Perspective is Everything

This morning was one of THOSE mornings. While I got up on time and got my shower before the kids got up (a rare treasure during the Summer), that was about the only thing that went right until we were in the car. Jackson didn't want to come down for breakfast. He didn't want to eat what I fixed. He didn't want to wear the clothes I picked out for him. My other children were exacerbating the problem, picking at Jackson and whining about him whining. Every transition was a struggle, and I found myself extremely frustrated. We finally make it to the car and are on our way to our play date. Yes. I was stressing about leaving late to play at a friend's house who would have been more than understanding of our tardiness, and for that matter, a friend that would have been totally fine with Jackson coming in his pajamas, bed head and flip flops. It was somehow too hard for me to just take it all in stride this particular morning. The tension filled my body, stiff and numb trying to clear my head so I don't end up complaining to the other mom the whole play date, I turned on the radio and began to listen to Addison Road's What Do I Know of Holy. Then we pass a funeral procession, and just like I do every time I see one of those, I prayed, "God, help them." Then I'm suddenly overcome and start balling like a baby.

There has been so much death in our friend and family circle lately. Some lost precious children, some fathers, mothers, brothers. Still others are facing deadly diseases threatening to take a loved one away at any moment. I couldn't help but compare my morning and all its frustration to the morning of those following that hearse. One of those mortal moments when the frailty of my own human condition and the fragility of the life in my care brought me to tears. The next few moments passed as my mind was flooded with the remembrance of so many blessings. The blessing of my son and all he is, autism included, stood out in those blessings. As hard as it has been adjusting to the special care he requires, this disease will not take him from me too early, and as hard as it is to handle the frustration that builds up from the life we live, I'm not following a hearse.

Perspective is everything.

Note: I shortened this after rereading it the next morning.

Happy Ever After and a Decade of Real Life

 How exactly do you stay married to someone you have nothing in common with? I wish I could say I have the answer, but "you just do" doesn't really cut it since life tends to be more complicated than that. I guess a better question might be, how did you get married in the first place?

My husband and I don't like the same kind of music, movies, tv, pass times, sports, passions, food, decorating style, fashion, books....I could keep going, really. He's a doctor. I'm an artist. He's concrete. I'm abstract. He went to public school. I was homeschooled. He went to a large secular university. I went to a small private college. He works to provide for our family. I work to keep us all from starving, stinking or streaking. He's a natural born leader. I'm more of a free spirit. About the only thing we have in common is our children and our faith.


I've often asked myself over the past ten years how exactly did this happen? How did two people so very different make it down the isle? And, how have we avoided the courtroom? Well, if I ever have that lightening bolt revelation, I'll let you know right before I write my own marriage self help book to add to the plethora of dusty books on my book case. I will say that the older I get, the more I realize how little I really do know about life and just how much I need help.

There was a time when my husband and I had more in common than it seems we do now. One of my favorite things about him was how we could talk for hours and I could ask him a million questions (usually about science or medicine), and he would just keep talking and answering as if he never got tired. He's a natural born leader like I mentioned above, but his gift is teaching. He can break down the most complicated concepts and explain them to anyone in a way they can understand. He won awards for patient communication in med school and residency, and it hasn't really changed. His patients LOVE him, and it's not all about how knowledgeable he is as a doctor (which I will say, he's pretty darn smart). It's about how much he cares about each and every one of them, even the difficult ones. His gift for teaching and communicating drew me in like a magnet, it makes him a better doctor and a better father, too. The best teaching moments, the ones I hope I remember all the way to my last breath, are the ones he shares with our children.

He works very hard to provide for our family. He always has, even when things weren't looking so good for us. That has allowed me the ability to devote myself completely to our children, especially  to Jackson's ever changing needs. He handles the bread winning so I can handle the bread making, and I am VERY thankful for that.

His type B personality is a pretty good compliment to my type A. His relaxed "it will all work out" temperment helps balance out my "the world is going to end right NOW" mentality. We might not have a whole lot in common, but maybe that's a good thing.

I believe my husband and I are together because God put us together, not to provide happiness but friction, the kind that smooths out rough edges and rusty patches. Iron sharpening iron (Prov. 27:17). I believe God is working in us and through us to give us MORE than happily ever after here on Earth, but abundant life with Him forever.

