My heart is as the weather- dreary and overcast with doubts of my motherly worth. It has been 3 long days, not particularly hard, but very long. Scott travels to Denver regularly, and it always seems as though one or all of us are sick with something when he leaves. This time ear infections, asthma, and the common cold wrapped their claws around us and haven’t loosened their grip yet.
Hope…
Today was such a good day. Simply grand. Samuel’s baby dedication was today, and I don’t want even a smidgen of my memory to fade when thinking back on how sweet it was. So, I must blog!
Counting
Tonight, just as I grew up hearing from my Granny Jane and singing from the Baptist hymnal, I will count my blessings.
Drink
Tug
One more time..
Next..
This particular blog has been mapping its escape route the whole day long. Today was awful. There is no way to sugar-coat it, and I don’t think I would be very honest with myself or others if I said any differently. Since Samuel’s diagnosis, I have often had extreme guilt over the sadness I have felt. I tell myself over and over again that “it” could be so much worse. But, I have also come to realize that the definition of awful in my heart and home and the definition of awful in others’ lives can be very different. My “awful” is real to me, and I am slowly beginning to grasp that it is OK! It is ok that it hurts. It is ok that I am upset and feel out of control at times when I don’t know what to do when the tantrums are many and the head banging is frightening. It is ok to classify my day as awful- no guilt attached. God made us in His image and created us with senses and feelings so that we can cry out to Him to comfort us through all of our “awfuls.”
Mosaic
Search my heart, O God…
My heart hurts- physically hurts. I keep thinking this must be what the onset of a heart attack feels like. It must be. I keep telling myself that it’s not cancer; it’s not death; it’s not some unimaginable disease that only scientists can comprehend. It could be so much worse.
But, then the day comes rushing back, and my heart hurts. It’s as if a flashing neon sign is fervently blinking: LOW-FUNCTIONING, LOW- FUNCTIONING, LOW-FUNCTIONING!!!!
Yes. After 4 hours with the neuro autism specialist, this was the answer I was terrified of hearing. Because Samuel cannot understand words, names, commands, and is excessively delayed and cannot speak, he was diagnosed on the spectrum as low-functioning autistic.
I will have to write more later on what is next for him, but right now my heart hurts.
It is overwhelmed with grief for Maggie. My brain tells me that she must be so special to be the sister of a child who needs so much help. God must have amazing plans for her, as her compassion for Samuel is already beautiful; it will only grow even stronger in the years to come. But, I feel for her more intensely than I can say because I fear that therapy and appointments will take away precious time from her needs and wants. I know that Scott and I will try our hardest for it not to be this way, but in reality, we know it will be some days.
I hurt for Scott- my husband who works long hours and gives every ounce of himself to us. His son needs help.
I hurt selfishly for me, too. I want to lie on the floor and have a 3 year old’s fit, but there is no time for that; there is too much to be done, and it would not help anyone to allow myself a nervous breakdown.
And then, of course, there is Samuel. I have come back again and again to this blog tonight, hoping that the words about Samuel, and how I feel for him, would flow from my fingertips. But, I just can’t right now. Maybe I haven’t absorbed it well enough or broken it down fully in my own head for me to form the sentences needed to share my emotions about him. Hopefully, in time, I will. The Bible says that joy cometh in the morning, but for tonight, my heart hurts.
You are my hiding place..
Scott is home from Denver. I am thankful for God’s protection as he traveled. I am relieved that he will be with me tomorrow, as we got a last minute call from the nurse at the autism center telling us that they have moved Samuel’s appointment up from December to tomorrow. I have been anxious since the call came. Part of me is relieved that we may find out where Sam falls on the autism spectrum. Part of me is terrified of where he falls on the autism spectrum. And all of me, in this very quiet, dark moment wishes that the appointment wasn’t tomorrow- that the appointment would never come. It reminds me of the anticipation Dorothy faced when waiting for the “great wizard of Oz” to appear from behind the curtain. He kept himself hidden- blissfully unexposed, never wanting others to see his true character. My mind is racing, searching for a place to hide itself from what may be. My heart is pounding, teetering on the edge of brokenness, needing to be guarded. Wanting, yet not wanting to know is difficult.
Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.
























