One night, in March 2018, before Sam was put on medication, the aggression and insomnia were so intense, that Scott and I decided to take Sam to Texas Children’s Hospital. We were clawed and bitten and exhausted beyond capacity, and we had no idea where to turn. We thought that the hospital would have a children’s psychiatrist on staff, and we knew Sam needed help immediately.

The hospital nurse triaged us and brought us to a room. When the doctor came in, he had no idea how to help us, so he quickly left and sent in a social worker, instead. When she arrived, she told us that we had the option of placing Sam in an emergency group home setting. We were stunned. Here we were, in one of the best medical cities in the nation, with some of the top doctors in the world, and there was not one psychiatrist or developmental specialist to be found. Not one. Samuel was a just a four year old baby. And when I say baby, I truly mean baby. He had little receptive language and was still non verbal. He had autism, global developmental delays, cognitive delays, fine and gross motor skill delays, adhd, and restrictive repetitive behaviors. To put him in a psychiatric/group facility would have been traumatizing. He would have absolutely no idea what was happening. He had never even slept away from our arms.

We realized then, at nearly four in the morning, that we were truly alone, with no tools or professional to help us. We discovered first hand, how broken the mental health system is in this country. Mental health IS health, yet where were the health care professionals Sam needed? We were abandoned in a battle, that would take years to fight and push through.

I haven’t blogged since 2017. That year brought such intense heartache, first, with the flood of Harvey, and, just weeks later, the death of my grandmother. Suffering from treatment-resistant depression, the only words I felt like writing were morose and depressing, themselves. I just could not see the sun, through the clouds. There were only clouds, or so I felt. So, why write at all? That was my mentality. I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.

Sam’s temperament, as he turned four years old, began to spiral, until we were faced with needing medication for him to function and sleep. His therapy center dismissed him, saying there was nothing more that could be done at their facility, for Sam. And, being completely transparent, I had a full on mental breakdown in their lobby, after they told me this. I was furious, and every emotion that I had stuffed so deep down into my belly, rose up and came out like fire. I cried; I yelled. I accused them of not caring about Sam. I was broken. I was grieving. I was empty. But, mostly, I was in mourning. Mourning, for the loss of our house and things from the flood. Mourning the loss of my precious Granny. Mourning my life that was pre-depression. And, mourning the child that I thought I’d have in Sam. Please understand, that the amount of love I have for Sam never wavered. But, here he was, four, and not sleeping until two or three in the morning, every night. He was banging his head; he was aggressive, and he hurt us every day, with biting, scratching, and pinching. We cried. All of us. A lot. We all just wanted him to be better. We just wanted a “typical” life, not the chaos that was our home.

So, this is where I begin again.. more to come.

I haven’t written in awhile. I just can’t seem to find my mojo lately. But, I had to post about the kids, so that I can look back on these blogs and remember these times. 

Maggie is leaving for church camp in the morning, and she is excited. I am anxious to see what God has in store for her in the next few days. I have prayed that He will just invade her heart to the fullest and that her relationship with Him will grow even more. She will be starting back to school next week, and I want her to be filled with His word and faith as she enters the 7th grade. 

Samuel is growing so much. He has really started putting more words together, and his lead therapist has noticed a remarkable difference in his speech since we have come back from vacation in Florida, which was just a couple of weeks ago. We both agreed that the break in therapy was good for Sam. He needed some down time. 

Monday marked a huge day for our little guy. His therapists are starting potting training with him. Now, this may take a very long time to accomplish, as Sam is still developmentally delayed and has no concept of the bathroom, but the wheels are in motion, and I know that someday down the road he will master this, too, just like so many other things set before him. He is 4.5 now, and next year at this time he would normally be going to kindergarten. But, Beth, his head therapist, thinks delaying that another year or two is probably what we are looking at for the future. He will stay in therapy until he is ready, and I am fine with that. I don’t want to throw him into a situation where he is unable to be and feel successful. Patience. That is what I remind myself to have everyday. It will come for him. He has already progressed so much. 

