A tiny excerpt from the book I’m working on, but one that describes a pivotal point for us as a young family with extraordinary children, struggling with very special needs. I hope it brings you some encouragement, especially if you’re just starting out on this difficult road. Take heart. You can choose joy…
You have to understand that our joy has been a choice. I remember a specific day and time when we decided, Kevin and me, looking at each other helplessly, our eyes thick with exhaustion and a cloud of hopelessness. When our kids were small, we honestly felt like our life had become a prison, frustration the bars, silence the lock. When Zoe was still too small to talk, Adam constantly made sounds but had no words, and Riley had just barely started using a few short sentences to make choices. I spent my days getting Riley to a full-day public preschool program for children with autism, then ferrying Adam to speech therapy, play therapy, and in-home structured teaching, all with Zoe strapped into a fitness stroller (during Adam’s therapy, Zoe and I walked and walked and I prayed and prayed) or a Baby Bjorn against my chest. Exhausted doesn’t quite seem to cover it. Progress happened in three tiny steps forward and two giant ones backward. It often felt as though our situation would never change and our children would never overcome their challenges. Kevin worked all day to support us and then came home exhausted himself. He’s always tried hard to keep his priorities straight—first God, then his family, then his work, but our men face constant pressure to put their jobs above all else. At home, Kevin could see the frustration etched in my features. He did all that he could to support me, give me time, spend time with the kids, but the journey was no less frustrating for him. He felt powerless beyond consistently pointing me to Christ to find any solutions for his family. One Saturday, we stood in our bathroom anticipating the sounds of children waking. “I didn’t even want to get out of bed,” I told him. “Do you realize that this is never going to end? We will never have any time to ourselves, never any rest. This is our life. Every day it’s the same, and there’s never going to be any relief.”
He nodded, one hand rubbing his face. “I know. I feel the same way. I feel so…trapped.” Then he met my eyes. “You’re right, you know. This is our life. We can’t change it. So, it seems to me that we have to decide. Are we going to feel like this every day of our lives?”
I shrugged. “I don’t want to feel this way. But I don’t know how not to feel this way. I’m just so tired.”
“I know. I’m just thinking, ‘This is it. It is what it is.’ We have to accept our life. We have to know that nothing happens to us apart from God allowing it. We have to know He loves us. We have to decide to have a different attitude. We have to choose joy, or we’re going to be miserable. And I can’t stand miserable.”
I knew he was right. And prayerfully, carefully, since that day, we’ve chosen joy. I’m not going to tell you it’s easy or that we don’t constantly have to remind each other of our choice. We pray for each other continually, and for me, it’s more like clinging desperately. But God is faithful, and He’s given us more joy in the last ten years of our life together than we ever experienced before this journey. And as the years pass, we feel joy abounding in thankfulness, for we are a family most blessed.
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