One day a while back, I had been listening to a Chris Rice CD, and there’s a song called "Questions for Heaven". And I started thinkin’ (I’m prone to do that from time to time...smell the wood burnin’?)...if I could make a list of questions for Heaven - what would they be? I remember pondering that most of the day one day, and then I sat down to write them down (so I won’t forget when I get there, donchaknow...cuz I reckon I’m gonna take that paper with me...).
So, here’s a few of my questions for heaven - what would YOUR questions be?
As You walked upon this earth, man-God, did You ever lay back on the ground and watch the clouds pass by?
Did You ever watch the stars at night & remember when You created them and how they sang to You? Did they sing again?
Were animals drawn to You while You were here?
Did You ever watch an approaching storm and know the storehouse from whence the lightning came?
What was the first thing You ever built as a carpenter? Did the Creator in You feel frustration at Your human limitations?
As a Child, did You ever catch snow on Your tongue? Rain? Did it snow there?
Did You ever stand on the shore of the ocean, or the edge of the Sea of Galilee, and remember when You drew a line in the sand and declared, "This far your proud waves may come and no further." Did You ever replay that with Your human finger? Was it unsatisfying?
Did You ever look at an ocean and remember holding its waters in Your Hand?
Did You ever look at someone and think to Yourself, "She has six million, four hundred two thousand eight hundred and three hairs on her head." Did you giggle because no one knew what You were thinking?
Did You ever see a crucifixion and look upon it with knowing Eyes? Were You afraid? Did You moan, dreading Your own?
Did You ever stare into a fire and weep in desperate longing for those souls who would reject You - knowing they were going to suffer hell?
As You grew into a man, did You ever smile in delight ~ enjoying being Your own Creation?
Did You take flowers to Your mother?
As a Baby, when Your cries broke the silence of the night, were You weeping for lost humanity ~ for Your Father ~ for Home?
Did You look upon the sands of the seashore and see faces ~ remembering Your Promise to Abraham?
Did You play with John as a Child? What did You play ~ or talk about?
Do You smile as I write my questions, laughing at how simple it all will seem then, even as I sit with reeling mind ~ and emotions?
What was Your favorite food here? Your favorite flower? Song? Dance? Scent?
Did You ever watch the sunrise or sunset and know that Your Daddy painted it especially for You?
Do You get tired of questions?
And at the end of my list, I wrote: It occurred to me - there is a difference between being a believer in God and a follower of God. I will be a follower of God.
Monday, June 8, 2009
Thursday, April 23, 2009
No-AH!
Originally posted August 26th, 2008
This morning, Daniel and I were headed to his school. As we drove over Coldwater Creek, I slowed down for him to look at the creek overflowing its banks (for you locals, it was touching the bottom of the "little bridge", and was into the parking lot on both sides.). He asked if, when it stops raining "day after tomorrow", we could come swimming. I answered, "No-ah." (You'll have to say it out loud to get the full effect...go ahead, look around to see if anyone is nearby, I'll wait...............coast clear? Okay, say it with me, "No-ah." stress on the Ah. Got it? Good.) Naturally, his answer was, "Whyyyyyyyyyyyyyy-ah?" to which I gave my most motherly reply, "Becuz-ah." So, startin' his whineeeeeee, he said, "Can we, Mommmmm???" Not one to back down easily and give in (yah,right), I repeated, "Noooo-ah."
Apparently, my meandering mind is a genetic thing because my spawn, er, son, then said, "Hey. NOAH! I know who that is!! But...who's Becuz-ah?" Thinkin' on my feet, er, seat, I replied, "Um...Noah's wife??"
He pondered that a minute and giggled and said, "Really?" Then I told him that Noah's wife's name isn't mentioned in the Bible, which must have really been hard on the preacher that married them - "Do you Noah, take, er, um, er, ohhhhh...um...What's-her-name here to be your lawfully wedded wife?" and "Do you, er, um, er, ohhhhh...Whoever-you-are take Noah to be your lawfully wedded husband?" (Parental Distraction Tactic successful: Mission Accomplished!) And he laughed & forgot all about swimming in the creek.
So, I dropped him off at school, and headed home, recalled our "conversation", and my MM took over & I thought to myself, "Self....wonder what one's gotta do to NOT get her name written down in the Bible when her husband is pretty doggone famous?" Self didn't have an answer, and neither do I. It IS a curious question, though, don't you think? I did, however, tickle myself with the thought, "Hmm...wonder if after this election is over, if BO doesn't win -will his wife go down in the history books as Mama Obama?" I giggled quietly to myself all the way home.
Love to all!
This morning, Daniel and I were headed to his school. As we drove over Coldwater Creek, I slowed down for him to look at the creek overflowing its banks (for you locals, it was touching the bottom of the "little bridge", and was into the parking lot on both sides.). He asked if, when it stops raining "day after tomorrow", we could come swimming. I answered, "No-ah." (You'll have to say it out loud to get the full effect...go ahead, look around to see if anyone is nearby, I'll wait...............coast clear? Okay, say it with me, "No-ah." stress on the Ah. Got it? Good.) Naturally, his answer was, "Whyyyyyyyyyyyyyy-ah?" to which I gave my most motherly reply, "Becuz-ah." So, startin' his whineeeeeee, he said, "Can we, Mommmmm???" Not one to back down easily and give in (yah,right), I repeated, "Noooo-ah."
Apparently, my meandering mind is a genetic thing because my spawn, er, son, then said, "Hey. NOAH! I know who that is!! But...who's Becuz-ah?" Thinkin' on my feet, er, seat, I replied, "Um...Noah's wife??"
He pondered that a minute and giggled and said, "Really?" Then I told him that Noah's wife's name isn't mentioned in the Bible, which must have really been hard on the preacher that married them - "Do you Noah, take, er, um, er, ohhhhh...um...What's-her-name here to be your lawfully wedded wife?" and "Do you, er, um, er, ohhhhh...Whoever-you-are take Noah to be your lawfully wedded husband?" (Parental Distraction Tactic successful: Mission Accomplished!) And he laughed & forgot all about swimming in the creek.
So, I dropped him off at school, and headed home, recalled our "conversation", and my MM took over & I thought to myself, "Self....wonder what one's gotta do to NOT get her name written down in the Bible when her husband is pretty doggone famous?" Self didn't have an answer, and neither do I. It IS a curious question, though, don't you think? I did, however, tickle myself with the thought, "Hmm...wonder if after this election is over, if BO doesn't win -will his wife go down in the history books as Mama Obama?" I giggled quietly to myself all the way home.
Love to all!
Monday, April 20, 2009
Priceless..
(originally posted May 6, 2008)
I'm always tickled at Daniel's unique perspective on the world...and I often giggle at his literal understanding of things. Today, there were two prime examples - and I also remembered a third - that I want to share with you.
This afternoon, Daniel came home from school & his weekly folder was in his backpack. It contains all the graded papers from the previous week for me to look over & then sign the folder.
As I looked over his papers, I noticed that he'd made a 100 on his spelling test, but had missed the bonus question that she always gives them. As I read the question and his answer, I couldn't help but laugh out loud. I'll type out the question here. See if you can guess what his answer would be. Think literally.....
"If there are two weeks and three days left of school, counting today how many days do we have left?"
Any idea what his answer was? Okay, I'll tell you. His answer was "One day". Now, go read the question again...do it out loud, because he probably did....think literally.....do you see it?
"Counting today" equals ONE day - he counted ONLY that day.. For him to understand it, the problem should have read something like, Including today, all together how many days do we have left. I laughed out loud. Of course he got the answer wrong, but hey - he was right if you look at it literally!
THEN...I was watching "10 Years Younger" on TLC, and he was doing his V-Math on the computer. I didn't know he was paying any attention to the TV, but the host of the TV show said, "We're gonna help Lindsay break out of her shell." and Daniel said, "But she's not a MOLLUSK!"
And all of that reminded me of an incident last year...he was in Math class at school, and suddenly he stood up from his desk and headed out the door. His aide stopped him and said, "Where do you think you're going???" and he said, "But, my paper said to!" and she said, "Whaaa??" and he showed her his paper. It read, "Leave room to show your work." So, he was leaving the room!!
Hahahaha!! Is that a unique perspective on the world, or what?
I'm always tickled at Daniel's unique perspective on the world...and I often giggle at his literal understanding of things. Today, there were two prime examples - and I also remembered a third - that I want to share with you.
This afternoon, Daniel came home from school & his weekly folder was in his backpack. It contains all the graded papers from the previous week for me to look over & then sign the folder.
As I looked over his papers, I noticed that he'd made a 100 on his spelling test, but had missed the bonus question that she always gives them. As I read the question and his answer, I couldn't help but laugh out loud. I'll type out the question here. See if you can guess what his answer would be. Think literally.....
"If there are two weeks and three days left of school, counting today how many days do we have left?"
Any idea what his answer was? Okay, I'll tell you. His answer was "One day". Now, go read the question again...do it out loud, because he probably did....think literally.....do you see it?
"Counting today" equals ONE day - he counted ONLY that day.. For him to understand it, the problem should have read something like, Including today, all together how many days do we have left. I laughed out loud. Of course he got the answer wrong, but hey - he was right if you look at it literally!
THEN...I was watching "10 Years Younger" on TLC, and he was doing his V-Math on the computer. I didn't know he was paying any attention to the TV, but the host of the TV show said, "We're gonna help Lindsay break out of her shell." and Daniel said, "But she's not a MOLLUSK!"
And all of that reminded me of an incident last year...he was in Math class at school, and suddenly he stood up from his desk and headed out the door. His aide stopped him and said, "Where do you think you're going???" and he said, "But, my paper said to!" and she said, "Whaaa??" and he showed her his paper. It read, "Leave room to show your work." So, he was leaving the room!!
Hahahaha!! Is that a unique perspective on the world, or what?
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Thinking today..
Been thinking today of how to "finish" my BLAHgs about our journey. I looked back over all the posts to make sure I'd remembered everything I wanted to tell you. As I looked over our story, I thought of all the families out there with stories similar to ours. I thought of all the wonderful parents that I've met "out there" with children with autism. Many of the families I know have children with fairly mild autism, like Daniel. But for many, their children are more severely affected. I don't pretend to fully understand what they go through every day. I can imagine that I have an idea, but autism is a spectrum condition, each end, each child, being vastly different from the other. My heart goes out to those parents who've never heard their child speak. I ache for the parents who see their child self-injure themselves in an attempt to escape the sensory pain they live in. When I pray for those in the autism community, it is these families who cause my heart to cry out most fervently. I can't truly know their pain, or their fears for the future of their children. Our story holds no candle in comparison to what they've gone through. They have my heart.
In the early days of our journey - even before his diagnosis, I turned to the internet for information and support. I didn't know anyone locally with an autistic child, so I searched out people who'd been there, done that, and could help me through all the days ahead. I found friends, true friends, who were there every time I signed on line with a question, fear, or just in pain. In the early days, there was Vikki - a wonderful mom who walked with me through Daniel's diagnosis. We'd sit up at night until 2 or 3 am "talking" via IM. We'd at first talk about autism, but then we'd begin to just enjoy each other's company - a respite from the medical, neurological, educational, and behavioral world we'd found ourselves flung into by autism. Many nights I would sit at the computer with my hand over my mouth to stifle my laughter so as not to wake my family. It was a world away from covering my mouth to hide my sobs. I needed that at the time. On the day I got Daniel's diagnosis, I came home & sat at the computer and typed out the diagnosis & sent it to Vikki. She replied with an e-mail - the subject line read: In Honor of Your Arrival... and the text of the e-mail was an article entitled "Welcome to Holland". Do a Google search for that title. You'll find it. Sadly, cancer and other things took Vikki away from the computer. She is a survivor, but no longer able to be on line. We've lost contact, and I still miss her. Perhaps someday...(Vikki, if you ever come across this blog & read it - I never DID find that screw I lost!)
I met other people on line who became very important parts of our journey. As we all posted on an autism message board, we were drawn to each other & soon began to send out group e-mails. We didn't focus on autism alone. We began to get to know each other & enjoy each other's friendship. We began to exchange photographs. During a group e-mail "conversation", we were discussing our pictures, and we all decided that we were some seriously Hot Mamas. During another group discussion, we all admitted that we're not perfect parents (imagine that!), and that we sometimes scream at our children (God forgive!). As a joke, one of the women - Donna - posted that we were the Screamin' Hot Mamas of America. (Was it America, Donna, or Autistics?) And THAT is how "SHMOA" came to be. We are: Donna (president, of course...after all - she named us! I've met Donna in person!), Patti, Tammy, Laura, Jeanna, Ginny, Liane, Paul (honorary SHMOA - bein's he's a dad & all), Carla, and me. Over the years, circumstances took some people away from SHMOA (and we still miss them!) - they are: Leah, Kim, Molly, Billie, Teal (whom I've met in person as well!) and Laelah. All of these people were a life-line to me in those early days. Today, they're my friends....and a monument to the resiliency of the human spirit! So many stories I could tell you about what these people have gone through - are going through - with autism, or even within their daily lives, apart from the autism. We have walked together through diagnosis, deaths, cancer, MS diagnosis, RA diagnosis, divorce, abuse, cross-country moves, job losses, new jobs, transfers, IEP meetings, due process hearings, regressions, progresses (sometimes leaps and bounds!), miracles, and heartbreak. These women (and man!) are representatives of what has grown to be a very large community - the autism community; families affected in one way or another, to one degree or another, by autism. Today, there are 1.5 million families in America who are affected by autism. 1 in 150 children are diagnosed with autism. I read somewhere that that's one every 24 minutes.
Our story is a rain drop in an ocean of stories out there. We are blessed. So many out there struggle far more than we ever have, or ever will. When you pray for us, please pray for them. These children are precious - each and every one of them. If you'd like to commit to praying for children with autism and their families, you can receive daily prayers/prayer points from Children of Destiny. (.org, I think it is)
Thank you for taking the time to read our journey. Typing it out for you has been a wonderful reminder to me of all the ways in which God has blessed my family. I've smiled, remembering. I've even shed a tear or two - but not a single one has been a tear of sadness. How marvelous & faithful is our God?!?!