Scott and I are doing fine. I have gone school supply shopping and back to school clothes shopping for Maggie. He and I truly enjoyed our vacation. We spent nearly every waking moment on the beautiful beach in Pensacola or swimming in the hotel pools with the kids. We ordered in one night, we ate at awesome restaurants, and we went on a dolphin cruise that was hotter than I could almost stand. The sun was blazing! We drove the back roads home through Louisiana coastal land and stopped in Avery Island for a Tabasco plant tour, too. It was just lovely and needed. Thankful for our time together. I am attaching pics to this blog, although I have posted many to facebook, already. Like I said, I use this blog for memories down the road. 

Well, that’s about it! I think I am all caught up. Happy Back to School, everyone! 

Even now, at nearly twelve years old, I am beckoned by my Maggie to lie with her at bedtime. We talk of the day gone by and the events that transpired. I remind her of stories from her days as a toddler and wee one, and she gobbles them up. It is always during this time that she relays to me her fears or worries or angst about the coming day. I hope she will always confide in me.

Only the sound of the fan cuts the silence of the night, now,  and I find serenity from my day. There is such a sense of peace that overwhelms me when my kids are tucked in and safely sleeping in our home. I feel like God shows himself to me when I touch their foreheads, as they drift off. It is as if He whispers, “Your day is done; you can breathe deeply, now, Mama.” And, with that, I am able to rest. 

Today, after therapy, Maggie and I took Sam to the little splash pad next to our house. His shoes are waterproof, so I just let him go in his shorts and tee, and he ran straight for the first spout that was cascading into the air. He noticed a bucket on the ground, and he picked it up and began throwing it, in perfect Samuel style. He throws everything. Balls are his favorite, along with his Sophie, but give him any container and he throws with full gusto. 

I sat next to a mother whose two boys were playing, and her 3 year old approached Samuel, wanting to talk. I waited as long as I could to explain that Samuel has autism and a chromosome duplication that leaves him nonverbal and socially behind. I didn’t want to. I just flat out didn’t want to HAVE to explain that my child isn’t rude, that he is just incapable of making connections in that way. I didn’t want to say the word autism one more time. I didn’t want to acknowledge his differences for one more instant. But, I did. I did for his sake. I did to protect him from judgement. I did so that the woman could understand and help her child understand that Samuel can’t talk. I did, so it was known why he walks on his tip toes or throws items uncontrollably, or why he is still in diapers at 4. 

And, as much as I wanted to enjoy his pure happiness with the bucket and pouring water, I just felt sad today. And, I have decided that it’s okay! It’s okay to let grief sit for a minute and invade your heart. It’s alright for it to hurt. It’s okay that my son has differences, which brings a knot to my throat that can’t be swallowed. Because, it is in these moments of utter tear-filled heartache that God whispers his comfort and peace. He has so much mercy and grace to give. More so than every grain of sand in the world.  He himself is every single thing I need in my moment of sadness. He is it. And, when I look to Him in that instant, my heart feels less burdened, and I remember that Samuel is His perfectly created child with imperfections, just like all of His children.  

Samuel left with a new bucket that this sweet mom gave to him, just because he liked it so much. See, just look how good God is. He is my rock and salvation. He is my very present help in times of trouble. He is the comforter to my heavy-laden soul when my own bucket feels empty. 