So, after 10 years, three kids, an autism diagnosis, and a whole lot of crazy life, I don't think it's so much about finding the right one, but about becoming the right one, together. Here's to another ten years of sharpening. Maybe by then we'll have it all figured out.

Running for my Life

Have you heard about the Oxygen Mask Project? It was started by a few special needs moms applying the airplane oxygen mask principle to their daily lives and attempting to encourage other parents to do the same. You know the one, that you have to put your own mask on before you can help your children or anyone else with you. In order to properly care for our families, we have to care for our selves first. Our spiritual and physical well being isn't something to be pushed aside for everyone around us, but something we should tend to carefully and purposefully.

Those of you who know me well, know that I'm extremely undisciplined and OCD at the same time. Not a good combination for mental and physical health. I have two speeds, "I'll get to it when I get to it" and "Oh, NO, they'll be here in 10 minutes I have to wash the windows!" I've figured out if I could just find that happy medium between the two speeds, my life would be much less hectic. How do you do that? By adding one discipline at a time until it's a habit and building on those disciplines until you have a good routine. Well, that's what I've been told. I'll let you know how all that goes when I reach that level of enlightenment. In the mean time, I'm making an attempt to apply the oxygen mask principle in my life and acting on a strong new conviction for maintaining my physical health.

I'm quite ashamed lately at just how out of shape I let myself get. Now, you wouldn't have really known I was unhealthy from the outside. I'm one of those naturally skinny people that other people like to hate. It's genetic. My mom was always thin. Her sister was always thin. My brothers are skinny. Most of my cousins on my mom's side are super skinny. My doctor husband swears I have some kind of thyroid problem, but has yet to find any evidence of that besides a few incidental symptoms and the fact that I can pretty much eat whatever I want and not be as big as a house. Here's the thing though. You don't have to look fat to be UNhealthy, and you don't have to look skinny to BE healthy. It's not about the outside. It's about the inside. Sound familiar? Jesus had something to say about the power of the mind and the inner man. In God's eyes, lust is equal with adultery, rage is equal with murder, etc. He chastised the religious elite of his day for washing the outside of the cup and ignoring the filth on the inside. I've been quite surprised at the parallels between physical fitness and spiritual fitness lately. More on that in a bit.

I had deteriorated into weak and helpless or, as I like to call it, skinny fat. You hear people say all the time that you never know how valuable your health is until you lose it. Well, I want to cherish that gift. I want to be real physically and spiritually. I want to know that I will be around in my best condition to care for my children into their adulthood, specifically Jackson, should that take more than the usual 18 years. I don't want to just LOOK healthy because I'm skinny. I want to BE healthy, inside and out. So, putting on my oxygen mask and taking care of my own physical well being, I started making some changes.

My husband bought me a treadmill (I would say he bought US a treadmill, but he's only used it twice), and I got started. I cut out ALL sugar from my diet (except for vitamin water and protein bars when I ran), and began a walk-a-little, run-a-little beginner's program. It was awesome! I felt so productive and cool, and I was doing really well until I got to the part where the running time started exceeding the walking time. That's when the trouble started. My shins started to hurt. I pushed through and kept up with the program. Three times a week, 30 minutes a session. Then the pain got so bad I could hardly walk after. My husband said it was probably just the muscles rather than shin splints or anything serious. They were just not used to all the activity. I was a little offended at the idea, but I used it as an excuse to buy new shoes and pushed through (new shoes make everything better). He was right. My legs were just that weak. Then my knees started hurting the same kind of way, nearly unbearable, even on my off days. At this point, my mental fortitude started to crumble. "Maybe I'm just not cut out for this. Maybe I should find something else to do, something easier." Somehow I kept pushing through. I just wasn't ready to give up yet. I wasn't ready to say I had failed, AGAIN, at yet another thing. I got up to 2 miles a session only walking to warm up and cool down (bringing the total mileage to 3 miles a session). Then I got bored. What am I supposed to do for 30 minutes three times a week while my body is screaming at me to stop this craziness and go have some pie? I figured out I could read while I ran, awesome! Then I decided I would have to buy all large print books for that because it was just too hard to read while I was bouncing up and down. Maybe my eye sight is failing in my old age. Then I figured out how to run while surfing pinterest or watching tv. That helped for a little while, but I just couldn't get used to the new format. Television and internet are activities best enjoyed while sitting on the couch or comfy desk chair, preferably eating a yummy snack. Of course I tried music, audio books and sermons, but I just couldn't figure out how to keep my mind focused while my body did what I told it to do. Running outside hasn't worked out since the only times I can really do that is before my husband leaves for work or later when everyone is settled at night, and my paranoid husband thinks someone is going to kidnap me if I do that. So, the treadmill is it for me.

