Mary

This morning as I reflected on my 32nd year and simultaneously watched the kids tearing into their gifts, I pondered on how this past year has held many unplanned changes and detours for my family, and how unfortunately, I didn’t always encounter them with the best behavior.
Approaching 33 this year has my mind on Christ and particularly on Mary and how few years she had with her son. See, I like to think of Mary as a special needs mom who was visisted with tales of a royal, immaculate birth and a diagnosis all in the same night. I wonder if she was scared. After all, she was a poor teenage girl. How could this be?
Mary, did you know?
I wonder if she felt shame. What will people think? I wonder if she woke during the night strategizing. I have to protect him. I wonder if she worried she would mess up. What if I fail as a mother? 
Motherhood is a messy mission. We fantasize of championing over our children, dressing them in adorable clothes, feeding them the best foods, and modeling the perfect behaviors. Nights are sweet with clean little children all tucked into their beds after story time. Never any whining or grumbling.
Motherhood is never like what we expect, and I imagine Mary felt the same way at times. Oh, what I would give for Mary to have written a book on her life with chapter after chapter detailing her experiences raising the Son of God himself! What we could learn from that.
However, the few--yet powerful--glimpses we see of the ultimate matriarch were nothing close to a beautifully curated Instagram page. Jesus was born in the hay outside in a shed or cave. His clothes were scraps of rags. Mary had no nurses or fluffy robes to lie around in. No coconut water. No comforts of home for Mary the mother of Jesus.
If Mary was adored and "highly favored" as the Word explains, why do we seem to lose faith and struggle so much when we go through periods of suffering and grief?
"My soul glorifies the Lord and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for he has been mindful of the humble state of his servant. From now on all generations will call me blessed, for the Mighty One has done great things for me--holy is his name." Luke 2:46-49
I believe Mary did know she was doing weighty work with Jesus. She knew it would ultimately come down to death for Jesus, but she gave her all in her motherhood journey. She watched her beaten, torn, publicly humiliated son stand in for you and me, and she endured it with grace. She didn’t Google or text five of her best friends. While she prepared her heart for this heavy work, she nestled her thoughts in her heart and "pondered" on them. I find myself so often demanding to have it easier. I so often turn to the world to feed my desperate need for connection and security.
Are you going through struggles that will ultimately lead to God’s glory and edification?
There is no perfect parenting manual out there, but the Word provides all we need to live free through God’s grace and Jesus’ sacrificial love.
You are not alone in your struggles. God orchestrates beauty out of our blunders and our messes. He is your strength when you are weak.
Mary herself recognized she needed a savior; have you? Have you recognized the great need of Jesus in your life today?
"For God so loved the world, that he have his only begotten son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life." John 3:16

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Mary 

The Perfect Regift

Everybody look at the camera and smile!

I'm restraining my son. My daughter is looking miserably bored. I'm not even sure my husband is looking at the camera, and my slip is visible. At first, I thought this photography session would be the farthest thing from successful, but when I saw the outcome, I was captivated by how much fun we were having when we thought the photographer wasn't taking pictures. I've never loved a photo session more. If only this is what life always looked like in reality.

Life rarely feels like a Hallmark movie, does it?

Being a good mom looks different for us on any given day: having well-behaved children, throwing Pinterest-perfect parties, healthy kids eating all of their vegetables, owning a beautifully decorated home, having an amazing post-baby figure, brilliant kids who are always making good choices...

These are truly great things and beautiful goals to achieve; however, most of the time, motherhood looks a lot like cleaning up messes, running here and there (possibly late), preparing endless snacks, washing sippy cups, finding lost toys, battling it out at bed time, fighting back tears (ours and our kids'), and feeling tired.

Add Christmas expectations into the mix, and we're likely to feel pretty lousy as mothers during the "most wonderful time of the year."

Unfortunately, our fragmented understanding of happiness and success is almost always tainted with our idolatrous expectations centered around pride, jealousy, comparison, perfection, and plenty.

And we all fall short.

Two thousand years ago, God sent Jesus as the only perfect person who would ever exist. When he died, he died for the sinner (Rom. 5:8), He died for the grudge-bearer, the proud, the depressed, the worried mother who stays up hours researching cures for her child. He also died for the mother who, hungry for connection and acceptance, chooses the world over Christ too many times to number. He died for the mother who idolizes her children and places blame on herself. He died for the envious, the burdened. He died for you and me.

