Tomorrow morning, as you get up to go about your day, please take a moment to remember those of us who deal every day with an Autism Spectrum Disorder. April 2 is Autism Awareness Day!
If you will, remember dear ASD people and their parents and/or caregivers:
As your child answers a question you ask, or as you answer any question you've been asked.
As your child looks you in the eye.
Every time your child tells you how they feel about anything, or as you express feeling.
Every time you give your child a hug and he hugs back.
As you shop, and your child stays beside you... and if she gets out of line, she can be corrected. If she did lose you, she can tell who found her her name, your name, etc.
When you stand in line for anything, waiting your turn.
If you have the chance, play a game and notice how you understand you have to wait your turn... and how watching others play the game is half the fun!
As you hear your child complain about the weekend being too short, or sigh as you realize they're going to the next grade, remember those of us who are praying that our child may advance... or that they simply can handle staying in school.
Remember kids like Ryan every time you say hello and someone immediately understands what you're saying and says "hello" back.
If your kids are begging to have someone over, take a second to be thankful they can make friends.
As you go to bed, remember that some kids on the ASD spectrum (not Ryan, thankfully) are barely able to sleep at night. (this one's for a dear friend and a dear relative... I pray that God blesses the rest you do get, ladies!)
If you go to a family or friend get-together, remember that for some of us, although we desperately want to, going to these things can be a life-threatening thing for our child, who wanders and does not communicate.
Remember- please- the therapists who have spent their lives to help these children learn to live in this world that is, at times, so alien to them.
Remember that we who have ASD children adore our children and know how amazingly special they are, and how blessed we are to have them.
Remember that Psalm 139:14 tells us that we are all "fearfully and wonderfully made"... not just the ones of us who are perfectly normal.
If you've made it this far in this post, thank you for caring enough to read this far. Thank you also to all the wonderful people in our church who are aware of Ryan's challenges and overlook the extra auditory color (*ahem*) he brings to our services. Thank you to everyone who works with him on a regular basis, at church and school. Thank you to everyone who pats him (and us) on the back... your words are often stored and remembered later as a shot in the arm to get us through a rough spot. There are times when we wonder if we're doing any good, or if we've completely failed him... but then we remember your encouragement and that His mercies are new every morning, and that since we are to love each other as we love ourselves, we have to first love ourselves... and you can't love without mercy.
If you've ever made a comment to me on the blog... thank you. I share my truest heart in these writings in hopes that someone somewhere will benefit from our struggles and triumphs, and your comments prop up the hope that someone will find encouragement here. I believe with all my heart that our experiences are given to us as gifts from the Lord himself to learn from and to share... so in a way, this blog is but a tiny part of my paying it forward, if you will. Because I have been given much, I too must give... and holy cow have I been given much. I really love our life, where we live, and who we live around, and continue to be grateful for the amazing blessings the Lord bestowes!!!
So for now, nothing profound, just a few thanks and a reminder to remember the ASD people in your life tomorrow, April 2. If you want, you could even wear blue in support. I'm not sure why blue... I've heard of places "lighting it up blue" for Autism Awareness with blue lights outside, but let's just say I'm not quite that ambitious. Doing things in the front yard without three people to keep Ryan from stimming on cars... even changing the porch light... is asking for him to be run over.
Thanks again... and I know if Ryan could, he'd thank you too.
Friday, April 1, 2011
Monday, March 28, 2011
Because Why?
One of my favorite things about our house is kidspeak. Ask Richie if he wants a "boh-bee" and he'll say "huh!" Ask Ryan if he wants to watch "baker train" and he'll say "ok!" Mae-mae's are different so far... mostly she answers questions, but "doggie", "ducky" and "daddy" are all amazingly similar, so be careful. Throw in the fact that she usually calls me "daddy" and it's nice and confusing around here! But we know that Richie wanted a strawberry, and Ryan wanted to watch "Wallace and Gromit: The Wrong Trousers". We're their parents, so we've learned their language... we actually watch them develop it. Okay, we laugh too but that's beside the point!
This past week, if you keep up with the Senzig times, you know that we had an important meeting on Tuesday. Actually, it wasn't as important as I thought it was going to be. It was the "here's your paperwork so we can HAVE the next meeting" meeting. So I got my paperwork for Ryan to be reevaluated this May by a school psychologist to make sure everything aligns with what we're trying to do for him in school and at home. I put on Elmo, then Thomas, then Elmo again... we take turns at our house, thank you... and eventually between DVD's, trains, dollies, naps, and the occasional goldfish cracker (colored of course... thanks Granny!) about three or four hours later the paperwork was complete. Oh, those questions. They ask your native language about fourteen times... okay, maybe not that many. But I was sorely tempted to put "Klingon" as my husband's second language. I didn't... but it would have been fun.
Then you get to the meat of the information. After you've written your address twelve times, and checked "male" about the same, the real questions come out. Since the tests are made to cover a range of ages, there are some that make you look up and say to the empty room, "Really?" One of the questions this time was about Ryan's friends... do his friends participate in smoking, illegal drugs, alcohol, or getting high in just about any other way? I'm thinking "well, he is invited to keggers a lot, we just don't let him go." HE'S FIVE! His "friends" are other kids in Sunday school and I'm sure they're not huffing paint in between coloring pictures of the disciples. In between the monotonous and the absurd, however, we're smacked with questions that hurt. Not just our hearts, but our heads! Holy cow, I've slept since so many of these things happened. It's hard, though, to remember some of the milestones he missed, and how far off he missed them. Then there are the ones we still haven't met, and I wind up writing in tiny print so I can cram as much information about how much he's improved and the ins and outs of the problem in the short space given. Then there are the ones like "does he complain about so-and-so?" No, he doesn't communicate anything about most things verbally. If we hear of how school or anything goes, it's from the adult in charge. Yes, he's improved vastly from the time he entered the program with maybe three words, and for that improvement we are more than grateful! But to put him up against other five and six-year-olds?
And my heart sinks into my chair.
Then I look up and remember Who made Ryan. The One who made Ryan knows him better than I do. He doesn't have to think about when Ryan rolled over, or crawled, or walked, or even the first time he noticed a flower. He knows how Ryan's day at school went, even though I and even the people who watched may never know. When Ryan is visibly upset and screaming and shaking and beating his chest or head or legs and we're scrambling to figure out what the problem is while on the outside remaining as calm and matter-of-fact as possible, He knows.
So how do I find out? WHY won't he just tell me or make it STOP?!
That isn't my concern. I find peace in the fact that God made Ryan, me, you, Richie, Maelynn, and everyone to be who He wanted. I also find peace in the fact that His mind is not like mine; I am not able to grasp the fullness of His thoughts. So then, I rest in what? The changing of one word... why.
My father-in-law taught me to change "why" to "to what end?" What do you want me to get from this? What should I be learning in this challenge set before me, be it a screaming, sick, or lost child, a loved one who's gone on, a heartbreak of any kind, a stress of any kind... to what end has He, the Creator of all, allowed this in our and our son's life?
Now the real, over-arching answer is always to glorify Him. But at times there are smaller things that are for our good that we can see if we ask the Holy Spirit to show them to us. Lately, God has shown me that He does, indeed, have a sense of humor... he gave a child in dire need of routine to a woman who is about as organized and scheduled and disciplined as a herd of cats. REALLY! I'm awful! I know dogs who are more organized and disciplined. Actually, MY DOG is more organized and disciplined than I am! But in order to love Ryan the way I should, the way Christ loves me, I must learn. I will learn. No matter how many books, websites, trips to therapy, techniques... I want to know my son, and love him as Christ loves me. I want to learn how he thinks, moves, feels, hears, loves, hurts, everything!
Why? (oh, wait...) To what end?