My girl child is in junior high. In JUNIOR HIGH! I am having the hardest time figuring out how that happened. Father Time is not kind. He steals the moments and years that I grapple holding onto, all the while drawing out the longest days of depression that I repeatedly hurl through an open window, only to have them boomerang back in. And, the sweet, content days of watching my tiny girl grow are no more. Yes, she is still changing and blossoming, but gone are the days when she sang Dora and Barney and Diego, and new days are taking shape with texting friends, and ear buds full of music. She is shifting, and with her- the dynamic between mother and child. I find myself praying for her more and more, as I feel like that is all I know how to do. It makes me weep. Not just a small cry, but a deep tear-filled knot in my throat sob. Am I doing any of this right, Lord? Am I going to mold into who she still needs me to be? Do I just follow her lead, until I finally begin to understand and take shape myself? I feel like she is on a roller coaster, and I forgot to get into the seat next to her. She is riding the waves of life, while I am on the beach, not knowing how to dip my feet into the waters of preteen years and angst. She has new words and a certain way she likes her backpack, and the eye rolls at my jokes that she used to love are almost too much to bear. I never thought I would be jealous of junior high, but I think I might be. It has taken my wee one and given me back a half grown girl, who wants to go shopping with her cross body purse and wallet. Lip glosses and cute key chains and fabulous emoji pillows, oh my! 

I pray that she will always use my shoulder, that she will talk to me when things are tough, and that she trusts the Lord to guide her during this new phase of her life. I will hang on for dear life and just continue to love her for all that she is and wants to be. I’m diving in. 

Tonight, I was helping Scott finish packing our bedroom, and I spotted a tube of Chapstick that must have fallen behind my night stand. Not a flavored stick, but the classic original kind. When I would spend a Saturday night at my Granny and Papaw’s house, I’d wake early Sunday morning to my Papaw’s biscuits and to the sound of my Granny singing, “It’s time for Sunday school.”

We’d (usually my cousin Ashley stayed with me) eat at the kitchen bar, and then we’d dress for church. As my papaw would grab his car keys, he’d also pick up his wallet, a pack of Wrigley’s Doublemint gum, and a tube of original  Chapstick. I don’t know if he even realized that I saw this, and it is just one small precious memory I have of my childhood nights and mornings spent with my grandparents. I wonder tonight if Ashley saw this, too. I wonder if the other grands -Mer, Jamie, Blake, Sarah, Shea, Luke, and Hannah-hold this same sweet memory the way I do- close to the heart. 

My amazing papaw is being put on hospice care, and I know that his earthly days are few. I was able to hold his hands and tell him how much I love him. I am grateful that he already knew this, and I was just reiterating what we have spoken a thousand times before.  He is going to be with Jesus. He is going to be in the arms of His savior. He is going to leave his broken body, for a soul that is healed and perfected by God. And, while I know these truths in my head, my heart is aching for one more perfect Sunday morning with him. I am searching for God’s peace right now, and I am praying that I never forget the words to Froggy Went A Courtin,” or the way his hands looked patting out biscuits as he whistled, the sound of his voice, the touch of his embrace, and the light only his laughter could shine. 

The saying that death is hardest for the living is so very true. Tonight, living hurts. 

Grandkids back when and more recently

Granny holding me, Mer, Papaw holding Blake and Jamie

Papaw and MaggiePapaw and Sam



When I was a teenager, I had no desire to have my driver’s license. So, while most of my fellow high schoolers were taking their cars or their parents’ cars to school each day, I was perfectly content riding with friends, my boyfriend, or occasionally catching the bus that ran through our neighborhood. I didn’t actually get my license until well into the summer after high school graduation.  And, if there ever was an awful driver, I was it. My mom made me practice backing down the driveway over and over. I couldn’t make it down without scraping the underbelly of her car. I was just terrible. 

One balmy day, my mama sent me in her car down Fendler Pkwy, to the store on the corner. Less than a mile to travel, and I couldn’t even make it a hundred feet down the driveway. As I was backing up, I ran into a tree that sat to the left of our house. I pulled forward and got out to inspect the damage. It was scraped.  It was scuffed. And, it was definitely noticeable, especially since my mama was watching the entire situation unfold through the kitchen window. She was fit to be tied. My grand journey to the store was not happening any time soon. 

My mama told me to pull the car back into the garage. She told me that my Dad would be home soon and that I’d have to tell him about my “incident.” She was never the kind of mom who would say, “Just wait until your father gets home.” But, she did hold us accountable to tell our own truths. 