If you have any questions that I can try to answer, feel free to ask. You won't offend or bother me.
God bless you!
In the early days of our journey - even before his diagnosis, I turned to the internet for information and support. I didn't know anyone locally with an autistic child, so I searched out people who'd been there, done that, and could help me through all the days ahead. I found friends, true friends, who were there every time I signed on line with a question, fear, or just in pain. In the early days, there was Vikki - a wonderful mom who walked with me through Daniel's diagnosis. We'd sit up at night until 2 or 3 am "talking" via IM. We'd at first talk about autism, but then we'd begin to just enjoy each other's company - a respite from the medical, neurological, educational, and behavioral world we'd found ourselves flung into by autism. Many nights I would sit at the computer with my hand over my mouth to stifle my laughter so as not to wake my family. It was a world away from covering my mouth to hide my sobs. I needed that at the time. On the day I got Daniel's diagnosis, I came home & sat at the computer and typed out the diagnosis & sent it to Vikki. She replied with an e-mail - the subject line read: In Honor of Your Arrival... and the text of the e-mail was an article entitled "Welcome to Holland". Do a Google search for that title. You'll find it. Sadly, cancer and other things took Vikki away from the computer. She is a survivor, but no longer able to be on line. We've lost contact, and I still miss her. Perhaps someday...(Vikki, if you ever come across this blog & read it - I never DID find that screw I lost!)
I met other people on line who became very important parts of our journey. As we all posted on an autism message board, we were drawn to each other & soon began to send out group e-mails. We didn't focus on autism alone. We began to get to know each other & enjoy each other's friendship. We began to exchange photographs. During a group e-mail "conversation", we were discussing our pictures, and we all decided that we were some seriously Hot Mamas. During another group discussion, we all admitted that we're not perfect parents (imagine that!), and that we sometimes scream at our children (God forgive!). As a joke, one of the women - Donna - posted that we were the Screamin' Hot Mamas of America. (Was it America, Donna, or Autistics?) And THAT is how "SHMOA" came to be. We are: Donna (president, of course...after all - she named us! I've met Donna in person!), Patti, Tammy, Laura, Jeanna, Ginny, Liane, Paul (honorary SHMOA - bein's he's a dad & all), Carla, and me. Over the years, circumstances took some people away from SHMOA (and we still miss them!) - they are: Leah, Kim, Molly, Billie, Teal (whom I've met in person as well!) and Laelah. All of these people were a life-line to me in those early days. Today, they're my friends....and a monument to the resiliency of the human spirit! So many stories I could tell you about what these people have gone through - are going through - with autism, or even within their daily lives, apart from the autism. We have walked together through diagnosis, deaths, cancer, MS diagnosis, RA diagnosis, divorce, abuse, cross-country moves, job losses, new jobs, transfers, IEP meetings, due process hearings, regressions, progresses (sometimes leaps and bounds!), miracles, and heartbreak. These women (and man!) are representatives of what has grown to be a very large community - the autism community; families affected in one way or another, to one degree or another, by autism. Today, there are 1.5 million families in America who are affected by autism. 1 in 150 children are diagnosed with autism. I read somewhere that that's one every 24 minutes.
Our story is a rain drop in an ocean of stories out there. We are blessed. So many out there struggle far more than we ever have, or ever will. When you pray for us, please pray for them. These children are precious - each and every one of them. If you'd like to commit to praying for children with autism and their families, you can receive daily prayers/prayer points from Children of Destiny. (.org, I think it is)
Thank you for taking the time to read our journey. Typing it out for you has been a wonderful reminder to me of all the ways in which God has blessed my family. I've smiled, remembering. I've even shed a tear or two - but not a single one has been a tear of sadness. How marvelous & faithful is our God?!?!
If you have any questions that I can try to answer, feel free to ask. You won't offend or bother me.
God bless you!
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
To Give Credit Where Credit is Due...
Okay, so in my month's (well, half-month) worth of autism awareness BLAHgs, I've mentioned a couple of times about crossing over the Bridge of Nevertheless. I need to give credit where it is due. That is NOT "my" terminology or idea. On December 10, 2001 - the day I found the information on the internet that pointed me toward autism - I received an e-mail (within a few minutes of finding the autism info) from Spirit-led Woman entitled The Bridge of Nevertheless. I still have it, although I can't currently locate it. (Don't ask!) Anyway, it talked about how when God allows things in our life, or asks us to do things that we don't want to do that it's okay to tell God why we're not the person for the job, it's okay to argue with Him as if trying to convince Him to choose someone else. But, in the end, it's our obedience that He truly wants and we must cross over the Bridge of Nevertheless.
I don't think I've ever gotten a more timely e-mail. It truly ministered to me that day & I've never forgotten it.
When I find it, I'll tell you who wrote it. But - just so ya know...it tweren't me.
I don't think I've ever gotten a more timely e-mail. It truly ministered to me that day & I've never forgotten it.
When I find it, I'll tell you who wrote it. But - just so ya know...it tweren't me.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Letter continued...
"Do I still pray for Daniel's healing? Absolutely. Do I believe beyond a doubt that God is able to heal him? Completely. Do I believe that God created Daniel exactly as he is for a specific purpose? Wondrously. Do I trust Him to fulfill His Will for Daniel, and for our family? Wholeheartedly. God is God. I'm not. I don't know what the future holds, but I know Who holds the future, and that's enough for me. I still get angry, I still get frustrated, I still pray for healing. But I rarely question why God hasn't healed him - and I guess it's because God has healed ME for the most part. I don't try to claim that there don't come days when those questions don't arise. If Daniel someday hurts because he realizes how different he is, I'll hurt along with him. And when Daniel dreams his own dreams for his future, I'll dream right along with him....if his dreams get shattered, I'll try to help him find his kaleidoscope, too.
In the meantime, I have so many wonderful memories of little victories applauded. I remember our very first actual conversation (it was about frogs). I remember so many times when Daniel's matter of factness was incredibly hilarious, and he realized that he'd "made a joke" (yes, he says that JUST like Rain Man did!) & laughed harder than anyone, even though he didn't realize what he had said. I remember the times when he has literally made a joke, knowing full well what he was saying. Twice in the past week, he's cracked us all up or melted our hearts..
Once Davey asked, "Mom, if you're riding a bike around a pool, and you fall in, what happens?" and quicker than a flash, Daniel answered, "You get wet." And we all just crumbled in heaps of hilarity.
Yesterday was Davey's birthday. I made him a heart shaped cake. When it was time to cut it, both boys were standing beside me with plates in hands eagerly awaiting their slice. As I began to cut the cake, Daniel said, "Mom, you're breakin' my heart. Y'get it? You're breaking my heart!" We lost it and I almost dropped the slice I was serving!
Just today, he got into the car after school. I usually pack his lunch, and two snacks every day. He has to have a snack after P.E. because his blood sugar drops & he can't focus during the class following P.E. Today, he told me, "Mom, this morning, I gave one of my fruit roll-ups to John F. (a boy in his class from a very poor local family). He got to school late and couldn't go to the lunchroom for breakfast and he was hungry, so I gave him one of my fruit roll-ups." How sweet is that? I can't tell you how many times I've read/heard that people with autism lack the ability to empathize and show compassion. Not if God is in the picture!
One day several weeks ago, I was watching a video on line of one of my support group friends working with her severely autistic son doing school work using a new teaching method (Rapid Prompting Method). His name is D----, and he rocks and makes noises as he works. Daniel heard the sounds D was making and came over to check out what I was watching. After a few minutes, he said something like, "What's he doing?" and I said, "He's learning. His mommy is teaching him." and he said, "What's he doing, though?" (I realized he was meaning the sounds D was making.) and I said, "He's making sounds. He likes the way it sounds, so he makes those sounds to help himself stay calm." And Daniel asked me, "What's wrong with him?" and I said, "He has autism." Daniel replied, "Like me? I have autism." I said, "Yes, like you, but his autism makes it harder for him to learn that it does for you. He's doing his school work with his mommy. Your autism isn't like his; you get to go to school." He said, "Yeah..." and walked off. Then, he said as he sat back down on the couch, "It's because I have autism in Jesus." I sobbed. He's right. He has autism in Jesus. No way that's a bad thing!
He's got an incredible sense of humor, he's an amazing artist, and he's the most tender-hearted child I've ever known. He wept as he watched a video of mine and Joel's wedding. God has created something beautiful out of something that could have destroyed all of us, if we'd let it. Many, many families are destroyed when autism comes into their lives. We just chose instead to cross the Bridge of Nevertheless, and trust God's Plan for us. It's not always easy, but it's always worth it.
I hope that answers your questions, and helps you see that we're not some super-spiritual, ain't nuthin' gonna faze us Christians. (Although we aspire to one day be!) We're just a mommy, and a daddy, and a big brother, who love a very special little fella a whole lot, and love a very great and big God even more. Simple."
"P.S. A couple of other things God has shown me.... One day while reading my Bible, I came across a verse in Hosea - "I will make the valley of trouble a door of hope." and He has faithfully kept that precious promise.
And one night I had a dream in which I very clearly heard the words, "The child has autism. Autism doesn't have the child." Interestingly, a few months later, I was browsing around on an autism website that I'd never visited before, and I came across those very words typed by another mother on the other side of the world. God is a good God....and really big. "
In the meantime, I have so many wonderful memories of little victories applauded. I remember our very first actual conversation (it was about frogs). I remember so many times when Daniel's matter of factness was incredibly hilarious, and he realized that he'd "made a joke" (yes, he says that JUST like Rain Man did!) & laughed harder than anyone, even though he didn't realize what he had said. I remember the times when he has literally made a joke, knowing full well what he was saying. Twice in the past week, he's cracked us all up or melted our hearts..
Once Davey asked, "Mom, if you're riding a bike around a pool, and you fall in, what happens?" and quicker than a flash, Daniel answered, "You get wet." And we all just crumbled in heaps of hilarity.
Yesterday was Davey's birthday. I made him a heart shaped cake. When it was time to cut it, both boys were standing beside me with plates in hands eagerly awaiting their slice. As I began to cut the cake, Daniel said, "Mom, you're breakin' my heart. Y'get it? You're breaking my heart!" We lost it and I almost dropped the slice I was serving!
Just today, he got into the car after school. I usually pack his lunch, and two snacks every day. He has to have a snack after P.E. because his blood sugar drops & he can't focus during the class following P.E. Today, he told me, "Mom, this morning, I gave one of my fruit roll-ups to John F. (a boy in his class from a very poor local family). He got to school late and couldn't go to the lunchroom for breakfast and he was hungry, so I gave him one of my fruit roll-ups." How sweet is that? I can't tell you how many times I've read/heard that people with autism lack the ability to empathize and show compassion. Not if God is in the picture!
One day several weeks ago, I was watching a video on line of one of my support group friends working with her severely autistic son doing school work using a new teaching method (Rapid Prompting Method). His name is D----, and he rocks and makes noises as he works. Daniel heard the sounds D was making and came over to check out what I was watching. After a few minutes, he said something like, "What's he doing?" and I said, "He's learning. His mommy is teaching him." and he said, "What's he doing, though?" (I realized he was meaning the sounds D was making.) and I said, "He's making sounds. He likes the way it sounds, so he makes those sounds to help himself stay calm." And Daniel asked me, "What's wrong with him?" and I said, "He has autism." Daniel replied, "Like me? I have autism." I said, "Yes, like you, but his autism makes it harder for him to learn that it does for you. He's doing his school work with his mommy. Your autism isn't like his; you get to go to school." He said, "Yeah..." and walked off. Then, he said as he sat back down on the couch, "It's because I have autism in Jesus." I sobbed. He's right. He has autism in Jesus. No way that's a bad thing!
He's got an incredible sense of humor, he's an amazing artist, and he's the most tender-hearted child I've ever known. He wept as he watched a video of mine and Joel's wedding. God has created something beautiful out of something that could have destroyed all of us, if we'd let it. Many, many families are destroyed when autism comes into their lives. We just chose instead to cross the Bridge of Nevertheless, and trust God's Plan for us. It's not always easy, but it's always worth it.
I hope that answers your questions, and helps you see that we're not some super-spiritual, ain't nuthin' gonna faze us Christians. (Although we aspire to one day be!) We're just a mommy, and a daddy, and a big brother, who love a very special little fella a whole lot, and love a very great and big God even more. Simple."
"P.S. A couple of other things God has shown me.... One day while reading my Bible, I came across a verse in Hosea - "I will make the valley of trouble a door of hope." and He has faithfully kept that precious promise.
And one night I had a dream in which I very clearly heard the words, "The child has autism. Autism doesn't have the child." Interestingly, a few months later, I was browsing around on an autism website that I'd never visited before, and I came across those very words typed by another mother on the other side of the world. God is a good God....and really big. "
Monday, April 13, 2009
Open Letter to a Friend...
In March of 2006, I was sitting in Bible study at church. I don't remember the subject, but the person teaching the class was discussing when God doesn't seem to be answering a prayer of faith for healing and the questions we might ask. A friend came up after class and asked me if I ever question why God hasn't healed Daniel. I answered her, "Not really." and she seemed surprised. I wanted to tell her all I meant by that statement, but time just wouldn't allow it, so I left it at that.
Later, though, I knew that I needed to explain to her what I'd meant, so I wrote her a letter. I won't include the entire letter because much of it is just giving her the background of our journey - and you've already read that here. But, I'll share the part that caused me to answer her with, "Not really."
