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.

For My Niece

My oldest niece graduated from high school today. I was only 14 when she was born, and if you had tried to tell me then that I would marry her mother's brother, I would have laughed at the obvious improbability of your prediction. Were there not already plenty of evidence in the world that our God has a sense of humor, I would offer as evidence His liking for making me do things I said I would never do. My marrying the man I did, given our history of interactions up until the day God started messing around with my heart, would be top of the list. The very first conversation I had with my now husband (I was about 12 and he was about 15) he made fun of my being homeschooled. (Yes. I was homeschooled, the old-fashioned, uncool way.) I don't remember all the details of the conversation. I probably said something very immature and silly in my defense, but I do remember thinking later, 'well, public school obviously did you well, teaching you to pick on a younger kid and make fun of the educational decision their parents made for them, cause I know your momma didn't teach you that.' (He fell for me, though didn't he? Hahaha!) Yet more evidence of God's sense of humor, we just got done with our second year homeschooling through a special program (the same fully accredited homeschool program my niece just graduated from). My husband is now the parent of homeschooled children, and his homeschooled wife is teaching them. Hahahaha! See. God doesn't just like doing those kinds of things to me. I'm pretty sure it works across the board. Now, my youngest son (the one with autism) will be going back to public school this next year (I'm actually getting more and more excited as I process this recent development), and this post isn't intended to applaud or condemn one educational method or the other. It's actually about my niece and her graduation, I promise. See, she's the reason we made the decision to try the homeschool program in the first place. This whole homeschool thing, at least for my husband, started with her. She's the one that changed his mind about homeschooling, not me. She is the product of a parent led home education program, the same one we hope our oldest (and maybe eventually our other two) will graduate from MANY years from now, and I'm really proud to say that.

I've been through my rough moments, regretted marrying the man I did and thought through plenty of 'what-ifs' and 'if-onlys' to eventually come around convinced that I have received more blessings having been with my husband than without him. While there are obviously three very important little blessings that would be at the top of that list, one of the other blessings would be my niece. I know it's common to list the memories you have, mostly embarrassing (why is that?), of someone reaching one of these milestones (like the time she was convinced that I spray painted my toe nails), but I think I'd rather just say I wish I had had more time to get to know her. Any time I see her, we're able to talk, and I mean really talk. It's nice. Makes me feel less old and out of touch with reality that an 18 year old can enjoy a conversation with me. Well, I guess I might be assuming a lot with that last statement. She could just be humoring me because she's too nice to abruptly end the conversation and leave, but I enjoy our conversations. I'm very proud of her. You know how you tend to say that a lot about the kids in your life. It's almost expected to say that at ball games, awards ceremonies and graduations, but I really mean it. I'm proud to call her my niece, nose piercing and all, and I'm so glad I married her uncle and got to be a part of her wonderful family.

It's also common for us old people to give the young'uns advice as they embark on their life as an adult. Well, my sweet, awesome Niece, I wish I had some advice to give that would blow your socks off. One of those gems you'll look back on when you watch your niece walk across that stage and think to yourself, 'holy moly, where did the time go?' The truth is, I don't. I still feel as lost and unsure many times now as I did the day I finished high school (I didn't get a graduation, though, maybe that would have helped). I will say that there will come a point when you have to stop preparing for your life and start living it, and I mean really living it. You will have all kinds of voices telling you what you should do and not do with your life. They'll chime in with their opinions on the big and the small decisions. You'll be motivated by many of their words. You'll be hurt by many, too. The best advice I can give you is to learn how to filter all the advice you get through God's Word and the convictions He's given you because when it comes time to live out the decisions you've made, God is the only one who will ALWAYS be there. You won't be able to stand alone and make things happen based on what someone else thinks you should do. It's gotta be you. It's gotta be yours. It's your life, and you're the one living it. Live it well, Baby Girl. Live it well.

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.

Counting Blessings and Wrinkles

That's me with the Strawberry Shortcake doll. I was three. I think it was my birthday, and I think the doll was my birthday present. I'm sitting in my Granny's lap (my dad's grandmother), and next to us my older brother is sitting in my Memaw's lap (my dad's mother).