He rescued us and won our freedom from the Perfect Mother Wars, yet we hardly ever see the Holy Spirit as the Perpetual Prize, the ultimate gift under our Christmas trees, that we have the opportunity to rejoice about year round.

But the Comforter, which is the Holy Ghost, whom the Father will send in my name, he shall teach you all things, and bring all things to your remembrance, whatsoever I have said unto you. Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid. Ye have heard how I said unto you, I go away, and come again unto you. If ye loved me, ye would rejoice, because I said, I go unto the Father: for my Father is greater than I. (John 14:26-28)

I don't know about you, but I don't always feel like rejoicing--even during Christmas.

Perhaps your kids are grown, and you feel lost without them. Maybe you’re wrestling with your Christmas budget or figuring how much importance you should place on Christmas decor. Maybe you're feeling like you're not doing enough to help your kids learn about Jesus. Maybe your family just received a painful medical diagnosis. Perhaps your attitude resembles the stinky onion in the trash. Maybe you have lost a loved one and have no clue how to celebrate Christmas anymore. Maybe you thought you might have a pregnancy or engagement announcement to share. Maybe you’re spending Christmas alone this year--again.

Maybe you’re wondering if God is even listening.

Unless we allow God's Word and his comforting spirit to light up our hearts, we're likely to stay tangled up in the metaphorical Christmas lights of our lives. Everyone knows how hard it is to escape when tangled up in sin, but once sorted out, the magic behind each glimmering light on the Christmas trees of our hearts will make it worth it all.

No matter what season we are in, we can rejoice for God's free gift, his Holy Spirit. 

Even in the times when rejoicing seems another life away, the Holy Spirit can turn us from bitterness and discontentment, helping us to reroute our plans and accomplish God's purpose with repentant, humble, grateful hearts. 

Goodness knows this is hard! 

Thankfully, God knows when we struggle. "Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness. For we do not know what to pray for as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words." (Rom. 8:26) What a blessing to remember during this season when emotions are heavy and stress is high.

This year, if you’re having to pray, beg, even gravel for your Christmas spirit, never forget the Holy Spirit, the counselor and friend who will comfort your aching heart during those times when Christmas seems so far away.

By focusing on contentment and joy in the Lord instead of ourselves and allowing the Spirit’s honest, convicting, comforting light to shine on us and through us, it's like mesmerizing Christmas lights--his light bounces off of us into others' lives (2 Tim. 2:21). This has the potential to light up the world. 

What a perfect way to regift God’s love!

The Lord is my strength and my shield; my heart trusts in him, and he helps me. My heart leaps for joy, and with my song I praise him. (Ps. 28:7)

Let God light up your life! Remember Emmanuel, that God is actually with us. When we gather and pray in the humble reflections across the dinner table, in the wee hours of the night, in the altar, in the pew, in front of the sink, on your knees, those moments of repentance that break us and reshape us, glory is waiting there. 

Jesus meets us there in those dark places, ready to shine and bring light and warmth back into our hearts. His light purifies, warms, and brings life into our cold bones. His light alone is everlasting, and through his sanctifying spirit, our hearts can ignite, regifting God’s light and glory to those around us.

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The Perfect Regift 

The Ride of Your Life

You know the thrill of going down a roller coaster?


You’re incredibly terrified, gripping the sides, white knuckles and all. You can’t even seem to breathe.

You’re dizzy, and everything is a blur. It’s so loud you can’t hear a thing. You just know you’re about to be sick.

Your hair is in your face and your stomach is in your throat.

"What am I going to do?" you ask.

You feel completely out of control. 

Wherever this things takes me, that’s where I’m going.

You just have to believe you’ll get there in one piece.

And for a split second, you’re wishing you hadn’t gotten on. Everybody else makes it look so fun, so easy. 

On this ride, one minute you want to laugh, and one minute you want to cry. You're not so sure how you should feel. 

Your emotions are all over the place. 

You feel rattled, exhausted, jarred from screaming...inwardly, outwardly...it all starts to mesh together.

Each second lasts an hour.

But then you let go and let God. You turn a corner, peel open your eyes, and raise up your hands.

You follow the course until you finally come to a stop. You get off and look back at your seat and say, "Did I really just do that?" You look at the person who rode beside you. "Did we really just do that?"

And you laugh...you catch your breath. You check all your limbs and realize you’re alive.