"So, I thought about your question, and knew that I needed to answer it - I didn't want you to think that I believe I'm some super Christian with hyper faith that will trust God without anger, fear, doubt, disappointment, etc. I struggle with all those things from time to time - I don't know anyone who doesn't, if they're honest. But, over the years since Daniel's diagnosis, God has taught me a few things, and so those are the things that keep me saying, "Not really" when someone asks me if I question God. I want to share those things with you, since you asked. "
"As time passed, we started getting Daniel the help he needed, and he began to progress, I began to turn my attention from focusing so much on his needs to realizing that I had needs of my own. I'd learned to speak up for Daniel with the school systems, learned some of the special education law, learned to respond instead of react when he did something (most of the time), learned to have a little compassion for the snotty clerk at the store because I didn't know what she faced at home...so many things I'd learned. But, I'd not faced what was happening inside of me. I'd not asked God the hard questions because I'd been so busy researching and working for Daniel. I'd not really allowed myself to go through a grieving process.
I went throught times where I thought autism is part of who Daniel is, and I wondered if I prayed for his healing, would I be asking God to kill some vital part of what made Daniel so uniquely Daniel. I went from wondering if it was even okay to seek a cure to wondering why there was no cure out there. I didn't dare dream of Daniel's future, because I didn't want to see that dream shatter - again.
I don't remember when it happened, I don't remember how it happened, but at some point, God began to work in me. I began to be angry from time to time and to question Him. It wasn't always there, but it popped up sometimes. I began to wonder what the future held. Sometimes I cried, especially when I faced an important meeting with the school, and I feared what they'd tell me. Or when I'd get so horribly frustrated with him & want to tear out my hair, then would be so appalled at the horrible mother I can be. But, I also began to see tiny miracles in our everyday life. And somewhere inside me, God placed a "picture"; one night just this past summer I was sitting at the computer, reading the autism message boards, a place I'd visited so many times before in the past few years, and one woman's post hit me. She was questioning her faith and how God could allow her son to have autism - he'd just been diagnosed. I sat down and began to respond to her, and as I did, I realized that I was typing down the "picture" that God had placed in my heart & He was healing me of the hurt, fear, and disappointment. I told her that God is the Kaleidoscope Maker.
We've all looked through a kaleidoscope. I don't mean the cheap, dollar store version. I mean a good quality, glass kaleidoscope. There's nothing like them. At some point, God had taken the shards of what I saw as shattered dreams for Daniel, and had created from them a kaleidoscope of beauty that I could not have imagined possible before his diagnosis. You know when you look through a kaleidoscope, you turn it, and the design created is so beautiful that you stop and look at it for a while? Then, you turn it and another design emerges, and you wonder if this one is your favorite, and how could the next one possibly be better? Then something happens, and you find yourself turning the kaleidoscope again, and yet another pattern falls into place and while you miss the old pattern, you realize it's gone forever and this one is quite beautiful, too, and maybe IT is your favorite after all?
Well, that's how autism is. And that's how God is with autism - or any shattered dream. I look through the kaleidoscope at the beautiful thing that God has created of my shattered dreams. I see progress in Daniel and growth, and a beautiful hope fills my heart. Then, I see a new behavior, some not before seen symptom of autism begin to manifest in Daniel, and I know that as he grows, he'll progress and regress until in early adulthood he'll settle into the level of functioning he'll carry his lifetime. The pattern in the kaleidoscope changes - no less beautiful, but different. Oh, maybe I like a little more green or yellow in the pattern than this one has, but I can't deny that the colors are spectacular as they are, and the pattern is exquisite and intricate. Without God's Hand in it, though, it would just be broken glass in a tube. Do you understand what I'm saying? It's God's Hand that makes it beautiful. Because I trust His Heart for Daniel, I trust that however the pattern turns, He will make it into something beautiful."
To be continued.....
Later, though, I knew that I needed to explain to her what I'd meant, so I wrote her a letter. I won't include the entire letter because much of it is just giving her the background of our journey - and you've already read that here. But, I'll share the part that caused me to answer her with, "Not really."
"So, I thought about your question, and knew that I needed to answer it - I didn't want you to think that I believe I'm some super Christian with hyper faith that will trust God without anger, fear, doubt, disappointment, etc. I struggle with all those things from time to time - I don't know anyone who doesn't, if they're honest. But, over the years since Daniel's diagnosis, God has taught me a few things, and so those are the things that keep me saying, "Not really" when someone asks me if I question God. I want to share those things with you, since you asked. "
"As time passed, we started getting Daniel the help he needed, and he began to progress, I began to turn my attention from focusing so much on his needs to realizing that I had needs of my own. I'd learned to speak up for Daniel with the school systems, learned some of the special education law, learned to respond instead of react when he did something (most of the time), learned to have a little compassion for the snotty clerk at the store because I didn't know what she faced at home...so many things I'd learned. But, I'd not faced what was happening inside of me. I'd not asked God the hard questions because I'd been so busy researching and working for Daniel. I'd not really allowed myself to go through a grieving process.
I went throught times where I thought autism is part of who Daniel is, and I wondered if I prayed for his healing, would I be asking God to kill some vital part of what made Daniel so uniquely Daniel. I went from wondering if it was even okay to seek a cure to wondering why there was no cure out there. I didn't dare dream of Daniel's future, because I didn't want to see that dream shatter - again.
I don't remember when it happened, I don't remember how it happened, but at some point, God began to work in me. I began to be angry from time to time and to question Him. It wasn't always there, but it popped up sometimes. I began to wonder what the future held. Sometimes I cried, especially when I faced an important meeting with the school, and I feared what they'd tell me. Or when I'd get so horribly frustrated with him & want to tear out my hair, then would be so appalled at the horrible mother I can be. But, I also began to see tiny miracles in our everyday life. And somewhere inside me, God placed a "picture"; one night just this past summer I was sitting at the computer, reading the autism message boards, a place I'd visited so many times before in the past few years, and one woman's post hit me. She was questioning her faith and how God could allow her son to have autism - he'd just been diagnosed. I sat down and began to respond to her, and as I did, I realized that I was typing down the "picture" that God had placed in my heart & He was healing me of the hurt, fear, and disappointment. I told her that God is the Kaleidoscope Maker.
We've all looked through a kaleidoscope. I don't mean the cheap, dollar store version. I mean a good quality, glass kaleidoscope. There's nothing like them. At some point, God had taken the shards of what I saw as shattered dreams for Daniel, and had created from them a kaleidoscope of beauty that I could not have imagined possible before his diagnosis. You know when you look through a kaleidoscope, you turn it, and the design created is so beautiful that you stop and look at it for a while? Then, you turn it and another design emerges, and you wonder if this one is your favorite, and how could the next one possibly be better? Then something happens, and you find yourself turning the kaleidoscope again, and yet another pattern falls into place and while you miss the old pattern, you realize it's gone forever and this one is quite beautiful, too, and maybe IT is your favorite after all?
Well, that's how autism is. And that's how God is with autism - or any shattered dream. I look through the kaleidoscope at the beautiful thing that God has created of my shattered dreams. I see progress in Daniel and growth, and a beautiful hope fills my heart. Then, I see a new behavior, some not before seen symptom of autism begin to manifest in Daniel, and I know that as he grows, he'll progress and regress until in early adulthood he'll settle into the level of functioning he'll carry his lifetime. The pattern in the kaleidoscope changes - no less beautiful, but different. Oh, maybe I like a little more green or yellow in the pattern than this one has, but I can't deny that the colors are spectacular as they are, and the pattern is exquisite and intricate. Without God's Hand in it, though, it would just be broken glass in a tube. Do you understand what I'm saying? It's God's Hand that makes it beautiful. Because I trust His Heart for Daniel, I trust that however the pattern turns, He will make it into something beautiful."
To be continued.....
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Joy along the Journey
Today is the 7th anniversary of Daniel's diagnosis with autism. So, in honor of that - a little joy along the journey:
Sometimes, Autism makes for hilarious moments. The following is an e-mail that I sent out about two years ago after just such a moment.
Oy. Just oy. Okay, I have to share this because it was so stinking funny I almost burst a gut trying NOT to laugh....but oy! What's a Mama to do????
Tonight, Daniel was sitting in front of the TV doing something - he wasn't watching TV, just doing something on the floor in front of it. The TV was on - Joel was watching something and had gotten up to come to the kitchen to help me with something. He'd left the TV on the channel he was watching and a commercial came on for "Meet the Fokkers". During the COMMERCIAL, one of the characters said something like, "I'm going to kick your A**!" Welllllllll...
My son, the dear echolalic boy, said, "Mom, I'm going to kick your A**!" and I reacted, naturally, with a shocked expression - mouth open, voice slightly raised, "DANIEL!!"...He then decided he'd said the wrrrrrooonnngggggg thing and promptly corrected it by saying, "Oh, um, I mean, I'm going to KISS your A**, Mom!"
Well, ladies and germs, my dear husband - the pillar of support that he is - ran to the laundry room so's not to be visible to our dear son, and dissolved into laughter. Yours truly strained every muscle in her stomach, throat, back, etc. trying to talk to him about the inappropriateness of that word (and I had to explain WHICH word was the wrong one!) without cracking a smirk. I'm here to tell you it was the hardest thing I've ever done. I may never get back the full range of motion of my giggle box.
After I'd sufficiently impressed upon my precious one the importance of never, ever, ever so-long-as-we-both-shall-live-EVER saying that word again (especially at school, or, gasp! Heaven forbid - CHURCH!), and he'd fully grasped the severity of the situation, been forgiven and soundly kissed, I exited stage left and joined my husband on the laundry room floor in a hysterical heap of SILENT, wheezing, tears rolling laughter.
Okay, yes, we're bad. We're also insanebutinagoodway. So, give us a break.
And if you hear our son say that word...he didn't hear it from us! Scouts honor!
Sometimes, Autism makes for hilarious moments. The following is an e-mail that I sent out about two years ago after just such a moment.
Oy. Just oy. Okay, I have to share this because it was so stinking funny I almost burst a gut trying NOT to laugh....but oy! What's a Mama to do????
Tonight, Daniel was sitting in front of the TV doing something - he wasn't watching TV, just doing something on the floor in front of it. The TV was on - Joel was watching something and had gotten up to come to the kitchen to help me with something. He'd left the TV on the channel he was watching and a commercial came on for "Meet the Fokkers". During the COMMERCIAL, one of the characters said something like, "I'm going to kick your A**!" Welllllllll...
My son, the dear echolalic boy, said, "Mom, I'm going to kick your A**!" and I reacted, naturally, with a shocked expression - mouth open, voice slightly raised, "DANIEL!!"...He then decided he'd said the wrrrrrooonnngggggg thing and promptly corrected it by saying, "Oh, um, I mean, I'm going to KISS your A**, Mom!"
Well, ladies and germs, my dear husband - the pillar of support that he is - ran to the laundry room so's not to be visible to our dear son, and dissolved into laughter. Yours truly strained every muscle in her stomach, throat, back, etc. trying to talk to him about the inappropriateness of that word (and I had to explain WHICH word was the wrong one!) without cracking a smirk. I'm here to tell you it was the hardest thing I've ever done. I may never get back the full range of motion of my giggle box.
After I'd sufficiently impressed upon my precious one the importance of never, ever, ever so-long-as-we-both-shall-live-EVER saying that word again (especially at school, or, gasp! Heaven forbid - CHURCH!), and he'd fully grasped the severity of the situation, been forgiven and soundly kissed, I exited stage left and joined my husband on the laundry room floor in a hysterical heap of SILENT, wheezing, tears rolling laughter.
Okay, yes, we're bad. We're also insanebutinagoodway. So, give us a break.
And if you hear our son say that word...he didn't hear it from us! Scouts honor!
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Journey continuted..
In the 6 years and 17 days (actually 6 years 363 days as of today) since Daniel's official diagnosis on April 11, 2002, we've watched Daniel progress from a child who was barely verbal with behaviors that were glaringly autistic to the trained eye - strange and eccentric to the untrained eye - to a highly verbal, incredibly bright child who has astounded everyone with his growth and capacity for learning. We've watched those who were unsure or afraid of his presence simply due to his Autism label be captured by his personality and fall deeply in love with him, and begin to advocate for him along with me. We've watched him charm strangers, opening doors for us to educate them about autism, and about the awesome Hand of God in his life.
Daniel is an incredible, strong little boy who still loves trains (although he's a little embarrassed to play with his Thomas toys now - he hides in his room to play with them), Hot Wheels cars, and Bionicles. He loves his big brother, displays compassion and empathy, enjoys humor, makes eye contact, excels in the classroom (with help from his amazing IEP team), loves music and dancing. He tells me I'm his best friend, and compliments strangers on their hair styles. He brings me dandelion flowers insisting I put them behind my ear, then tells me I look like a 'real girl'. A few years ago, after I'd had a pretty drastic haircut, he told me, "Nice hair, Mom. Pity about your face, though." He'd echoed it from a movie, but generalized it appropriately. I was thrilled.
We still have a long way to go on our journey. It's the journey of a lifetime; a long, long road. Autism always is. We still see delays and deficits. We see splinter skills and weaknesses. The wonderful thing about long journeys on long, long roads is that when you're tired or frustrated, you can stand in the middle of that road, and instead of looking at how very far you've left to go, you can turn around and see how very far you've come. We have so many wonderful blessings. We have so many joyous memories, so many little victories that we took the time to notice and applaud, and we know that many more will come. Autism gave us that.
Autism gave us the ability to notice things that many parents don't see - simply because life gets in the way. Autism gave us eyes that see that miracles aren't always earth shaking events. Miracles can be tiny, and silent, but no less heart soaring. We also know that we'll still face obstacles, ignorance, and probably even bullies. We know Daniel may face discrimination. We know people who have no tolerance for differences. But we know we will overcome it all together. We'll discover new ways of laughing and caring that many people are never blessed enough to find. For that, I am so grateful.
Daniel is an incredible, strong little boy who still loves trains (although he's a little embarrassed to play with his Thomas toys now - he hides in his room to play with them), Hot Wheels cars, and Bionicles. He loves his big brother, displays compassion and empathy, enjoys humor, makes eye contact, excels in the classroom (with help from his amazing IEP team), loves music and dancing. He tells me I'm his best friend, and compliments strangers on their hair styles. He brings me dandelion flowers insisting I put them behind my ear, then tells me I look like a 'real girl'. A few years ago, after I'd had a pretty drastic haircut, he told me, "Nice hair, Mom. Pity about your face, though." He'd echoed it from a movie, but generalized it appropriately. I was thrilled.
