Merry Christmas, From Our Left Field to Yours

From our family to yours, praying blessings over your families, your homes, your jobs, your lives.  May your Christmas be merry, and your new year be blessed beyond your wildest imagination.

Ever try to organize 3 cats (all wearing bow ties), 2 boys, 1 dog, a mom, and a dad for that ONE perfect picture???  We took about 30....  It just doesn't happen.

Here are some of our best efforts:

MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL!

What Would Your Sign Say?

Last week in church, the message was about modern day miracles--God still does them.  Our pastor did something remarkable, dedicating the majority of the message to providing proof.  As the praise and worship team sang, close to 30 people came out, one at a time, holding cardboards signs.  On one side of their signs were their struggles:  teenage pregnancy, drug and alcohol addictions, financial struggles, jail time, miscarriages, troubled marriages, health crises, suicide attempts, homelessness and  joblessness--the list went on.  On the flip side of their signs were their testimonies: redeemed, beloved, saved, forgiven, miracle pregnancies and resolved health diagnoses, revitalized marriages, loved and accepted without judgement.

It was beautiful, heart-wrenching, and tear jerking.  It as amazing, awesome, and moving.

Later, I spoke with Noah about it, asking him if he understood how much courage it took for those men, women, and teenagers to get up there and share their stories.  We also talked about how important it is to share our stories and testimonies when we are given them.  How else will others know to have hope, that there is hope?  I also want my children to grow up understanding that everyone has a story, and it may not always be visible, or immediately apparent--so we can't, shouldn't, judge others.

This has also started the wheels turning in my own head:  What would MY sign say?  Beginning years ago, much of my testimony has centered around a rescued marriage, a child who wasn't supposed to be, acceptance of my health limitations, and the healing that came with accepting Christ.  I suppose the front of my sign would say, "Sick.  Lost.  Angry.  Bitter.  Ugly."  The flip side would be, "Healed.  Loved.  Saved.  Beautiful."

Life has thrown some curveballs, and I've not really known how to adjust to them.  Alright, so I know the answer to that one, so possibly it's more that I don't want to.  Instead, I have chosen to resort to my angry, bitter, ugly ways.  I have openly rejected much of my life outside this house, outside my immediate family and friends.  Having been rejected by people outside these four walls, having been so deeply hurt by people who are 'supposed' to love me and be a part of my life, I have not wanted to feel warm and fuzzy and Christ-filled.  I have told myself that cutting myself off from certain people, drama, and parts of life is simply self-preservation.  My children and husband need me to be sane, healthy, and emotionally present for them.  I am unable to do that if I am constantly having to field drama that is not mine, or unhealthy, toxic relationships, even when those relationships are family.  I need to move on.  Yes, there is some truth to that.  Distancing myself has been healthy in some respects, but sometimes, that drama is like a drug.  It still has the ability, the potential to draw me in and turn my life on its arss.  That is the unhealthy part: the part that allows me to hang on to my anger and bitterness, rather than completely severing it as I work to separate myself from the cause.

So, what would my sign say now, if I were able to send these strongholds where they belong?  Perhaps the first side would again testify to my anger and bitterness: "Rejected. Angry.  Bitter.  Ugly.  Judgmental.  Cold."  And the second side?  "Forgiving.  Loving.  Beautiful.  Warm.  Content."

What would your sign say?  Pray for me, dear friends, and I shall pray for you.

Here We Go Again...

You know, raising Noah is a constant battle--but the battle isn't always with him.  Many times, I have to battle the professionals we rely on for help and guidance.  Sometimes I have to battle myself to remember it's about him--he's the one having the hard time, not me.  Other times I battle just plain old daily life.  Lately though, I find myself battling ignorance more than anything.

This morning I had a full on temper tantrum.  Stomping my feet, yelling, crying, and most definitely acting worse than my children.  I have no idea where they get it from....  My mommy hackles were raised just about as high as they've been in a while.

See, here's the thing--someone has claimed to have a cure for Noah's autism.  I'm sorry, what?  I swapped emails with this person for an entirely different purpose, and this person has spammed me with miracle-product emails instead. This person is not a medical professional, does not hold any degrees that I am aware of that make her an expert, nor is she even a parent of a child on the spectrum.   How dare she.

Here's the other thing--my kid doesn't need a cure.  He's different, not sick.  Noah has Asperger's, and a very mild form of it.  He does not have a heart condition, cancer, epilepsy, or anything else that requires a cure (thank you, Jesus). Noah does not need magic water, a magic pill, a magic wand, or fairy dust.  By telling Noah he needs a cure, I would be telling him something is wrong with him.  There is nothing wrong with my chid--he has differences, as we all do.  As parents, Shawn and I have worked hard with Noah to make sure he knows there isn't anything wrong with him; and to have someone come along and tell me (God forbid they tell him) they have a cure for him?  What kind of message does that send?  No, I have not searched to the ends of the earth in order to fix Noah; I have, however, searched to the ends of the earth in order to help him learn to accommodate his differences, accept them, and learn how to function.  While Noah is not in need of a cure, he is in need of understanding, guidance, acceptance and love.

A few weeks ago I vented my anger about ignorance from the general public concerning children with extra/special needs.  I'll say it again, though--if you do not have first hand knowledge, please don't think you have the answers.  Even those of us with first hand knowledge don't have the answers.  Okay?  Okay. Please be careful what you say, and who you say it to.  You might think you mean well, you might think you're helping.  Here's a wake up call--you're not doing either.  Instead, you're upsetting us, frustrating us, and downright pissing us off.  You also run the risk of emotionally damaging a child.  Your 'help' is nothing more than uneducated insult. Okay?  Okay.  Please don't tell me how to parent my child, please don't tell me I'm a bad mom for not searching for a cure, please don't tell me all of his differences and difficulties are a direct result of helicopter parenting; please don't share your unfounded, uneducated theories or accusations with me at all.  I beat myself up enough without your help.  Please bear in mind, that person you think is in need of a cure is just that--a person.  A human being.  A mother's child.  And, we both have feelings.  Okay?  Okay.

There are days I'd give anything to live autism for Noah. I hate the struggles he has to deal with.  But, I'm that odd parent--I'm also grateful for those struggles.  I know this is how it is for him, this is who he is, and this is just one of the many things I love about him.  I know this is how God is preparing him for life, preparing him for great things.  If my child does not learn how to work himself through a struggle, how will he possibly learn to get on in life?  How will he know accomplishments, how will he know the good things, how will he know just how capable he is?  How will he learn to fight to make himself heard?  I wouldn't change Noah.  He is who he is, he is how God made him (do we need to go over the "He made man in His image" thing again?).  What if, in 'curing' him, I lost all the things I love so much about him?

We are lucky in that Noah is on the mild end of things.  Does he still have a lot to deal with?  Absolutely; we all do.  Does he need a cure?  No.