Especially Needed

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.

Aftermath: The Terrible Truth Every Parent Must Face

Tuesday afternoon as news of the Uvalde massacre was breaking and sirens and people were wailing and our hearts were ripping open again, I came to a sinking realization. One no parent ever wants to admit.

I have been – to varying degrees – lying to my children for a long time. At least since 9/11.

In the days and weeks after the attack on the World Trade Center in 2001, I told my older boys (then 7 and 10 years old) that they were safe. That Mommy and Daddy would do everything we could to protect them. That they shouldn’t be afraid.

In hindsight, I see those statements for what they were: false, true (but not the whole truth), and ridiculous, respectively. (And yes, regrettably.)

It doesn’t matter whether we live in Uvalde or Ukraine, Mosul or Mexico, San Salvador or Somalia, Pakistan or Pyongyang, Belgium or Buffalo; we have to face the terrifying reality…

We aren’t safe.

We can’t always protect the people we love.

And there’s a million reasons to be afraid. Very afraid.

The world is dangerous. Sometimes, insanely so. There are no real “safe zones” anywhere. (Even inside the womb.) And despite our best efforts to protect our children – car seats and sunscreen and safety locks and antibiotics and airbags and bug spray and bike helmets and content filters and floatation devices – we cannot always, entirely, eliminate harm/hurt/heartache/horror.  A baby monitor doesn’t prevent SIDS. There’s no vaccination against diabetes. Or depression. Even the latest and best auto safety features can’t stop someone else from texting and T-boning your Taurus. Or driving drunk.

The same day as the attack in Texas, a police raid in Rio de Janeiro left 22 dead. And yesterday 11 newborn babies were killed in a hospital fire in Senegal.

Somewhere in West Africa, there’s a mama like me. And she just buried her baby.

Oh God…

Bad things happen every day. Sometimes horrific, unthinkable things. Marathon runners and concert goers and bus riders are blown to bits. Whole, healthy bodies are broken in car crashes and buried in rubble beneath bombed-out buildings. Gang violence mutates and spreads. Predators troll the internet. Vibrant, beautiful souls all over the world are struck by land mines and lightning and lashings and leukemia. The planet is tattered and battered by earthquakes and hurricanes and tornados and tsunamis. And the stark reality is there’s little we can do to prevent any of it.

In any given life at any given time, chaos or calamity can come crashing in. A grim diagnosis or catastrophic storm, a freak accident or planned attack, grievous trauma or ghastly terror. Even if we successfully avoided all hazards and havoc, if we somehow averted every disease and natural disaster, by now we should know that we can’t prevent the violence. One human being against another.

Hand-to-hand hatred.

I don’t understand all the psychology and neurology and environmental influences and developmental indicators. I am not a psychiatrist or sociologist or criminologist or counselor. I just know that somehow in some twisted, terrible way, people learn to bully and batter and brutalize. Simply because someone else is the “wrong” color or creed or sect or sex or race or religion or ________ (fill in the blank with any demographic we use to divide and conquer ourselves).

Whether or not we want to admit it, we are utterly incapable of eradicating every evil.

So what is a parent/protector/nurturer/news-interpreter-to-Paw-Patrol-viewers do? What do we tell our children? Or, more pointedly… what do we tell ourselves? How in the world do we make sense of senseless tragedy?

I don’t have all the answers, that’s for sure.

But I know I can’t hide the truth from my kids any more than I could keep them from growing (and outgrowing their clothes every time I turned around). I can’t explain away the ugly and angry and vile and venomous on the news or in the neighborhood. I can’t promise safe and sound and warm and fuzzy all the time.

‘Cause this ain’t heaven.

In fact, it’s a far cry.

Planet Earth can be pretty hellish. And to say otherwise is lying. Or certifiable delusion.

I don’t know why God allows it. The evil, I mean. I like my freedom, don’t get me wrong. But sometimes this whole “free will” thing goes awry. Heinously so.