I thought this was supposed to be fun. People run for fun, right? For that runners high? Things are harder when you can't agree with yourself. I started slowing down. Struggling with every session. I had been doing yoga longer than I had been running, and I started to think maybe that was more my speed. I had added strength training to my routine, and was enjoying the fruits of that labor. (My arms look awesome!) I tried jumping rope. Oh my! That's not a good idea for a woman who has had three kids and is extremely out of shape. I will spare you the details, but I will say my twelve year old self would have been rolling on the ground busting a gut laughing at my 29+ year old self attempting that routine. I kind of wish I had a camera rolling. I could have won some kind of reality show prize, seriously! Somehow, I kept running, and somewhere in the middle of all this, my knees stopped hurting. Yay! I then started struggling with my left hip, complications from an injury during my first pregnancy. Are you kidding me? Really? Is the pain just going to creep up my body one joint group at a time? What is going on?

My new diet wasn't cutting it, either. I NEEDED sugar! I had no energy, and was really struggling by the end of the day. Severe fatigue and headache by about 6pm. If sugar is a no-no, then what am I supposed to eat to reach the caloric intake I need to maintain my weight while increasing my activity? I give up. Give me CANDY! No, wait. Maybe I can balance this out. So, we're back to my original thought process in figuring out Jackson's diet. Sugar is NOT the enemy, especially with moderation and proper portioning. No junk does not necessarily mean no sugar. Then I pulled a muscle, not while I was running actually. That was all I needed to just completely melt down. I'm trying SO hard, and I'm eating right while my husband enjoys his ice cream and junk food and has somehow lost 12 pounds just mowing the grass and not eating fast food. It's not fair. Now what am I supposed to do?

This is when God hit me with more parallels between the physical and spiritual realness I was after.

1. Making the inside of my body match the outside is going to take time, and it's going to hurt, apparently a LOT.
Parallel: Making the life I'm living a reflection of my heart's condition rather than the screen I use to keep everyone from seeing the real condition of my heart is going to take time, and it's going to hurt, probably a LOT more than all this healthy stuff is going to hurt my body.

2. I'm not an athletic person. I've never been an athletic person. My body is going to go through a period of shock as I try to add these new activities in my life, especially having waited SO late in my life to begin this new lifestyle.
Parallel: I'm not a disciplined person. I've never been a disciplined person. My heart is going to go through a period of shock as I try to add new spiritual disciplines in my life, especially having waited SO long to begin this new lifestyle.

That doesn't mean it isn't worth it.

Tomorrow I plan to run again for the first time in nearly four weeks. Hopefully, this muscle has healed and I can get back into my original routine, and hopefully, I can use my future running experiences to fuel more spiritual discovery.

One of my favorite quotes:

"You do not have a soul. You are a soul. You have a body." - C.S. Lewis

I want to push my body to it's limits. I want to experience how health feels when you earn it. I want to push my spirit to it's limits as well. I want to remove the weights and hindrances that hold me back from experiencing abundant life, the kind earned for me on Calvary. I can't help but feel like they're intertwined right now, my physical health and my spiritual health. So, I feel like I'm running for my life. It would be nice if I could figure out a way to make running spiritual WHILE I'm doing it, but so far the only prayers I can get out sound like "Oh, God, it hurts. Help me." Things like that. We'll see. The thing I need to push for right now is perseverance, something I've lacked my whole life. Gotta stick it out, and see where I am when this race is over.

Note: I wrote this post last night, but somehow it didn't post before I signed out. So, I'll just go ahead and tell you that my run this morning was awesome! It did start hurting again, the pulled muscle. More of a tightness than a pain. So, I quit at a mile and a half, but it felt SO good! That plus my strength training, and I'm feeling like I can conquer the world again. To quote a little fish I have always felt a strong connection with, "just keep swimming, just keep swimming." Or, in my case, just keep running. The race isn't over until you meet your Savior face to face; so, just keep going.