That I may teach him to bask in the love of Christ, because His love is the best. That I may stand one day next to him and worship side-by-side with all my children, as my brothers and sisters. For now, I love having my lanky five-year old wrapped around me, playing with my earrings, head on my shoulder or wiggling and humming, messing up my hair in church as I lift him up in song and prayer, asking for God's joy and peace to infiltrate every corner of his being, making him the man God wants him to be. And that's not a burden, or stressful, or embarrasing. It's a sweet time of unfiltered, unhinged, unmasked worship... and I love it.
This past week, if you keep up with the Senzig times, you know that we had an important meeting on Tuesday. Actually, it wasn't as important as I thought it was going to be. It was the "here's your paperwork so we can HAVE the next meeting" meeting. So I got my paperwork for Ryan to be reevaluated this May by a school psychologist to make sure everything aligns with what we're trying to do for him in school and at home. I put on Elmo, then Thomas, then Elmo again... we take turns at our house, thank you... and eventually between DVD's, trains, dollies, naps, and the occasional goldfish cracker (colored of course... thanks Granny!) about three or four hours later the paperwork was complete. Oh, those questions. They ask your native language about fourteen times... okay, maybe not that many. But I was sorely tempted to put "Klingon" as my husband's second language. I didn't... but it would have been fun.
Then you get to the meat of the information. After you've written your address twelve times, and checked "male" about the same, the real questions come out. Since the tests are made to cover a range of ages, there are some that make you look up and say to the empty room, "Really?" One of the questions this time was about Ryan's friends... do his friends participate in smoking, illegal drugs, alcohol, or getting high in just about any other way? I'm thinking "well, he is invited to keggers a lot, we just don't let him go." HE'S FIVE! His "friends" are other kids in Sunday school and I'm sure they're not huffing paint in between coloring pictures of the disciples. In between the monotonous and the absurd, however, we're smacked with questions that hurt. Not just our hearts, but our heads! Holy cow, I've slept since so many of these things happened. It's hard, though, to remember some of the milestones he missed, and how far off he missed them. Then there are the ones we still haven't met, and I wind up writing in tiny print so I can cram as much information about how much he's improved and the ins and outs of the problem in the short space given. Then there are the ones like "does he complain about so-and-so?" No, he doesn't communicate anything about most things verbally. If we hear of how school or anything goes, it's from the adult in charge. Yes, he's improved vastly from the time he entered the program with maybe three words, and for that improvement we are more than grateful! But to put him up against other five and six-year-olds?
And my heart sinks into my chair.
Then I look up and remember Who made Ryan. The One who made Ryan knows him better than I do. He doesn't have to think about when Ryan rolled over, or crawled, or walked, or even the first time he noticed a flower. He knows how Ryan's day at school went, even though I and even the people who watched may never know. When Ryan is visibly upset and screaming and shaking and beating his chest or head or legs and we're scrambling to figure out what the problem is while on the outside remaining as calm and matter-of-fact as possible, He knows.
So how do I find out? WHY won't he just tell me or make it STOP?!
That isn't my concern. I find peace in the fact that God made Ryan, me, you, Richie, Maelynn, and everyone to be who He wanted. I also find peace in the fact that His mind is not like mine; I am not able to grasp the fullness of His thoughts. So then, I rest in what? The changing of one word... why.
My father-in-law taught me to change "why" to "to what end?" What do you want me to get from this? What should I be learning in this challenge set before me, be it a screaming, sick, or lost child, a loved one who's gone on, a heartbreak of any kind, a stress of any kind... to what end has He, the Creator of all, allowed this in our and our son's life?
Now the real, over-arching answer is always to glorify Him. But at times there are smaller things that are for our good that we can see if we ask the Holy Spirit to show them to us. Lately, God has shown me that He does, indeed, have a sense of humor... he gave a child in dire need of routine to a woman who is about as organized and scheduled and disciplined as a herd of cats. REALLY! I'm awful! I know dogs who are more organized and disciplined. Actually, MY DOG is more organized and disciplined than I am! But in order to love Ryan the way I should, the way Christ loves me, I must learn. I will learn. No matter how many books, websites, trips to therapy, techniques... I want to know my son, and love him as Christ loves me. I want to learn how he thinks, moves, feels, hears, loves, hurts, everything!
Why? (oh, wait...) To what end?
That I may teach him to bask in the love of Christ, because His love is the best. That I may stand one day next to him and worship side-by-side with all my children, as my brothers and sisters. For now, I love having my lanky five-year old wrapped around me, playing with my earrings, head on my shoulder or wiggling and humming, messing up my hair in church as I lift him up in song and prayer, asking for God's joy and peace to infiltrate every corner of his being, making him the man God wants him to be. And that's not a burden, or stressful, or embarrasing. It's a sweet time of unfiltered, unhinged, unmasked worship... and I love it.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
SWING!
Have you ever watched a baseball game? Notice the players as they go up to bat. When they leave the dugout, are they considering what the crowd thinks? His team? Of course not! He's completely focused on smacking that ball to kingdom come. What would happen if, just as the ball left the pitcher's hand, he turned around to explain why he was there to the crowd, manager, coach or whoever? Doesn't matter who he's talking to... he just got a trip to la-la land and a voucher for a free shiner. Instead of knocking the ball to kingdom come, it knocked him.
What happened? Did he forget how to swing? Nope. His focus wasn't truly in the right place at that moment. If it had been, his eye would have been on the ball before the ball was on his eye. what if the thing he said was really important? A valid question? Not the time or the place... his job at that moment was to be focused, not to question himself or anything else.
This hits me in the softest place. Others' words and opinions of me matter way too much. Maybe not to the degree that they knock my life off course or even change my mind about a decision, but that nagging, stinging feeling is still there. That look back to see what someone else thought catches me off guard way too often.
One way I know our church family is the right one for us is understanding. Whaa? Yes. Understanding. Understanding that reality is Ryan can't control what he says during church. He can't sit still, can't be expected to not stim and hum on anything... my purse, the pew bible, the hymnal, the screen... but he does need to be there. I have to tell you that every Sunday all through church I'm mentally preparing myself to have to take up for my boy. The thought of having to do this is frightening to me. Speaking is so NOT my gift. I think part of the reason I love blogging is because I express myself oh-so-much better in print. Not sure why, but it's so much easier to form my thoughts this way! And as awkward as I am in person, put me on the phone and I'm worse than awkward. Ask me to leave a message? Oh dear. Pack a lunch. But as nervous as the concept of standing up for anything makes me, I know I have to. The fear, I think, comes from not wanting to be disrespectful, not wanting to be rude or hurt another's feelings. I freeze completely, can't think, can't speak, and will wind up either crying or just saying "yes sir, I'm so sorry" or just standing there dumbfounded. I must hasten to add that this hasn't happened in church at all anywhere. The one time it did happen was at school, and I just stood there dumbfounded as she refused to speak to me because I was a special needs child's mom. I also must hasten to add that this problem is not limited to autistic outbursts.
Just as you can probably relate, not all the decisions I've made about my life have been met with a parade of compliments and reassurances. The idea that after only four years of college and four years of doing something I absolutely adored (and still do) I'd stay home to raise my children and be Eric's wife sounds perfectly reasonable in most circles in which I'm involved now, but when we made the decision, no. There were things said but just about everyone who knew how much I love band questioning in some way the decision to stay home. My father made sure to let me know how lazy he thought I was, and his was the most hurtful comment. Most of the other hurts have been omission, either by accident or purposefully. No, it has not been the easiest decision, but it was and is best for us for several reasons. For us, that is God's best. So why do I feel the need to explain that to those around me? I shouldn't.
