This one is for every momma and daddy chosen by God for special assignment.
The parents of the kids who live/learn/look different than most. (The ones the playground bullies call misfits or freaks… or worse.)
The parents of students too often perceived as slow or stupid, deemed “unable” or “disabled” and marginalized in many of the fine arts, athletic and extracurricular opportunities afforded most kids. (Which makes them feel – nearly every day – less than.)
The parents of the ones targeted by verbal abusers, who hear the “R” word on the regular, who grow accustomed to sitting alone, staying quiet, staring at their shoes. The kids trying to survive school (days… years), sometimes without a single true friend.
This is for every mom who’s had to leave a public place mid-activity because her daughter – diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder – had a meltdown due to impulse control issues or sensory overload.
Every dad who spends hours shooting hoops with his son – diagnosed with a behavioral disorder – because none of the neighbor kids invite him to play. Ever.
Every mom who makes three different meals for her kids because they have different diagnoses – oral-motor difficulties or sensory processing disorder – and their tastes, texture responses and chew/swallow capabilities vary.
Every dad who spends hours each week helping his adult son – diagnosed with dyspraxia – shave his face because fine motor problems make that task nearly impossible. (Or a bloody mess.)
Every set of parents who has spent countless hours caring/comforting/correcting/ protecting/advocating/intervening/teaching/researching/scheduling and meeting with doctors, therapists, psychologists, special educators, social workers and tutors so their child can know his worth, find his way and reach his potential… or “just keep swimming” upstream in the mainstream.
This one’s for you, weary momma. (You too, sleep-deprived daddy.)
I see you. I’ve been there. Right where you’re standing. Or kneeling.
(Or curling up in a fetal position.)
On hard, holy ground.
And here’s what I want you to know.
You’re not alone.
And neither is your kid.
Don’t be afraid, for I am with you. Don’t be discouraged, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you. I will hold you up… Isaiah 41:10 (NLT)
Thank God. Help is (on) the Way.
March is National Developmental Disabilities Awareness Month. And here’s what all of us parents of neurodivergent and developmentally-different kids wish everyone else knew:
Every kid has special needs. Our kids’ needs aren’t more or worse. They’re just different.
Our kiddos get hurt when your kiddos whisper, point, stare or steer clear of them. Encourage your kids to get to know ours.
(Start here: Smile. Say hi. Sit nearby.)
Just because our kiddos struggle with social cues doesn’t mean they don’t want friends. And it also doesn’t mean they’re oblivious to teasing, taunting and other mistreatment. No one should ever be called a “retard” or a “dumb f—.”
Ever.
Our kids may not be able to do what your kids can do. But they are extraordinary too… and able. Able to connect. And care. Able to feel. And fill a place in this great big world that no one else ever could. Able to learn and laugh and love (BIG). Able to find joy in the simplest things.
The bottom line is this:
A diagnosis or disability shouldn’t define a person.
Labels are for clothes, containers and canning jars… not people.
People are God’s masterpieces, that’s why.
For we are His workmanship [His own master work, a work of art], created in Christ Jesus [reborn from above—spiritually transformed, renewed, ready to be used] for good works, which God prepared [for us] beforehand [taking paths which He set], so that we would walk in them [living the good life which He prearranged and made ready for us]. ~ Ephesians 2:10 (AMP)
Exquisitely created by God. Made for good works… and meant for the good life.
All of us.
Not just those who sit still or speak clearly or happen to perform well on standardized tests.
Every body.
Our incredibly special kiddos want to be seen, not stared at. Heard, not hushed. Treasured, not tolerated.
If we want to be more like Jesus, we need to celebrate every kind of diversity. Developmental, intellectual, chromosomal, and cognitive too.
Because wonder comes in all kinds of packages.
(And God doesn’t make mistakes.)
“Learning differences” doesn’t simply mean hidden strengths or undervalued abilities. It means unique perspectives, priorities, vision and passion.
A fresh outlook. Invaluable insight. Infinite worth.
Because God said so.
And just like he does, we ought to cherish our children. Celebrate the best in them (and bear the worst). Embrace the possibilities. Affirm all the divinely-appointed potential.
Let’s keep encouraging, embracing, uplifting.
Let’s give blessings and big hugs and high fives.
Let’s savor every step and stride. (Each one is a tiny-but-mighty miracle.)
Let’s treasure every triumph… and honor every tear. Like our Heavenly Father.
You have seen me tossing and turning through the night. You have collected all my tears and preserved them in your bottle! You have recorded every one in your book. ~ Psalm 56:8 (TLB)
God sees, knows, cares… comforts.
My son has a laundry list of diagnoses, but none of them mean much to him. Or us. Zack is funny and fiercely loyal. Passionate and particular. Humble and kind.
Zack is adamant about fairness… but he’s also the first to forgive when he gets shorted. Zack is strong and able-bodied… but he cares deeply about the weak, the sick, the suffering. Zack knows the power of words. He feels (deeply) every blessing. And every curse.
He’s a big fan of college sports, country music, burgers and naps. And he’s good at putting things together.
When he was little, it was 100-piece Thomas the Tank Engine puzzles. And now it’s electrical pre-fab assemblies. He’s good at this stuff. Really good. Come to think of it, he’s a lot like the LORD that way. Taking things that are in pieces… or falling apart… and putting them back together. (Like Father, like son.)
But you know what Zack really wants?
He wants his life to count. Wants to contribute and connect. With God and other people.
Despite his learning disabilities, Zack is a gifted teacher. He taught me how to be a mom. He guided me away from controlling tendencies and conditional love and toward bigger faith and deeper compassion. He tutored me in persistence and patience. (And yes, tested it too.) Honestly… Zack has taught me more about mercy and goodness and good humor than any professor, pastor, teacher or counselor I’ve ever had.
To me, Zack isn’t “special needs.”
He’s especially needed.
In our family.
And in the world.
Z ~ I love you all the way up to heaven and back a million zillion times.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY!
Momma
P.S. To learn more about Seeds of Hope (the Indiana nonprofit which provides vocational training and jobs for young adults like Zack), please visit our website.
Wendy with a Why 