We still have a long way to go on our journey. It's the journey of a lifetime; a long, long road. Autism always is. We still see delays and deficits. We see splinter skills and weaknesses. The wonderful thing about long journeys on long, long roads is that when you're tired or frustrated, you can stand in the middle of that road, and instead of looking at how very far you've left to go, you can turn around and see how very far you've come. We have so many wonderful blessings. We have so many joyous memories, so many little victories that we took the time to notice and applaud, and we know that many more will come. Autism gave us that.
Autism gave us the ability to notice things that many parents don't see - simply because life gets in the way. Autism gave us eyes that see that miracles aren't always earth shaking events. Miracles can be tiny, and silent, but no less heart soaring. We also know that we'll still face obstacles, ignorance, and probably even bullies. We know Daniel may face discrimination. We know people who have no tolerance for differences. But we know we will overcome it all together. We'll discover new ways of laughing and caring that many people are never blessed enough to find. For that, I am so grateful.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
More of our Journey...
Posting at almost midnight because I can't sleep. I'll pay for this tomorrow! ha! Here goes:
I'd called my friend to come to my computer and look at the information I was reading. She didn't say anything, just offered a comforting hug and hand on my shoulder as I read. I printed out the questionnaire I'd completed and took it home with me.
That chilly December afternoon, I called a lady from the IEP team at the school system's central office and told her, "Mrs. C., I think Daniel may have autism." She replied, "I'm so glad you found this information on your own. We were just about to call you for another IEP meeting to request an evaluation We've been seeing the red flags for a few months now, but wanted to give him a chance at speech/language therapy to see how he did. When he didn't progress, we knew the time had come to have him evaluated." Quietly, as she explained the process and the delays they'd seen in Daniel, I covered my mouth with a trembling hand and wept.
That afternoon, I picked my boys up from school and daycare, hugged them a little tighter, and started making phone calls. After several phone calls to different agencies, and after my family had all gone to bed, I walked into my laundry room, exhausted, and fell to my knees. I began to cry, and I beat up a laundry basket in anger. I wiped my face and nose on someone's dirty sock. I hurt. I ached. I longed for my son. I grieved. But I couldn't pray. I was angry, so I wrote. As I wrote, God spoke and calmed my fears. Like the Loving Father He is, He patted my back, and with His still, small Voice said, "I know, child. I know." This is what I wrote that night. I hope you'll see God moving through the emotions.
I'm afraid he'll hurt.
I'm afraid he'll cry -
and I'm afraid someday
he might ask me why....
and I won't have an answer.
Ah, but God knows.
Oh, what a specter!
Such an evil thing
has cast us in the shadow
of it's awful blackened wing...
and all within me hates it.
Ah, but God knows.
Tomorrow seems uncertain.
Is his future bleak?
I'm not sure I've got enough...
my faith just feels so weak...
and I don't know how to help him.
Ah, but God knows.
Soon dawn will be breaking
beginning a new day.
I sit before Him weeping -
since I just can't seem to pray...
and my mommy's heart is broken.
Ah, but God knows.
God knows the pain.
He's felt every sorrow.
He sees broken dreams -
He holds our tomorrows...
and I can't help but praise Him!
Ah, but God knows.
God knows!
And with that, I walked across the Bridge of Nevertheless. Nevertheless, not my will, but Yours be done, Lord. I have the word posted all over my house. My faith is very important to me, my reliance on God a very real part of my life. In the beginning, Nevertheless was a reminder that God's Will will never harm us, even if it sometimes hurts. Today, it stands as a reminder of the miracles He has brought into our lives and home.
I'd called my friend to come to my computer and look at the information I was reading. She didn't say anything, just offered a comforting hug and hand on my shoulder as I read. I printed out the questionnaire I'd completed and took it home with me.
That chilly December afternoon, I called a lady from the IEP team at the school system's central office and told her, "Mrs. C., I think Daniel may have autism." She replied, "I'm so glad you found this information on your own. We were just about to call you for another IEP meeting to request an evaluation We've been seeing the red flags for a few months now, but wanted to give him a chance at speech/language therapy to see how he did. When he didn't progress, we knew the time had come to have him evaluated." Quietly, as she explained the process and the delays they'd seen in Daniel, I covered my mouth with a trembling hand and wept.
That afternoon, I picked my boys up from school and daycare, hugged them a little tighter, and started making phone calls. After several phone calls to different agencies, and after my family had all gone to bed, I walked into my laundry room, exhausted, and fell to my knees. I began to cry, and I beat up a laundry basket in anger. I wiped my face and nose on someone's dirty sock. I hurt. I ached. I longed for my son. I grieved. But I couldn't pray. I was angry, so I wrote. As I wrote, God spoke and calmed my fears. Like the Loving Father He is, He patted my back, and with His still, small Voice said, "I know, child. I know." This is what I wrote that night. I hope you'll see God moving through the emotions.
I'm afraid he'll hurt.
I'm afraid he'll cry -
and I'm afraid someday
he might ask me why....
and I won't have an answer.
Ah, but God knows.
Oh, what a specter!
Such an evil thing
has cast us in the shadow
of it's awful blackened wing...
and all within me hates it.
Ah, but God knows.
Tomorrow seems uncertain.
Is his future bleak?
I'm not sure I've got enough...
my faith just feels so weak...
and I don't know how to help him.
Ah, but God knows.
Soon dawn will be breaking
beginning a new day.
I sit before Him weeping -
since I just can't seem to pray...
and my mommy's heart is broken.
Ah, but God knows.
God knows the pain.
He's felt every sorrow.
He sees broken dreams -
He holds our tomorrows...
and I can't help but praise Him!
Ah, but God knows.
God knows!
And with that, I walked across the Bridge of Nevertheless. Nevertheless, not my will, but Yours be done, Lord. I have the word posted all over my house. My faith is very important to me, my reliance on God a very real part of my life. In the beginning, Nevertheless was a reminder that God's Will will never harm us, even if it sometimes hurts. Today, it stands as a reminder of the miracles He has brought into our lives and home.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Journey continued
We were contacted by one of the speech/language pathologists who'd evaluated Daniel and asked to attend an IEP meeting to set up speech/language services to begin as soon as possible. Our meeting was scheduled for September 11, 2001.
On September 9, 2001, Joel's father, David, passed away en route to the hospital. He'd suffered with heart problems for several years, and his passing wasn't completely unexpected, albeit heart-rending in it's suddenness. We began funeral arrangements and forgot to postpone our IEP meeting. On the evening of Sept. 10, 2001, with the funeral scheduled for the next afternoon at 2 p.m., I remembered the IEP meeting scheduled for the next morning at 9 am. We decided to go ahead and attend the meeting.
The morning of Sept. 11th, as we dressed, our phone rang. Ianswered to hear my husband's sister's frantic voice, "Turn on the television! Any channel!" We did so, only to sink down onto our knees as we watched a plane slam into the World Trade Center.
Like zombies, we attended the meeting. The IEP team was told of David's death, and we'd all seen the horrifying events beginning to unfold in our nation. Quickly, they explained the results of the evaluation, and their plans for serving him in his daycare. I vaguely remember words such as "severe language delay", "this level of disability", and I remember that they'd said my 4.1 year old son had the overall language abilities of a 1.7 year old. Thankfully, mercifully, they ended the meeting quickly, understanding our state of mind and heart as we also understood theirs. We were all grieving.
Joel and I barely spoke on the way home. We rushed in to turn on the television to see what was happening in Manhattan only to sink again onto our knees and weep as we watched a second plane slam into the second tower. Joel would mention later that day as we got into our car for the procession to the cemetary that he felt he'd been robbed the chance to grieve his father's death as he was now grieving for thousands. I nodded, silent. I understood all too well his emotions.
It wasn't until days later, when we'd had to tear ourselves away from newscasts showing the horrific scenes over and over, that we finally discussed the things we'd been told at the IEP meeting. We felt we had an understanding of Daniel's troubles, and the speech/language therapy would be able to help.
I poured myself into teaching Daniel new words. As we moved through our days, I'd label everything and ask Daniel to repeat it.
"Daniel, that's a barn. Can you say barn?"
"Barn", he'd say.
"Good job!" I'd squeal.
Daniel began speech/language therapy in mid-September. By early December, he'd made NO progress. I began wondering what could possibly be the reason he wasn't learning like we'd expected. I'd also begun to notice the strange little behaviors - his fascination with lining up cars, trains, spinning things, his tantrums...things I didn't remember Davey being fascinated with or doing at Daniel's age. I knew something was wrong, different, but I didn't know what.
I began to search for what could possibly be affecting my son's learning, his behavior. I read about language delays. That fit, but not completely. I read about ADD/ADHD. That didn't quite fit. I looked everywhere, and was at a loss. Finally, at work one day, I was discussing it with a friend, telling her all of the things I'd researched and how none really fit Daniel. She listened, and then quietly said, "Maybe it's autism."
I'm sure my mouth dropped open, "Autism?! No way my son is autistic. My son is NOT autistic." In my mind's eye, I saw Rain Man. I'd seen the movie several times before and adored Dustin Hoffman's character. My son wasn't like that, though. Still, I turned to my computer, and signed onto the internet to look it up - if only to prove my friend wrong. I did a search for autism, and found a website with an online questionnaire (childbrain.com) that I could complete and they would score it for me. I read the information about autism, and began to cry.
I was reading about my son. So many of the descriptions fit him so perfectly. Not everything, but so many things. I filled out the questionnaire, the computer scored it - Mild PDD (Pervasive Developmental Disorder). I knew it wasn't an official diagnosis, but I knew I had to look in this direction for my son. That was December 10, 2001.
On September 9, 2001, Joel's father, David, passed away en route to the hospital. He'd suffered with heart problems for several years, and his passing wasn't completely unexpected, albeit heart-rending in it's suddenness. We began funeral arrangements and forgot to postpone our IEP meeting. On the evening of Sept. 10, 2001, with the funeral scheduled for the next afternoon at 2 p.m., I remembered the IEP meeting scheduled for the next morning at 9 am. We decided to go ahead and attend the meeting.
The morning of Sept. 11th, as we dressed, our phone rang. Ianswered to hear my husband's sister's frantic voice, "Turn on the television! Any channel!" We did so, only to sink down onto our knees as we watched a plane slam into the World Trade Center.
Like zombies, we attended the meeting. The IEP team was told of David's death, and we'd all seen the horrifying events beginning to unfold in our nation. Quickly, they explained the results of the evaluation, and their plans for serving him in his daycare. I vaguely remember words such as "severe language delay", "this level of disability", and I remember that they'd said my 4.1 year old son had the overall language abilities of a 1.7 year old. Thankfully, mercifully, they ended the meeting quickly, understanding our state of mind and heart as we also understood theirs. We were all grieving.
Joel and I barely spoke on the way home. We rushed in to turn on the television to see what was happening in Manhattan only to sink again onto our knees and weep as we watched a second plane slam into the second tower. Joel would mention later that day as we got into our car for the procession to the cemetary that he felt he'd been robbed the chance to grieve his father's death as he was now grieving for thousands. I nodded, silent. I understood all too well his emotions.
It wasn't until days later, when we'd had to tear ourselves away from newscasts showing the horrific scenes over and over, that we finally discussed the things we'd been told at the IEP meeting. We felt we had an understanding of Daniel's troubles, and the speech/language therapy would be able to help.
I poured myself into teaching Daniel new words. As we moved through our days, I'd label everything and ask Daniel to repeat it.
"Daniel, that's a barn. Can you say barn?"
"Barn", he'd say.
"Good job!" I'd squeal.
Daniel began speech/language therapy in mid-September. By early December, he'd made NO progress. I began wondering what could possibly be the reason he wasn't learning like we'd expected. I'd also begun to notice the strange little behaviors - his fascination with lining up cars, trains, spinning things, his tantrums...things I didn't remember Davey being fascinated with or doing at Daniel's age. I knew something was wrong, different, but I didn't know what.
I began to search for what could possibly be affecting my son's learning, his behavior. I read about language delays. That fit, but not completely. I read about ADD/ADHD. That didn't quite fit. I looked everywhere, and was at a loss. Finally, at work one day, I was discussing it with a friend, telling her all of the things I'd researched and how none really fit Daniel. She listened, and then quietly said, "Maybe it's autism."
I'm sure my mouth dropped open, "Autism?! No way my son is autistic. My son is NOT autistic." In my mind's eye, I saw Rain Man. I'd seen the movie several times before and adored Dustin Hoffman's character. My son wasn't like that, though. Still, I turned to my computer, and signed onto the internet to look it up - if only to prove my friend wrong. I did a search for autism, and found a website with an online questionnaire (childbrain.com) that I could complete and they would score it for me. I read the information about autism, and began to cry.
I was reading about my son. So many of the descriptions fit him so perfectly. Not everything, but so many things. I filled out the questionnaire, the computer scored it - Mild PDD (Pervasive Developmental Disorder). I knew it wasn't an official diagnosis, but I knew I had to look in this direction for my son. That was December 10, 2001.
Monday, April 6, 2009
More of our Journey
In April, 2001, I took Daniel for a speech and language evaluation with the local school district. He was 3 years 10 months old. As they took him to another room to do the evaluation, I was instructed to wait there & fill out paperwork. As he walked down the hall with them, he began to whimper. Soon, his whimpers became cries, then screams of "No! No!". They wanted to put earphones on him for a hearing test. I'd forgotten to tell them that he was afraid of earphones and loud noises. He covered his ears a lot, and screamed in public bathrooms.
Once in a bathroom at Wal-Mart, he was screaming and crying. An older lady asked me what was wrong. I told her that he just doesn't like the sound of the toilets flushing - I told her I guessed it was loud to him. She snorted and said, "Has that baby ever been in the bathroom with someone you didn't know? Something has happened to that child in a bathroom, and you need to take him to the doctor to see what happened to him!" I just stood there with my mouth open for a second, then I told her, "I assure you he has NEVER been away from me in a public restroom. The noise just scares him!" I was infuriated, and a little scared.