That's What God Sounds Like

It was a typical start to the weekend in our house. Kids in bed. I'm trying to catch up on some computer work (i.e. Facebook, Pinterest and Blogger) when my husband hands me a letter from Georgia DHR saying, "this is going to ruin your night." It was a notice of termination regarding Jackson's Medicaid.

Let me pause here and share what exactly I'm talking about. Back when all this was new to us and we didn't know we had options, we accrued a pretty substantial amount of debt in medical and therapy expenses. The doctors, teachers, psychologists and therapists all told us Jackson needed these services to function, that without them, he wouldn't have a chance of developing properly and the developmental gap between where he was and where he should be would continue to widen. However, these services are expensive. We kept going, paying what we could when we could, but it was getting out of control. One of Jackson's therapists invited me to a parent night out where a Medicaid expert would be speaking about the Katie Becket Deeming Waiver. This is a special waiver for children with disabilities requiring extensive therapy. It is based on the diagnosis and prognosis of the child not the income of the family. Jackson's diagnosis qualified him for that program. It was a crazy set of hoops we had to jump through, but without this program, Jackson would not have received the services he needed to achieve what he has achieved over the past 4 years. He would certainly be in a very different place. If you are a Georgia family with a child on the spectrum, and you haven't heard about the program, you should check it out (and make sure you read all the way to the end). Now back to my story....

When I read the line "NOTICE OF TERMINATION" and then "YOU DID NOT GIVE US THE INFORMATION WE REQUESTED," my physical response was immediate. My heart started racing. I could feel the blood pumping through my temple. I felt hot and flushed at the same time. What?!?!? I'm telling you, if I didn't have Jesus, I'm afraid someone would have died. I immediately called the number on the form thinking I would leave a message. Good call, Rach, you're so clear headed and rational right now, you'll leave an awesome message. It's busy....Now, that's not uncommon. Back in my rational mind, the one I jumped out of for a moment, I knew DFCS doesn't have a voice mail. (Could you imagine having that job? No, thank you!) I've called them dozens of times over the past year trying to get the review paperwork we needed. See, we never got our review packet last year. Actually, we received absolutely nothing from them last year. I called over and over and got different answers from different people. No one could tell me his case worker. They would often refer me to another county's office, which would often end with the busy signal as well. I eventually got someone at the state office who told me, "we'll get to the bottom of this," and heard nothing. I've heard over and over again how overwhelmed they are at DFCS. I've heard over and over, just give them time, they'll get to you. So, we waited and waited, eventually receiving this termination notice and leading me to the brink of a total nervous system collapse....I can't get them on the phone? Fine, then I'll get them by email. Off to the website. There isn't an email account for our county's DFCS office. (Something else I knew in the back of my mind. Who would want that job either?) Awesome. Well, then I'll go above them. I emailed every commissioner, representative, office clerk I could think of. I must have sent out dozens of emails all stating our situation and how horribly my son's review was handled. I dropped names and dates for when I had talked to them and what they had said. I even mentioned my husband and his active role in our county's child advocacy programs. I sat at my computer for a long while executing vengeance on my keyboard until I rather anticlimactically went to bed. Nervous and unsettled, Monday couldn't come fast enough.

Kids fed. Everyone showered and dressed for the inevitable trip down to DFCS. I thought I would try it one more time by phone. First try, busy. Second try, rings indefinitely. Third try, busy. Fourth try, hallelujah someone picks up and says, "Barbara?" I quickly seized the opportunity before she could back track and said, "no, but I need to speak to someone regarding a termination notice." "Sure, hold on." Great, now I'm on hold. Someone gets on. I give her my information. I'm given another number to call, in another county. When I call this number, I get a very frustrated woman explaining to me that my county sent over all review cases between last July and this March to her county. Many were lost in the transfer either to them or from them, and while her name was on our case, she had nothing to do with it. And, even better than that, she couldn't help me. I would likely have to reapply, through my county's office. So, I take a deep breath, vent on Facebook and load everyone up in the car. Did I mention that it's raining. Wonderful.