Did you notice that? I shouldn't. Obedience to God's commands and instructions should be their own excuse. There is nothing wrong with sharing the testimonies of how God has used me being home to grow us in our faith, or how it's allowed me to minister to students when I drag our kids to the middle school to give them my time. See, all those hours spent in study and practice to learn to more effectively teach were given to me. Any talent I have in anything is a gift of the Lord to be used for His glory! Every day of those four years I spent teaching band full-time was a gift, too. But I look at my life now and see, although the world may not readily make sense of it, how all the pieces of my talents and gifts work together to make this Senzig household run in a way that is glorifying to God. Knowing this, why in the world would I feel the need to explain myself?
Pride. Ouch.
How is it prideful, even sinful, to be concerned about the comfort level of those around you? When I'm worrying about how I look to others, it takes my eye off the ball.
Enter the "ouch."
My focus should be to make sure my boy learns to be with God's people and hearing His word, not to make sure everyone around me knows he has an excuse for his behavior. Yes, part of learning to be in church is learning to be quiet and listen. I'm not advocating rude behavior. But I should be more concerned about whether or not my son is learning to love God and love others than about what the lady three rows ahead or the man three rows behind thinks of my parenting skills. Likewise, in every area where I'm being obedient, I should be so focused on being obedient to the Lord, prayer, staying in His word and carrying out the ministries He has for me that the negative isn't noticed, or begins to just roll off. It is then when I can fully rest in the esteem I have as a daughter in Christ... as one of His chosen... and begin to trust that when need be, the Holy Spirit will give me the words I need to defend only as needed, and always in love.
So as I go about my day, doing dishes, changing diapers, sweeping floors, answering the tons of questions in the pre-assesment surveys for Ryan, reading to my Richie, snuggling my Mae-mae, my prayer is that I will rest in the fact that I was made for this. Even the parts I don't like or understand. Even when I mess up, and the sheer amount of stuff to accomplish seems impossible. Praise the Lord for the works of His hand that we are!
And may we all learn to keep our eye on the ball.
What happened? Did he forget how to swing? Nope. His focus wasn't truly in the right place at that moment. If it had been, his eye would have been on the ball before the ball was on his eye. what if the thing he said was really important? A valid question? Not the time or the place... his job at that moment was to be focused, not to question himself or anything else.
This hits me in the softest place. Others' words and opinions of me matter way too much. Maybe not to the degree that they knock my life off course or even change my mind about a decision, but that nagging, stinging feeling is still there. That look back to see what someone else thought catches me off guard way too often.
One way I know our church family is the right one for us is understanding. Whaa? Yes. Understanding. Understanding that reality is Ryan can't control what he says during church. He can't sit still, can't be expected to not stim and hum on anything... my purse, the pew bible, the hymnal, the screen... but he does need to be there. I have to tell you that every Sunday all through church I'm mentally preparing myself to have to take up for my boy. The thought of having to do this is frightening to me. Speaking is so NOT my gift. I think part of the reason I love blogging is because I express myself oh-so-much better in print. Not sure why, but it's so much easier to form my thoughts this way! And as awkward as I am in person, put me on the phone and I'm worse than awkward. Ask me to leave a message? Oh dear. Pack a lunch. But as nervous as the concept of standing up for anything makes me, I know I have to. The fear, I think, comes from not wanting to be disrespectful, not wanting to be rude or hurt another's feelings. I freeze completely, can't think, can't speak, and will wind up either crying or just saying "yes sir, I'm so sorry" or just standing there dumbfounded. I must hasten to add that this hasn't happened in church at all anywhere. The one time it did happen was at school, and I just stood there dumbfounded as she refused to speak to me because I was a special needs child's mom. I also must hasten to add that this problem is not limited to autistic outbursts.
Just as you can probably relate, not all the decisions I've made about my life have been met with a parade of compliments and reassurances. The idea that after only four years of college and four years of doing something I absolutely adored (and still do) I'd stay home to raise my children and be Eric's wife sounds perfectly reasonable in most circles in which I'm involved now, but when we made the decision, no. There were things said but just about everyone who knew how much I love band questioning in some way the decision to stay home. My father made sure to let me know how lazy he thought I was, and his was the most hurtful comment. Most of the other hurts have been omission, either by accident or purposefully. No, it has not been the easiest decision, but it was and is best for us for several reasons. For us, that is God's best. So why do I feel the need to explain that to those around me? I shouldn't.
Did you notice that? I shouldn't. Obedience to God's commands and instructions should be their own excuse. There is nothing wrong with sharing the testimonies of how God has used me being home to grow us in our faith, or how it's allowed me to minister to students when I drag our kids to the middle school to give them my time. See, all those hours spent in study and practice to learn to more effectively teach were given to me. Any talent I have in anything is a gift of the Lord to be used for His glory! Every day of those four years I spent teaching band full-time was a gift, too. But I look at my life now and see, although the world may not readily make sense of it, how all the pieces of my talents and gifts work together to make this Senzig household run in a way that is glorifying to God. Knowing this, why in the world would I feel the need to explain myself?
Pride. Ouch.
How is it prideful, even sinful, to be concerned about the comfort level of those around you? When I'm worrying about how I look to others, it takes my eye off the ball.
Enter the "ouch."
My focus should be to make sure my boy learns to be with God's people and hearing His word, not to make sure everyone around me knows he has an excuse for his behavior. Yes, part of learning to be in church is learning to be quiet and listen. I'm not advocating rude behavior. But I should be more concerned about whether or not my son is learning to love God and love others than about what the lady three rows ahead or the man three rows behind thinks of my parenting skills. Likewise, in every area where I'm being obedient, I should be so focused on being obedient to the Lord, prayer, staying in His word and carrying out the ministries He has for me that the negative isn't noticed, or begins to just roll off. It is then when I can fully rest in the esteem I have as a daughter in Christ... as one of His chosen... and begin to trust that when need be, the Holy Spirit will give me the words I need to defend only as needed, and always in love.
So as I go about my day, doing dishes, changing diapers, sweeping floors, answering the tons of questions in the pre-assesment surveys for Ryan, reading to my Richie, snuggling my Mae-mae, my prayer is that I will rest in the fact that I was made for this. Even the parts I don't like or understand. Even when I mess up, and the sheer amount of stuff to accomplish seems impossible. Praise the Lord for the works of His hand that we are!
And may we all learn to keep our eye on the ball.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
A Practical-ish Fairy Tale (of sorts)
Once upon a time, there was a lonely young lady (well, she tried to be a lady) who loved to teach band but wanted to live her first dream... to be a wife and a mommy. Since you can't go to school or work toward that dream, she enjoyed her job, hung out with her friends, and did her best to be a godly young woman... okay, maybe she didn't do exactly her best all the time... *ahem*... but you get the point.
One weekend, the lonely young lady went to judge in the stead of a retired fellow band director whom she respected greatly so that he could be with his daughter as she tried out for TMEA all-region (most of our kids tried out for ATSSB. If this alphabet soup means nothing, just go with it). All the way to the tryouts, the retired band director joked about how the lonely young lady was going to meet her husband on this panel. With a "haha, yeah right" the lonely young lady laughed off this notion politely, while secretly hoping he was right.
At the tryouts, the lonely young lady found her room and got settled in a seat next to the panel chair. Now, on these panels there are five band directors who listen to the kids one by one behind a partition. Let's just say it's a long day. In breaks between auditionees, the other judges laughed and joked and visited with the lonely young lady (who, at that moment, wasn't feeling very lonely at all). Well, three of the judges visited and laughed and cut-up... one didn't. He sat at the end of the short line of desks lined up against a brick wall, immersed in a book until it was time to start listening again. Surely the retired band director was wrong, thought the lonely young lady. She noticed that the panel chair was very married, and kinda short. Yeek. The person to her right was another lady, one she knew, but double yeek... she was a lady too. the next was another married man. The man on the end of the line of chairs was not married, but... *sigh*... he just didn't seem interested in anything other than his book. "Definitely not my type," thought the lonely young lady, "he doesn't laugh or joke or seem very nice at all." Hmph.
