Just being real

"I'm exhausted, just a weak moment right now , sometimes it's just really really hard."

I didn't post this a few days ago. But I could have.

It was, however, posted by another Mama of a child with the same condition Victor has.

I appreciated her honesty. And her willingness to be vulnerable even if it was in the anonymously public realm of the internet. I don't know her. I may never meet her but her post gave me the freedom to be honest.

To say that I'm tired of having the worst kid in the class.

I'm tired of being vigilant every time Victor is around someone else because I don't know if he's going to hit or scream or pinch someone else, bang his own head or bite his arm, or all of the above.

I'm tired of missing activities because I have a child I can't take in public.

I'm tired of being screamed at, pinched, and hit by a three year and not being able to do anything about it.

I'm tired of not knowing if this will ever end or if he'll be like this forever, only bigger and stronger.

I'm tired of having others look at me like I don't know how to parent.

And mostly I'm just tired because I'm part of a club I didn't ask to join.

Just before the post by this parent I saw a meme with the reminder to

Get Your Eyes Off Your Problems and On Jesus

and I know it was right. But sometimes I am too tired to do that, too.

I also know that there will be people who don't think I should have published this. Those who think we need to keep our problems to ourselves. Those who prefer to make everyone think their lives are fine and perfect. I didn't write it for those people. I'm not one of those people.

I wrote it for the rest of you who are tired, especially to those who are raising children or adults with special needs or children from backgrounds of trauma. I'm sorry. I'm sorry you're tired and are having a worse-than-usual day. Some of us have been there. We apologize for those days before a special needs child when we might have been the ones who looked at you like you don't know how to parent or who didn't take the time to encourage you when you needed it most.

"...in a hurting world, Lord, we'll be prayer warriors
and not persistent worriers...
We'll bring our messy wounds to our Healer, 
because wounds never heal by time alone...
We'll simply be still and know...and know, really know." 
-Ann Voskamp

Day of Pampering

I almost didn't go. The week and a half leading up to the event were absolutely awful. Medical emergency turned into who-knows-what and a future trip to the endocrinologist. Self-injurious behaviors that sky-rocketed. During one episode he actually left a hole in the door. Outbursts that left us holding our noses, mouths, and heads, and hands in pain. And potty training, what's that? I quit.

Knowing that the Day of Pampering for mothers of special needs children was just around the corner, I had myself a little pity party. Who did I think I was for even considering such a thing when I am such a horrible mom to this child I've been given? I somehow convinced myself that only perfect moms were deserving of such a day and that since I wasn't always able to respond in a textbook manner (forgetting that no textbook has been made for this child), since I was begging for someone to just give me a break for a few hours (hmmmm, wasn't that the point of the day?), and since I couldn't fix him (which, not surprisingly, was the speaker's topic), I didn't deserve to be there.  Besides, my emotions were so close to the surface, I was afraid I was going to be a hot mess in front of everyone.

The Good Doctor saw it otherwise. He was pretty certain that this day was designed especially for imperfect mothers for whom no textbook has been written, who needed a break, who couldn't fix their kids, and who could cry together.

He was right (but please don't tell him I said that).

All because someone followed a nudge from the Lord to be a blessing to a group of people who needed to be blessed, I was blessed tremendously. This is what the body of Christ looks like. I marvel at the number of people it took to pull off a day like this (and this church has been doing it yearly for about 8 years, I think). People to set up, tear down, keep the rooms and trash cans clean during the event, organizers, paper pushers, finding funding and donations, recruiting volunteers to do the pampering, meal prep, food purchasers, the speaker, prayer team, worship team, those who blessed the hands and washed the feet, the people who used their gifts to gift us manicures, hand waxing, chair massages, table massages, reflexology, healing touch, hair and make-up, and the list goes on....

I am filled with gratitude for each individual that used his or her gifts to serve.

And we were blessed simply by an army of people living out their calling to bring their gifts to a place of need.

What if?

I had the privilege of speaking at our church's womens' retreat this weekend. The theme for the weekend was Called and Connected, two topics which I am passionate about. I could say the best part about the retreat was being accidentally introduced as Pastor Cindy. Anyone who knows me would know how hilarious I find that. In actuality, for me, the best part was the variety of ways provided for people to connect with God.