The evaluators weren't able to accomplish anything that day, so they brought him back to me and asked me to get a private hearing test by an audiologist, and to bring him back after his 4th birthday.
I took him to an ENT doctor, and she was unable to even check his ears, so we scheduled a sedated hearing test for the next morning. She asked me to keep him up late that night, wake him early, and not feed him breakfast. The next morning, we arrived with a sleepy, cranky little boy. They administered some form of liquid by mouth (Chloral Hydrate, maybe? I don't remember.) to sedate him, and we were told to wait until he'd gone to sleep. We waited and waited, and waited some more. After over an hour, they administered more of the liquid. He began to get drowsy, and eventually drifted off into sleep. I carried him to a darkened room to do the test. The technician stuck a little electrode into his ear, and he stirred but settled quickly. She was able to successfully complete the testing of that ear. As I rolled him over to do the other ear, he again stirred. We waited until he'd settled and she attempted to insert the electrode into the second ear. He woke up and was immediately wide awake.
The doctor decided to see how Daniel fared in the hearing booth. They allowed me to go inside with him, and he sat in my lap. They warned me not to give any indication that I was hearing anything as they didn't want me inadvertently signaling him. I was careful to sit very still and look straight ahead. He turned toward the sounds appropriately (little monkeys in the corners of the room, lights at the front top and front bottom), and they were able to determine that his hearing was within normal limits.
In August of 2001, I took Daniel back to the evaluators at the school system with ENT results in hand. They were able to conduct their testing this time, and told me they'd contact me with the results.
Once in a bathroom at Wal-Mart, he was screaming and crying. An older lady asked me what was wrong. I told her that he just doesn't like the sound of the toilets flushing - I told her I guessed it was loud to him. She snorted and said, "Has that baby ever been in the bathroom with someone you didn't know? Something has happened to that child in a bathroom, and you need to take him to the doctor to see what happened to him!" I just stood there with my mouth open for a second, then I told her, "I assure you he has NEVER been away from me in a public restroom. The noise just scares him!" I was infuriated, and a little scared.
The evaluators weren't able to accomplish anything that day, so they brought him back to me and asked me to get a private hearing test by an audiologist, and to bring him back after his 4th birthday.
I took him to an ENT doctor, and she was unable to even check his ears, so we scheduled a sedated hearing test for the next morning. She asked me to keep him up late that night, wake him early, and not feed him breakfast. The next morning, we arrived with a sleepy, cranky little boy. They administered some form of liquid by mouth (Chloral Hydrate, maybe? I don't remember.) to sedate him, and we were told to wait until he'd gone to sleep. We waited and waited, and waited some more. After over an hour, they administered more of the liquid. He began to get drowsy, and eventually drifted off into sleep. I carried him to a darkened room to do the test. The technician stuck a little electrode into his ear, and he stirred but settled quickly. She was able to successfully complete the testing of that ear. As I rolled him over to do the other ear, he again stirred. We waited until he'd settled and she attempted to insert the electrode into the second ear. He woke up and was immediately wide awake.
The doctor decided to see how Daniel fared in the hearing booth. They allowed me to go inside with him, and he sat in my lap. They warned me not to give any indication that I was hearing anything as they didn't want me inadvertently signaling him. I was careful to sit very still and look straight ahead. He turned toward the sounds appropriately (little monkeys in the corners of the room, lights at the front top and front bottom), and they were able to determine that his hearing was within normal limits.
In August of 2001, I took Daniel back to the evaluators at the school system with ENT results in hand. They were able to conduct their testing this time, and told me they'd contact me with the results.
Friday, April 3, 2009
Remembering Continued
As an infant, Daniel had developed a fascination with my nose. I’d sit holding him in my rocking chair, giving him his bottle, and he’d sleepily look up at me while he drank. When he began to be able to control his hand movements, he’d started reaching up to touch my face, then my nose. Soon, every time I picked him up, he’d look at and reach for my nose. If I was holding him, his hand was on my nose. As he grew, he continued to reach out for my nose, but it became a need for him. He couldn’t go to sleep unless he touched my nose first. He’d toddle around playing, but would come over to me every few minutes to touch my nose. It was always the same - four fingers on top of my nose, the thumb at the septum, then his index finger would trace my nostrils and he’d turn his hand over to feel my breath on the back of his hand. The look on his face as he followed this routine was one of intense concentration. Often, he would grit his teeth, jutting his lower jaw forward, and place his forehead against mine while his hand explored my nose. His eyes would roll into the back of their sockets as if receiving great pleasure from the touch. I allowed it because friends told me it was his way of comforting himself. I thought it was sweet, a little odd, but I never saw a red flag in it. Interestingly, one of his first complete sentences was, "Mommy, I meed (he couldn’t say Need) to touch your nose." I’d then bend down to his level so that he could do just that. At almost 6 years old, he outgrew his need for my nose. He replaced it with sniffing my cheeks.
He would sniff my cheeks, he would sniff his new toys, other people, everything. He was constantly sniffing something. We began to have to teach him that it’s not polite to walk up and sniff other people, and after much teaching, he eventually learned to ask before sniffing, "Can I smell you?" Strange behavior, yes, but amazingly no one was ever offended by his sniffing. This particular habit came after his diagnosis, however, so I began to explain to people that it was one of the ways he learned about the world around him. Sometimes he would tell the person what they smelled like to him. "You smell like bacon." I would explain to them that he likes bacon so that means he likes the way they smell. One of his beloved teachers always "smells like Christmas" to him (to this day, he says she smells like Christmas - I think he "smells" her love for him). She’s VERY special, wouldn’t you say?
There were other things, so many other things, that should have been red flags to me, to his pediatrician, to his daycare teachers, but we just didn’t see it -rather, we didn't recognize it for what it was. For a long time after his diagnosis, I blamed myself for not seeing it earlier. I knew he was different, uniquely Daniel, but I was enamored of his peculiarities, and not troubled by most of them. Some things did, like screaming in crowds, or his apparent agitated hyperactivity at church fellowships where he seemed to almost vibrate with energy, running like a wild child, making these squealing noises while he "danced" his loose limbed complex whole body movement dances. These things bothered me, but didn’t concern me. To me, he was just "all boy".
He would sniff my cheeks, he would sniff his new toys, other people, everything. He was constantly sniffing something. We began to have to teach him that it’s not polite to walk up and sniff other people, and after much teaching, he eventually learned to ask before sniffing, "Can I smell you?" Strange behavior, yes, but amazingly no one was ever offended by his sniffing. This particular habit came after his diagnosis, however, so I began to explain to people that it was one of the ways he learned about the world around him. Sometimes he would tell the person what they smelled like to him. "You smell like bacon." I would explain to them that he likes bacon so that means he likes the way they smell. One of his beloved teachers always "smells like Christmas" to him (to this day, he says she smells like Christmas - I think he "smells" her love for him). She’s VERY special, wouldn’t you say?
There were other things, so many other things, that should have been red flags to me, to his pediatrician, to his daycare teachers, but we just didn’t see it -rather, we didn't recognize it for what it was. For a long time after his diagnosis, I blamed myself for not seeing it earlier. I knew he was different, uniquely Daniel, but I was enamored of his peculiarities, and not troubled by most of them. Some things did, like screaming in crowds, or his apparent agitated hyperactivity at church fellowships where he seemed to almost vibrate with energy, running like a wild child, making these squealing noises while he "danced" his loose limbed complex whole body movement dances. These things bothered me, but didn’t concern me. To me, he was just "all boy".
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Remembering...
I sit here typing these memories, and thinking back to the days when I first started noticing something - that elusive something - that wasn’t quite where it should be with Daniel. I remember asking his pediatrician at a little over a year old if I should be concerned that Daniel only spoke a few words. I remember the doctor smiling and telling me, "He’s the baby. He has an older brother who speaks very well. He just doesn’t have to talk. He’ll catch up." I remember being reassured and a little pleased that Daniel’s babyhood wasn’t quite past.
I don’t remember other symptoms or signs during that time. I look back at my diaries and see where he had the occasional bout of sleeplessness, but nothing profound jumps out at me. He seemed just like any other infant turned toddler, except he didn’t say quite as much.
At two, I asked the doctor again if I should be concerned, and was told basically the same thing. At three, I was worried. I took him to the doctor for a checkup, and asked again. This time he said we should stop talking for Daniel and make him repeat us, but we shouldn’t worry as there weren’t really other indications of any serious delays.
At almost four, I took Daniel to the doctor and insisted on a referral for a speech/language evaluation. Daniel echoed some of the words we said, but still didn’t often spontaneously speak more than one or two words at a time - never sentences. He’d also begun to use this strange gibberish sounding speech. I called it "fill-in words". I didn’t know what else to call it. He’d attempt to make a sentence, but just didn’t have the vocabulary to do it, so he’d say the one or two words he knew, and fill in the rest with the gibberish. Later, I learned that this is called jargon speech, and the echoing he did is called echolalia, and they are both ’red flags’ of autism.
During this same time, Daniel had begun lining up his Hot Wheels cars in a long, single-file line from my kitchen to my living room. He’d make sure they were meticulously straight, and organized by color or style, sometimes both. If we moved one car, or accidentally knocked one crooked, he’d scream as if we were beating him.
He’d also begun the bizarre behavior of bending forward at the waist, putting his forehead on the floor, hands extended behind his back, and he’d walk around the room that way - head against the floor, like a big inverted V.
He had taken to spinning himself, or little beaded dog-tag style chains held in front of his eyes, almost constantly. He wouldn’t look at me and hold my gaze anymore. His eye contact pattern was more of a look/look away/look/look away style. It disturbed me.
He was in daycare at this time, and he didn’t play with the other children. He walked around the periphery of the playground, always alone. He was hard to control in class and the teacher was at her wit’s end. He insisted on sameness as much as possible, and often screamed or cried when something changed. Once, at 3 years old, his teacher had gone on vacation, and a substitute was brought in to fill her place for the week. I had surgery during this week, so things were a little different at home as well. The day after my surgery, I received a phone call from the daycare. Daniel had had an accident in his pants and had smeared feces all over himself, the bathroom stall, the floor, and was in the bathroom stall screaming and crying. I wasn’t able to go take care of it, so I called my mother, who rushed there to find him standing in the stall looking wild-eyed and frantic. She calmed him down, cleaned him up, cleaned up the smeared feces, and took him home with her. At the time, I thought the smearing was his attempts at cleaning up his accident. Now I know that it was a cry for help.
I don’t remember other symptoms or signs during that time. I look back at my diaries and see where he had the occasional bout of sleeplessness, but nothing profound jumps out at me. He seemed just like any other infant turned toddler, except he didn’t say quite as much.
At two, I asked the doctor again if I should be concerned, and was told basically the same thing. At three, I was worried. I took him to the doctor for a checkup, and asked again. This time he said we should stop talking for Daniel and make him repeat us, but we shouldn’t worry as there weren’t really other indications of any serious delays.
At almost four, I took Daniel to the doctor and insisted on a referral for a speech/language evaluation. Daniel echoed some of the words we said, but still didn’t often spontaneously speak more than one or two words at a time - never sentences. He’d also begun to use this strange gibberish sounding speech. I called it "fill-in words". I didn’t know what else to call it. He’d attempt to make a sentence, but just didn’t have the vocabulary to do it, so he’d say the one or two words he knew, and fill in the rest with the gibberish. Later, I learned that this is called jargon speech, and the echoing he did is called echolalia, and they are both ’red flags’ of autism.
During this same time, Daniel had begun lining up his Hot Wheels cars in a long, single-file line from my kitchen to my living room. He’d make sure they were meticulously straight, and organized by color or style, sometimes both. If we moved one car, or accidentally knocked one crooked, he’d scream as if we were beating him.
He’d also begun the bizarre behavior of bending forward at the waist, putting his forehead on the floor, hands extended behind his back, and he’d walk around the room that way - head against the floor, like a big inverted V.
He had taken to spinning himself, or little beaded dog-tag style chains held in front of his eyes, almost constantly. He wouldn’t look at me and hold my gaze anymore. His eye contact pattern was more of a look/look away/look/look away style. It disturbed me.
He was in daycare at this time, and he didn’t play with the other children. He walked around the periphery of the playground, always alone. He was hard to control in class and the teacher was at her wit’s end. He insisted on sameness as much as possible, and often screamed or cried when something changed. Once, at 3 years old, his teacher had gone on vacation, and a substitute was brought in to fill her place for the week. I had surgery during this week, so things were a little different at home as well. The day after my surgery, I received a phone call from the daycare. Daniel had had an accident in his pants and had smeared feces all over himself, the bathroom stall, the floor, and was in the bathroom stall screaming and crying. I wasn’t able to go take care of it, so I called my mother, who rushed there to find him standing in the stall looking wild-eyed and frantic. She calmed him down, cleaned him up, cleaned up the smeared feces, and took him home with her. At the time, I thought the smearing was his attempts at cleaning up his accident. Now I know that it was a cry for help.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Autism Awareness Month
April is Autism Awareness Month. In keeping with that, the next few blogs will be the tale of our journey with autism. These were originally posted in April 2008. If I need to edit anything, or add a comment, I'll try to remember to change the font color on it. No promises. I'm an old person. I forget.
Daniel was diagnosed in April. What a coincidence. Boy, WE sure became "aware", huh? I was thinking last night and this morning about the days leading up to - and ultimately receiving - his diagnosis. I thought I’d use this blog to write about it some this month. You know, a few years ago, I kept a really detailed diary - of our journey, of his progress, of little victories. Somewhere along the way, I stopped journaling it all down. I’m sad that I let life get in the way of doing that. I wonder what amazing things I’ve forgotten?