And so, the lonely young lady continued her search for Mr. God's Best. She came across one who was too shy, then one who was too tall, then one who just didn't work out at all. "I GIVE UP!" said the lonely young lady at last, and followed a job offer to another town.
During a staff meeting at the new job, the lonely young lady enjoyed meeting the rest of the staff of five. She knew she'd surely miss the sweet family she worked for before and all the wonderful students, but she felt God's call to this town and was sure although it was hard to tell through the heartbreak of losing those people. In a restaurant that day, she met the head director, the assistant high school director, and the junior high director (who would turn out to be one of the best friends a girl could ever get into mischief with I MEAN have). But where was the fifth guy? Just as the head director said his name, in walks mr. head in his book.
"OH NO!" said the lonely young lady. "Not him! Anyone but him!"
Little did the lonely young lady know that mr. head in his book was her knight in invisible armor... Mr. God's Best.
Within two months, the lonely young lady began to date Mr. God's Best. A week and a half after they began dating, the lonely young lady became The Future Mrs. God's Best.
As I'm sure you've figured out, Mr. God's Best is Mr. Eric Senzig.
I've asked him over and over what in the world posessed him to ask me to marry him after just a week and a half of dating. Over and over, he's said he just knew. And on occasion, he asks me why I said yes... to which I have to smile and admit that I guess I just knew, too. I also have to admit that agreeing to marry him may just be the best decision I ever made... I'm sure it's the best snap decision I ever made!
So since September of 2002 (when we started to date), Eric and I have been through our share of better and worse, but it all started with that decision. I still marvel at the ease with which we agreed to enter into such a huge commitment. But when you know what we know about God's providence, timing, and plan, it's not nearly as crazy. See, God not only knew what we'd been through, who we were, and how much we needed each other... He knew exactly how to time things to make it all happen.
Yes, I was incredibly wrong about who Eric was at the beginning. He is wonderful, sweet, caring, funny, loving, patient, and an amazing father. Yes, he does love to read and his love of reading can at times make him tune things out. But he had prayed for his wife, and even before that his parents had prayed for his wife. I was prayed for before my parents were married! Yes, a full seven years before I was born! What a wonderful wedding present to give to your future son or daughter-in-law.
Really, this fairy tale began forty years ago tomorrow on March 21, when the world first laid eyes on Eric Senzig. We've been through tons together and will go through tons more, and I can't imagine going through daily struggles of parenting, living, teaching, and just breathing with anyone else. I certainly can't imagine celebrating, laughing, and sharing life with anyone else, nor would I want to!
So tonight on the last day of my dear Eric's thirties, I would like to wish him a blessed birthday tomorrow, and many, many more years of love, tears, laughter, hugs, and joy to follow. I'd also like to congratulate his dear parents on their fortieth anniversary of parenthood! I'm so thankful for my amazing husband and so grateful for the Lord's providence in everything about our lives. He who has promised us is FAITHFUL! He has a plan for our lives, and it is to prosper and not to harm us, to give us a hope and a future!
So happy birthday, sweetheart. You truly are Mr. God's Best.
One weekend, the lonely young lady went to judge in the stead of a retired fellow band director whom she respected greatly so that he could be with his daughter as she tried out for TMEA all-region (most of our kids tried out for ATSSB. If this alphabet soup means nothing, just go with it). All the way to the tryouts, the retired band director joked about how the lonely young lady was going to meet her husband on this panel. With a "haha, yeah right" the lonely young lady laughed off this notion politely, while secretly hoping he was right.
At the tryouts, the lonely young lady found her room and got settled in a seat next to the panel chair. Now, on these panels there are five band directors who listen to the kids one by one behind a partition. Let's just say it's a long day. In breaks between auditionees, the other judges laughed and joked and visited with the lonely young lady (who, at that moment, wasn't feeling very lonely at all). Well, three of the judges visited and laughed and cut-up... one didn't. He sat at the end of the short line of desks lined up against a brick wall, immersed in a book until it was time to start listening again. Surely the retired band director was wrong, thought the lonely young lady. She noticed that the panel chair was very married, and kinda short. Yeek. The person to her right was another lady, one she knew, but double yeek... she was a lady too. the next was another married man. The man on the end of the line of chairs was not married, but... *sigh*... he just didn't seem interested in anything other than his book. "Definitely not my type," thought the lonely young lady, "he doesn't laugh or joke or seem very nice at all." Hmph.
And so, the lonely young lady continued her search for Mr. God's Best. She came across one who was too shy, then one who was too tall, then one who just didn't work out at all. "I GIVE UP!" said the lonely young lady at last, and followed a job offer to another town.
During a staff meeting at the new job, the lonely young lady enjoyed meeting the rest of the staff of five. She knew she'd surely miss the sweet family she worked for before and all the wonderful students, but she felt God's call to this town and was sure although it was hard to tell through the heartbreak of losing those people. In a restaurant that day, she met the head director, the assistant high school director, and the junior high director (who would turn out to be one of the best friends a girl could ever get into mischief with I MEAN have). But where was the fifth guy? Just as the head director said his name, in walks mr. head in his book.
"OH NO!" said the lonely young lady. "Not him! Anyone but him!"
Little did the lonely young lady know that mr. head in his book was her knight in invisible armor... Mr. God's Best.
Within two months, the lonely young lady began to date Mr. God's Best. A week and a half after they began dating, the lonely young lady became The Future Mrs. God's Best.
As I'm sure you've figured out, Mr. God's Best is Mr. Eric Senzig.
I've asked him over and over what in the world posessed him to ask me to marry him after just a week and a half of dating. Over and over, he's said he just knew. And on occasion, he asks me why I said yes... to which I have to smile and admit that I guess I just knew, too. I also have to admit that agreeing to marry him may just be the best decision I ever made... I'm sure it's the best snap decision I ever made!
So since September of 2002 (when we started to date), Eric and I have been through our share of better and worse, but it all started with that decision. I still marvel at the ease with which we agreed to enter into such a huge commitment. But when you know what we know about God's providence, timing, and plan, it's not nearly as crazy. See, God not only knew what we'd been through, who we were, and how much we needed each other... He knew exactly how to time things to make it all happen.
Yes, I was incredibly wrong about who Eric was at the beginning. He is wonderful, sweet, caring, funny, loving, patient, and an amazing father. Yes, he does love to read and his love of reading can at times make him tune things out. But he had prayed for his wife, and even before that his parents had prayed for his wife. I was prayed for before my parents were married! Yes, a full seven years before I was born! What a wonderful wedding present to give to your future son or daughter-in-law.
Really, this fairy tale began forty years ago tomorrow on March 21, when the world first laid eyes on Eric Senzig. We've been through tons together and will go through tons more, and I can't imagine going through daily struggles of parenting, living, teaching, and just breathing with anyone else. I certainly can't imagine celebrating, laughing, and sharing life with anyone else, nor would I want to!
So tonight on the last day of my dear Eric's thirties, I would like to wish him a blessed birthday tomorrow, and many, many more years of love, tears, laughter, hugs, and joy to follow. I'd also like to congratulate his dear parents on their fortieth anniversary of parenthood! I'm so thankful for my amazing husband and so grateful for the Lord's providence in everything about our lives. He who has promised us is FAITHFUL! He has a plan for our lives, and it is to prosper and not to harm us, to give us a hope and a future!
So happy birthday, sweetheart. You truly are Mr. God's Best.
Friday, March 4, 2011
News Flash!
I'm tired. That's it.
Okay, I admit that's a bit of a disappointment. But so is the realization that the boy pictured above, our Ryan, has a hard time doing so many things. I do my best to focus on the positive things... he is smart! His intelligence is well above other children his age. He is loving, he is kind, he is a beautiful child, fearfully and wonderfully made. After all, he brought his sister a pacifier and actually put it in her mouth last night! he climbed in my lap as I was rocking his sister and told me I was "a really nice toy". But sometimes I fear that people, especially his little brother and sister are just that in his mind... really nice toys.