The other speaker and I are complete opposites. She's an extrovert; I'm an introvert. She functions out of passion; I function out of discipline. I need a timeline and rules; she refused to put ending times to our sessions. Sessions weren't just speakers, there was worship and a reading, solos sung over us, and a prophetic painter to watch. And if you aren't an auditory learner and have a difficult time sitting and connecting to a speaker (like me), you could find a table for journeling or an art table (perfect for my artsy daughter).

I ended my last session with this list of What Ifs and was asked to share it so here it is for the other visual learners.

What If?
By Cindy King
(Written based on Scripture, some of my favorite quotes by leaders in church history, and a godtube video on discipling)

What if we were so connected to our First Love that we could see every experience, every circumstance, every step of our journey, as part of a perfect preparation for a future that only God could orchestrate? What if we saw our pasts as the back story necessary for the character development and transformation needed to make us more like the Christ we say we follow?

What if we saw ourselves exactly as God sees us? Not more than we are and certainly not less than He made us to be? Wouldn’t our lives shine with God’s glory? And wouldn’t that give others permission to do the same?

What if we stopped asking God to change others but instead asked Him to change us so that with His spirit flowing through us, others will be changed.

What if God’s people returned to the mission Jesus so beautifully modeled for us, to disciple believers and to care for the least of these?

What if when we heard God asking, “Whom shall I send?” our response was an immediate, “Here am I. Send me”?

What if we truly followed Jesus’ directive to “Go”?

And what if “Go” looked less like Christians flocking into their comfortable, entertaining homes and churches, and more like His people moving out into the world, spreading joy, and hope, and love?

What if we were less concerned about the buildings we live, and work, and worship in and more concerned for the lost? Might it mean less stress, expenses and debt for us as well as meeting the needs of those who have no hope?

What if we kept our treasures where they were meant to be, in Heaven rather than on earth?

Would we also be more free to experience His love and in turn to lead, to liberate, to launch, and to share the love of God?

What if we were less focused on making money but more focused on making disciples and improving the lives of others?

What if we remembered that in Heaven it’s not going to matter what we accumulated here on Earth or even how many good things we did while here, but what will matter is whose life we mirrored, and if we loved like He loved?

What if we remembered that we weren’t called to the healthy or the easy or the sinless but that we were called to care for the sick, the marginalized, the ones who may not respond as we’d hoped, or who might continue to fail again and again?

What if we remembered that Christ was willing to give up His life for us and for every single person we encountered? Would we be more willing to give up our time, energy, money, ego, or reputation?

What if we simply looked at the hurting people around us and loved them?

Like Peter did.

Like Paul did.

Like Mother Teresa did.

Like Corrie ten Boom did.

Like Jesus did.

It won’t be easy, but He commands us to go and He promises it will be worth it.

Redemption wins

Last night was a tough conversation with a child. He struggles. He doesn't want help. He doesn't want me. And he certainly knows how to push my buttons. Yeah, calling me an idiot is a definite button-pusher.

There is always loss in adoption. For some children, the loss is greater than for others. For some, loss didn't just happen once but multiple times and for others, it happens in multiple ways. Some children, for various and often unknown reasons, handle loss better than others. Some periods of life can make loss more pronounced.

As a parent, it can be so difficult to watch the healing process. You want to fix everything for a child who doesn't want to believe that fixing is necessary or that you are the best person for the job.

Sometimes I don't feel like the best person for the job. So I read another book, we attend another counseling session, we talk to those who know.

This morning my quest for wisdom involved a lunch bag, a passage of Scripture, and a song.

I was awakened in the wee hours of the morning and couldn't go back to sleep. I decided I might as well get up and get something accomplished during my insomnia. I remembered that this child's lunch bag handle was detached and unraveling. I recently learned that I connect best with God when doing something for someone else. This may not be news to you, but it was to me. You mean I don't have to sit quietly for an hour praying for someone while my mind spends more time wandering than praying? I can pray as I serve? Eye-opening and releasing for sure.

So that's what I did. While the rest of the house slept, I gathered needle and thread and the lunch bag, and started sewing. And as I sewed, I prayed. I prayed that redemption would win, that the struggle would end, that God would do the work of mending a heart that's frail and torn. And maybe that heart is mine as much as his.*

I prayed through 1 Corinthians 13, so familiar yet so full of truth. As I read each verse, I added my own request, for greater kindness, perseverance, and yes, full and complete love. I prayed that my flawed attempts at perfect love would be seen as love that first comes from the Father, perfect love. I don't want to be a clanging cymbal, an annoying, repetitive noise from which one just wants to run as far as possible. I want to be patient, unfailing, complete love to him.