Right around the time Daniel was diagnosed - I can’t remember if it was right before or right after, my little cousin Kaitie drew a picture for me at school (I think?). It’s a picture of the sky, the sun, the grass, a flower, a small dark rain cloud and over to one side is a heart with an arrow through it....and the words "Journey of a Lifetime". I remember being amazed that she’d written those words because I’d already begun to think of autism in just those terms. Kaitie was, what? 9 at the time? I still have that picture.
Anyway, if you’re reading my BLAHg, (and if you’re interested...) check back. I’ll be typing out our journey, I think. And if you’re NOT interested...well, it’s all good if "our" journey doesn’t interest you. Just please don’t be uninterested in the epidemic of autism. Don’t be unaware. And certainly don’t be uncaring. There are too many people affected by it for it not to affect you in some way - if even a small one.
So, here we go..
The first (well, technically second) in my BLAHgged series about our journey. I’m just typing out stuff that I’ve previously written down. Once upon a time, someone (several someones) suggested I write a book about our journey...I considered it, prayed about it, looked at all the books that are out there on the topic, and still just don’t know that our journey is any different than countless others - only the names have changed - LOL. Still, I wrote some things down in an effort to see if it was even something I WANTED to do...so, for now, I’ll just share it with you. If God leads, someday maybe I’ll share it with the world. Or maybe not.
Speaking of the world - today is International Autism Awareness Day! Be aware! (World Autism Awareness Day is scheduled for 2 April 2009 this year.)
Here goes:
I watched as she played with Daniel, my baby. She tried to engage him, to seek out his gaze, to play with him. I watched as she clowned with him, trying anything to evoke a response typical of an almost 5 year old child. Then, I watched as she scribbled notes on the clipboard that was never far from her hand. Several times, her glance met my eyes, and I knew she was weighing my emotions; pre-forming the words she’d have to say to tell me what her opinion of my son would be.
Minutes later, we sat across from her, Joel and I. This soft-spoken woman with the equally soft name, Sonya, read the list of criteria that fit Daniel’s idiosyncrasies. She leaned toward us, lowering her voice as if to soften the blow her words would surely bring, and delivered the words I already expected, "It is my opinion that Daniel meets the educational criteria for Autism."
Autism. Daniel has Autism. I knew it. I’d known it for months. I leaned back in my chair watching her as she watched me. I think she expected me to cry, to scream, to deny what she’d just handed me. But, I just sat there looking at her. I heard Joel’s quiet sob and knew he was trying to hold himself together. I patted his knee. Turning toward Sonya, I said the words that officially began the journey we’d unofficially entered two years before, "So, what now?"
Daniel was diagnosed in April. What a coincidence. Boy, WE sure became "aware", huh? I was thinking last night and this morning about the days leading up to - and ultimately receiving - his diagnosis. I thought I’d use this blog to write about it some this month. You know, a few years ago, I kept a really detailed diary - of our journey, of his progress, of little victories. Somewhere along the way, I stopped journaling it all down. I’m sad that I let life get in the way of doing that. I wonder what amazing things I’ve forgotten?
Right around the time Daniel was diagnosed - I can’t remember if it was right before or right after, my little cousin Kaitie drew a picture for me at school (I think?). It’s a picture of the sky, the sun, the grass, a flower, a small dark rain cloud and over to one side is a heart with an arrow through it....and the words "Journey of a Lifetime". I remember being amazed that she’d written those words because I’d already begun to think of autism in just those terms. Kaitie was, what? 9 at the time? I still have that picture.
Anyway, if you’re reading my BLAHg, (and if you’re interested...) check back. I’ll be typing out our journey, I think. And if you’re NOT interested...well, it’s all good if "our" journey doesn’t interest you. Just please don’t be uninterested in the epidemic of autism. Don’t be unaware. And certainly don’t be uncaring. There are too many people affected by it for it not to affect you in some way - if even a small one.
So, here we go..
The first (well, technically second) in my BLAHgged series about our journey. I’m just typing out stuff that I’ve previously written down. Once upon a time, someone (several someones) suggested I write a book about our journey...I considered it, prayed about it, looked at all the books that are out there on the topic, and still just don’t know that our journey is any different than countless others - only the names have changed - LOL. Still, I wrote some things down in an effort to see if it was even something I WANTED to do...so, for now, I’ll just share it with you. If God leads, someday maybe I’ll share it with the world. Or maybe not.
Speaking of the world - today is International Autism Awareness Day! Be aware! (World Autism Awareness Day is scheduled for 2 April 2009 this year.)
Here goes:
I watched as she played with Daniel, my baby. She tried to engage him, to seek out his gaze, to play with him. I watched as she clowned with him, trying anything to evoke a response typical of an almost 5 year old child. Then, I watched as she scribbled notes on the clipboard that was never far from her hand. Several times, her glance met my eyes, and I knew she was weighing my emotions; pre-forming the words she’d have to say to tell me what her opinion of my son would be.
Minutes later, we sat across from her, Joel and I. This soft-spoken woman with the equally soft name, Sonya, read the list of criteria that fit Daniel’s idiosyncrasies. She leaned toward us, lowering her voice as if to soften the blow her words would surely bring, and delivered the words I already expected, "It is my opinion that Daniel meets the educational criteria for Autism."
Autism. Daniel has Autism. I knew it. I’d known it for months. I leaned back in my chair watching her as she watched me. I think she expected me to cry, to scream, to deny what she’d just handed me. But, I just sat there looking at her. I heard Joel’s quiet sob and knew he was trying to hold himself together. I patted his knee. Turning toward Sonya, I said the words that officially began the journey we’d unofficially entered two years before, "So, what now?"
Monday, March 30, 2009
Ode to Spring
This blog was originally posted on my MySpace blog last year on March 31st. Apparently, cool weather after a bit of warm weather is par for the course in late March in Alabama.
Where did spring go???
I don’t know about you, but I’m sick of cool weather! It was warming up nicely last week - I thoroughly enjoyed having my windows open even whilst my sinuses closed up....and then yesterday dawned cooollll...and today is cold and rainy. What is the deal?? I know it’s not blackberry winter because it wasn’t warm long enough yet. I think spring is being fickle this year. Of course, I am thankful for the rain....but it could rain while it remained warm outside, don’t you think??
So, in lament of the temporary loss of spring, I’m gonna post my Ode to Spring that I wrote a few years ago. I was sitting in the parking lot of the school waiting on my young’uns, and it was a gaw-jus day. The sun was shining, the sky was blue, the clouds were fluffy & white, and I was watching a stand of pine trees across from the school as they swayed in the breeze. I remember thinking that they were enjoying the spring weather as well, and how much it looked like they were reaching their branches toward Heaven. And so I got out a piece of paper, and this is what resulted - my Ode to Spring:
The pine trees reach toward the sky
seeming to beckon as the clouds pass by.
The maples and oaks wave their leaves
stretching toward Heaven applauding His Deeds.
All of creation sings a song of praise
A constant hum to the Ancient of Days.
A grasshopper’s chirp, a joyful bird tune
whisper a hopeful, "Creator, come soon."
The orbiting moon worships from the expanse
the Master Composer of the Galaxy’s dance.
Uncountable stars - a glimpse of His Glory
Sing through the night of the Savior’s Love Story.
Whispering wind, so much like His Voice
rushes over the earth causing LIFE to rejoice!
-2003, Toni Leverett
Where did spring go???
I don’t know about you, but I’m sick of cool weather! It was warming up nicely last week - I thoroughly enjoyed having my windows open even whilst my sinuses closed up....and then yesterday dawned cooollll...and today is cold and rainy. What is the deal?? I know it’s not blackberry winter because it wasn’t warm long enough yet. I think spring is being fickle this year. Of course, I am thankful for the rain....but it could rain while it remained warm outside, don’t you think??
So, in lament of the temporary loss of spring, I’m gonna post my Ode to Spring that I wrote a few years ago. I was sitting in the parking lot of the school waiting on my young’uns, and it was a gaw-jus day. The sun was shining, the sky was blue, the clouds were fluffy & white, and I was watching a stand of pine trees across from the school as they swayed in the breeze. I remember thinking that they were enjoying the spring weather as well, and how much it looked like they were reaching their branches toward Heaven. And so I got out a piece of paper, and this is what resulted - my Ode to Spring:
The pine trees reach toward the sky
seeming to beckon as the clouds pass by.
The maples and oaks wave their leaves
stretching toward Heaven applauding His Deeds.
All of creation sings a song of praise
A constant hum to the Ancient of Days.
A grasshopper’s chirp, a joyful bird tune
whisper a hopeful, "Creator, come soon."
The orbiting moon worships from the expanse
the Master Composer of the Galaxy’s dance.
Uncountable stars - a glimpse of His Glory
Sing through the night of the Savior’s Love Story.
Whispering wind, so much like His Voice
rushes over the earth causing LIFE to rejoice!
-2003, Toni Leverett
Friday, March 27, 2009
Pressing Prayers
Once upon a time, someone told me that she’d heard that I iron everything – including sheets and towels. I laughed. It’s not true, you know. I don’t iron sheets, towels, washcloths, underclothes, or socks. Everything else, though – yeah, pretty much. The above mentioned items, I DO throw in the dryer & they usually get into their rightful places fairly unwrinkled. I hate a wrinkled towel! Probably would iron one if I could figure out how to do it without smushing the nap. ....
.. ..
I don’t know why- I just have “this thing” about wrinkled clothes. I don’t want my kids going to school looking like street urchins, and I don’t have a particular desire to look like a bag lady. My husband usually irons his own clothes. I’ve noticed, though, that more and more he’s wearing camouflage, and it pretty much, well, camouflages wrinkles. Could be he’s onto something….....
.. ..
Since I have this thing about wrinkled clothes, I guess it’s a good thing that I don’t mind ironing. I actually enjoy it. I didn’t ALWAYS enjoy it. It was once one of those necessary chores that I tolerated and tried to make the best of. So, usually, I would iron and sing or hum. (Good thing my laundry room is at the end of the house all by itself!)....
.. ..
One day, while ironing and singing, it occurred to me – HEY! This is the perfect time to be praying for your kids! I mean, really…I’m just standing there, pressing wrinkles out of increasingly not-so-miniature clothing – how much concentration is required? I can do something else while my hands are busy. While my physical hands toil at their pressing, I could fold my spiritual hands in prayer – pressing in close to beseech my Father on behalf of my children. ....
.. ..
So began my Pressing Prayers. ....
.. ..
I use those few brief moments every day to pray for each of my children from head to toe, front to back, top to bottom, inside and out. As I iron the front of a shirt, I pray for them to have hearts of compassion, to love like Jesus, to be pure in heart, passionate in worship. As I press the iron to the area of the shirt that covers their hearts, I pray also for their future wives. I use this time to pray for their physical health as well as their spiritual health. I pray as the Spirit leads me – never the same way each day. Some days I pray that they learn to breathe life deeply, taking in everything that comes their way with hearts that are thankful to the Creator for His Creation and for the life He has provided for them. The Spirit of God knows their needs and never fails to aide me in my prayers. ....
I pray that their appetites would be for things righteous, that the Word would be their daily bread. I pray for joy for them, for faithfulness, and kindness. ....
.. ..
When I iron the back of their shirts, I pray for strength and for boldness. That they would have courage to stand whatever trials they face as they grow and as they live their lives for the Lord. I pray that they always know that their backs were never meant to bear burdens, but that the Lord is the bearer of our burdens. I pray that they take upon themselves His Yoke and are never yoked to sin. I pray for them to have the “backbone” to do what is right, even when it’s not popular. ....
.. ..
I iron their sleeves and pray that they’ll be ‘gentle giants’. Manly men who will have strong arms that are gentle and eager to wrap comfortingly around someone when the need arises. I iron their cuffs and pray for their hands to be loving and tender, diligent to their tasks, hands that – like Jesus – reach out to the lost and hurting to offer friendship, love, and help. I pray that they have hands that eagerly lift up in worship, regularly fold in prayer, and rest each night in peace.....
.. ..
I iron their collars and pray for their minds to be renewed day by day. I pray that rebellion would never tempt them, that obedience would be their first response, always. I pray that their eyes are fixed on Jesus, that their heads are unturned. ....
.. ..
When I get to their jeans, I pray for strength to stand – that they would stand and be counted as ones unashamed of Christ. I pray for their steps to be ordered of the Lord. I pray that their legs would carry them wherever the Voice of the Spirit leads – that they would walk always in the Purpose for which God created them. I pray that I have to replace their jeans often because they’ve worn out the knees bowing in prayer. When I press the front of their jeans, yes, I pray for sexual purity. When I press the seat of their jeans, I pray that they would not be content to sit around waiting for the Kingdom of God to come – but that they would be up, moving, going, actively working to bring the Kingdom of God to touch the earth. ....
.. ..
I pray for their feet – that they would be beautiful in carrying the Gospel with them. That they would run with endurance the race marked out for them. I pray that wherever their feet carry them, that they are surrounded with favor as with a shield.....
.. ..
As the Spirit of God leads me, I pray. Oh, yes, sometimes my Mom-flesh gets in the way of listening to the Voice of God. Sometimes I pray selfishly. “Lord, as I iron this pants leg, I pray that You remind him to take out the garbage without being told repeatedly – or else I’m going to break the leg that goes in here…” Sometimes, I pray less “spiritually-minded” than other times – there are all sorts of needs in their lives that I use this time to cover in prayer. ....
.. ..
They don’t know that each morning when they don their clothing for the day that they’re putting on garments that have been bathed in prayer. They sometimes comment that their clothing is still warm from the iron. I usually smile to myself and think, “That’s the way love feels.” They don’t have to know. The Lord and I know, and that is enough. And now you know. Shhhh…don’t rat me out! ....
.. ..