Now I know that's not the truth... or, at least, I know better than to speak negatively over my children. But we're at a decision-making point with Ryan, and as I see it, I'm more and more concerned that I'm not doing so well in keeping up with his development. Blogs, articles, books, movies... so many things that ought to encourage me and I ought to devour with the fervor my Richie devours his strawberries, do the opposite. There are so many parents who seem to selflessly, dramatically, completely throw their entire lives into making sure their special needs children have the very best of everything. I see that, and try to do it, and I fail. And it hurts.
Just yesterday, I was on my way home from taking Ryan to therapy, thinking about the experience. I sat outside the room in the building where Ryan has ABA therapy once a week (which I know isn't enough, but it's what worked in our schedule) and listened to his screaming through the wall. Any other mother would pop through that door and demand to know what's going on, but I know that she's working on transistion. I'm always amazed to see Ryan bound out of the Baylor Autism Resource Center grinning, running straight to get a peek at the elevator (which was out that day, but he was enthralled anyway). Yesterday his therapist, a sweet grad student in ABA therapy, wanted to talk about what we do at home. "so what do you do when he starts a fit like that?" she asks. "Well, we usually send him to time-out, where he stays until he's calm." Then I get to admit the part that kills me. "He's managed to stay like that for entire days at a time."
That's one of those sentences that comes out of my mouth on automatic. If I really thought about it, like I am now, I would hang my head and cry. And have to immediately hold my boy, rocking him, praying for him as I have so many times. On those days when it doesn't matter what I say, how I say it, or what I offer, he's so troubled in some way that there is no consolation. Those days when Richie goes in to check on his hero and is screamed at or pushed down and comes to me with his little heart broken. We won't even go into the trips to Target, Walmart, etc. where he's screamed the WHOLE time over a tiny piece of cracker that fell through the basket, or a toy he saw that looks like one he has, so in his mind it's his and he needs it... NOW. Or the way he thrashes from side to side with his knees in the basket while he screams and cries. Yeah, he rides in the big part of the basket. If I have to have groceries and he needs to go, that's how I keep track of him. He's a wanderer, meaning (to us) that he has no boundaries. If he were a dog, he wouldn't know where his yard ends and the road begins. And even worse, if he did get away from us, can't tell you who he is or where he lives. He knows, but he can't tell you. CAN'T. Not won't. You'd be amazed who doesn't understand the difference. We've found things like temporary tattoos that you can put your phone number on, but getting him to let us put a band-aid on is like trying to pull teeth without anesthesia. If we do manage to get a band-aid or something similar on Ryan, you can guarantee that it will be gone in a moment. If he can't get rid of it, he will shake and cry and completely turn himself inside out until it's removed.
Honestly, I get to the point when I just have nothing left. You know, that end-of-the-rope, no more mental or emotional energy, if anyone asks me to so much as pass the salt I'm gonna scream or cry point. I do. When that happens, I'd like to say that I automatically turn upward and remember every scripture I've ever learned and all the wonderful blessings that we have, but I don't always. I get tired and want to know WHY. Why Ryan? Is it so selfish to just want him to be able to share his frustration without screaming and hitting himself? Is is so wrong to just want to plan a family trip to someplace without worrying about having to avoid elevators, candles, lines, and the fact that someplace might not have pizza or burgers?
No, it's really not wrong to want those things... and I know so many other parents of ASD kids who want the same thing. Actually, just special needs parents who would like to live like other people seem to live.
But the overarching idea here is WHY ME? What did I do to deserve this? Why HIM? Surely Ryan has done nothing to deserve autism. Then, if we back up just a little more in the big picture, doesn't everyone have something to ask that about at one time or another?
Ah, reality check. I'm not the only one with problems. Ryan's not the only special needs child in the world, and I'm certainly not the only person who ever felt hopeless. Or not up to the task. Or tired. Or like something has to give... NOW.
What does one do in this situation? The general population would tell me I need a spa day, a vacation, sometime away, or a break in some manner. While there's nothing in the world wrong with any of those things (and they sounds pretty danged awesome... especially a weekend in a hotel with my husband...), they CANNOT BE MY HOPE. As absolutely fabulous as my husband is, he cannot be my hope, my peace, my reassurance, or my happiness!
Inevitably, at this point, since I am a Christian, God sends something to remind me. It may be a phone call, an action, or simply a prompting of the Holy Spirit to remind me that, just as John 14:27 (ESV) says, "Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. Not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid."
Aah. It's like cool water on a sunburn. So is Romans 8:28. So is the knowledge that Ryan (and Richie, and Maelynn) is "fearfully and wonderfully made" (Psalm 139:14). It all comes flowing back, sometimes... and sometimes it comes through friends, or my husband, or a sign, a song, or in a Facebook update. It happens, and it works.
I cannot explain why there are problems that seemingly have no point or reason. But I can say this, and I can say it from experience. There is a reason. There is a God. He cares for us, and His ways are designed for our best and they are not for us to fully understand. "You ask me how I know He lives? He lives within my heart."
So if you're tired, hopeless, lonely, exhausted, broken... don't believe that stuff about the rope. You're on the bottom. Look up, ask Jesus to throw you a rope. He'll not only throw you one. He'll come down, pick you up, dust you off, and hold you up.
He did that for me just as I was speaking to you. Kinda cool, huh!
Have a blessed day, and remember that His arms are always open, and are ready to receive you and whatever issues you have. Your fault, not your fault, socially acceptable or not.
So look up.
Okay, I admit that's a bit of a disappointment. But so is the realization that the boy pictured above, our Ryan, has a hard time doing so many things. I do my best to focus on the positive things... he is smart! His intelligence is well above other children his age. He is loving, he is kind, he is a beautiful child, fearfully and wonderfully made. After all, he brought his sister a pacifier and actually put it in her mouth last night! he climbed in my lap as I was rocking his sister and told me I was "a really nice toy". But sometimes I fear that people, especially his little brother and sister are just that in his mind... really nice toys.
Now I know that's not the truth... or, at least, I know better than to speak negatively over my children. But we're at a decision-making point with Ryan, and as I see it, I'm more and more concerned that I'm not doing so well in keeping up with his development. Blogs, articles, books, movies... so many things that ought to encourage me and I ought to devour with the fervor my Richie devours his strawberries, do the opposite. There are so many parents who seem to selflessly, dramatically, completely throw their entire lives into making sure their special needs children have the very best of everything. I see that, and try to do it, and I fail. And it hurts.
Just yesterday, I was on my way home from taking Ryan to therapy, thinking about the experience. I sat outside the room in the building where Ryan has ABA therapy once a week (which I know isn't enough, but it's what worked in our schedule) and listened to his screaming through the wall. Any other mother would pop through that door and demand to know what's going on, but I know that she's working on transistion. I'm always amazed to see Ryan bound out of the Baylor Autism Resource Center grinning, running straight to get a peek at the elevator (which was out that day, but he was enthralled anyway). Yesterday his therapist, a sweet grad student in ABA therapy, wanted to talk about what we do at home. "so what do you do when he starts a fit like that?" she asks. "Well, we usually send him to time-out, where he stays until he's calm." Then I get to admit the part that kills me. "He's managed to stay like that for entire days at a time."
