I've been bothered quite some time now on the extreme lack of good (if any) resources out there on raising a child with special needs (specifically Down syndrome) from a Christian perspective. There are no groups, no section in bookstore, no online forum specifically dedicated to this. I am not content with the blurb I read in a newletter or a small article tucked into a magazine from time to time. There has to--needs to--be something more.
As a new parent, I scoured the shelves of every media ladened outlet around. I searched tirelessly on the internet googling every word I could think of which might lead my heart to a warm hearth of moms I could connect with. My search still continues...
Perhaps this passion has been placed in my heart because I have been designed for such a task. I keep praying I'll find something, but keep coming up empty. God, show me a way if this is Your will.~*
April 28, 2010
April 8, 2010
Engravings
My dad was an absent father. He has made choices in his life, even still to this day, that sabotage all chances of any relationship he might have had with his children. Of course I remember most of the bad times more vivid than the fond times we had with our dad, but I try to keep those fond times in mind.
He used to take us fishing at a local park from time to time. He loved fishing and each of us kids had our own Disney fishing pole set up right alongside the rest of the poles at the dock. We had our favorite place to fish on the dock and so my dad carved our names very deeply into the top plank. It stood out among all the other names on that piece of wood and the grooves were deep enough so that we could place our chubby little fingers in them and trace our own names. We were very proud of that small token of affection.
Even after my dad and mom were divorced, we would visit that park from time to time and walk that dock, seeing who could spot our names first. Each time it would get harder and harder to find. There were more names added to our plank and weather and sheer use had worn the wood down significantly over the years. We'd try to trace our names with our growing hands but it was not so easily done.
The last time I remember visiting the park was at our church picnic about six or so years ago. I was newly engaged to my now husband and I wanted to proudly show him the small piece of heritage my father had left us on a rotting piece of wood. We walked the dock about three times, but I could not find our plank. When we finally found our names which were engraved so deeply at one time, I was pained to find that they were a mere shadow among a miriad of other names which had been carved over ours. It broke my heart and I wanted to cry. I walked off that dock with sadness growing deeper with each step.
Then the Lord spoke to me. "I have engraved you on the palms of my hands (Is. 49:16), and that will never fade."
My heart filled with joy as I remembered my Heavenly Father. I had allowed the Lord to take the place of the hole in my heart that my earthly father left when I had gotten saved about five years before I took that last stroll down the dock. I am so thankful He reminded me of His great love for me, despite what my earthly father has failed to do.
I hope you are encouraged today that although we can't see Daddy God, He is truly able to be that wonderful Father to the fatherless who's love is ever evident in the engraving on His hands.~*
He used to take us fishing at a local park from time to time. He loved fishing and each of us kids had our own Disney fishing pole set up right alongside the rest of the poles at the dock. We had our favorite place to fish on the dock and so my dad carved our names very deeply into the top plank. It stood out among all the other names on that piece of wood and the grooves were deep enough so that we could place our chubby little fingers in them and trace our own names. We were very proud of that small token of affection.
Even after my dad and mom were divorced, we would visit that park from time to time and walk that dock, seeing who could spot our names first. Each time it would get harder and harder to find. There were more names added to our plank and weather and sheer use had worn the wood down significantly over the years. We'd try to trace our names with our growing hands but it was not so easily done.
The last time I remember visiting the park was at our church picnic about six or so years ago. I was newly engaged to my now husband and I wanted to proudly show him the small piece of heritage my father had left us on a rotting piece of wood. We walked the dock about three times, but I could not find our plank. When we finally found our names which were engraved so deeply at one time, I was pained to find that they were a mere shadow among a miriad of other names which had been carved over ours. It broke my heart and I wanted to cry. I walked off that dock with sadness growing deeper with each step.
Then the Lord spoke to me. "I have engraved you on the palms of my hands (Is. 49:16), and that will never fade."
My heart filled with joy as I remembered my Heavenly Father. I had allowed the Lord to take the place of the hole in my heart that my earthly father left when I had gotten saved about five years before I took that last stroll down the dock. I am so thankful He reminded me of His great love for me, despite what my earthly father has failed to do.
