Here's one more of the posts from ChosenFamilies.org. Love, love, love this.....
Permission to Cry
October 26, 2011 By Joan 1 Comment
I was flying home Monday, and trying to catch up on my Bible study homework before the plane landed. I can’t defend the theology of “catching up” on spiritual homework….
But somewhere at 30,000 ft. Jesus met me in my seat, as I sat between the window and a stranger.
I was reading John 11, the story of Lazarus dying, his sisters weeping, sending for Jesus, and Jesus choosing not to come…so “that you may believe.” Believe what? His disciples were missing something. I wondered in my cramped seat, what truth was I missing? (When you’re sitting in seats obviously not designed for human beings WITH knees, it’s easy to wonder what else you’re missing.)
I have loved this story for a long time, for many reasons. But certain phrases kept diverting my attention (away from my “regularly scheduled program” of questions). “Jesus…was deeply moved in spirit, and was troubled…Jesus wept…Jesus therefore again being deeply moved within…”. I was struck again by the truth that perfect communion with God His Father did not protect Jesus from being deeply moved (and we’re not talking “deeply moved with joy” here.) If you live with hidden disabilities, you’ve been “deeply moved” too. And just to be clear: not even perfect communion with God protects us from deep painful emotions.
In fact, I feel like Tevye, the father from Fiddler on the Roof. “On the one hand,” I feel many DEEP emotions as I walk out life with my loved ones who struggle with hidden disabilities. “On the other hand,” practically speaking, I often set aside my own emotions, in order to fill my role as an Emotional First Responder. Working in the ICU, there was no time to cry while doing CPR. Work first, sob later.
But the problem is I am NOT a nurse working a shift and going home. My work is now IN my home…and sometimes I set aside my emotions for too long, as if they are not as important to Jesus, simply because I am not the one in crisis…which leads to Emotional Flatlands. Jesus didn’t want me to go flat.
His own example gave me permission to feel it all – to be DEEPLY MOVED. Jesus, my High Priest, FEELS! I can’t explain it well, but that makes it “well with my soul.”
Furthermore, (I just can’t leave this part out) Martha said, “Lord, if You had been here, my brother would not have died.” I get this, too. I have hoped, as both sisters did, for Jesus to “arrive” on the scene of my life, in time to prevent the death of something precious to me. I have wept over dead and buried dreams. My soul has said to Him, like Martha, “If You had been here (with me), _____ (list of bad things) wouldn’t have happened. I know that much about You and Your power.”
In response, Jesus reasoned with Martha…talked with her. Sometimes He reasons with me, helping me organize my disheveled thoughts, completing my flawed theology…and I’m comforted.
BUT Mary said the exact same thing as her sister, yet Jesus did NOT try to reason with her. He wept with Mary — even though He KNEW He was going to solve her pain within minutes. Why stop and weep with her? Why waste that time – why not pick her up, run to the tomb, raise her brother, and end everyone’s tears? I’m stunned it was more important to Jesus that Mary know her pain hurt Him, than it was to rush to raise Lazarus. He did the resurrecting, to be sure, but after he did the weeping. That awes me.
And I got the message, once again. He weeps with me. He takes that kind of time. Even though a miracle is coming. Cry now, we’ll talk later.
Every mama with hidden disabilities in her home needs time for her own emotions (even though miracles are coming)….
Jesus tenderly met me at 30,000 ft. to tell me again, right there on United Airlines, my tears matter to Him. And I believe Him.
Believing,
Joan
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Chosen Families
This is from one of my favorite blogs written by various authors on "hidden disabilities". It's called ChosenFamilies.org. Check it out if you get the chance. God just keeps sending these straight to me.....
Oh No You Didn’t
October 27, 2011 By Sarah 1 Comment
The wind’s seeping and moaning through the cracks in our poorly insulated bedroom windows today as I sit at my computer, gnawing a knuckle. I’m getting myself all worked up again. I’m prone to these little mini-paroxysms, you see. By nature, I’m a pacifist, a mercy-giver and a chicken, so when the time is right to be angry, I don’t say anything. When the time is past however, I’m a veritable colossus of articulate and righteous indignation. I’m really good at getting mad AFTER the fact.
I can’t think of a single instance when my rebuttal was timely delivered, save for that one time when my staunchly left-leaning atheist of a boss – the one who preached equality and social reform – called me a “fascist” for going to a Christian college, whereupon I managed to retort, “Oh wait. Aren’t YOU the one who’s supposed to be open-minded?”