Today is my '29th' birthday. I say 29th because that's when I stopped counting. Let's just say a considerable amount of time has passed since the above photo was taken. :)

I've always loved to sing. My mother talks about it like it was such a blessing to her listening to me sing almost since before I could talk. She says I sound just like her grandmother. My brothers, however, probably considered my love to sing as more of a curse. :) Anyway, one of the songs I used to sing often was Count Your Blessings. You know the one...."Count your blessings name them one by one. Count your blessings see what God has done...."

Well, I have gained many blessings in the time that has passed, my husband, my three children, my in-law family (both my husband's family and my brothers' wives), and many wonderful friends. I've also been blessed with so many amazing life experiences and material possessions that if I were to try to detail it all in a list, to 'count my blessings,' I would be typing well into the night and would still not even begin to cover it all. My God has been SO good to me. There are many days I get overwhelmed at His goodness, and sadly many more days that I take each and every one of those blessings for granted. Today, I am thankful that I'm here, celebrating another birthday with my beautiful family.

Even a child can count their blessings. There is something, however, only living can teach you, and that is to count the wrinkles with the blessings. Along with all the people and things I've gained in my life, there have been some losses, too. One being that wonderful woman holding me in that picture, my Granny. My very first memory, the FIRST thing I can remember in my life is her holding me. I was still in diapers. Her voice was mesmerizing. I remember listening to her read books and tell stories. She had the best stories. Just sitting in her living room playing with tinker toys while she watched the Braves game (something she rarely missed) is a fond memory. She died my freshman year of college after living a long, full life. There are still days I ache to talk to her, but there is such hope and peace knowing I'll see her again. I'm very thankful that I had an entire childhood with her in my life, and heaven seems sweeter knowing she's there.

I've had to let go of some dreams and plans for my life, too. Every now and then I get sad at the thought of having given them up, but when thinking about what I gave them up for, I'm usually reminded that God's plan for my life is more generous than my own. I gave up my dream for full time mission work to marry a man who is both my knight in shining armor and the stone that keeps me sharp. We've struggled and hurt and come through together. I can say with all honesty that I wouldn't trade any of the storm for clear skies because so much of that struggle made me who I am today. Looking back at myself before I married him, I often cringe at how ridiculously immature and ill equipped for any kind of service I really was. One of my favorite C.S. Lewis quotes is repeated by Ravi Zacharias like this: "In loves service, the wounded soul serves best." Oh, how true those words are to me now.

Jackson's diagnosis would be one of those 'wrinkles', too. It is definitely not something I would have chosen for my son or our family, and when I heard the doctor say those words, autism spectrum disorder, I would never have thought I could consider it a blessing. However, I've learned so much about myself and the provision and nurture of my God because of that diagnosis that while I will continue to work to ensure Jackson has the best chance at a life on his own, I wouldn't trade this journey or the awesome people we've met along the way for anything.

Every stretch mark and scar, every gray hair and wrinkle (yes, they are there already!) serve as reminders of the life I've lived. Every birthday is another chance to reflect and remember those moments and choose to live this life well. So, here's to many more laugh lines and age spots. May I learn to wear them well and never forget the blessings and struggles they stand for.

Building Bridges and Crossing Over

 There is no way to measure the impact a kind, accepting smile can have on the lonely desperate heart. That's a lesson I learned 4 years ago when I walked into the church that has had the biggest impact on my adult life. That first service I visited Johnson Ferry Baptist Church, I was facing obstacles like I had never faced before. Separated from my husband, divorce papers filed, questions looming over Jackson's developmental delays and physical problems, plus struggling to accept a pregnancy that threatened to derail what little security I had left. Friends I had loved and trusted for years, spiritual leaders I respected and looked up to, even my family kept their distance. This post isn't meant to lay blame or make accusations. Knowing how to love the hurting is something we all struggle with, especially when we've never experienced what they're going through. I can look back now and see what a daunting task it must have been to have a conversation with me then. I've often wondered how I would have handled the situation, and I'm sure it wouldn't have been much better. Do I ask her how she is? What if she tells me the truth? Which problem do I address first? I don't know what to say. Do I tell her what I really think? Now that I'm on the other side of those obstacles, or at least making progress overcoming them, I want to share how God used His people to keep me from giving up on it all.

