As a mom…
Sometimes, I am wrong.
Sometimes, I am afraid.
Many times, I don’t know what I am doing.
There is just so much uncharted territory.
Parenting children with special needs has proven especially heart-wrenching.
It would be so easy to excuse behaviors. But, I cannot. I will not.
This week has been hard.
We are tired. We are confused. We are hurt.
We have cried. We have been angry.
We have been so, so sad.
There are some things I cannot fix. And when the damage is done, all I know to do is move forward. Proceeding with caution. With specialists. With interventions. With counseling.
With everything in me, I wish I had answers. And maybe time-traveling capabilities.
I am sometimes reminded, when our life seems normal, that maybe, it isn’t.
And I wonder if it ever has been normal.
And if normal does visit us, will it stay?
I want to scream. Or run away.
I want to repair damage that I can’t repair.
God and I have had some major disagreements.
I have questioned. And wrestled. And doubted.
And even in this current despair, I find that I still pray, begging God for healing.
For grace in my many missteps.
For the ability to forgive. And not ever give up.
I am reminded again and again that I am not enough.
And that I live in a home filled with beautiful, wonderful, injured souls.
And, I am finding, I will not always be able to save these children from themselves.
Even though I desperately want to.
In these hard weeks, I question everything.
I don’t understand. And I probably never will. Why children are so often, and easily thrown away.
And why this throw-away mentality can produce generation upon generation of victims.
And I am overwhelmed by the enormity of the obstacles.
And when I am finding it difficult to breathe.
And put one foot in front of the other.
I am reminded (by my mother, who is so wise)…to count.
In an annoying, obnoxiously loud, irritatingly repetitive ditty:
Count your blessings, count them one-by-one. Count your blessings see what God has done…
When I truly examine my surroundings, there always seems to be more blessing than disaster.
Even in collapse and confusion. There are blessings.
Even when, once again, my expectations have been crucified.
I am reminded to count. Because, even in the cruelest moments the blessings are still there.
So, in these times, when broken children seem to be everywhere. When darkness billows and settles. And a functional future is an assumed impossibility. I will sing the song (with the appalling tune) in my head. And count.