Not sure what to expect, nervous and sick to my stomach, I wait in line. My boys settle into seats with their DS's while my daughter happily makes friends with everyone in line. The closer I got to the window the more impressed I was with how the woman working the window was handling everyone in line. She had a calming smile and a genuine interest in every case. She was unbelievably helpful and knowledgeable. I immediately thought about Proverbs 15:1, "a soft answer turns away wrath." Her gentle responses diffused any anger in the line, and by the time I got to the window, I was calm. Barely holding onto my tears because that's usually what happens to me after my blood boils, the water works begin. I asked her for an application and showed her the termination notice. She said to wait and someone would be with me soon. We waited. My older son and my daughter were making friends with the other children in the office. My older son was having a conversation with a girl who looked about his age about how boys play baseball and girls play softball, but she knew a boy who played softball, and he had a girl on his baseball team last year. They were smiling and talking, making the most of the situation, actually enjoying themselves. It was about this time, I checked my Facebook status. Remember I vented before leaving my house. There were comments from friends offering encouragement and prayer. I was suddenly overwhelmed with peace, and extremely embarrassed by the fact that I got so angry in the first place. And, by the fact that I had to vent my frustrations on Facebook.

During this peaceful moment of clarity, I was reminded of a question Jackson asked in church that Sunday. Jackson asks LOTS of questions, mostly pertaining to how 'real' something is. We're working on understanding the difference between fantasy and reality. He tends to lean more toward the reality side of things, and as it pertains to spirituality, I've long given up the Sunday School answers we grown ups often give kids his age. They seem to confuse him more than the grown up answers. [Case and point: asking Jesus into his heart, asking a God who is bigger than the earth, the universe and the boogie man to live in his chest would be painful and most likely result in an explosion.] He is definitely my kid. Anyway, one of the dozens of questions he asked during the service was, "is that what God sounds like?" Now, I did take notice of this question, and even thought about how precious it was, however, the full weight of it didn't hit me until that moment sitting in the DFCS office.

"Is that what God sounds like?" Yes, Baby, that is what God sounds like. He speaks to us through His Word and through His people. He speaks to us through His creation and His Spirit. He speaks through the pastor and Sunday School teachers that care for us. He shows himself in our moments of desperation through social media and the DFCS worker handling the window. He works behind the scenes in the hearts and minds of those around us to make things happen in record time, all to say He loves us and to remind us we CAN trust Him. He never drops the ball.

Jackson's caseworker came to the window. She gave me the paperwork I needed to get back to them, some had to be completed before we left making our visit with DFCS about 2 hours long. Things got tense there toward the end, DS batteries exhausted and other children to get into trouble with. However, that peace lingered.

It's funny how entitled we can become, and how offended we can get when something we feel entitled to is threatened. The Deeming Waiver allowed my son to receive therapy, paid for by the State, when we weren't able to pay, and rather than being grateful for what I had been given, I was quick to lay blame, point fingers and make accusations. How dare they terminate my child? I'll show them.

Later that afternoon I got a call from the supervisor over the Medicaid division that handles the Katie Beckett Deeming Waiver cases. One of those emails I sent out reached the right person. During my conversation with her, she apologized for the problem, confirmed it was a mix up between the two counties and she was able to reinstate my son's Medicaid benefits, immediately. They still need the review paperwork, but there would not be any lapse in care.

That's what God sounds like.

Kindergarten Graduation

Jackson and his teacher

Super big smiles. Bebopping his little head through the songs. Of course he knew all the words, he LOVES music and has an uncanny ability to memorize things quickly. He was so proud and so happy to finally be a first grader. So proud he was still talking about it when he went to bed tonight.

My autistic son just graduated from Kindergarten, and loved every minute of the ceremony and reception. So why am I so overtaken with fear and sadness? Why am I sitting here hoping that typing this out and sending it into the void of cyberspace will bring some comfort? Should it hurt like this? Maybe it's the struggles we went through this year. Maybe it's the fear of the unknown, facing another school, another schedule, another transition. Or maybe it is yet another sign that I'm not as well adjusted to his diagnosis and all these changes as I have made myself believe I am.

As I look to others further along on this journey, I see no sign that this burden gets easier to bear as our children grow. Why do I expect it to get lighter with every milestone? Why do I get disappointed when a goal met often gives way to two more we didn't see. Am I still holding on to hope that autism is curable, that I can fight this fight and win, that I can somehow put this diagnosis in the grave and leave it behind? That would explain feeling like a failure when faced with the fact that he isn't cured, that we haven't left autism behind. That would explain the desperation and anger that wells up when I look back at how much we have fought with so little to show for the struggle. It would explain the disappointment when I'm forced to accept that victory for us isn't measured in hearing something like "you are now autism free" but in slow irregular progress. Progress toward what exactly? What is the end goal? For him to be typical? Dare I say normal? Is that really what I want? To be able to stand on the other side of this and say to myself and all those around me, see I did conquer this. To feign humble acceptance of God's plan only to harbor a desire to prove I won't be defeated by this nameless faceless enemy, that I will overcome it and free my son from its grasp, that I'm strong and capable and self sufficient, the perfect mother, chosen for this trial because I am up for the challenge. Is that what I want, to prove I'm not a crumbling mess afraid of first grade? Is it all about me, and this guilt I can't shake, that somehow there is more I could do, more I could try, more I could be?