I went to my bedroom and fretted and cried, not wanting to tell him. I didn’t want to disappoint him, and I was upset that I had injured my mama’s car. The afternoon lasted forever, it seemed. I heard him come through the screen door into the living room. I heard muffled talks. I listened for footsteps down the hall to my room. I listened harder. Nothing. 

Then, I heard my dad’s booming radio announcer voice, “Jannan Lynn, get out here right now!”  Oh, Lord have mercy on my teenage soul! 

I crept down the hallway, praying that it would never end. But, alas, it did, and I was facing my father in all his fury. He said, “Come out to the backyard.”  I obeyed. I pushed open the sliding glass door and stepped outside. I was completely astonished at what was before me.  Not a lecture or a punishment, but instead, a giant pile of branches in flames. He touched my shoulder and compassionately said, “Baby, that tree won’t bother you any more.” 

I stood there with tears on my cheeks and so much relief in my heart.  This man bestowed mercy when I needed it. This man saw my fears and worry as much larger than the dents on my mother’s car. This man loved me so much, that he chopped down a tree to hopefully improve my driving! 

He is the daddy that I think about this Father’s Day. He is still that daddy. He will always be the best daddy to me, even after all these years. Thank you for loving me enough to teach me that my feelings are more important than my mistakes. I love you, sweet Daddy. 

Happy Father’s Day

We made it! We are tired, but because my husband is He-man, we made it out of Superior today and headed on our unconventional route back home to Texas. The one place I have wanted to visit in Colorado is Glenwood Springs. It has a 405 ft. long and 100 ft. wide all natural mineral hot spring. So, Scott surprised me and included it as leg one of our journey home. I am super excited! We’ll swim tomorrow morning, and if all goes well, we’ll have everlasting youth like the people in Cocoon! Lol 

http://www.hotspringspool.com/swim
We also drove through Vail. I have never been, and its beauty did not disappoint. Just gorgeous. Maggie was amazed at how the river flowed west once we passed over the Continental Divide. There is still a good bit of snow, and the scenery is still stunning. 

Our last night in Colorado is upon us! I cannot believe that 9 months have come and gone. And, while the first few weeks here seemed interminable, the time began to fly by more quickly than we could have imagined. So, here we are. We leave tomorrow for Katy. 

My sweet Colorado Margaret is melancholy over leaving her new friends and school. Colorado agreed with her more than I can say. She has loved, loved, loved living here. She has grown into a funny, silly, social, beautiful preteen, and I am praying for her to transition easily and happily into middle school. She is still in love with the cello, and she is looking forward to 6th grade orchestra. But, tonight, she is hurting deep within her soul, and as I said a prayer over her, her pain became my own. I love this girl so much more than I can say. 

Samuel has progressed immensely in his receptive language and social skills, since starting therapy here. The women and men who are his therapists come to work each day with such devotion and unconditional love. I wish that I could pack them all into our suitcases, and keep them with us forever. I am trying not to dwell on the worry I have about new insurance, new therapy, and the transitions my boy will have to face. Proverbs 16:9 says that A man’s heart plans his way, but the Lord directs his steps.  I am trying so hard to trust God with all of our steps. 

Scott and I thought many times during our time here that God was opening a door for us to stay permanently. Every time Samuel would progress, and every time Maggie would exclaim how much she loved it here, we would pray for His guidance. So, knowing that He didn’t close our pathway to Texas in exchange for a new life in Colorado helps us to have a certain type of peace that can only come from following Him.   

I am thankful for the experiences we have had as a family. The golden aspens in fall, the magnificient billows of perfectly fallen snow in winter, and the windy, green days of spring. And, oh, the mountains! They filled my eyes each morning, and the sun set against them each night.  I will be forever grateful for our time here and for the friends we have made. 

Goodnight, beautiful Colorado. It has been a pleasure.