You can high five me later.
But now, I’m angry thinking of all the self-righteous comments and looks my Noah’s received. To be fair, our burden is in some ways lighter than most. As a boy with high functioning autism, Noah may seem just a little “odd.” That he flaps, or chews his clothing or talks your ear off about Super Mario Brothers. His verbal ability and his self-sufficiency often belie his disability.
From another vantage, this actually makes our burden heavier than most. Because you’d never notice his difference from a distance, you might look down your nose when, in the middle of his flag football game, he halts a play to have a complete and total meltdown in the middle of the field. Or, you might snort a little out of disgust when you’re standing behind him in the checkout line and he remarks in full voice that the woman in front of him “sure is fat!” Remember that scene from “Terms of Endearment” when Emma doesn’t have enough to pay for her groceries? Yeah. It’s EXACTLY that painful.
You know what else bugs me? “There’s nothing wrong with him.” Why? Because you can’t see a missing limb? Because he’s not in a wheelchair? My choice responses? (1) “Nothing wrong with him? That’s because we pay a lot of therapists a lot of money to make sure he doesn’t gag at dinner because there’s a candle on the table”; (2) “Nothing wrong with him? Good. Then I’ll send him to your house the next time he has a meltdown. And while you’re at it, do you mind teaching him to use a belt?” Or, my favorite, (3) “Nothing wrong with him? Well, duh! He’s perfect the way God made him!”
I know Jesus experienced anger (Matthew 21:11-13). I know He was enraged that the temple was being used to buy and sell – making a holy place nothing more than a common street bazaar. But before I silently fist pump my own angry, internal tirades, I have to remember that Christ said, “It is written…my house will be called a house of prayer.” In other words, “you should have known better, guys. You had the book!”
When I get the supercilious looks and the incredulous comments, I need to take a breath and remind myself that they can’t SEE what Noah has, and they don’t KNOW its manifestations. They are ignorant – not just in the Maury-Povich-chair-flipping- “Oh no you didn’t!” sense of the word, but they literally “know no better.” They can’t “see” his Asperger’s like I can.
That means, much as I would like to verbally eviscerate them, I need to practice the mercy I like to preach, keep my trap shut and smile. After all, God loves them just as much as He loves Noah and me.
If you’re reading this and you’ve experienced that familiar prick of rage, here’s my knowing glance from across the cyber-distance, telling you that I’ve been there, too. We just have to forgive these poor blokes for their ignorance, because they just don’t know.
Not yet.
- Sarah
Oh No You Didn’t
October 27, 2011 By Sarah 1 Comment
The wind’s seeping and moaning through the cracks in our poorly insulated bedroom windows today as I sit at my computer, gnawing a knuckle. I’m getting myself all worked up again. I’m prone to these little mini-paroxysms, you see. By nature, I’m a pacifist, a mercy-giver and a chicken, so when the time is right to be angry, I don’t say anything. When the time is past however, I’m a veritable colossus of articulate and righteous indignation. I’m really good at getting mad AFTER the fact.
I can’t think of a single instance when my rebuttal was timely delivered, save for that one time when my staunchly left-leaning atheist of a boss – the one who preached equality and social reform – called me a “fascist” for going to a Christian college, whereupon I managed to retort, “Oh wait. Aren’t YOU the one who’s supposed to be open-minded?”
You can high five me later.
But now, I’m angry thinking of all the self-righteous comments and looks my Noah’s received. To be fair, our burden is in some ways lighter than most. As a boy with high functioning autism, Noah may seem just a little “odd.” That he flaps, or chews his clothing or talks your ear off about Super Mario Brothers. His verbal ability and his self-sufficiency often belie his disability.
From another vantage, this actually makes our burden heavier than most. Because you’d never notice his difference from a distance, you might look down your nose when, in the middle of his flag football game, he halts a play to have a complete and total meltdown in the middle of the field. Or, you might snort a little out of disgust when you’re standing behind him in the checkout line and he remarks in full voice that the woman in front of him “sure is fat!” Remember that scene from “Terms of Endearment” when Emma doesn’t have enough to pay for her groceries? Yeah. It’s EXACTLY that painful.