That's one of those sentences that comes out of my mouth on automatic. If I really thought about it, like I am now, I would hang my head and cry. And have to immediately hold my boy, rocking him, praying for him as I have so many times. On those days when it doesn't matter what I say, how I say it, or what I offer, he's so troubled in some way that there is no consolation. Those days when Richie goes in to check on his hero and is screamed at or pushed down and comes to me with his little heart broken. We won't even go into the trips to Target, Walmart, etc. where he's screamed the WHOLE time over a tiny piece of cracker that fell through the basket, or a toy he saw that looks like one he has, so in his mind it's his and he needs it... NOW. Or the way he thrashes from side to side with his knees in the basket while he screams and cries. Yeah, he rides in the big part of the basket. If I have to have groceries and he needs to go, that's how I keep track of him. He's a wanderer, meaning (to us) that he has no boundaries. If he were a dog, he wouldn't know where his yard ends and the road begins. And even worse, if he did get away from us, can't tell you who he is or where he lives. He knows, but he can't tell you. CAN'T. Not won't. You'd be amazed who doesn't understand the difference. We've found things like temporary tattoos that you can put your phone number on, but getting him to let us put a band-aid on is like trying to pull teeth without anesthesia. If we do manage to get a band-aid or something similar on Ryan, you can guarantee that it will be gone in a moment. If he can't get rid of it, he will shake and cry and completely turn himself inside out until it's removed.
Honestly, I get to the point when I just have nothing left. You know, that end-of-the-rope, no more mental or emotional energy, if anyone asks me to so much as pass the salt I'm gonna scream or cry point. I do. When that happens, I'd like to say that I automatically turn upward and remember every scripture I've ever learned and all the wonderful blessings that we have, but I don't always. I get tired and want to know WHY. Why Ryan? Is it so selfish to just want him to be able to share his frustration without screaming and hitting himself? Is is so wrong to just want to plan a family trip to someplace without worrying about having to avoid elevators, candles, lines, and the fact that someplace might not have pizza or burgers?
No, it's really not wrong to want those things... and I know so many other parents of ASD kids who want the same thing. Actually, just special needs parents who would like to live like other people seem to live.
But the overarching idea here is WHY ME? What did I do to deserve this? Why HIM? Surely Ryan has done nothing to deserve autism. Then, if we back up just a little more in the big picture, doesn't everyone have something to ask that about at one time or another?
Ah, reality check. I'm not the only one with problems. Ryan's not the only special needs child in the world, and I'm certainly not the only person who ever felt hopeless. Or not up to the task. Or tired. Or like something has to give... NOW.
What does one do in this situation? The general population would tell me I need a spa day, a vacation, sometime away, or a break in some manner. While there's nothing in the world wrong with any of those things (and they sounds pretty danged awesome... especially a weekend in a hotel with my husband...), they CANNOT BE MY HOPE. As absolutely fabulous as my husband is, he cannot be my hope, my peace, my reassurance, or my happiness!
Inevitably, at this point, since I am a Christian, God sends something to remind me. It may be a phone call, an action, or simply a prompting of the Holy Spirit to remind me that, just as John 14:27 (ESV) says, "Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. Not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid."
Aah. It's like cool water on a sunburn. So is Romans 8:28. So is the knowledge that Ryan (and Richie, and Maelynn) is "fearfully and wonderfully made" (Psalm 139:14). It all comes flowing back, sometimes... and sometimes it comes through friends, or my husband, or a sign, a song, or in a Facebook update. It happens, and it works.
I cannot explain why there are problems that seemingly have no point or reason. But I can say this, and I can say it from experience. There is a reason. There is a God. He cares for us, and His ways are designed for our best and they are not for us to fully understand. "You ask me how I know He lives? He lives within my heart."
So if you're tired, hopeless, lonely, exhausted, broken... don't believe that stuff about the rope. You're on the bottom. Look up, ask Jesus to throw you a rope. He'll not only throw you one. He'll come down, pick you up, dust you off, and hold you up.
He did that for me just as I was speaking to you. Kinda cool, huh!
Have a blessed day, and remember that His arms are always open, and are ready to receive you and whatever issues you have. Your fault, not your fault, socially acceptable or not.
So look up.
Friday, February 25, 2011
Providence Day, explained :-)
As I sat down to start this post, I think I was stopped about five hundred times. Okay, maybe it was just five. Still, it seems like it took forever to get started! Once I got up to get Richie a puzzle. Another time I got up to redirect Ryan. Another to keep Mae from going to our room. Another to get milk. Yet another to tell Ryan to sit or get off the couch. Then I get a cup of coffee, sit down, touch my fingers to the keyboard, and I hear Richie laughing... but it's the ringtone of him laughing as a baby. Yes, dear... 4:15 is a fine time to be home. I love you too.
The best part of all that is that in between some of those things I started to type different things each time. My version of writer's block, I guess. Nothing seemed right. Then I sat down after all these interruptions and it turns out the best start was in the midst of the mess! Each time I got up, I had to either bless or redirect. Richie wanted a puzzle. That was in his best interest, so I granted his wish by handing him a puzzle. Mae reached up onto the table and almost grabbed my coffee cup, causing me to move the cup out of her reach. Each reaction by me was completely out of love. However, both reactions resulted in different expressions from my kids. Richie was excited! He bubbled over with "Thank you, Mommy!" Maelynn, on the other hand, cried as if I'd broken her heart forever.
God redirects us, too. The difference is that in our redirections, the weeping and mourning or joyful celebration may last a lot longer than a minute or two. He's redirected Eric and I as a family several times in just the eight years we've known each other. Each time has been necessary and for our good. I say that from the faith that God loves us and cares for us according to His will and purpose, for not every redirection was met with excitement. Most of them we can look back on and see the bullet that would have smacked us right between the eyes, like the time after we moved to Groesbeck that we didn't have electricity. It was right before I had Richie, and a very long story short, if we'd had electricity we couldn't have paid for it. Texas summers are expensive. As it stood, our landlord paid the bill. Losing who would have been Ryan's first sibling, however, still is hard to accept.
All of these times have been brushstrokes in the painting of God's plan for us. Jeremiah 29:11 tells us that there is a plan for our lives, and it is for our good. Romans 8:28 reminds us that all things work for our good. When Ryan was a baby, as the anniversary of a significant, painful redirection approached, Eric and I realized that as we go through things such as these, we gain another notch on our faith belt. We step up another step, a little more secure in our footing as we realize that God really didn't bring us this far to let us perish! His parents shared, too, times when God brought them through things as encouragement to us. So that night at that little rent house on Kelly street in Fairfield, we made up our own holiday, to be celebrated on the anniversary of the day Eric lost his job with no just cause when I was 7 months pregnant with Ryan. That year, we celebrated our first Providence Day.
On February 25th of every year, we celebrate the way God protects us and carries out His plan for those He loves. The plan is that as our children grow, they will use their knowledge of the things we've been brought through as a bolster for their own faith in their own hard times. Even though we know that our kids will have their own times when God has to say "no" and turn them the other direction, that remembering what Mom and Dad went through will help them rest in the peace that surpasses understanding. It's the peace that leads us every day through countless things like back surgery, Autism, sickness, piles of bills... everything ranging from mild inconvenience to pray-for-us-this-is-scary. And this isn't to say we don't thank God on a regular basis for His care. Providence Day is just a time when we make a point to recount the stories so that the amazing things God has done for us will not be forgotten! This is our Ebenezer stone (1 Samuel 7:12)... our celebration of how He's never failed us.
Oh, look at that... Eric's home, and it's time to "give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you." ( Thessalonians 5:18)
Care to join us?
The best part of all that is that in between some of those things I started to type different things each time. My version of writer's block, I guess. Nothing seemed right. Then I sat down after all these interruptions and it turns out the best start was in the midst of the mess! Each time I got up, I had to either bless or redirect. Richie wanted a puzzle. That was in his best interest, so I granted his wish by handing him a puzzle. Mae reached up onto the table and almost grabbed my coffee cup, causing me to move the cup out of her reach. Each reaction by me was completely out of love. However, both reactions resulted in different expressions from my kids. Richie was excited! He bubbled over with "Thank you, Mommy!" Maelynn, on the other hand, cried as if I'd broken her heart forever.