Maybe I shouldn't hit the publish button on this one. I don't have any answers tonight, only questions. God, help me. I can't seem to accept my own humanness much less the diagnosis given to my son four years ago. Four years, so long but so short. Oh to learn to accept my failures and shortcomings and rest in my Savior's success and perfect provision. Oh to have nothing to fear and nothing to prove. God, help me.

Let Me Hold Your Hand

Pulling in to the sensory gym to pick Jackson up from his OT appointment today, I saw a mom (assuming she's a mother, could have been an aunt, foster parent, caretaker) I've not seen at therapy before. She was sitting on the concrete steps in the sun with her head bent, resting in her hands. By the time I got my kids ready to go inside, she had already gone in. Upon exiting my car, I could hear her son (again assuming her son) screaming from inside the gym. Then I understood. Everything inside me wanted to go hold her hand and tell her what I desperately want to hear in my moments like that. Since she and her son's therapist were handling the situation, I didn't know if it would help or hurt. I had to get Jackson and get us home for lunch and the rest of our school day. So, I didn't. But, I thought I would share this for those of you who know what this woman was facing today, who know that feeling all too well, desperation and exhaustion mixed with a little shame, suffering through a melt down at the playground, the bounce house, the grocery store, school activity, birthday party etc.

Let me hold your hand and tell you. It's going to be ok. I know you're a good mom because if you didn't care, you wouldn't be here, and you certainly wouldn't be fighting this battle in public. The sting of the daggers thrown at you from dozens of glaring eyes will only hurt for a little while, but if you give up and give in to that voice in your head that just wants it to be over, that might set your child back and undo the painstaking hours of work you've already put into overcoming this obstacle. There is light at the end of the tunnel, and there are many, many parents who know what you're going through. If one of us sees you out in public in a situation like this, we'll be routing for you. You can make it. You will survive it. And, I want you to know, I'll be praying for you and for that precious child of yours. I can tell you from experience. You will reach a day when progress has been made, obstacles have been overturned, and the road ahead made just a little bit smoother. You will learn more about life, love and humanity caring for your amazing child than you could learn from a dozen typical children. He is yours! You are his! You've been called to walk this road together, and God will never call you to something He won't give you the strength to handle WELL. Hang in there, and when you don't think you can make it, grab a hand and hold on tight. You are not alone. Let me hold your hand and tell you. It's going to be ok.

Mommy Meltdown

When you look up meltdown in the dictionary, at least the one I have on hand, it is listed as a noun referring to what happens in a nuclear power plant when the fuel in a reactor melts the core and the shielding.

In my house, however, it is used to refer to the irrational, unpredictable and often uncontrollable reaction Jackson has to changes in schedule or expectations (transitioning between activities mostly), and objects or people that scare him (the most recent being stuffed owls at the nature center). Any parent of a child on the spectrum knows exactly what I'm talking about.

There's one other type of meltdown in our house, though. One I don't like to talk about or admit to. That would be the Mommy Meltdown. This is my irrational, unpredictable and often uncontrollable reaction to the events of the day or my expectations for the future. It occurs most often in the quiet of the night when the house is still and I should be sleeping like everyone else. It is often in this stillness that I struggle to calm my mind and my heart. There might be one particular thing that sets me off, but more often than not it is a combination of things resulting in me feeling overwhelmed and inadequate. That's when the tears seem to explode out of me, and I put the Holy Spirit to work translating all my sobs into prayers. If I were to attempt a translation, it would usually be that I can't. I just can't do it. I'm not strong enough. I'm not organized enough. I'm not patient enough. I get frustrated and overwhelmed too easily. Jackson isn't getting what he needs. My other children aren't getting what they need. I'm not enough, and I can't be the mother I want to be.