I’ve heard the question a thousand times:

If God is good, why would He allow such savagery?

I could go on and on about the forces of evil and fall of the human race and God’s inexplicable capacity for both immeasurable mercy and exacting justice (which is not yet fully and finally accomplished). I could try to explain the dichotomy of God’s fervent hatred of evil and His fierce love for the evil-doer. A love that chases after and overtakes and overcomes and cries out that no one – regardless of the ferocity of their cruelty or the atrocities they commit or the blood they spill – is beyond redemption. (Because Jesus spilled His.)

But the simple answer to the question hanging in the air right now is…

I don’t know.

But I do know this.

Jesus wept.

God isn’t passive or stoic or distant. He comes near, crouches low, looks into the freshly dug grave… and looks into the anguished eyes of the grieving.

He sees. He knows. He empathizes, agonizes, embraces, consoles. And someday, somehow, He will make it better. Better than better.

New.

I saw a new heaven and a new earth. The first heaven and the first earth had disappeared, and so had the sea.  Then I saw New Jerusalem, the holy city, coming down from God in heaven. It was like a bride dressed in her wedding gown and ready to meet her husband.

I heard a loud voice shout from the throne:

God’s home is now with his people. He will live with them, and they will be his own. Yes, God will make his home among his people.  He will wipe all tears from their eyes, and there will be no more death, suffering, crying, or pain. These things of the past are gone forever.

Then the one sitting on the throne said:

I am making everything new. Write down what I have said. My words are true and can be trusted. ~ Revelation 21:1-5 (CEV)

Despite popular/modern/twisted theology, Jesus didn’t promise health, wealth and prosperity on this planet. If He had, He’d have been proven a liar a long time ago. A perverse one at that.

Instead, He promised His presence. In the hardest, darkest, bleakest, bloodiest places. In concert venues and prisons and ERs and slums, on race routes and subway trains, in classrooms and convoys, at Christkindl markets… and gravesites.  He groans and grieves with us. He is near.

And one day, He will put an end to the terror and horror and hate.

Joy to the world… the LORD will come again. And He will start fresh.

Death will die. And we will finally know how to live – fully, forever – in Peace.

Holding onto my only Hope,

Wendy

P.S. Weep. Pray. Vote. Hug your kids. Call your reps. And sign this petition.

What Wise Women Do – Men Too

I know more than a handful of wise guys and smart a$$es. You know… the ones who have a snarky retort to nearly everything. The people who think sarcasm is a competitive sport.

I know other folks who think they’re quite bright… because they’ve got academic accolades and advanced degrees and such. They have capital letters behind their names… and inflated opinions of themselves. (Just ask them… and you’ll discover that they couldn’t possibly think more highly of their own brilliance.)

But I’ve always maintained the view that you don’t have to have a high IQ to be wise. Because wisdom is measured by posture, perspective, actions and attitude… not aptitude tests.

Do you want to be counted wise, to build a reputation for wisdom? Here’s what you do: Live well, live wisely, live humbly. It’s the way you live, not the way you talk, that counts. Mean-spirited ambition isn’t wisdom. Boasting that you are wise isn’t wisdom. Twisting the truth to make yourselves sound wise isn’t wisdom. It’s the furthest thing from wisdom… ~ James 3:13-15 (MSG)

In other words…

Don’t be a fool, yo.

All you have to do is scroll Twitter for five minutes to confirm there’s a whole horde of professors and PhDs (and senators and CEOs) sorely lacking in the wisdom department. Wisdom doesn’t discriminate based on access to – or level of – quality education.

(Nor does foolishness.)

In my experience, wisdom reveals itself most clearly in human interactions.

Want to know if a particular person possesses wisdom?

Sit back and listen.

Wondering whether someone else is a fool?

Observe awhile.

(And don’t forget… somebody’s undoubtedly watching you too.)