God redirects us, too. The difference is that in our redirections, the weeping and mourning or joyful celebration may last a lot longer than a minute or two. He's redirected Eric and I as a family several times in just the eight years we've known each other. Each time has been necessary and for our good. I say that from the faith that God loves us and cares for us according to His will and purpose, for not every redirection was met with excitement. Most of them we can look back on and see the bullet that would have smacked us right between the eyes, like the time after we moved to Groesbeck that we didn't have electricity. It was right before I had Richie, and a very long story short, if we'd had electricity we couldn't have paid for it. Texas summers are expensive. As it stood, our landlord paid the bill. Losing who would have been Ryan's first sibling, however, still is hard to accept.
All of these times have been brushstrokes in the painting of God's plan for us. Jeremiah 29:11 tells us that there is a plan for our lives, and it is for our good. Romans 8:28 reminds us that all things work for our good. When Ryan was a baby, as the anniversary of a significant, painful redirection approached, Eric and I realized that as we go through things such as these, we gain another notch on our faith belt. We step up another step, a little more secure in our footing as we realize that God really didn't bring us this far to let us perish! His parents shared, too, times when God brought them through things as encouragement to us. So that night at that little rent house on Kelly street in Fairfield, we made up our own holiday, to be celebrated on the anniversary of the day Eric lost his job with no just cause when I was 7 months pregnant with Ryan. That year, we celebrated our first Providence Day.
On February 25th of every year, we celebrate the way God protects us and carries out His plan for those He loves. The plan is that as our children grow, they will use their knowledge of the things we've been brought through as a bolster for their own faith in their own hard times. Even though we know that our kids will have their own times when God has to say "no" and turn them the other direction, that remembering what Mom and Dad went through will help them rest in the peace that surpasses understanding. It's the peace that leads us every day through countless things like back surgery, Autism, sickness, piles of bills... everything ranging from mild inconvenience to pray-for-us-this-is-scary. And this isn't to say we don't thank God on a regular basis for His care. Providence Day is just a time when we make a point to recount the stories so that the amazing things God has done for us will not be forgotten! This is our Ebenezer stone (1 Samuel 7:12)... our celebration of how He's never failed us.
Oh, look at that... Eric's home, and it's time to "give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you." ( Thessalonians 5:18)
Care to join us?
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
For the inquiring minds...
...yes, we're alive, and no, we have not taken a vow of silence or just decided to become hermits. Seems like we have on this end, though! Ryan had a nasty little stomach bug last Tuesday, mae got it Thursday, and I kept thinking Richie was going to get it, but don't think he ever did. He did wind up wheezing and barely breathing all night last night, and after a trip to our wonderful family doc, a steroid shot, albuterol and steroid breathing treatments, zithromax and prednisolone, he's on the way up. Eric is too after having the stomach bug today, and tomorrow we have our first trip to the neurologist to discuss the ruptured disc in his back, but more about that later.
Gotta put a disclaimer on this one... I'm not trying to be whiney. I promise. This is just the stuff that's been going on, and nothing is ever meant to sound like we're not grateful for our lives and the way God has planned to let us live them. I'm also not saying that I always act like I'm grateful, because I try not to lie.
When we decided to purchase this house, we were thrilled at the aspect of having people over, as in holidays, church stuff, and just plain get-togethers. But with every one, something has happened. Nothing major-crazy, nothing that hasn't happened to anyone else lately.
So the first thing, we have our best friends over from Fairfield. Their poor kiddo got sick, and they had to leave. I tried not to pout (but I did!), and tried to put on the happiest face I could and just say that we needed the extra time, I guess. After all, it was before Christmas and I was the most disorganized I've ever been, mostly because I was still grief-roasted from losing my Nanny and fried from the move and all that nebulous cloud of stuff surrounding the holidays. Then we try leave to go to Waco to see family we rarely get to see. At the last minute, my husband makes a trip to a friend's house to return some thing we borrowed. His truck won't start, so they drag it back over here. We do manage to leave, and Mae gets a fever while we're there, but hey... babies do that when they teethe, so I gave her some ibuprofen and all was well. We leave for our start to Christmas with Eric's parents, and hear in the dark that sound from the backseat about halfway to Dallas. You know the one. That "oh dear, we're gonna have to pull over and get someone new clothes" sound. Ryan had lost his pizza (and it was great pizza, too) all over himself, the backseat of the van, and some hanging clothes. Ok. Find a place to get off I-35 and clean up for an hour, and we're good. He's fine, even eating before we could get him cleaned up.
We make it to Richardson that night, so relieved and happy as usual to be with Grammy and Grampy, then Maelynn's fever returns. Ryan throws up in his bed again, but thankfully it was just one of those coughing things. So after a trip to the quack shack and some good ol' antibiotics, we can treat Mae for the ear infection that had been causing her fever. Whew. Now we can get on with Christmas!
Riiiiight.
Christmas Eve is just too cool with my husband's family. We actually go to the Christmas Eve service, and before that my sister-in-law and I always go out for lunch during the day. When I got home from lunch and a trip to good 'ol Target, Eric was in some super-awful real pain. By dinner, he was unable to find any way to sit, stand, or lay that wasn't excruciating. So off to the ER he goes, thankfully accompanied by his Dad. I could have gone to the Christmas Eve service with Mom and Nana, but the thought (and sheer logistics with three kids) made me sad. Christmas Eve was spent with Eric doped up in the recliner, and I on the couch, settling down for a short wifey's nap. Christmas morning, Eric was still in so much pain he kinda propped himself up long enough that he didn't miss Mae's first Christmas, although through the Vicodin fog I'm not sure what he remembers. He did make it to dinner, though!
After a couple of days, we made it home with Eric still limping to host my Mom and sister. I couldn't wait to make Christmas dinner just like Nanny would have for them! Ok, I've been making pies with Nanny since I was in junior high, folks... and I INCINERATED two pie crusts. Incinerated. Made black. Burned. Charred. I felt so stupid. But we had a wonderful time anyway, and dinner did manage to make it to the table, thanks to my patient family. (Shh... I completely forgot the mashed potatoes.)
I won't keep droning on about the National-Lampooniness of our holidays. We did, despite all the ups and downs, have a beautiful time with all our families and friends. I have to say that we have the best family and the best friends we could ever have dreamed, and their love, grace, mercy and understanding were and are a godsend. But it's just kinda continued... the plans we make have been yanked out from under us seemingly a lot lately. At the same time, we're doing a bible study on Jonah by Priscilla Shirer, subtitled "The Interrupted Life". All about how God has had our purpose planned for ever, quite literally, and how our plans may not jive with that. So why do I whine because something I planned two months ago is overturned because my daughter comes down with a stomach bug the night before? More than that, why in the world do I keep asking God if He's outside his ever-lovin' mind thinking I'm good enough to raise a special needs child... or any child? In that, I'm saying not only that I know better than God, I know myself better, I know my kids better, and I know my life better, I'm putting down His creation and His plan. My addled attempt to express my own unworthiness and show how selfless I wish I was turns to selfishness.
So many times I've been encouraged by a friend and just could not accept the compliment, encouragement, or uplifting statement. I just don't know what to do with myself, honestly. See, I live in my brain and my heart, just like you live in yours, and I know how frustrated and angry I feel. I know how frightened and nervous, selfish and lazy, procrastinating and stubborn I am. I totally feel unworthy of that statement of encouragement or praise, whatever it may refer to. But from now on, before the wonderfulness of the precious gift of those words begins to fade into "you're really not that great, you remember your attitude about so and so?" I hope to take them into my heart and file them away under blessings... not to keep them out too long, because as I'm finding out, even something as wonderful as a Christmas tree can stay out so long it loses its meaning.