You know what else bugs me? “There’s nothing wrong with him.” Why? Because you can’t see a missing limb? Because he’s not in a wheelchair? My choice responses? (1) “Nothing wrong with him? That’s because we pay a lot of therapists a lot of money to make sure he doesn’t gag at dinner because there’s a candle on the table”; (2) “Nothing wrong with him? Good. Then I’ll send him to your house the next time he has a meltdown. And while you’re at it, do you mind teaching him to use a belt?” Or, my favorite, (3) “Nothing wrong with him? Well, duh! He’s perfect the way God made him!”
I know Jesus experienced anger (Matthew 21:11-13). I know He was enraged that the temple was being used to buy and sell – making a holy place nothing more than a common street bazaar. But before I silently fist pump my own angry, internal tirades, I have to remember that Christ said, “It is written…my house will be called a house of prayer.” In other words, “you should have known better, guys. You had the book!”
When I get the supercilious looks and the incredulous comments, I need to take a breath and remind myself that they can’t SEE what Noah has, and they don’t KNOW its manifestations. They are ignorant – not just in the Maury-Povich-chair-flipping- “Oh no you didn’t!” sense of the word, but they literally “know no better.” They can’t “see” his Asperger’s like I can.
That means, much as I would like to verbally eviscerate them, I need to practice the mercy I like to preach, keep my trap shut and smile. After all, God loves them just as much as He loves Noah and me.
If you’re reading this and you’ve experienced that familiar prick of rage, here’s my knowing glance from across the cyber-distance, telling you that I’ve been there, too. We just have to forgive these poor blokes for their ignorance, because they just don’t know.
Not yet.
- Sarah
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
Broken Heart
This week I've found myself extra emotional. I've broken down in tears on several occasions, something I don't tend to do around other people. Nothing huge is happening, there are just several smaller things that aren't working and they are taking a toll on my heart.
The main issue right now is my son at school. He is having a really hard time keeping himself and his emotions in check. He's lashing out at the other students, sassing his teacher and generally getting into lots of trouble. At first it made me mad. I marched myself into his classroom (I do teach right across the hall) and laid down the law to him. It worked..for the moment. Trouble was, the next day he was right back at it.
So between myself, his teachers and his therapists we set goals and rewards and stepped up our game. Didn't work. Might have even backfired a bit because once he realized he had lost his reward, he did not even try for the rest of the day. You can see where this is going....downhill fast!
So I'm researching, I'm setting up group meetings, I'm talking with G and trying my best to keep myself together. But inside I am crying for my baby. He is not a mean kid. He has a kind heart. He honestly loves his friends. But he is becoming "that kid". The one who kids won't sit next to because he hurts them. The one who kids don't want to play with because he gets too rough. The one whose name is on the board all the time. "That kid".
The other night during our bedtime rituals, G broke down in tears just sobbing. He held me so tight and said "Mama, I had such a hard day!" My heart broke into a million pieces. He knows he isn't doing the right thing but we are struggling with how to teach him. How to reach him in the moment. I honestly don't have any more tricks in my bag.
Today I was looking though some books and I came across one that I had tucked away and forgotten all about. It's called "Finding God in Autism" and it's a devotional geared for parents with autistic kids. Doesn't God know just when to have you 'come across' something that you need? Instead of reading one devotional, I read several days' worth, each spoke something to me. One though, really stuck out.
It begins with Isaiah 61:1 "He sent me to bind up the broken hearted."
Here is the devotional for that day.....
Bind up means to tie up, secure, to hold up or unite. So today we know Christ was sent from heaven to earth to hold us up. He came to unite us with him. It is good news that Jesus was sent to bind up the broken hearted. You and I had our hearts broken when we received our children's diagnosis. He brings us relief. Turning to Jesus is what starts the process of putting the pieces together.
Over the last seven years I have learned that autism is a battle. A battle that needs to be turned over to God. I need to hang onto God and let him lead...God always leads to victory. When I feel weary I am taking on too much of the battle myself; I need to step aside and turn it back over to God. Let Him fight for me. I do not need to spend my time fighting the enemy or see seeking victory. I need to spend more of my time seeking Christ. As I bind myself to His presence and trust God...he will carry our son to victory.
We need to let God heal any brokenness that is still in our hearts. When we allow Jesus to do what God sent Him to do, gather us up and mend our brokenness, faith in God returns.
You and I are trusting God to heal our children in our lifetime. That requires faith. We will be blessed when God chooses to reward our faithfulness. Our children will reap the benefits of what we practiced and dared to believe.
