considered all the precious lives callously tossed aside in our pursuit of freedom and self-indulgence.

I have never understood why some lives seem to have value, while others are treated as though they do not.

Some of my favorite passages of Scripture to read to my son with autism are from Psalm 139.  I have always wanted him to understand that his life, even severely impacted with autism and often devalued in the eyes of the world around him, has immense value in the eyes of His creator.

“For You formed my inward parts;
You wove me in my mother’s womb.
I will give thanks to You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
Wonderful are Your works,
And my soul knows it very well.
My frame was not hidden from You,
When I was made in secret,
And skillfully wrought in the depths of the earth;
Your eyes have seen my unformed substance;
And in Your book were all written
The days that were ordained for me,
When as yet there was not one of them.”
Psalm 139:13-16

I believe every life has value.

Every life.

Every life impacted with a disability …

Every life currently waiting in the foster care system …

Every life living in abuse and neglect …

Every life sitting in a nursing home …

Every baby, whether wanted by his/her parents or not …

Life in all respects has value not because we get to determine the value of others but because God already has.

As I ponder on current (and past) events and consider all the death, abuse, and hatred I see in the news and all around me, I am troubled and can only whisper words of sorrow towards  those who will never hear me and then extend love and kindness to all I can.  I wish the world was different.  I wish we understood the value of all human life and I wish we loved each other as He loves us.  Especially towards those who cannot speak for themselves.

“This is My commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you.”
John 15:12

 

 

 

 

The Faithfulness of God

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The Faithfulness of God.

Such a deep well from which to draw, knowing full well I will barely touch the surface.

Yet, a drink from this well is not meant to quench our thirst but rather it should draw us to toss the bucket aside and jump fully into the limitless supply.

His faithfulness has no bounds.  His goodness has no limits.  His grace overflows.

Even in the hard seasons.

I will say, most especially in the hard seasons.

Those times when it seems that God is nowhere to be found.  When it seems that our prayers are not being heard and our tears have evaporated before they even touched the ground.  When we simply cannot see God anywhere and we feel isolated and broken.

In those times, when circumstances insinuate that God does not care and we do not know which way to turn, I believe we have a few choices.

We can give into despair and believe that God has forsaken us.

We can create our own path and justify what we want in order to convince ourselves and others that God only wants us to be happy and therefore we are free to do whatever it is we want to make our lives ‘easier.’

Or … we can diligently spend time with God our Father by consistently reading and meditating on His Word with the clear intention of getting to know Him instead of picking and choosing Scripture to fit what we want.  We can apply our time in prayer as we learn to discern the voice of our Shepherd.  Then we can make the daily choice to pick up our cross and follow Him and in this process, we begin to die to self, learn to be content in all things, and ultimately, choose to obey and follow His will … and not our own.

The first choice leads to defeat and a sad, empty life.

The second choice certainly may lead to temporary happiness as we elevate ourselves and indulge in all the riches of this world while still using all the right Christian words to sound holy.  The problem with this is that it is truly temporary and terribly short-sighted.  What makes me happy now, will lead to trouble later.

I can eat an entire 5 lb box of chocolate now because it makes me happy.

But there will be a cost to pay later.

The third choice may mean limited earthly happiness.  Choosing to follow the example of Christ and dying to self is hard and rarely does it mean getting what I think I need to be happy.  It means taking my eyes off of myself and my needs and it means opening myself to hardship and trial for the cause of Christ.  This is where His faithfulness becomes real and the depths of His love supplies every need.  This path of obedience requires a heart and eye for eternity, understanding the promise of God may not be given to us until we cross the threshold of eternity and kneel before our Creator.

Only one of these choices lead towards an eternal reward.

The Trials of Yesterdays

When I  used to think back to the days when my children were young, I always felt a sense of guilt and failure.  Those were hard years raising three little ones while walking through the many difficulties and challenges of autism, depression, isolation, marital discord, family trouble, and more.  My perception of the past altered my memories and distorted my current sense of identity.

I believed myself to be a terrible mother.  A failure.

A couple of weeks ago, I was searching for some important paperwork that I could not find anywhere and in fact, had not seen in years.  After searching through every place I could imagine,  I finally thought about those boxes in the attic.  Those boxes that have been dodged through every purging and organizing frenzy.  Those boxes that rarely get a passing glance from me as I carry various other items in and out of the attic space.  Those boxes, filled with pictures and various memories, that signified to me, my complete failure as a mother and person.

However, desperation to find the missing paperwork and a sense that God was calling me to face those boxes, led me to finally start carrying them down from the attic and begin the slow process of sorting, organizing, and looking at these memories of the past.