I’m not a “super-spiritual” person. I am a follower of Christ who believes in prayer. I’m uncomfortable praying in front of others, I don’t like to speak to a crowd & people who ARE more spiritual intimidate the dickens out of me. But someone said to me the other day, “I hate doing laundry!” and I thought (but didn’t SAY!), “Oh, dear. You’re missing out on something special….” That’s when this blog began to form in my mind. (I don’t mind laundry either! I enjoy the scent of the freshly laundered, warm- from-the-dryer clothes – it reminds me that my prayers and praises rise up before the Lord as a sweet-smelling fragrance….I pray sometimes when I fold and hang clothes, too….but I couldn’t think of a catchy phrase for that! Heeheheheeee). I write this blog NOT to be braggadocious (is that a word?) but just to say that any mundane task can be turned into something special – a time to spend in prayer, or a time to reach out a hand, or even a time to just withdraw & recover from the day – if we’ll take our eyes off of the task at hand and put them where they should be in the first place….fixed on Jesus. Whatever we’ve done for the least of these….even this, Lord.
Blessings! ....
.. ..
I don’t know why- I just have “this thing” about wrinkled clothes. I don’t want my kids going to school looking like street urchins, and I don’t have a particular desire to look like a bag lady. My husband usually irons his own clothes. I’ve noticed, though, that more and more he’s wearing camouflage, and it pretty much, well, camouflages wrinkles. Could be he’s onto something….....
.. ..
Since I have this thing about wrinkled clothes, I guess it’s a good thing that I don’t mind ironing. I actually enjoy it. I didn’t ALWAYS enjoy it. It was once one of those necessary chores that I tolerated and tried to make the best of. So, usually, I would iron and sing or hum. (Good thing my laundry room is at the end of the house all by itself!)....
.. ..
One day, while ironing and singing, it occurred to me – HEY! This is the perfect time to be praying for your kids! I mean, really…I’m just standing there, pressing wrinkles out of increasingly not-so-miniature clothing – how much concentration is required? I can do something else while my hands are busy. While my physical hands toil at their pressing, I could fold my spiritual hands in prayer – pressing in close to beseech my Father on behalf of my children. ....
.. ..
So began my Pressing Prayers. ....
.. ..
I use those few brief moments every day to pray for each of my children from head to toe, front to back, top to bottom, inside and out. As I iron the front of a shirt, I pray for them to have hearts of compassion, to love like Jesus, to be pure in heart, passionate in worship. As I press the iron to the area of the shirt that covers their hearts, I pray also for their future wives. I use this time to pray for their physical health as well as their spiritual health. I pray as the Spirit leads me – never the same way each day. Some days I pray that they learn to breathe life deeply, taking in everything that comes their way with hearts that are thankful to the Creator for His Creation and for the life He has provided for them. The Spirit of God knows their needs and never fails to aide me in my prayers. ....
I pray that their appetites would be for things righteous, that the Word would be their daily bread. I pray for joy for them, for faithfulness, and kindness. ....
.. ..
When I iron the back of their shirts, I pray for strength and for boldness. That they would have courage to stand whatever trials they face as they grow and as they live their lives for the Lord. I pray that they always know that their backs were never meant to bear burdens, but that the Lord is the bearer of our burdens. I pray that they take upon themselves His Yoke and are never yoked to sin. I pray for them to have the “backbone” to do what is right, even when it’s not popular. ....
.. ..
I iron their sleeves and pray that they’ll be ‘gentle giants’. Manly men who will have strong arms that are gentle and eager to wrap comfortingly around someone when the need arises. I iron their cuffs and pray for their hands to be loving and tender, diligent to their tasks, hands that – like Jesus – reach out to the lost and hurting to offer friendship, love, and help. I pray that they have hands that eagerly lift up in worship, regularly fold in prayer, and rest each night in peace.....
.. ..
I iron their collars and pray for their minds to be renewed day by day. I pray that rebellion would never tempt them, that obedience would be their first response, always. I pray that their eyes are fixed on Jesus, that their heads are unturned. ....
.. ..
When I get to their jeans, I pray for strength to stand – that they would stand and be counted as ones unashamed of Christ. I pray for their steps to be ordered of the Lord. I pray that their legs would carry them wherever the Voice of the Spirit leads – that they would walk always in the Purpose for which God created them. I pray that I have to replace their jeans often because they’ve worn out the knees bowing in prayer. When I press the front of their jeans, yes, I pray for sexual purity. When I press the seat of their jeans, I pray that they would not be content to sit around waiting for the Kingdom of God to come – but that they would be up, moving, going, actively working to bring the Kingdom of God to touch the earth. ....
.. ..
I pray for their feet – that they would be beautiful in carrying the Gospel with them. That they would run with endurance the race marked out for them. I pray that wherever their feet carry them, that they are surrounded with favor as with a shield.....
.. ..
As the Spirit of God leads me, I pray. Oh, yes, sometimes my Mom-flesh gets in the way of listening to the Voice of God. Sometimes I pray selfishly. “Lord, as I iron this pants leg, I pray that You remind him to take out the garbage without being told repeatedly – or else I’m going to break the leg that goes in here…” Sometimes, I pray less “spiritually-minded” than other times – there are all sorts of needs in their lives that I use this time to cover in prayer. ....
.. ..
They don’t know that each morning when they don their clothing for the day that they’re putting on garments that have been bathed in prayer. They sometimes comment that their clothing is still warm from the iron. I usually smile to myself and think, “That’s the way love feels.” They don’t have to know. The Lord and I know, and that is enough. And now you know. Shhhh…don’t rat me out! ....
.. ..
I’m not a “super-spiritual” person. I am a follower of Christ who believes in prayer. I’m uncomfortable praying in front of others, I don’t like to speak to a crowd & people who ARE more spiritual intimidate the dickens out of me. But someone said to me the other day, “I hate doing laundry!” and I thought (but didn’t SAY!), “Oh, dear. You’re missing out on something special….” That’s when this blog began to form in my mind. (I don’t mind laundry either! I enjoy the scent of the freshly laundered, warm- from-the-dryer clothes – it reminds me that my prayers and praises rise up before the Lord as a sweet-smelling fragrance….I pray sometimes when I fold and hang clothes, too….but I couldn’t think of a catchy phrase for that! Heeheheheeee). I write this blog NOT to be braggadocious (is that a word?) but just to say that any mundane task can be turned into something special – a time to spend in prayer, or a time to reach out a hand, or even a time to just withdraw & recover from the day – if we’ll take our eyes off of the task at hand and put them where they should be in the first place….fixed on Jesus. Whatever we’ve done for the least of these….even this, Lord.
Blessings! ....
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Girls?? Already??
Everyday I get a communication notebook sent home from school in Daniel's notebook. I get a brief record of his day - whether he had trouble staying on task, how many prompts he needed, if he got into trouble for something or got upset, etc. The notebook has two sections - an hourly section in the front so his aide can briefly record the aforementioned type things and a section of note paper in the back so she and I can write notes back and forth. I write whether or not he slept well, if he seems to be not feeling well, if there's something she needs to remind him of, etc. It works great for keeping us all on the same page regarding Daniel's progress.
I don't always get a note home in the back. Yesterday, I did.
She told me that she had intercepted a note Daniel passed in class to a little girl. The note asked the little girl if she would be his girlfriend. Classroom protocol is for the teacher or aide to silently read the note, then deposit it in the trash can - which is what the aide did. (That's how she knew he was asking the girl to be his girlfriend.) The aide, Mrs. H. (para extraordinaire, by the way), told me in her letter in the comm. log that the little girl didn't get to read the note and whispered, "I'm sorry." to Daniel. Mrs. H. spoke to Daniel a little later about passing notes and about asking girls to be his girlfriend. (She said he told her he REALLY wants a girlfriend) She said she usually handles it at this age by saying that they're too young for girlfriend/boyfriends & that they couldn't do that until high school, but she asked me how I wanted her to deal with it. I wrote back, "Lock all the little girls in the closet."
Then I added that she was exactly on target & that Davey had not been allowed a "girlfriend" until he reached the high school. Even then, it was restricted to phone and texts - they could "go out", but they couldn't go OUT, if you know what I mean. I further told her that up until now joking with Daniel about "old stinky girls" had been sufficient to quell his enthusiasm about them, but I guess the time had come for the talk. Oh, gosh no! Not "THE talk"!! That's Dad's job! (I plan on being on vacation far far away when THAT talk takes place...can you IMAGINE Daniel's questions? Me, either.. That's why I'm going away...)
So, I planned it all out. I thought about it, rehearsed it in my mind, and waited for the right time.
We were in the car headed to the high school to pick up Davey from drumline practice, just Daniel and me. We were listening to the radio, he was playing with a Bionicle in the seat next to me. All was peaceful and happy and the time seemed right.
So, I turned down the radio, carefully leaving it playing very quietly - sort of like the keyboard player at church will play quietly while the pastor is giving the altar call...y'know..for ambience....
"Hey, bud...I need to talk to you about something." (Gentle voice, lovingly mama-ish, oozing with timeless wisdom)
"What?" (Bugged tone - more like What NOW..)
"Well, y'know, Mrs. H. wrote me a note today about you passing a note to a little girl and asking her to be your girlfriend...."
"Yeah. She took it up and the girl said no." (Guess he took the girl's I'm sorry for a rejection?)
And then I proceeded to explain how he's too young for a girlfriend, and that can wait until high school. I laid out for him the rules (gently and wisely mama-ish) regarding girlfriends that we'd enforced with his brother, reminding him of the girls that Davey has liked (the ones who have occupied every waking moment...via text..). I told him that there is plenty of time for girlfriends, but he (we!) should wait a little while before he starts thinking along those lines, even though I know he REALLY wants a girlfriend.
I ended by reaching over and touching his cheek with my fingers, just offering my support. I compassionately asked, "Okay?" and waited for the tears to come....
He replied, "Okay. Hey Mom...did you know that some Bionicles come without a mask, only a head?" You know that sound that a balloon makes when you blow it up and then let it go to fly around the room? Yeah. That was me.
Love that boy!
I don't always get a note home in the back. Yesterday, I did.
She told me that she had intercepted a note Daniel passed in class to a little girl. The note asked the little girl if she would be his girlfriend. Classroom protocol is for the teacher or aide to silently read the note, then deposit it in the trash can - which is what the aide did. (That's how she knew he was asking the girl to be his girlfriend.) The aide, Mrs. H. (para extraordinaire, by the way), told me in her letter in the comm. log that the little girl didn't get to read the note and whispered, "I'm sorry." to Daniel. Mrs. H. spoke to Daniel a little later about passing notes and about asking girls to be his girlfriend. (She said he told her he REALLY wants a girlfriend) She said she usually handles it at this age by saying that they're too young for girlfriend/boyfriends & that they couldn't do that until high school, but she asked me how I wanted her to deal with it. I wrote back, "Lock all the little girls in the closet."
Then I added that she was exactly on target & that Davey had not been allowed a "girlfriend" until he reached the high school. Even then, it was restricted to phone and texts - they could "go out", but they couldn't go OUT, if you know what I mean. I further told her that up until now joking with Daniel about "old stinky girls" had been sufficient to quell his enthusiasm about them, but I guess the time had come for the talk. Oh, gosh no! Not "THE talk"!! That's Dad's job! (I plan on being on vacation far far away when THAT talk takes place...can you IMAGINE Daniel's questions? Me, either.. That's why I'm going away...)
So, I planned it all out. I thought about it, rehearsed it in my mind, and waited for the right time.
We were in the car headed to the high school to pick up Davey from drumline practice, just Daniel and me. We were listening to the radio, he was playing with a Bionicle in the seat next to me. All was peaceful and happy and the time seemed right.
So, I turned down the radio, carefully leaving it playing very quietly - sort of like the keyboard player at church will play quietly while the pastor is giving the altar call...y'know..for ambience....
"Hey, bud...I need to talk to you about something." (Gentle voice, lovingly mama-ish, oozing with timeless wisdom)
"What?" (Bugged tone - more like What NOW..)
"Well, y'know, Mrs. H. wrote me a note today about you passing a note to a little girl and asking her to be your girlfriend...."
"Yeah. She took it up and the girl said no." (Guess he took the girl's I'm sorry for a rejection?)
And then I proceeded to explain how he's too young for a girlfriend, and that can wait until high school. I laid out for him the rules (gently and wisely mama-ish) regarding girlfriends that we'd enforced with his brother, reminding him of the girls that Davey has liked (the ones who have occupied every waking moment...via text..). I told him that there is plenty of time for girlfriends, but he (we!) should wait a little while before he starts thinking along those lines, even though I know he REALLY wants a girlfriend.
I ended by reaching over and touching his cheek with my fingers, just offering my support. I compassionately asked, "Okay?" and waited for the tears to come....
He replied, "Okay. Hey Mom...did you know that some Bionicles come without a mask, only a head?" You know that sound that a balloon makes when you blow it up and then let it go to fly around the room? Yeah. That was me.
Love that boy!
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Buildin' Monuments
I have a confession to make.... I ain't arrived. (In Alabama, ain't is a perfectly acceptable word for confessionals!) I ain't got it all figured out. I ain't always smart enough to remember the lessons I've learned in the past. I ain't the brightest bulb on the tree, the sharpest tool in the shed, the brightest crayon in the box...my elevator doesn't go all the way to the top....any other metaphor for being a big dummy sometimes that you care to apply here would work. But then, did any of you ever doubt any of that? Didn't think so. Me, either.
Now, before you read any further trying to figure out what the heck I'm talking about, I ought to warn you that I ain't thunk this blahg through thoroughly...I'm just typin' off the top of my often shockingly empty head. You've been warned.
Yesterday was a pretty bad day for me - at least for a little while there. I don't want to go into details too much (because I'm an idiot), but let's suffice it to say that yesterday started out a pretty stressful, anxiety-ridden, self-esteem shattering, yucky, byucky day. And for a little while, I FELT it. Oh BOY did I feel it. I was in tears wondering how on earth I could ever solve this dilemma I faced. I cried out, "Jesus...help me..I don't know what to do. " but I didn't really expect Him to hear and rush to help because, truth be known, this dilemma was of my own making - sheer stupidity. I've heard it said that God helps those who help themselves....I figured I'd helped myself into this stinky mess, He probably wasn't going to help me out.