Now, if I were able to articulate how those prayers usually get answered, I would say that God agrees with me. I'm not strong, organized or patient. I am easily frustrated and overwhelmed. I'm not enough, and I can't give my children everything they need. Now if God just left it there, I think this post would be basically pointless. But, here's the thing. I'm not enough, but God is. He's enough for me and my kids, and he never gets tired, frustrated or overwhelmed. He is strong, organized and infinitely patient, and He offers grace and help for the asking.

There's a transaction that takes place in this meltdown process, a transaction between me and God. I trade my frustration for His peace, my weakness for His strength. I give Him my mess, and He gives me back a blessing. I tell Him I can't keep going, and He tells me it's ok, He'll just carry me for a while.

I wish I could say then I fall asleep and wake up to perfection, but I think that would be missing the point. I've learned a powerful lesson through these mommy meltdowns. I'm not perfect, and I don't have to be. God's love for me and pleasure in me has nothing to do with my performance. He wants to help me do everything He has given me to do, and I don't have to do one thing alone. He's all I need.

It would be nice to learn this lesson well enough never to meltdown again, but I guess it's going to be a work in progress. I'll have to glean a little wisdom from Jackson and his meltdowns. Growth is sometimes slow but always happening. With each day, therapy and incident will come new levels of tolerance and understanding. We'll just have to grow together.

Don't Quit

Don't Quit 

When things go wrong, as they sometimes will,

When the road you're trudging seems all up hill,

When the funds are low and the debts are high,

And you want to smile, but you have to sigh,

When care is pressing you down a bit,

Rest, if you must — but don't you quit!

Life is queer with it's twists and turns,

As every one of us sometimes learns,

And many a failure turns about

When he might have won had he stuck it out;

Don't give up, though the pace seems slow —

You may succeed with another blow.

Often the goal is nearer than

It seems to a faint and faltering man.

Often the struggler has given up

When he might have captured the victor's cup,

And he learned too late, when the night slipped down,

How close he was to the golden crown.

Success is failure turned inside out —

The silver tint of the clouds of doubt,

And you can never tel how close you are.

It may be near when it seems afar;

So stick to the fight when you're hardest hit —

It's when things seem worst that you mustn't quit. 

A little poem from the Railroad Trainman.

My mind often wanders to all the things I hope I am able to teach my children before they leave my care. The list is indeed daunting, but apart from knowing and loving God, I would have to say sticking it out has to be at the top of the list.

I hope to teach all of my children not to quit, but I have to say I feel a stronger responsibility to impart this lesson to my Jackson (with PDD). My mother's heart can't help but wonder what kind of life awaits him. How will he grow and develop? Will he catch up with his peers? How hard will he have to struggle to get what might come naturally for his brother and sister? Will he play sports, make friends and go to college? Will he marry and have children of his own? Will he find and fulfill his calling or at least be gainfully employed? Will he ever leave my home?

Thinking on these things often makes that daunting list grow even longer, but when I'm still and quiet enough to listen I can hear a sweet, soft voice speaking peace to my troubled mother's heart.

"He belongs to Me, I love him even more than you do, and I have a plan"

While more often than not, I have argued with this voice, feeling that there is no one who can love and care for Jackson like me. After all, I am his mother. However, more and more I find myself better able to trust it really is true. God doesn't make mistakes, and He created Jackson exactly the way he is for a purpose.

If I can stick things out and never give up on him or what I've been called to do, I will be the mother Jackson needs. And, if I can help Jackson learn to stick things out and never quit, he'll be what God wants him to be. Whatever the answers are to my questions, he's going to be ok because God really does love him more than I do, and He really does have a plan.

Forgetting the Good Stuff

The house needs cleaning. The laundry is piling up. There are chocolate fingerprints on the walls and windows. All this cooking is hard enough, but then come the dishes. Ugh. Then there’s therapy and school, shopping and church. The list grows faster than I can cross things off. So much I NEED to do, and it seems like I’m always behind, always disappointed in my own performance, struggling to be the perfect mother and never measuring up.

When I get like this, I start telling myself, “You’re turning into Martha.” You know, the infamous Martha from Luke 10. I haven’t always been this way. For the better part of my childhood, I would say I fit more into the Mary category, able to ignore the details for fellowship. Then somewhere in college, I felt like I was developing a split personality, part Mary, part Martha. The Mary part of me has since lost precious ground with every burden and responsibility I have taken on.

