Without the words

The rain is pouring and before I can say "Let me grab the umbrella..." Isaac is already bounding out of the van.  "Wooooohooooo!" He shouts and runs to the door of the Tai Kwon Do studio we are checking out as I am scrambling to clumsily catch up with him without looking like I am entering myself into a wet t-shirt contest.  Thank you, Lord, for "April showers."

Isaac is obviously excited.  So much so that he literally cannot keep still.  He is hopping up and down and smiling, "Is this the place?  Are we going to start?  Oh!  Look!  A water fall!"  My friend and her son are also with us to do an interview and visit for a possible new place for our boys to get involved with some summer activities through our Autism Scholarships.  This place was recommended and has done a wonderful job with kids on the spectrum, and since we have funds left after schooling, we thought we would see if this place, these people, would be good fits.

I have learned that I can't just sign Isaac up into a program.  It's not that easy.  There is preparation involved for everyone.  We need to see if the place is comfortable, the people good communicators, the ideology compliant to the way he can grow.  It's also necessary to stand back and let things happen--not to force a situation.  You just know when it fits. And when it doesn't.

As Isaac was bouncing rigidly and asking questions, the instructor introduced herself in a quiet, zen-like manner. Oh boy.

"Hello, Isaac, my name is-"

"HI!  I'm Isaac, oh wait, you said that [giggles, bouncing up and down] soooooo is this where we practice? [runs out on the mat while instructor tries to interject] Oh, this is cool.  Are we gonna fight now?  [makes a fighting pose]"

The instructor looks at me, and I shrug, "He has a big brother and they...like to wrestle." Nice, Christa.  I look over just in time to see Isaac touching everything--the belts displayed on the wall, the small fountain (supposedly for creating calm?), photos, you name it.  He was asking non-stop questions to anyone in a 10 foot radius:  "Are these your belts?"  "Is this fountain always running?"  "Wow!  Nice swords!"  

As our interview continued, Isaac could not sit still.  He was spastic on the couch in the instructor's office, interrupting to ask questions like, "Is that real sand in there?"  "Where did you get those shells? At the beach?"  "Why do you have so many candles?"  "Ooh, I like this music, it's soothing!"  I struggled not to laugh and took a moment to enjoy his chattiness, even though it may not have been at the appropriate time...even though it might have been excessive.  He wouldn't let her take charge of the conversation, in fact, he kept turning the questions she would ask him back on her!  "What is your favorite thing to do at school, Isaac?" "Um...[he went on to list his entire day schedule, as if reading it from a memory calendar, expressively of course] What about you?  What do YOU like?  Oh, wait...not what you like...what do you NOT like?  Yeah, what do you not like?"  We didn't finish the interview because of all of Isaac's questions.  Honestly, I was a little embarrassed at all the chattiness, all the moving and bouncing and inability to focus.  I caught myself and threw that feeling out of the window because there is joy with many words, and there is joy without.  I have known both.

Hope is that thing with feathers that perches in the soul and sings the tune without the words and never stops... at all. ~Emily Dickinson

I love words.  I express with words.  I understand with words.  I use words as my magnifying glass, as my secret decoder, and my frying pan.  Words are food to my soul, and without them to help me examine the world, I have a hard time feeling anything.

So when Isaac didn't talk, and when he struggled to use words with me, I felt...nothing.  It took a long time to understand the truth of Dickinson's quote:  It IS possible to find hope in the song without words.  Isaac is proof of that.  He was my song, seemingly written out of tune; striking dissonant chords, and then, when it seemed I couldn't handle the strain of it any longer, a resolve that made me appreciate the simple truth that some songs can be sung in another key.  It doesn't mean they are wrong, just beautiful and complex in a unique way that not every one is accustomed to.  .

When Isaac's words flow...no, flood, out of his mouth, I can smile and close my eyes and listen to a song, now, complete with words. And when Isaac is bouncing, joyful, hopeful, I can see his song, even without lyrics.

He will most likely not be attending the program we visited, but I am glad we did.  Isaac and I were both reminded of just how much hope and poetry both our songs have. ~

Isaac, singing a song without words

little car, BIG deal

It's an unexpected day off for Isaac.  Last night, he had terrible dreams that kept him awake from 3 am to a half an hour before it would have been his usual time to get up for school.  I knew it would be senseless to send him exhausted, so we have had the day together (after he slept for quite a while).  After thanking me profusely for letting him stay home, I told him I had plans for the day.  "Where are we going?" he said a little perturbed.  He already had plans of his own to play Disney Infinity for...well, infinity.  "I have a morning coffee date planned with Miss Melanie, so you can come and play with Autumn while we're there."  This appeased him.