And I FORGOT! I forgot all the times He has come to my aid in the past. All the times He hasn't left me to wallow in the mire of my own making, but instead lifted me out, brushed off the dirty stuff & set my feet back on solid ground. I FORGOT to look at the monuments I've tried to build within my own memory - the places that I've set aside as monuments, or memorials, of His Grace, Faithfulness, and Goodness...the places where I can look and remind myself, "Look what the Lord has done!"
I forgot to believe God for the unbelievable, and allowed myself to get caught up for a few minutes in fear and anxiety. I allowed myself to run to the phone (well, the computer) before I ran to the Throne (Joyce Meyer's words, not mine, lest anyone should think I'm clever like that..). I ran, found a friend on line, who "listened" to my problem, offered her helpful advice, which I heeded (I'm at least that smart!), and I made a phone call that, within minutes, resolved my anxiety and worry. God went before me, and the issue was resolved without further ado. Do I believe that God heard my desperate heart? Absolutely. Do I believe that God used my friend to help me find my way out of my problem? Absolutely. Do I believe it was a coincidence that this friend was on line when I signed on? No way. She hears Him, and He knew it...and He also knew that my heart was so caught up that I probably couldn't hear HIM right that moment...so He spoke (and worked!) through her. Thank you, friend, for being faithful to hear His Voice. (You know who you are, and I know you're reading this...)
Funny, about the same time I was struggling with my own issue, someone dear to my heart sent me a text message asking for prayer because of a medical test she was facing right that moment. I didn't hesitate to pray for her, never doubted that God would come through for her, and totally believed God that the medical test would be absolutely fine. (It was absolutely fine, by the way...) But I couldn't seem to believe for ME. I'd forgotten to look at my monuments.
A little later, when I went into my prayer closet, I was thanking God for the awesome way He had shown up for me and for the one dear to me, and I heard Him whisper, "Why were you afraid? Why didn't you look at your monuments?"
God has this way of piercing through all the feathers and fluff and getting right down to the nitty gritty of the matter, doesn't He? I think my thankfulness, while sincere and heartfelt, was semi-sub-consciously an attempt to divert His Attention from the main issue...I had failed to REMEMBER Who He was, Whose I was, and all the countless times He has proven Himself Mighty and Faithful (Mighty Faithful!) in my life. He wasn't gonna play that, though, and immediately put His Finger right on the heart. Ouch.
So, that is my confession. Just so you know, I made it right with my Lord...and the issue is resolved, even though I still have some "mopping up" to do. But, that's okay. I know that the worst is over, because God cared about what mattered to me, and caused an iron axe head to float on my behalf. (2 Kings 6) My predicament was tiny if looked at through God's Eyes. But, because He cares about the small things that cause us concern, He is Faithful to work on behalf of His children. So, today, I'm building another monument here; a reminder to me the next time I face worry and anxiety, that God is very present and desires to rush to my aid if I will only call on Him because LOOK WHAT THE LORD HAS DONE in the past. He never changes, His Promises are yes and amen, His Mercies are new every morning, and He makes all things new....yesterday, today, and forever.
Love to all!!
Now, before you read any further trying to figure out what the heck I'm talking about, I ought to warn you that I ain't thunk this blahg through thoroughly...I'm just typin' off the top of my often shockingly empty head. You've been warned.
Yesterday was a pretty bad day for me - at least for a little while there. I don't want to go into details too much (because I'm an idiot), but let's suffice it to say that yesterday started out a pretty stressful, anxiety-ridden, self-esteem shattering, yucky, byucky day. And for a little while, I FELT it. Oh BOY did I feel it. I was in tears wondering how on earth I could ever solve this dilemma I faced. I cried out, "Jesus...help me..I don't know what to do. " but I didn't really expect Him to hear and rush to help because, truth be known, this dilemma was of my own making - sheer stupidity. I've heard it said that God helps those who help themselves....I figured I'd helped myself into this stinky mess, He probably wasn't going to help me out.
And I FORGOT! I forgot all the times He has come to my aid in the past. All the times He hasn't left me to wallow in the mire of my own making, but instead lifted me out, brushed off the dirty stuff & set my feet back on solid ground. I FORGOT to look at the monuments I've tried to build within my own memory - the places that I've set aside as monuments, or memorials, of His Grace, Faithfulness, and Goodness...the places where I can look and remind myself, "Look what the Lord has done!"
I forgot to believe God for the unbelievable, and allowed myself to get caught up for a few minutes in fear and anxiety. I allowed myself to run to the phone (well, the computer) before I ran to the Throne (Joyce Meyer's words, not mine, lest anyone should think I'm clever like that..). I ran, found a friend on line, who "listened" to my problem, offered her helpful advice, which I heeded (I'm at least that smart!), and I made a phone call that, within minutes, resolved my anxiety and worry. God went before me, and the issue was resolved without further ado. Do I believe that God heard my desperate heart? Absolutely. Do I believe that God used my friend to help me find my way out of my problem? Absolutely. Do I believe it was a coincidence that this friend was on line when I signed on? No way. She hears Him, and He knew it...and He also knew that my heart was so caught up that I probably couldn't hear HIM right that moment...so He spoke (and worked!) through her. Thank you, friend, for being faithful to hear His Voice. (You know who you are, and I know you're reading this...)
Funny, about the same time I was struggling with my own issue, someone dear to my heart sent me a text message asking for prayer because of a medical test she was facing right that moment. I didn't hesitate to pray for her, never doubted that God would come through for her, and totally believed God that the medical test would be absolutely fine. (It was absolutely fine, by the way...) But I couldn't seem to believe for ME. I'd forgotten to look at my monuments.
A little later, when I went into my prayer closet, I was thanking God for the awesome way He had shown up for me and for the one dear to me, and I heard Him whisper, "Why were you afraid? Why didn't you look at your monuments?"
God has this way of piercing through all the feathers and fluff and getting right down to the nitty gritty of the matter, doesn't He? I think my thankfulness, while sincere and heartfelt, was semi-sub-consciously an attempt to divert His Attention from the main issue...I had failed to REMEMBER Who He was, Whose I was, and all the countless times He has proven Himself Mighty and Faithful (Mighty Faithful!) in my life. He wasn't gonna play that, though, and immediately put His Finger right on the heart. Ouch.
So, that is my confession. Just so you know, I made it right with my Lord...and the issue is resolved, even though I still have some "mopping up" to do. But, that's okay. I know that the worst is over, because God cared about what mattered to me, and caused an iron axe head to float on my behalf. (2 Kings 6) My predicament was tiny if looked at through God's Eyes. But, because He cares about the small things that cause us concern, He is Faithful to work on behalf of His children. So, today, I'm building another monument here; a reminder to me the next time I face worry and anxiety, that God is very present and desires to rush to my aid if I will only call on Him because LOOK WHAT THE LORD HAS DONE in the past. He never changes, His Promises are yes and amen, His Mercies are new every morning, and He makes all things new....yesterday, today, and forever.
Love to all!!
Monday, March 23, 2009
Hrmph.
Hrmph. Just hrmph. This being said with a look of utter disgust on my face - you should put one on your face as well. You know...become one with the message....empathize with my vexation...put yourself in my shoes...
So, of late, I've noticed that my arms have begun to decrease in length. I'm not sure when it began happening, but it happened so subtly that my shirts apparently shrunk in direct proportion because my sleeves still fit correctly. Which, really, is very convenient. I imagine it's how the Hebrew children felt when their clothes didn't wear out for 40 years. (Seriously, don't you think those 40 year old men looked silly in schoolboy knickers that still fit?) But, I digress....
Along with my shortening arm length, I also began to notice that my head ached more often than usual, children & husband notwithstanding. (I've also noticed quite a few more white hairs sproinging up out of my chocolate locks, but that's another blahg entirely.)
Along with my shortening arm length and aching head, I noticed that when, say, in church, and I would look down at my Bible and then up at Pastor Brett, my vision would be slightly blurred. I'd become convinced that Pastor Brett had found some way to have that Doris Day halo effect around him permanently. How quaint.
Along with my shortening arm length, my aching head, and Pastor's halo, I noticed that when driving, cars coming toward me on the highway caused my eyes to hurt much like looking out the side window and trying to focus on rapidly passing trees would do. Hmm...
Perplexed, I decided to do the utterly ridiculous and go to the eye doctor to make sure that they were still brown. I arrived, and for some reason they tested my vision (go figure!). They told me something that is completely insane...they said that I have 20/20 vision......at a distance. But - as things get closer to me, my eyes cannot focus. And then.....and then...
AND THEN!!! He said to me, "You need bifocals along with regular glasses for your farsightedness." I said, "Well, of course, I'm far too young for bifocals." and scoffingly laughed at his obvious lack of experience whilst contemplating a malpractice suit. And he replied...actually said OUT LOUD...to ME...right there in that room. Right there in that room within kicking distance of my size 8's the whippersnapper said...."Oh, you're plenty old enough for bifocals." GASP!!! WHAT??? WHAT???
Can you BELIEVE that? ME? At 4murmur years old, I'm PLENTY old enough for bifocals???? Why, why, why....I never!
Sigh. Hrmph. So, I did the unthinkable, and ordered (sob) glasses. They're cute glasses. They're very Sarah Palin-ish. I'll look like a librarian...I don't think I can carry the naughty librarian look, but perhaps I'll look not so much bookish as intelligent.....so, in two weeks when you see me in my new glasses, please don't laugh. And please don't put anything in my path because I might trip over it as I learn to walk in progressive lenses - what? You thought I actually ordered BIFOCALS?!?!?!? Hahahahahaaaa!! Oh, naive one......
Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go scrub my dentures, change my Depends, and take a nap.
Hrmph.
So, of late, I've noticed that my arms have begun to decrease in length. I'm not sure when it began happening, but it happened so subtly that my shirts apparently shrunk in direct proportion because my sleeves still fit correctly. Which, really, is very convenient. I imagine it's how the Hebrew children felt when their clothes didn't wear out for 40 years. (Seriously, don't you think those 40 year old men looked silly in schoolboy knickers that still fit?) But, I digress....
Along with my shortening arm length, I also began to notice that my head ached more often than usual, children & husband notwithstanding. (I've also noticed quite a few more white hairs sproinging up out of my chocolate locks, but that's another blahg entirely.)
Along with my shortening arm length and aching head, I noticed that when, say, in church, and I would look down at my Bible and then up at Pastor Brett, my vision would be slightly blurred. I'd become convinced that Pastor Brett had found some way to have that Doris Day halo effect around him permanently. How quaint.
Along with my shortening arm length, my aching head, and Pastor's halo, I noticed that when driving, cars coming toward me on the highway caused my eyes to hurt much like looking out the side window and trying to focus on rapidly passing trees would do. Hmm...
Perplexed, I decided to do the utterly ridiculous and go to the eye doctor to make sure that they were still brown. I arrived, and for some reason they tested my vision (go figure!). They told me something that is completely insane...they said that I have 20/20 vision......at a distance. But - as things get closer to me, my eyes cannot focus. And then.....and then...
AND THEN!!! He said to me, "You need bifocals along with regular glasses for your farsightedness." I said, "Well, of course, I'm far too young for bifocals." and scoffingly laughed at his obvious lack of experience whilst contemplating a malpractice suit. And he replied...actually said OUT LOUD...to ME...right there in that room. Right there in that room within kicking distance of my size 8's the whippersnapper said...."Oh, you're plenty old enough for bifocals." GASP!!! WHAT??? WHAT???
Can you BELIEVE that? ME? At 4murmur years old, I'm PLENTY old enough for bifocals???? Why, why, why....I never!
Sigh. Hrmph. So, I did the unthinkable, and ordered (sob) glasses. They're cute glasses. They're very Sarah Palin-ish. I'll look like a librarian...I don't think I can carry the naughty librarian look, but perhaps I'll look not so much bookish as intelligent.....so, in two weeks when you see me in my new glasses, please don't laugh. And please don't put anything in my path because I might trip over it as I learn to walk in progressive lenses - what? You thought I actually ordered BIFOCALS?!?!?!? Hahahahahaaaa!! Oh, naive one......
Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go scrub my dentures, change my Depends, and take a nap.
Hrmph.
Introduction
Well, Hi! I thought I'd delve off into this blogging business (I usually refer to my blogs as "Blahgs"...for soon-to-be obvious reasons). I've enjoyed blogging for a while on my MySpace page, but I've never blogged elsewhere. So, here I am!
Since you're spending your valuable time here reading, I suppose you're wondering who the heck I am.
I'm Toni. Wife of Joel, Mom of Davey & Daniel, Daughter of God. My Davey is an awesome musician (guitar, drums, vocals in church worship team plus high school marching band). My Daniel is an incredible artist, and happens to be a child with autism. My Joel is a big goof-ball who makes me laugh every day. I work with the children of my church, and I'm a stay-at-home mom. (How's that for a nutshell intro?)
I'm going to start my blahgs by posting some previously posted MySpace blahgs that I've written. I cover just about any topic that is in my head on any given day. I write often of my faith, I write of our journey with autism, and I even write about the thoughts rattling around in my meandering mind (most often referred to as my MM.). I will post my first actual blahg soon.
I hope you'll visit again. I'd love to get to know you!
Blessings!
Toni
Since you're spending your valuable time here reading, I suppose you're wondering who the heck I am.
I'm Toni. Wife of Joel, Mom of Davey & Daniel, Daughter of God. My Davey is an awesome musician (guitar, drums, vocals in church worship team plus high school marching band). My Daniel is an incredible artist, and happens to be a child with autism. My Joel is a big goof-ball who makes me laugh every day. I work with the children of my church, and I'm a stay-at-home mom. (How's that for a nutshell intro?)
I'm going to start my blahgs by posting some previously posted MySpace blahgs that I've written. I cover just about any topic that is in my head on any given day. I write often of my faith, I write of our journey with autism, and I even write about the thoughts rattling around in my meandering mind (most often referred to as my MM.). I will post my first actual blahg soon.
I hope you'll visit again. I'd love to get to know you!
Blessings!
Toni
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