Here’s wisdom’s litmus test…

But the wisdom from above is first pure, then peaceable, gentle, willing to yield, full of mercy and good fruits, without a trace of partiality or hypocrisy. ~ James 3:17 (NRSV)

Gosh…

There’s a real shortage of that ^ these days.

(All I want for Christmas is some wisdom… and maybe a few extra paper products.)

The truth is, if you really want wisdom, you have to source it directly. Go to God. Pray, ask, seek. Crack open the Good Book.

And your mind.

Sadly, a lot of folks refuse. They think they’re too smart for that.

Throughout human history the fingerprints of God were upon them, yet they refused to honor him as God or even be thankful for his kindness. Instead, they entertained corrupt and foolish thoughts about what God was like. This left them with nothing but misguided hearts, steeped in moral darkness. Although claiming to be super-intelligent, they were in fact shallow fools. ~ Romans 1:21-22 (TPT)

Remember that scene in ”The Matrix” when Neo gets to choose? Red pill or blue? Comfort… or clarity? Truth-induced freedom? Or (the unwitting bondage of) blissful ignorance?

You need to know when you don’t know.

Self-awareness means being willing to consider – and reconsider – your ideology. It means assessing your behaviors and decisions and being willing to make changes for the better. It means realizing you – like all the rest of us – still have a lot to learn. It means pondering whether you may have been wrong about some things.

Or Someone.

Because you know what wise people do?

They look for Jesus.

They don’t dismiss him as a fairy tale or figment of someone’s imagination. They don’t automatically reject him because he’s only for weaklings and wretches (like me). They take the time to investigate… and decide for themselves (rather than take someone else’s word for it).

When Jesus was born, scholars/sages/wise men went looking for him.

In the time of King Herod, after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, wise men from the East came to Jerusalem, asking, “Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews? For we observed his star at its rising, and have come to pay him homage.” ~ Matthew 2:1-1 (NRSV)

It was a star – a light shining in the darkness of a sad/sorry/scary and sin-soaked world – that led them to incarnate wisdom:

Jesus.

And when they found him, they also found…

Hope.

(Boy, could we use a booster shot of that.)

There’s something exhilarating about chasing wisdom and following light and seeking truth, no matter how old you are. But here’s the hitch:

It requires a little humility.

Once you figure out you’re not all that… you can start getting to know the One who is.

I hope you will.

Wendy

P.S. My child, listen to what I say
    and remember what I command you.
Listen carefully to wisdom;
    set your mind on understanding.
Cry out for wisdom,
    and beg for understanding.
Search for it like silver,
    and hunt for it like hidden treasure.
Then you will understand respect for the Lord,
    and you will find that you know God.
Only the Lord gives wisdom;
    he gives knowledge and understanding.
He stores up wisdom for those who are honest.
    Like a shield he protects the innocent.
He makes sure that justice is done,
    and he protects those who are loyal to him. ~ Proverbs 2:1-8 (NCV)

That is the gift of Christmas… and a lifetime.

(And forever after.)

School Supplies

Just got the automated voicemail message from our public school principal… and apparently I have 14 forms I need to fill out and 37 school supply items I need to purchase so my daughter can continue her formal education.

BRB.

(JK.)

Debating whether to delete the message, throw on my comfies and watch a couple episodes of “The Crown.” (Queen Elizabeth doesn’t do these ignoble tasks; why should I?) The thought of filling out all those forms… and then braving the back-to-school aisle…

Please pass the Excedrin Migraine.

Every year, I endure the frenzied dash and mad grab for backpacks and their contents: pencil pouches, pocket folders, page protectors, spiral notebooks, index cards, glue sticks, scissors, rulers, graph paper, Post-It notes, and 12 types of writing utensils: No. 2 pencils, colored pencils, crayons, red/blue/black pens, highlighters, dry erase markers, fine-line and wide-tip Sharpies, gel pens, charcoal pencils, styluses… and scented markers. (Brilliant. Let’s provide both a distraction and a gateway to huffing at the same time.)

And I think… Do these kids really need all that stuff?