[And just for your information the answers to the above questions: "Do I ask her how she is?" If you love her, yes! "What if she tells me the truth?" Listen. "Which problem do I address first?" Her desperate need for love and fellowship. "I don't know what to say." Pray for her and with her. Those whose words had the biggest impact on my life then, were the ones who knelt and wept with me allowing the Holy Spirit to speak the words I needed to hear the most. "Do I tell her what I really think?" If you have scriptural or experiencial truth you feel the Lord leading you to share, then share it in love. If not, keep your mouth shut and pray.]

That first service, we were late. I was stressed and struggling. I remember the smiles on every face as we walked in, like little rays of sunshine sent to brighten the darkness that seemed to surround me. Jackson (only 2 and nearly nonverbal) didn't do well, and I had to come back to get him in the middle of the service. When I came back to get him, a parent volunteer explained that they couldn't get him to stop crying and wanted to call me to find out what to do. That's when I met Melissa. She overheard my conversation with the volunteer about him possibly having autism. I was nearly in tears feeling things like embarrassment and disappointment. I remember wondering if I would ever be able to worship in a service again. It's almost like she could read my mind. She introduced herself to me and to Jackson. She got on his level and made a connection with him I cannot explain. She told me how much she hoped we would come back, and that if we did, to look for her. I tried other churches, but something kept pulling me back. The next service we attended, Melissa saw us coming and came to welcome us. How she recognized us in a church of thousands with hundreds of kids coming through the preschool doors every week, I'll never know, but I'm glad she did. Once again, she got down on Jackson's level and asked him to come with her. He took her hand without hesitation. I'll never forget what she said to me. With a kind, accepting, real smile, she said, "He'll be fine. You go ahead." Walking toward the sanctuary, I started to feel lighter with every step. It is very hard to explain to those who have never felt it, but the burden and worry over Jackson's attachment to me and only me, feeling the need for worship but never being able to participate was like being a wild bird locked in a glass cage. I can't remember what the sermon was about that day, but I can remember the peace and the overwhelming feeling like I had found somewhere that wanted me AND Jackson there. Melissa stayed with him in his class the whole service. When I returned for him, he was calm and happy. I nearly burst into tears right there. She smiled again, hugged me, told me he seemed to have a great time, and said she would look for us the next service. And, she did. She was there for Jackson every service until he got acclimated to the regular class.

Things began to change rapidly in our lives. Over the next few months, the divorce was halted. My husband and I were now living in the same state, but were struggling with the challenge of rebuilding a completely broken marriage. More evaluations for Jackson, more questions about his care. More problems with his diet. I was now happy about the surprise pregnancy, but terrified that we would be facing autism and food allergies for that baby, too. More struggle, more progress, more pain, more peace. The one thing that stayed the same for us was Johnson Ferry. We were attending church as a whole family at this point, something that hadn't happened since before Jackson was even conceived. Jackson (and my older son) LOVED going to church, and I loved being able to worship freely without worrying about leaving him in someone else's care. Every Sunday, my heart was touched by Melissa and others that served our family with such compassion and understanding. Every Sunday, the welcome I felt, the smiles sent my way, it was like little messages from God sent through His people, "I'm still here, and I still love you."

We are now settled, together, in a new home 45 minutes away from the church. We know God lead us to this home and this area, but have struggled for nearly a year over what to do about church. Leaving Johnson Ferry seemed so terribly frightening, I didn't even want to consider it. Every Sunday, I would fuss over the drive on the way there, but on the way back, I would tear up at the thought of ever leaving this church.