I hope you are encouraged today that although we can't see Daddy God, He is truly able to be that wonderful Father to the fatherless who's love is ever evident in the engraving on His hands.~*
April 7, 2010
Sheer Joy
In my mind, I go back and forth between two places. In one place, I wear the hat, badge, honor and authoritative weight of a protective mother. In that place, I am an advocate and keenly aware of any possible threats that may come my son's way. Because I am his mouthpiece for this season of life, I am careful to tread lightly here and there, but not in a tip-toe manner, because I am also patrolling the banks of this place for incoming ships. I am ready to fire if danger creeps near as I am on high alert for such things. Proudly I keep my daily post protecting my greatest treasure, guarding this most precious gift which has been entrusted to me.
Yet there is another place I go in my mind where I am dancing in the highest daisy fields hand in hand with my son. I want to sing his love song to the world, to display his perceived ailment in shining armor. On my heart I proudly wear his badge of courage, strength and love. He is my joy and this joy is contagious. Why shouldn't I share this powerful, addictive love with the world? Perhaps they may be inspired to open their hearts as I have.
Today in my prayers of thanksgiving overflowing for the greatest gift the Lord has ever given to me, I thanked Him for many things. For sculpting my heart in the most miraculous way, for His faithfulness, yes!--even for Down syndrome! How much more has my faith increased because my son was born with Down syndrome!
I have begun to wonder why I am holding Marty's story back at all.
I chose not to share his diagnosis with everyone we meet. I still think this is wise; not everyone is open or welcoming of such precious information (and in my opinion, if that be the case, they are not worthy of such either; I shouldn't cast my pearls before swine). I want Marty to also have the opportunity to make a smashing first impression as well--just the opportunity that everyone else in the world should have without restrictions or limitations placed on them from preconceived ideas about Down syndrome. But the more people I decide to tell his story to, the more "touched" responses follow. When I think about all the great blessings that have been heaped upon me, the more I want to share those blessings. It has become the fire shut-up in my bones that Elijah speaks about in the Old Testament. There is a sheer joy that arises in my heart when I begin to think about all the Lord has done on my behalf when He decided to bless me with a son who has Down syndrome.
Perhaps it is time to share this joy with the world?~*
Yet there is another place I go in my mind where I am dancing in the highest daisy fields hand in hand with my son. I want to sing his love song to the world, to display his perceived ailment in shining armor. On my heart I proudly wear his badge of courage, strength and love. He is my joy and this joy is contagious. Why shouldn't I share this powerful, addictive love with the world? Perhaps they may be inspired to open their hearts as I have.
Today in my prayers of thanksgiving overflowing for the greatest gift the Lord has ever given to me, I thanked Him for many things. For sculpting my heart in the most miraculous way, for His faithfulness, yes!--even for Down syndrome! How much more has my faith increased because my son was born with Down syndrome!
I have begun to wonder why I am holding Marty's story back at all.
I chose not to share his diagnosis with everyone we meet. I still think this is wise; not everyone is open or welcoming of such precious information (and in my opinion, if that be the case, they are not worthy of such either; I shouldn't cast my pearls before swine). I want Marty to also have the opportunity to make a smashing first impression as well--just the opportunity that everyone else in the world should have without restrictions or limitations placed on them from preconceived ideas about Down syndrome. But the more people I decide to tell his story to, the more "touched" responses follow. When I think about all the great blessings that have been heaped upon me, the more I want to share those blessings. It has become the fire shut-up in my bones that Elijah speaks about in the Old Testament. There is a sheer joy that arises in my heart when I begin to think about all the Lord has done on my behalf when He decided to bless me with a son who has Down syndrome.
Perhaps it is time to share this joy with the world?~*
April 3, 2010
One and Only
When Christmas came this year, I understood Mary a little more. I'm a mother now, and I also have a little son whom I cherish and adore deep within my heart.
Easter is here, and I cannot understand why God the Father would send His One and Only son, perfect in every imaginable way, to be beaten and scorned for the sinners of the world--for me.
Click on this link to see a brief look at The Passion by Mel Gibson and "Were You There?" by Selah
Easter is here, and I cannot understand why God the Father would send His One and Only son, perfect in every imaginable way, to be beaten and scorned for the sinners of the world--for me.
Click on this link to see a brief look at The Passion by Mel Gibson and "Were You There?" by Selah
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