You had truly lived. You had let go, reinquished control, and had the time of your life.

Then you come to the conclusion that sometimes being vulnerable is okay. Sometimes losing control and screaming at the top of your lungs is okay. Sometimes losing your senses is okay. Sometimes getting out of your cushy comfort zone is okay. Sometimes asking someone to ride with you and hold your hand is okay.

Sometimes you just to have faith and trust that you’re going to make it to the other side. 

And before you know it, you realize life is one big paradox. You feel brave in your vulnerability and strong in your weakness. 

Before you know it, you're not so scared anymore. 

Before you know it, you want to ride again.

That’s what being your mama is like, little boy.

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The Ride of Your Life

Play Me a Tune

My maw maw has lost parents, nine siblings, her one and only husband, her first son and daughter, and two grandsons. 

She weathered the Great Depression, although she claims they were too poor to feel the effects of it; World War Two, when she had her first child who lived while Paw Paw was away; the feminist movement, although she claims what caused her to wear pants for the first time was working in the chicken houses; Kennedy’s assassination, the civil rights movement, the Hippies, Ronald Reagan, the Trade Towers, and so forth and so on. 

Loud and a spitfire, devoted wife and mama, extremely cautious (You had better put some socks on that baby’s feet.) and musically gifted, Maw Maw often tells me the story of how she learned to play the piano without taking lessons. "I had one lesson," she remembers. "It was bad." 

She also tells the story of standing beside me singing at church. "I didn’t know you could sing alto," she whispered. 

"What’s alto?" I replied, confused. 

Try to explain that to a little kid. I still laugh about this story.

This woman has been a lighthouse in our family and in our community. She has been a fortress of strength and part of the foundation of my spiritual life. Had Paw Paw died in the war, my mom wouldn’t be here, thus I wouldn’t be. Had they not raised my mama in church, Mom wouldn’t have taken us to church all those years before Dad started going. 

It seems like so many things had to happen to get me where I am today. 

Just ask my students: I talk about my Maw Maw and Paw Paw a lot. They’re the only tie I have to another life, a culture completely different than our own, an age where things were of value and life was slower, when people would pop in to fellowship, drink a cup of coffee, break beans, break bread, and share stories of old.

Yesterday, before we went back home after swimming at Mom’s, the kids and I stopped at Maw Maw’s to see her for a while. She gets to the door a lot slower these days. 

"Play me a tune, Mal." 

"Okay, what do you want me to play?"

"I don’t care."

What a Day That Will Be

I’ve Never Been This Homesick Before

Amazing Grace

He Paid a Debt 

Once Upon a Hill

And as the twanging of an old piano cascaded through the house, a loud little voice could be heard from a little girl singing on her makeshift stage, the coffee table, and her maw maw didn’t mind at all, because music. All in the name of music. 

"I think I heard someone else singing, Mal."

"Yes ma’am." 

"You’re raising them right." 

And I thought where is a camera? I want to remember this forever. A two-year-old and her ninety-three-year-old maw maw, singing the same songs together. If I could only stop time. 

Unfortunately, I’ll have to remember that moment in my heart, and I’m okay with that. 

Notice that there were no conversations on organic food, antibiotics, vaccines, homeschool, screen time, cosleeping, etc. 

Mamas, I hope you have a "Maw Maw Powell" in your life to clear things up for you and keep you straight. When life is feeding you lies, telling you that you’re not a good mom, just remember how simply Maw Maw put it.

Like Paul, aggravated at the Galatians for falling back into the Law to justify them, we attach ourselves to our own idolatrous "mom laws." We sometimes quantify our worth based on how well we abide in our own expectations as opposed to how we abide with Him and each other. We often covet each other and question how we mother our children. We base our reasoning on the world and the current trends. We live in fear to counteract our fear.

To fear everything is essentially claiming we have more control over our lives than God does. It doesn’t add up. 

Here’s the truth, though: We can’t come up with our own philosophy, our own gospel, of what being a good mom or a good Christian is. The truth is, we won’t EVER be good enough, and God knows this. 

Oh, what a Savior.

He knows! Continuing to feed our idolatry through our own expectations and rules will only breed discontent and dissatisfaction, furthering the gap between God and true freedom. 

"You, my brothers and sisters, were called to be free. But do not use your freedom to indulge the flesh; rather, serve one another humbly in love. For the entire law is fulfilled in keeping this one command: "Love your neighbor as yourself." If you bite and devour each other, watch out or you will be destroyed by each other." Galatians 5:13-15

It’s so easy, but we make it so hard.  