Remember, this battle of autism is really for God to battle. God is raising up many leaders to discover answers about autism. God is leading many top notched doctors, scientists and researchers to answers and truths about this disorder.God is assembling brilliant people to take the heat, dig trenches and be bold in searching for a cure.
As God lifts us up an unites us all, we will not only see the healing begin, we will feel it. God is holding us up with His nail scarred hands. I am sure you and I would just like God to heal our children through an instant miracle. But God is choosing most of us to walk the walk, talk the talk and learn the lesson of "walk by faith".
Today, spend some time memorizing the above verse. Think about how far God has already brought you and how your personal character is being challenged, molded and refined. God showed you His love by sending you His son to bind up your broken heart.
Thank you Father for sending Your Son to bind up my broken heart. Thank you for loving me enough to send your own Son to die for me...I'll not forget the sacrifice. I know your heart must have been broken too.
The main issue right now is my son at school. He is having a really hard time keeping himself and his emotions in check. He's lashing out at the other students, sassing his teacher and generally getting into lots of trouble. At first it made me mad. I marched myself into his classroom (I do teach right across the hall) and laid down the law to him. It worked..for the moment. Trouble was, the next day he was right back at it.
So between myself, his teachers and his therapists we set goals and rewards and stepped up our game. Didn't work. Might have even backfired a bit because once he realized he had lost his reward, he did not even try for the rest of the day. You can see where this is going....downhill fast!
So I'm researching, I'm setting up group meetings, I'm talking with G and trying my best to keep myself together. But inside I am crying for my baby. He is not a mean kid. He has a kind heart. He honestly loves his friends. But he is becoming "that kid". The one who kids won't sit next to because he hurts them. The one who kids don't want to play with because he gets too rough. The one whose name is on the board all the time. "That kid".
The other night during our bedtime rituals, G broke down in tears just sobbing. He held me so tight and said "Mama, I had such a hard day!" My heart broke into a million pieces. He knows he isn't doing the right thing but we are struggling with how to teach him. How to reach him in the moment. I honestly don't have any more tricks in my bag.
Today I was looking though some books and I came across one that I had tucked away and forgotten all about. It's called "Finding God in Autism" and it's a devotional geared for parents with autistic kids. Doesn't God know just when to have you 'come across' something that you need? Instead of reading one devotional, I read several days' worth, each spoke something to me. One though, really stuck out.
It begins with Isaiah 61:1 "He sent me to bind up the broken hearted."
Here is the devotional for that day.....
Bind up means to tie up, secure, to hold up or unite. So today we know Christ was sent from heaven to earth to hold us up. He came to unite us with him. It is good news that Jesus was sent to bind up the broken hearted. You and I had our hearts broken when we received our children's diagnosis. He brings us relief. Turning to Jesus is what starts the process of putting the pieces together.
Over the last seven years I have learned that autism is a battle. A battle that needs to be turned over to God. I need to hang onto God and let him lead...God always leads to victory. When I feel weary I am taking on too much of the battle myself; I need to step aside and turn it back over to God. Let Him fight for me. I do not need to spend my time fighting the enemy or see seeking victory. I need to spend more of my time seeking Christ. As I bind myself to His presence and trust God...he will carry our son to victory.
We need to let God heal any brokenness that is still in our hearts. When we allow Jesus to do what God sent Him to do, gather us up and mend our brokenness, faith in God returns.
You and I are trusting God to heal our children in our lifetime. That requires faith. We will be blessed when God chooses to reward our faithfulness. Our children will reap the benefits of what we practiced and dared to believe.
Remember, this battle of autism is really for God to battle. God is raising up many leaders to discover answers about autism. God is leading many top notched doctors, scientists and researchers to answers and truths about this disorder.God is assembling brilliant people to take the heat, dig trenches and be bold in searching for a cure.
As God lifts us up an unites us all, we will not only see the healing begin, we will feel it. God is holding us up with His nail scarred hands. I am sure you and I would just like God to heal our children through an instant miracle. But God is choosing most of us to walk the walk, talk the talk and learn the lesson of "walk by faith".
Today, spend some time memorizing the above verse. Think about how far God has already brought you and how your personal character is being challenged, molded and refined. God showed you His love by sending you His son to bind up your broken heart.
Thank you Father for sending Your Son to bind up my broken heart. Thank you for loving me enough to send your own Son to die for me...I'll not forget the sacrifice. I know your heart must have been broken too.
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