“Martha, Martha, you are worried and bothered about so many things; but only one thing is necessary. Mary has chosen the good part, and it will not be taken away from her.” (from Luke 10:41-42)

Mary and Martha’s story was about Jesus and their relationship with Him, but I’d like to step out of the box and apply it a little differently than you would likely hear in church or a Bible study. I want to share the way I often use it to remind myself what is really important. 

Jackson’s autism is a daily challenge. There’s potty training (which is beginning to look like it will be a lifelong battle), teaching him to dress and groom himself, preparing his food, providing order and consistency in his routine, teaching him manners and how to control himself around others, and teaching him proper language and communication. Teaching a child on the spectrum these things is nothing like teaching a typical child. Jackson doesn’t make those intuitive leaps you can count on in typical children. Everything I teach him must be deliberate and intentional, and I have to be literal in what I say (that’s not easy for an abstract thinking creative mommy). Besides what I need to teach him, there are things like brushing, therapeutic listening, and the things we do to alleviate his sensory discomfort.

Since I lean more toward the Martha side of the spectrum these days, it’s easy for me to lump all these activities into a list of things to do, crossing them off as I go, moving forward to the next item on the list. It’s easy to focus on the things I need to do for him while neglecting his most basic need, a relationship with me.

Jackson won’t notice if the laundry piles up. He doesn’t see the chocolate fingerprints on the wall. He’ll eat yogurt, bananas and hot dogs for every meal if I let him. But, he does notice when I’m too busy for him. His behavior digresses when we miss therapy, or when I forget to brush him, and it’s not always pretty, but his reaction to not getting enough time from me is exponentially greater than missing any other therapy or exercise we practice.

So, when I get bogged down in my never ending to do list, and I tell myself, “You’re turning into Martha.” I could just as easily be telling myself, “You’ve forgotten your children.”

There are so many things a mother must do to run her home and raise her children, but there is only one truly necessary thing, only one thing that can’t be neglected, her relationship with her children.

My kids love it when I read to them, build lego towers, play board games, dance to their favorite kiddy songs (Jackson’s are Going on a Bear Hunt and Bare Necessities), making up new sports to play, and so much more. I like to play like I cook. It has to taste good but it’s great if it’s healthy, too. So, I like to have fun with them, but I want them to learn or benefit from our play as much as possible.

Here are some play suggestions I got from Autism Speaks’ 100 Day Action Plan.

Ideas for Purposeful Play

From the University of Washington Autism Center Parent Care Book 

Imitation: Object and Motor

• Sing finger play songs such as the Itsy Bitsy Spider, 5 Little Monkeys, Zoom down the Freeway

• Utilize musical instruments: “Let’s make music”, play Simon Says, have a musical parade, slow down, speed up, “Follow Me Song”

• Figurines: know on barn door, follow the leader to the schoolhouse

• Block play: make identical block structures

• Painting and drawing similar pictures, strokes, circles, lines, dot art

• Dramatic play: feeding babies, pouring tea, driving cars or trains on tracks, hammering nails, stirring 

Receptive and Expressive Labeling 
Embed labeling into activities such as:

• House (cup, spoon, plate, door)

• Grocery store (orange, apple, banana)

• Dolls (body parts, brush, clothing)

• Barn (animals, tractor)

• Art: Colors, scissors, glue, markers, big crayons, little crayons

• Books: pointing and labeling objects, letters, numbers, shapes, etc.

• Sensory Table: put different colors of animals, shapes, sizes, common objects

• Park/Playground: slide, swing, ball

• Play Dough: use different colored play dough, animal shaped cookie cutters 

Receptive Instructions

• Songs: “Simon Says” clap hands, tap legs, etc.

• Clean up time: put in garbage, put on shelf

• During activities request items, “Give me ___”

• Ask child to get their coat/backpack on the way outside or at the end of the day

Matching • Lotto matching game

• Puzzles with pictures underneath

• Picture to object matching can be done as activity during play (have the child match the picture of a cow while playing with the barn) 

Requesting

• Utilize motivating items (i.e. bubbles, juice, trains) to address requesting/communication

• Swing: wait to push until child makes the request

• Door: wait to open until child makes a request

• Lunch/Snack withhold until child makes request

• Art: child can request glitter, glue, stickers, paint, etc.