Maw Maw, thanks for clearing that up for me and reminding me what matters. 

I will always play the old songs for you, Maw, and I will remember how you broke your own "mom rules"...how you let two little girls bang on your piano and stand on your coffee table...thirty years apart...because you saw something in me. 

I wonder if you see something in her. 

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Play Me a Tune

Guest Post with Alia Hood Newell: Get Off the Bus

All of us get on board the struggle bus at some point in our lives. Some days it feels like the bus never stops to let us off at our destination. It’s a constant "the wheels on the bus go round and round, round and round, all through the town."

The struggle bus can come to our door in many different forms: failure, career, marital problems, discontent, bitterness, homemaking, depression, and I could keep going! We are a fallen people!

Despite our struggles, God has called us above these issues in our lives. If we are His, we are able to overcome. I’ve been listening to livestreams by Edie Wadsworth on Facebook. For the month of September, she has been doing a challenge called "Your Best Beautiful Life." One of the livestreams was on reclaiming love in your relationships. You may be thinking, "Well, what does this have to do with my struggle bus?" Hear me out–it has everything to do with it.

In that video, Edie challenges you to CHANGE.YOUR.MINDSET.

Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things. Philippians 4:8

How often do we dwell on things that aren’t lovely? We tend to think we are failures. We are drowning in a list of to-dos. We aren’t good enough. We blame others for our mistakes. We question our worth. We believe no one appreciates us. We desire more material possessions.  We replay conversations in our head. And, before you know it, bitterness, discontent, and irritability grow in our hearts because our mind dwells on the circumstance rather than the ONE who controls the circumstance.

What if instead of thinking you are a failure, you think God has called you and chosen you to do a special work in someone’s life? Instead of drowning in a list of to-dos, be thankful! Instead of thinking you aren’t good enough, believe you are loved by God! Instead of blaming others, repent and walk in God’s grace. Instead of questioning your worth, believe God formed you in your mother’s womb with a special purpose. Instead of believing no one appreciates you, love them with a servant’s heart regardless of how you feel. Instead of desiring more material possessions, desire a fire in your heart for your walk with the Lord. Instead of replaying conversations in your head, approach the situation with forgiveness. And, before you know it, love, joy, peace, and contentment grow in our hearts.

Our minds can be an evil place if we allow it. We must dwell on Christ and His mighty work! Our hearts should be pointed heavenward daily. This is a choice we have to make every.single.day our feet hit the floor.

Does changing your mindset change the circumstance? Absolutely not. But, instead of gassing up the bus day in and day out with a negative outlook, you can choose to drive your Ferrari instead. God extends mercy and love and grace to us every moment in the day. Accept the gifts He gives us and make a point to keep your thoughts centered on Him.

37 Nay, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him that loved us.

38 For I am persuaded, that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come,

39 Nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord. Romans 8:37-39

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Guest Post with Alia Hood Newell: Get Off the Bus

Guest post with Bethany Peace: God Is There

Life is messy. Add kids and life becomes exponentially messier. Add a disorder to the mix and that’s interestingly messy. Multiple that by two, and life’s interestingly, exponentially messy. I am thankful that even in the biggest messes of our lives God is there.

Our oldest child has always been different; we could tell as early as 10 months. By the time she was walking and talking, she had a high pain tolerance, her own language, food aversions, early signs of OCD, and was lacking basic social skills. She was a very intelligent child and we didn’t know a thing about what we were facing. It wasn’t until she was 4 years old that God brought an exceptional teacher into our lives who was able to point us in the right direction. Some might say it was chance, but I know that it was God’s choice for her to get into that school. This new direction brought us to a diagnosis: Autism Spectrum Disorder.

At this point, our third child had just been born, and life was overwhelming on the good days. This new diagnosis plunged us into an unknown world that seemed so foreign yet so familiar at the same time. There was much to learn, but everything we were experiencing started making sense. God was in it, but I was still worried. Terrified to be honest. What would people think? How would people treat her? Would it always be this hard? Will we do what’s best for her?

But, I never questioned why. I know God better than that. 