To all of you... especially the special needs parents out there (including my Eric and I)... please remember that you were created by God and His plan for your life has and continutes to equip you to not only deal with your child's behaviour and issues, it is part of your purpose on this planet to nurture and love that child/children the way Christ loves us. Stay in the Word and feed your heart and soul good, nourishing food, and stop telling yourself that you're not up to it. You can tell God you're not up to it, and He can handle your frustration, anger, disappointment, and exhaustion. He will also always give you what you need to make it. At times, not just make it, but He'll run your cup over if you'll let Him.
Something I'd never realized before this really, about six months of sick kids, missed appointments, lost loved ones, and changed plans... we have to apply a certain measure of grace and mercy to ourselves. I get so frustrated and have told my husband over and over lately... "I'm just not good enough! I can't get it all done! Just look around!" And you know what? I can't. But I CAN choose my attitude. I CAN laugh some more things off, kinda like those cajun pie crusts, and the fact that yes, it's mid-January and my Christmas tree is still prominently displayed in my living room. And I can learn to accept that I am fearfully and wonderfully made, and that includes all the parts of me, inside and out, upside and down.
So I will likely have more plans overturned and things won't go the way I thought they should. I will likely get upset, and in my own rebellious way tell God that He's messing up my stuff again. But His mercies are new every morning, and I will learn to more often take comfort in that and continue on in a new day, and I will learn to not only smile and say "thanks" to God's grace and mercy, but to truly accept it. After all, it's His plan, and none of this shocks Him, right down to my little fits of significant insignificance.
Gotta put a disclaimer on this one... I'm not trying to be whiney. I promise. This is just the stuff that's been going on, and nothing is ever meant to sound like we're not grateful for our lives and the way God has planned to let us live them. I'm also not saying that I always act like I'm grateful, because I try not to lie.
When we decided to purchase this house, we were thrilled at the aspect of having people over, as in holidays, church stuff, and just plain get-togethers. But with every one, something has happened. Nothing major-crazy, nothing that hasn't happened to anyone else lately.
So the first thing, we have our best friends over from Fairfield. Their poor kiddo got sick, and they had to leave. I tried not to pout (but I did!), and tried to put on the happiest face I could and just say that we needed the extra time, I guess. After all, it was before Christmas and I was the most disorganized I've ever been, mostly because I was still grief-roasted from losing my Nanny and fried from the move and all that nebulous cloud of stuff surrounding the holidays. Then we try leave to go to Waco to see family we rarely get to see. At the last minute, my husband makes a trip to a friend's house to return some thing we borrowed. His truck won't start, so they drag it back over here. We do manage to leave, and Mae gets a fever while we're there, but hey... babies do that when they teethe, so I gave her some ibuprofen and all was well. We leave for our start to Christmas with Eric's parents, and hear in the dark that sound from the backseat about halfway to Dallas. You know the one. That "oh dear, we're gonna have to pull over and get someone new clothes" sound. Ryan had lost his pizza (and it was great pizza, too) all over himself, the backseat of the van, and some hanging clothes. Ok. Find a place to get off I-35 and clean up for an hour, and we're good. He's fine, even eating before we could get him cleaned up.
We make it to Richardson that night, so relieved and happy as usual to be with Grammy and Grampy, then Maelynn's fever returns. Ryan throws up in his bed again, but thankfully it was just one of those coughing things. So after a trip to the quack shack and some good ol' antibiotics, we can treat Mae for the ear infection that had been causing her fever. Whew. Now we can get on with Christmas!
Riiiiight.
Christmas Eve is just too cool with my husband's family. We actually go to the Christmas Eve service, and before that my sister-in-law and I always go out for lunch during the day. When I got home from lunch and a trip to good 'ol Target, Eric was in some super-awful real pain. By dinner, he was unable to find any way to sit, stand, or lay that wasn't excruciating. So off to the ER he goes, thankfully accompanied by his Dad. I could have gone to the Christmas Eve service with Mom and Nana, but the thought (and sheer logistics with three kids) made me sad. Christmas Eve was spent with Eric doped up in the recliner, and I on the couch, settling down for a short wifey's nap. Christmas morning, Eric was still in so much pain he kinda propped himself up long enough that he didn't miss Mae's first Christmas, although through the Vicodin fog I'm not sure what he remembers. He did make it to dinner, though!
After a couple of days, we made it home with Eric still limping to host my Mom and sister. I couldn't wait to make Christmas dinner just like Nanny would have for them! Ok, I've been making pies with Nanny since I was in junior high, folks... and I INCINERATED two pie crusts. Incinerated. Made black. Burned. Charred. I felt so stupid. But we had a wonderful time anyway, and dinner did manage to make it to the table, thanks to my patient family. (Shh... I completely forgot the mashed potatoes.)
I won't keep droning on about the National-Lampooniness of our holidays. We did, despite all the ups and downs, have a beautiful time with all our families and friends. I have to say that we have the best family and the best friends we could ever have dreamed, and their love, grace, mercy and understanding were and are a godsend. But it's just kinda continued... the plans we make have been yanked out from under us seemingly a lot lately. At the same time, we're doing a bible study on Jonah by Priscilla Shirer, subtitled "The Interrupted Life". All about how God has had our purpose planned for ever, quite literally, and how our plans may not jive with that. So why do I whine because something I planned two months ago is overturned because my daughter comes down with a stomach bug the night before? More than that, why in the world do I keep asking God if He's outside his ever-lovin' mind thinking I'm good enough to raise a special needs child... or any child? In that, I'm saying not only that I know better than God, I know myself better, I know my kids better, and I know my life better, I'm putting down His creation and His plan. My addled attempt to express my own unworthiness and show how selfless I wish I was turns to selfishness.
So many times I've been encouraged by a friend and just could not accept the compliment, encouragement, or uplifting statement. I just don't know what to do with myself, honestly. See, I live in my brain and my heart, just like you live in yours, and I know how frustrated and angry I feel. I know how frightened and nervous, selfish and lazy, procrastinating and stubborn I am. I totally feel unworthy of that statement of encouragement or praise, whatever it may refer to. But from now on, before the wonderfulness of the precious gift of those words begins to fade into "you're really not that great, you remember your attitude about so and so?" I hope to take them into my heart and file them away under blessings... not to keep them out too long, because as I'm finding out, even something as wonderful as a Christmas tree can stay out so long it loses its meaning.
To all of you... especially the special needs parents out there (including my Eric and I)... please remember that you were created by God and His plan for your life has and continutes to equip you to not only deal with your child's behaviour and issues, it is part of your purpose on this planet to nurture and love that child/children the way Christ loves us. Stay in the Word and feed your heart and soul good, nourishing food, and stop telling yourself that you're not up to it. You can tell God you're not up to it, and He can handle your frustration, anger, disappointment, and exhaustion. He will also always give you what you need to make it. At times, not just make it, but He'll run your cup over if you'll let Him.
Something I'd never realized before this really, about six months of sick kids, missed appointments, lost loved ones, and changed plans... we have to apply a certain measure of grace and mercy to ourselves. I get so frustrated and have told my husband over and over lately... "I'm just not good enough! I can't get it all done! Just look around!" And you know what? I can't. But I CAN choose my attitude. I CAN laugh some more things off, kinda like those cajun pie crusts, and the fact that yes, it's mid-January and my Christmas tree is still prominently displayed in my living room. And I can learn to accept that I am fearfully and wonderfully made, and that includes all the parts of me, inside and out, upside and down.
So I will likely have more plans overturned and things won't go the way I thought they should. I will likely get upset, and in my own rebellious way tell God that He's messing up my stuff again. But His mercies are new every morning, and I will learn to more often take comfort in that and continue on in a new day, and I will learn to not only smile and say "thanks" to God's grace and mercy, but to truly accept it. After all, it's His plan, and none of this shocks Him, right down to my little fits of significant insignificance.
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