I’ve been buying school supplies for a quarter century now. So I consider myself a back-to-school veteran of sorts. I’ve done multiple tours: preschool, elementary, middle school, high school and college. And I’ve suffered flesh wounds in the Battle of Dollar General.

And you know what I’ve come to realize?

My daughter needs me to supply her with far more than index cards and safety scissors.

Along with a handful of highlighters, she needs me to highlight and celebrate all the ways she’s learning and growing. Not just academically and intellectually. But relationally and spiritually. In discernment, compassion, grit, grace.

Along with a ruler, she needs me to measure her against herself, not compare her to her classmates, teammates or siblings.

Along with pink erasers, she needs me to teach her to learn from her mistakes… but leave her failures where they belong: in the past.

Along with fine-line markers, she needs me to teach her the fine line between humility and insecurity… And the verrrrryyy fine line between confidence and arrogance.

Along with Post-Its, she needs me to guide and keep an eye on her social media posts… and help her avoid the pitfalls of constant comparison and FOMO. And the Insta-filtered-and-fueled onslaught of self-objectification… self-doubt… and self-pity. (#triplethreat)

Along with a PE uniform, she needs me to provide an example of physical fitness, emotional wellness and spiritual strength. (And given the escalation of gun violence across the country, I’m inclined to provide body armor too. But that’s another blog for another day.)

The supplies my daughter needs most can’t be rung up at a register at Target.

We can’t just give our kids all the “stuff” and sign them up for all the “things” (while we remain distracted/stressed/emotionally unavailable)… and think they’re gonna turn out ok.

They won’t.

(The latest mental health statistics prove it.)

Kids – even high school kids – need this critical trio of “supplies” from their folks:

A sense of security. Which requires a fair amount of structure… and a whole lot of comfort, counsel, and clear – reasonable – expectations.

A safety net. Something to hold onto – and help them up – when they stumble or fall. A deep faith. A close-knit family. A supportive team. A circle of real, true-blue, faithful friends… not fakers/takers/heartbreakers. A passion for art, music, theater, ____________. Or all of the above.

And (here’s the biggie)…

The gift of time.

Twenty years ago (when we were young, relatively clueless parents), our pastor bestowed this pearl of wisdom:

Kids spell love T-I-M-E.

Though many would deny this (especially 13 – 17-year-old boys, in my experience) it’s the gift they want most. Our precious time.

Face time. Yes, this does in fact mean face-to-face, phones down, no distractions. I’ve come to realize that my full and undivided attention is a gift I give far too infrequently. I… we… must do better. Our kids deserve it.

Game time. True confessions: I’m not the “fun” parent around here. I’m the taskmaster and the bad cop. But I’m learning to let loose a little more… and I’m realizing that being silly and playing games and goofing around is pretty much every kid’s love language.

Down time. Kids need a break sometimes. Often, actually. Just like us, they need to unwind/rest/breathe/be still. (And contrary to popular belief, boredom can be a blessing.)

Hang time. If they want to invite friends over, count yourself blessed… and say YES.

(Just do it.)

Crunch time. Life is tough. Kids are pretty resilient but they have to learn how to meet challenges, fight through adversity… and face consequences. Consequences are good teachers. Parents who do an end run on behalf of their kids aren’t doing them any favors. They’re only delaying the inevitable setback… or suffering. Every once in a while, we all need some hard truth and tough love – pruning – so we can grow and bloom and flourish.

Quiet time. Actual silence. No Spotify or Netflix or YouTube videos. No earbuds or airpods or wireless speakers. No noise whatsoever. Because quiet invites…

Peace.

And that’s something you can’t buy in the back-to-school aisle either.

Wishing everyone a happy, healthy, fully-supplied school year!

Wendy

P.S. If you – like me – find yourself feeling under-stocked and ill-equipped to supply your kiddos with everything they need, I encourage you to go straight to the Distributor:

And my God will supply all your needs according to His riches in glory in Christ Jesus.