At this time, I was finding so many answers and diving in to take care of business. In the process, I recognized that our middle child, who was two, was actually displaying a lot of autism characteristics. Almost completely different symptoms from those of her sister. That’s how it works: each individual is totally unique in this condition. So here we go, round two. Two siblings with autism is unusual, but two sisters with autism, that’s rare. However, God was still there and I was a little less worried this time.

All of a sudden, baby boy is 9 months old and he stops babbling as much. He starts refusing certain foods and bangs his head when he’s upset. My immediate thought is "Oh wow, again?! How are we going to make it? Will we ever experience raising a typical child?" I talked to three of our specialists, and they each suggested that I just monitor him and try not to worry. Yeah, right! Three kids with autism? Who wouldn’t worry?? But, I made up my mind that God had been with us this far, and if we were to do this a third time, He would be there, too.

It wasn’t long until our son started displaying completely typical traits. Now he’s a 2.5 year old, neurotypical man-child with his own set of challenges for mommy and daddy. The girls are both doing well and now both in school and both experience progression and even slight regression at times. They’ve gone from neither communicating properly to even our oldest being saved by His grace earlier this year. The Lord continues to put people in our path at just the right time, over and over again.

I’ll tell you, it’s not all sunshine and roses. There are some that want to place blame and point fingers at the cause, but God was there when He formed them in the womb. Success and failure are neither strangers in our house. After you learn to accept it yourself and move forward, there will still be people that won’t go with you, but God will. There are days that are bad, really bad; God is, indeed, still there. There are periods of time that are good and you take for granted that God is there. There are times I find myself totally disqualified as a mother, much less a special needs mom. Then there are days I can feel God working through me, and I know I’m doing exactly what I should be doing.



We are some of the fortunate ones; our girls’ autism isn’t really severe. There are 3 levels of severity in Autism Spectrum Disorder: Level one being highest functioning and Level 3 being those severely affected. One of our girls is in the first level and the other is in the second level. Communication is their biggest obstacle. We have hope of complete independence for all 3 children one day.

One of the biggest blessings coming from this situation is not just the precious, unique, happy, brilliant, loving individuals that our children are, it’s that God gave me the courage to share our story with others--something that I didn’t do for the first year out of fear. Opening up about the struggles, victories, heartaches, and blessings has yielded more good than I could have ever imagined. I learned "why" without even asking. I learned that there are so many others living in the same world who feel alone and shouldn’t. I learned that there are people eager to learn, to do, to love, even when they aren’t directly effected by autism. It has given me more purpose. It has taught me compassion. It has shown me more of God’s glory. It has shown me that in EVERY moment, especially the messy ones, God is there.

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Guest post with Bethany Peace: God Is There

Dear Teacher

Dear Teacher,

I know what it's like to live in a bubble of the typical. A typical day, a typical child, a typical life.

I know what it's like to go through the year, losing the will to invest in the kids we have trouble connecting with...those who aren't self-motivated, involved, and actively engaged in the lesson...those who don't see us giving our all, lesson after lesson, paper cuts, ink stains, broken copy machines, fire drills, back talk, and all. 

I know what it's like to overlook those who don't speak well or those who seem to ask too many questions...those who come with a stack of paper work...those who just won't listen. 

I know what it's like to try to teach those who don't have a support system at home, who are never told "Good job. You did it. I'm so proud of you." 

I know what it's like to focus more on those who want to be taught, who smile and talk at all the right times...the ones who understand norms...the ones who don't make sounds or funny movements...the ones who are easy to control...the ones who look you in the eyes. 

I know what it's like to close the door at the end of the day and go home, letting go of the faces and the problems of my students.

I am guilty.

But now I know.

Now my days are atypical to say the least.

I now know what it's like to invest in the kids who are often overlooked because they don't look the same or behave the same, the ones who have no support system at home or never seem to be involved in much.

I now know what it's like to listen extra closely to those kids who hang around after class just to have someone to talk to because they don't have many--if any--friends. Maybe there isn't a mama at home or a home-cooked meal, no letterman jackets or class rings, no "great job's" or "good luck's."

I now know what it's like to focus on those who seemingly don't want to learn...the ones who have been told they can't or that there's no use. I now play roles of school mom and cheerleader to those who are angry, lost, alone, and afraid...the ones who feel misunderstood...the anxious ones...the sensitive ones.

I now know what it's like to close the door of my classroom and hold my students' faces in my heart.

Call it God’s will. Isaac. Fate. Chance. Call it Autism. Regardless, I am the one who has been transformed. 