Initially, I was overwhelmed with sadness.  My perception of the past has been so colored with certain memories I have held tightly onto that I simply could not see the reality.  But the Lord, with the utmost gentleness and care, began a healing process in the deepest places of this mother’s heart.  In almost all of the pictures of my children, I found smiles.  There are pictures of my oldest looking sober and somewhat vacant as the autism stole more and more of him away but for the most part, the pictures showed children happy and content.  My younger children would look over my shoulder as I worked through the pictures and would share happy memories with me.  As I continued I found picture after picture drawn by my children that read ‘I love you Mommy!’  Pictures that I had saved but didn’t remember saving.  I began to realize that my children do not remember how hard those years were.  Their memories were never distorted or broken as mine have been.  As a result, they have never viewed me as I have viewed me.  My children have never thought of me as a failure.  I am the only one who believed that.

As I worked through the memories of the past, the Lord began to change my perception of those years.  Oh, most definitely, if I could only go back, there is much I would do differently.  I would hold them more.  I would teach them better.  I would do almost everything differently for my son with autism.  But, the Lord began to help me see that even during those trying times, He was working.  Even when I thought He had abandoned me and my children, He was behind the scenes and faithfully filling in the gaps that were being missed.

In the last box of pictures, I found a photo that someone took of me and my children.  I have no memory of who took the picture or why it was taken but when I uncovered it, tears filled my eyes as my soul swelled with thankfulness.  The photo was taken in the nursery of the church we were attending at the time.  I am kneeling on the floor holding a felt board I had bought in an effort to teach my non-verbal, highly visual autistic son Bible stories.  All three of my very young children are across from me in various stages of busyness … and I remembered.

I remembered that there was no place for my incredibly busy autistic son in the other Sunday School classes and no nursery for my younger ones.  So every Sunday, I would prepare a lesson and try to teach them myself.  After Sunday School, we would go upstairs for the service where I sat every single Sunday back in the cry-room with my children because my oldest couldn’t handle sitting out in the service.

Most would not be aware of this, but that picture was taken as I was in the process of emotionally and mentally crashing beneath an unbearable load.  This is a season of life that I’ve always looked back on with sorrow.  I would have told you that I ruined my children.

Yet now, when I look at that picture and others with my children, I see the amazing faithfulness of a loving God who preserved both me and my children through some soul-crushing circumstances.

Where the enemy sought to destroy, God protected.

When I had given up, God refused to let us go.

When I ran from Him, God followed and brought me back.

When others deserted me and even spoke against me, God never left my side.

When I couldn’t see the next step ahead of me, God gave me the courage and just enough strength to take the next single step. And then the next.  And the next.

When I was weak, God taught me faithfulness and credited it to me as righteousness.

You see, the faithfulness of God is not dependent on us getting everything just right.  He does not call us to do life perfectly but He does call each of us to die to ourselves, pick up our crosses, and be obedient to the calling He has given us.

When I look back now, I see the hand of God working through all those fiery trials and challenges.

I can trace His rainbow through my tears.

I can see that He was in control.

And my heart is thankful.

His Faithfulness Today

This morning, as I finish writing these thoughts and try to bring this to a thoughtful conclusion, I am weary.  My almost 18 year old son with autism woke in the night with a sense of agitation.  I have been walking this journey a long time and often, the days (and nights) are still filled with difficulty.  But even when the way is rocky, I continue to learn  a complete dependence on the steady, never-changing faithfulness of God.

Hebrews 11 provides us with so many examples of those who have gone on before and how they lived a life of steady faith and reliance on God with the understanding that they might not see His promises fulfilled until eternity.  They trusted in the faithfulness of God and their own testimonies of faith that developed through their trials should be a resounding battle cry to us to never give up and to never take the easy way.

I have seen the fruit of God’s working in my children in these most recent years.  While my younger two children asked Jesus into their hearts when they were younger, just last year I watched God do a work in my oldest and I was able to finally lead him to Jesus.  A long-awaited answer to a prayer that was silently and tearfully given for years.  I am watching this same young man continue to struggle through the strong challenges of his autism yet, I am also watching him learn and grow in new ways.  My younger children have developed a heart of compassion and a hunger for truth.  They enjoy being involved with our church and are appreciative of Biblical teaching.  Just in these last couple of weeks, both have individually told me that they are so glad I am their Mom.  They live a life of simple appreciation for all things.  They regularly practice contentment. They teach me daily even as I endeavor to teach them.

I am humbled to be their mother.

As I write these words and ponder these thoughts, I can only lift my eyes to the One who has consistently loved, protected, and led us through all of these years … and offer a song of thanksgiving to our Faithful God.

He is so faithful.

This my song through endless ages, Jesus led me all the way.

He lowers us to raise us
So we can sing His praises
Whatever is His way all is well

He makes us rich and poor
That we might trust Him more
Whatever is His way all is well

All my changes come from Him He who never changes
I’m held firm in the grasp of the Rock of all the ages

All is well with my soul
He is God in control
I know not all His plans
But I know I’m in His hands

*Photo credit to my son, Andrew Shenk
**I have alluded to a number of songs in this post including:
All the way my Savior leads me by Fanny Crosby
All is Well by Robin Mark
Oh Love that will not let me go by George Matheson