And my morning ended (or began?) with the reminder that we know the end of the story.

Spoiler alert: Redemption does win! The struggle does end! And torn, frail hearts are mended!

Praise God!


*Tenth Avenue North, Worn

Jesus shoes

A few weeks ago we had a snow day.  Although we never really got any snow so it technically wasn't a snow day, it was more of a no-snow day or maybe a threat-of-snow day.  Maybe the best description is cancel-school-because-they're-calling-for-snow-and-we-wouldn't-want-an accident-that-could-result-in-a-lawsuit-against-the-school day.

While sitting at home with no snow, my daughter was bored.  So she started looking at the websites for local theaters and found an audition.  That night.  The show?  Thoroughly Modern Millie at a community theater.  This production being for 3rd - 9th graders, she decided that she should go.  Not only would this be her last year for this youth program, but she had aspirations of being Mrs. Meers.  Twice we've seen this show and twice the actor playing Meersy was brilliant.  Mariana wanted to be them.

She got the part of Millie.  You know you're a drama queen when you have to psych yourself up to be the lead because you really wanted a different role.  Oh, the problems of the extremely talented.

But we're beyond excited for her.  As is she.  Now that she's over not being able to hone her fake Asian accent.

Only we just found out that Millie needs tan character shoes and tan tap shoes.  Originally it was okay to wear black ones, which Mariana owns.  But they changed their minds.  Mariana did have tan character shoes but she let someone borrow them in the last show and a strap broke.  The very kind borrower offered to return the borrowed shoes but unfortunately Mariana really needs a working pair, not a broken pair, go figure.

I love my daughter.  Even before telling us of this need, she started praying that God would provide these shoes.  It's not that we absolutely cannot afford to buy these shoes right now.  It's just that it wasn't in the month's plan.  And usually we have Mariana purchase her own dance wear.  No need to argue this point with me, it's the way our family works and besides, the girl has been getting paychecks for acting since she was 9 years old.

Anyway, she told us about this one night and we also encouraged her to put the request out there on Facebook to see if anyone had a pair to sell.

The next day, someone anonymously offered to buy Mariana a new pair of shoes.  So she now calls them her Jesus shoes.

Don't ever think that God doesn't care about each and every one of our requests.  He cares about us from the top of our heads to the (you got it) tips of our toes.  Even when those tips need taps.

Perspective

In my Sunday School class, we've been looking at the miracles of Jesus which were recorded in more than one Gospel. Every week we're reminded how much our perspective plays into what we remember; what we focus on, and what we retell. And every week I'm reminded of an illustration my sixth grade teachers orchestrated to convey this message. As an educator now myself, I'm not sure you could get away with this in today's classroom but it made a lasting impression on me; heightening my attention to detail and reminding me of the importance of perspective.

As we sat in class that day, bent over our social studies work, the door suddenly burst open, a masked man entered, ran up to the teacher's desk, grabbed her purse, and ran back out. Of course we were in shock. Because our school was experiencing growing pains, our classroom was one of two in a modular. Our teacher called in the other sixth grade teacher (who was in on the fun) and they played the scene of their lives in front of us. Discussing what action should be taken next, they asked each of us to write what we saw, presumably for the police report. They pretended to call the main office to report a masked man and a missing purse. All I remember is that I was too scared to write, had no details to report, and just wanted to leave the room. After several students shared their experience, the teachers finally admitted that it had been a set up. The "stranger" was really our teacher's husband and the purse was safe and sound. So was the lesson on detail and perspective.

A conversation with my mom this weekend brought this home. She reads my blog (Hi, Mom) and I'm sure has her eyes opened as she reads my perspective on past events. She said she was particularly interested in reading about my teen-age trip to Europe. She asked if I remembered the interrogation Kym and I received after returning from our trip of a lifetime. Sorry, I did not happen to remember this piece of the story. Between fits of laughter she said that she and Kym's mom insisted on seeing our tan lines. Apparently one of the postcards that did make it home before us had mentioned our day trip to one of those famous European topless beaches. Kym and I had written that we were the only two females on the beach who wore not only one-piece bathing suits, but T-shirts to cover even more. Our moms just wanted to be sure. I think there's a good reason the 15 year old me blocked that part of the story from my mind.

Perspective, it changes things.

You know, I'm teaching Sunday School in a few weeks, another installment in this series on perspective in the Gospels. Maybe I should set up a purse snatching illustration for the class?

Nah. We're getting kind of old. Better not to risk a heart attack.