Now, I know. 

But all along, you knew. 

You chose the "off" days, the aggression, the overwhelming silence, the quoting, the lining up, the explaining, the hours of planning, the paper work, and the meetings. 

You chose the unlit path paved with abbreviations, paper trails, and parents' tears.

You loved my son before I could look at him the same way as I had before. You saw potential in him when I had doubts. You worked with him while I was broken and torn. You believed in him when I couldn't see tomorrow. You were strong when I was weak. 

You chose to walk this road all along, and you’ve held our hands the whole way. 

And for that I'm thankful. You helped me believe. You helped open my eyes.

Thank you, Teacher.

Thank you for helping me see.

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Dear Teacher

Fly Far, Little Bird

Here we are, Little Man. We did it. We made it all this way.

Three years ago, kindergarten represented something so painful to me. I had to fix you beforehand. I had to get you ready. You had to be alright.

Now here we are, standing on the threshold of your future, and as I look at you, sweet boy, I don't want you to change. It's you that I love. It's not some other Isaac that I want to succeed. It's you. You are the one I want to see thriving. I want you to have those victories, not some other "normal" kid I conjured up in my imagination of supposed-to-be's and should-have's.

I would miss you, little one, if you were different. I would mourn the loss of you. I might sometimes grieve over the life I thought we would all have, the struggles, frustrations, and obstacles we face, but son, I've never stopped loving you. I love you more than I did yesterday, and I am so proud of how far you've come and how deeply you love.

When it feels like the rest of your peers are flying past you on the interstate of life, remember it's the country roads that have the best scenery and the best people to meet and make relationships with. It's those slow paths where God has time to plant seeds of purpose in the fields of our hearts. It's those paths where we can actually watch the sunrise and sunset day in and day out, truly witnessing God's work in action.

The Bible says that God will finish the good works that he has begun within us (Phil 1:6), and son, you are proof of that. He's still working on you. Goodness knows, He's still working on me!

It's like the baby bird you caught one day this summer.

"Please put that down, son. Its mama won't love it anymore if you touch it."

I can remember saying those words to you, and only until later that evening did I realize what the Lord was telling me.

After some digging, I discovered that sometimes mama birds push their babies out of the nest on purpose. They're not abandoning them; they're teaching them how to fly.

The Lord hasn't abandoned us, son, and the Lord's touch on your life doesn't mean he doesn't love us.

Psalms 34:19 says, "Many are the afflictions of the righteous: but the Lord delivereth him out of them all." 

The Lord might be leading us out of our realm of reasoning, our comfort zones, our little boxes, but He will always pick us up and catch us when we fall. He hasn't forgotten us. 

He might be simply teaching us how to fly.

I love you,

Mama

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Fly Far, Little Bird

The Fabric of Faith

Sometimes at night after the kids have finally given in to sleep, I maneuver through the carnage of my kitchen, and I am reminded of all that I’m not, of all that was supposed to have been, of all the things I thought this would be like.
A scratch in the paint here. A smudge of peanut butter there. I look around and see a house that never feels settled...a never ending project. Papers and receipts lay stacked in the kitchen basket. Pictures, not yet put away, are stuffed in not-so-hidden corners. Fingerprints remind me that, yes, kids do touch everything, and toys stand alert like little soldiers ready to attack if I dare move them. The kitchen table is a landing space for bicycle equipment, toys, cups, bags, and sticky handprints...the floor a crash pad for the kids. My phone reliably lies on the counter ready to assist me in my daily validation and escape routine. Dishes, crumbs, coffee rings, and kitchen grease, all life’s art work, take their rightful places in my heart while I begrudgingly stow away the remnants of our day. The house has begun to look like my heart, I think. A cluttered mass of confusion and predictable uncertainty.  An Israelite looking for the Promised Land.
Each item I pick up, wipe off, or put away stands as a monument, reminding me of how easy life used to be...that I can’t keep up. I can’t do it all. I probably won’t ever, and the monotony gets to me sometimes. I feel the grumblings begin to bubble up inside my heart, and I wonder when things are going to get easier. I wonder why this faith I thought I had refuses to activate when I need it the most.
What would people think? I wonder.
Would people recognize me as the sinful, ungrateful person I truly am? The woman who wallows in doubt, fear, anger, exhaustion, bitterness, and guilt far more than she rests in the Word? Would they be able to see the same person they see on Sunday morning?
I know the truth.