Over the past few months, however, it has felt like God was pushing us out. Our kids, including Jackson, were asking why we weren't able to do all the kid stuff. Staying involved from so far away didn't seem possible, and I felt like we had fallen into that dreaded rut of attending but not contributing. When we first started going there, we were in such desperate need, that was all we had in us. Now, there is a call to more.

Looking back over the past four years, I feel like God used our time at Johnson Ferry to build a bridge over the tumultuous waters of our failing marriage and Jackson's diagnosis. I feel like every member He used to touch our lives laid a brick or two for us. It's a beautiful bridge, strong and sturdy, paved with those golden smiles and surrounded with vines of friendship and growth. It's finished, though. Spending any more time on it would be wasteful. It is now time to cross over. What is waiting on the other side? I'm not completely sure yet, but I do know that it's time for us to help build someone else's bridge. I know the bridge God built for us at Johnson Ferry will stand for years to come and serve as a monument of God's faithfulness in our lives.

Even when those we love the most leave us to hurt alone, even when the obstacles we face seem insurmountable, even when we've lost all hope for a better future in this life, God is still there. He will never leave us. He wants to use His people to show His love, building bridges and crossing over, moving ever forward until we cross over that last bridge into forever with Him.

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.

I'll Stand

Jackson and me at his 6th birthday party

About three years ago, with more questions than answers, I found myself overwhelmed with worry and fear. Jackson's diagnosis was still so confusing. What is autism? Pervasive Developmental Disorder - Not Otherwise Specified, is this English? What is the autism spectrum? What does this mean for him? What does this mean for our family? What does the future hold? Can I handle this? Speech, occupational, social, or ABA therapy; public, private or home school? How do I know what's right for him?

One morning, in an attempt to calm my spirit while I tackled the chaos I knew I could handle, my kitchen, I turned on some music and set to work. My youngest was sleeping. My oldest was at school, and Jackson was playing with his blocks in the next room. The Stand by Hillsong United came on, and I was overcome. In one of those precious moments where the presence of God in my life was tangible, I stood, hands raised, head bowed, tears flowing, unable to sing. The words echoed in my heart.

"You stood before my failures.
Carried the Cross for my shame.
My sin weighed upon Your shoulders.
My soul now to stand.

"What could I say.
What could I do,
But offer this heart, O God, completely to you."

  Then I heard this tiny voice beside me, hands raised, head bowed, singing what I couldn't.

"I'll stand with arms high and heart abandoned
In awe of the One who gave it all.
I'll stand my soul, Lord, to you surrendered.
All I am is Yours."

I immediately crumpled to the floor. I don't think I've ever hugged him tighter. He patted my back and went back to playing, but in that moment, He and God gave me something I couldn't live without, a vision. One I have seen and heard in every set back we've faced. "All I am is Yours."

We found out this week that Jackson cannot continue at the private/home school program he's been attending this year. They say he isn't engaging and participating like he should, and they don't think he will be able to handle first grade at their school. I've been surprised at the level of pain this decision has brought me. I burst into tears at Target. (Yes. I know. Poor stocking person didn't know what to do.) I've lost sleep and struggled to function properly with this constant ache in my gut. Why? There was a point when I surrendered all my dreams for Jackson to the vision God gave me that day. "All I am is Yours." He belongs to God, and his diagnosis is a special calling on his life, a purpose that only he can fill, a work of God. I think this set back has brought more pain than it should because, little by little, I had begun to take back those dreams. He's been doing so well for so long, I started thinking the worst was behind us, that everything was going to go according to plan after all. Once again, I'm overwhelmed with questions. Some new, some old, all without answers. And, once again, God has brought to mind that vision.

This morning, I had my iPhone on shuffle while I attempted to tackle the events of the day, The Stand came on again. The image of Jackson's little hands raised and head bowed, the sound of his tiny voice singing the words in 3 year old delayed speech, this vision reminded me who he belongs to and in whose hands his future lies. One more emotional outburst, then peace.

I don't know if I can handle what lies ahead, but I know God can. One more time, I'll surrender my heart to Him and let Him lead the way. "All I am is Yours." So, I'll stand.