It’s just too easy to feel like a failure after you’ve scrolled through social media or at the end of the day when, nerves on edge, the veil of exhaustion hides our good judgement and the well of bitterness and resentment looks like the perfect way to quench our thirsty hearts. It’s too easy to lie awake at night, suddenly thinking we have to conquer the universe the next day. It’s too easy to turn to the world to fix our problems.
These setbacks, the times when our faith wavers as much as our children’s behavior often does, these years in our mental and emotional wildernesses, it’s all there to remind us that our walks with Christ, albeit bumpy and rocky at times, are almost identical to the years we put into mothering our children.
You know the Israelites often lost their way, too. "If only we had just died in Egypt," they cried. "Why did the Lord bring us all this way just to starve when we had plenty enough to eat where we were?" Exodus 16:3 Even though they had been slaves, and even though the Lord had proven himself to be miraculously in control, they still felt abandoned. They were in unknown territory. They were weak and naturally sinful. They were human and a whole lot like us.
How easy it is to forget where we came from and what God has accomplished in our lives already. How easy is it to become a self-sacrifice to the idols of our own imaginings. How easy it to forget that God is in control of the plans he has for our lives. Jer. 29:11.
We are a forgetful generation.
This powerful article by Steven Lee states that "spiritual amnesia" is sin. "Spiritual amnesia is a deadly disease that threatens your faith and your joy more than any cancer. It penetrates to the core and rots your heart from within."
I don’t want to forget my faith or my joy.

So, I’ll try to remember the good.
The pesky fingerprints mean kids, that I prayed for, live here. Really truly live. The sticky, cluttered table means people actually eat there. The dishes in the sink mean God provides. The muddy clothes mean my kids play outside. Really truly play. The toys mean my kids play and pretend in their own ways. The dirt on the floor means my son wanted to wash his dump truck in the sink, and the marker on the glass door means my daughter wanted to draw us a masterpiece. The papers and receipts mean God has given me a good, dependable husband to be the head manager of my family. And the piles of pictures? Well, they’re our memories, and they’re usually the last to be put away.
These aren’t monuments of failure, mamas. They’re tests of virtue. Remarkable plans forming into seconds, days, and years. Stories to be told and remembered. Single brush strokes of God’s ultimate masterpiece. Promises waiting to be fulfilled. 

In an article written by Sarah Walton, she explains that "our security and confidence cannot be defined by our children, parenting, or anything other than who we are in Christ. If you are a Christian, trust that you have been chosen and called to parent this child. If the God who spoke all things into creation ordained this in your life, who else’s opinion should steal the confidence and security you can have in his loving purpose for you?"
What a peace-giving sentiment to rest on tonight.
The beautiful tapestry God is creating within us will never begin to make sense until we relinquish control to him, believe in his plan, and allow him to fulfill everything He has ever promised. Up close, looking at our lives with a microscope, all we might see is chaos and blurred lines. We might not even recognize ourselves anymore. Motherhood will do that to us! But from afar, magical wonders are weaving themselves into place with each daily thread God chooses to use.
Each of us has been gifted with our own fabric of faith, our own individual design. All we have to do is believe in the foretold beauty and live confidently knowing God is behind each and every stitch. 

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The Fabric of Faith

The Road Less Traveled

Wow! What a vacation. I wish I could say everything went as planned and that everyone was happy and cheerful the whole time, but that wouldn’t be the truth. At one point, I think every member of the family had shed some tears and was ready to pack up and head home! Between refereeing sibling war, to eating supper in a hail storm, the first couple of days didn’t go as planned.
But sometimes in our family, what you plan for isn’t always what you’ll get.

Here’s a little background story. It’s a story about a girl, a life she envisioned, and the detour God gave her instead.

For the longest, I dreamed of a son who would play ball, run to me after school and share stories about what happened that day, take drum lessons from his Daddy, sing in the choir, go to space camp, take a girl to prom, and be the top of his class. I dreamed of a little boy who would eventually grow into a husband and a father. I dreamed of a man who would lead in church. I dreamed of seeing my son in the paper and feeling all puffed up and proud. I dreamed of graduations and crying over an empty room. I dreamed of watching my son get married and going to the hospital to see my first grand babies.

I wanted to hope for the amazing things that would come. I wanted to believe bad things didn’t happen to good people. I wanted to coast along on the road of life.

However, instead of coasting along, God gave me a detour and I had to become a different person with different goals with different expectations who feels different feelings.

I have cringed when the lady in line at Dollar General yelled at her son to be quiet when I ached to hear Isaac’s first words. I have cried over Facebook posts. I have been jealous over my own daughter for the sake of my son at the ease in which she adapts to this world we live in. I have lain awake at night wondering if my son will ever go on a date, know what it’s like to be loved, live on his own, get married, or ever have a family. I have questioned God and doubted Him. I have died over and over again with each developmental checklist and evaluation packet an inch deep. With mascara-stained cheeks, I’ve driven away from IEP meetings after discussing "the child" and all that he can’t do and should do. I have suffered through every vaccination debate. I have researched and put my hopes in books and cures and diets and supplements and articles until I was lost in a foggy maze of letters and numbers. I have pulled my son out of the Chick-Fil-A playground while he kicked and screamed only to have the eyes of all the mothers glaring at me with disgust. I have heard the words that no parent ever wishes to hear. I have felt cheated and betrayed, exhausted and denied, jealous and angry, lost and confused, sad and defeated, inadequate, and heart broken, guilty and sorry.



But I’ve also felt real, tangible prayers, grace, and compassion. I’ve felt victory after a storm. I’ve felt real, true healing from birdsong on a sunny day. I’ve met some amazing people who genuinely care about my son. I’ve witnessed a relationship blossom between a brother and sister that exists purely out of love. I’ve watched a village of people come together to help us care for and love our son. I more readily hear the Holy Spirit whisper comfort. I notice tastes, smells, textures, and sounds differently than before. I notice the wind, the leaves, laughter, dirt, flowers, grass, bugs...the brevity of time itself...I notice it all, and I soak it all in. I appreciate and value my relationships more. Each day with my family, each small victory...I’ve learned to cherish the mundane, marginal moments most people don’t even recognize as monumental. These moments make up my life, and for that I’m thankful because I’m better than I was before.

Judging by these pictures, you would’ve never guessed things had gone sour on the first full day of being there. Things aren’t always what they seem, though. This vacation could’ve ended terribly. We can’t always do things in a "normal" way when we are all together. Sometimes we have to make changes, and that’s not always easy. It hurts sometimes. Big. Life sometimes feels like we’re tiptoeing around on egg shells. But y’all, at the end of the day, I have to know I tried. I have to know I did my best. I can’t give up. I can’t give in. I have to leave on a good note.
My pictures aren’t here to make you believe we are a perfect family or that we have it all together or that everyone always gets along. My pictures are proof that if you try hard enough, God can intervene and give you joy. He can help you find the good in the worst kind of day. He can change your fretful, angry, heavy heart into a weightless feather. I like to think joy stands for "just one you." We have one life! One life to love and live. One time around to make it count. One chance to reach out and change someone’s day. It can also mean that no one can take your place. You are unique. Loved.
My pictures are proof that we choose memories, and that has made all the difference.
I don’t talk about our story much because for a long time, this world was too big and scary to express with words, and the love for my son was too heavy and strong to reduce to mere social media likes. Fear kept me quiet. In all ways, I had to protect my son, and I felt it was my duty to carry on, keep the faith, and stand firm in the normal parts of life I could cling to. But what’s normal anyway? Seeking "normal" can become a huge burden. A friend told me the other day, "Normal is a dryer setting." This made me laugh because she’s right.
Our story doesn’t have a fancy title written in gold lettering. It isn’t the grand, epic tale on the page. It’s the scribbles in the margin. The half told tale of a subplot not yet unfolded. The corrections. The edits. The revisions. The crossed out places that God isn’t finished with yet. We are a story in the making. A story of a boy, the future God has planned for him, and the unique road God has him on.
I might not ever find out all the why’s, when’s, and how’s while I’m on this road of life, but I’m certain of one thing: It won’t matter once I get there.
We’re all wanting to get to the same destination; some of us just have to use a different map. And that’s okay.
Until then, we are located on Autism Avenue, and you are welcome to come over any time. Please pull up a chair and get to know my sweet, silly, sensitive little boy. Things look a little different around here because it’s not what you’re used to. Sometimes we laugh because we’re crying, and sometimes we cry because we’re laughing. It’s never easy, but if you bring some sour straws, M&M’s, or a tractor or two, I know a little boy who will love you forever.

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The Road Less Traveled