The time with my dear friend was lovely--the two kids played well, and shared some coffee cake.  When it was time to leave, Isaac had found two Hot Wheels cars that he hadn't had a chance to play with.  I asked him to please help clean up so we can go home for lunch.  Hugs, thanks, and a few laughs later, and we were in the van, making the 10 minute drive home.  (Praise God for friends near and dear to my heart, and my house!)

Nonchalantly, Isaac pulls a tiny purple toy sports car from his coat pocket.  I watch him inspect it in the rear view mirror.  "Buddy...what's that?"  I ask.  "Mom, it's the car I liked!  Isn't it awesome!?"  For just a second I was about to respond with a "yeah it is!" or "wow, it's SO awesome!"  but instead, I asked a more serious question.  "Isaac, did you ask if you could take that car with you?"

The van went silent.  I watched his face dim as he held the car up closely to his face to inspect each detail, the miniature chrome finish shining and beckoning him to play..."No...I didn't ask."

If there is one thing I cherish (and there are many) I think one of the most beautiful of Isaac's is his honesty.  Perhaps that will change as he grows, but for me, it's a glistening part of his character that I desire to polish to a brilliance, not unlike that of his pilfered toy car.

As much as I could have let it slide...just said, "you know we don't take things without asking" and then continued to let him play with the car...I knew I couldn't.  I had to use this opportunity to do one of the most difficult and trying and sometimes painful jobs of parenting--instruct and discipline.

I asked Isaac to hand me the car at the next red light.  When we stopped, he looked at me, and then the car, and slowly handed it over.  "Mom, can I have it back?"  His lower lip began to quiver.  I took a breath in through my nose and shook my head, "No, buddy.  Do you know why?"  His eyes filled with tears and he began swiping his face to prevent them from spilling over (Isaac has a sensory disdain for tears on his face--he just doesn't like to cry or deal with others crying).  This made me feel sick to my stomach, but I knew it was a lesson we were already knee-deep into, so I needed to keep going.

He blinked feverishly and said, "Because I took it without asking."  "Right."  I said, softly.  "And that is stealing, buddy.  When you take something that doesn't belong to you without asking, that's stealing."  Now, at that point, as a mom of a child who has special needs (and, frankly, as a mom in general!), I started arguing with myself--he doesn't quite understand...don't be hard on him...it's okay, just give him the car and let him be happy and smiling like his usual self again.  Life is hard enough for him.  The rebuttal:  But am I, as a parent, honoring God's desire for me to train up my son in the attributes of His character and to teach him that choices have consequences?  By giving in and not teaching him, am I making life harder for him in the long run? Isaac is smart.  He knows and understands more than I think.  I would do him a disservice by denying him the freedom to learn and understand.  Isaac needs to experience and recall...no matter how much I want to keep him from that in a scenario such as this.  NO, I told myself...this little toy car is a big deal.

Isaac put his head in his hands in the backseat, and he began to sob.  I realized, I didn't need to yell or lecture.  I let the heart do it's work.  "I'm so sorry, Isaac, but I am going to keep the car until we can return it to Miss Melanie's house, okay?"  He didn't look at me in the mirror like he usually did when we were having a talk.  In fact, at the next stop light, I turned around and asked him to look at me.  He picked his head up and said, "if you don't give me the car back, then you're being a really mean mom."  Ouch.  I smiled at him with grace, "Oh buddy, if I DID give you the car back I would be a SUPER mean mom."  "Why?"  He said between sniffs.  "Because my job as your Mommy is to love and teach you and at times, discipline you...even though it hurts my heart."  Isaac looked up at me and said, "It hurts you?"  "Yes, it hurts me, because I want to give the car back to you, but I know that's not the lesson that you need to learn--you need to understand that when you steal, you break a rule, and there are consequences. This is a bad consequence."  We went over that big word again and what it meant...how he would feel when someone stole a car from him...but the tears still flowed.  I was glad we pulled into the driveway then, so I could jump out, swallow the giant lump in my throat, open the door and pull him into my arms and hold him and tell him gently that I loved him and God SO much, and that's why I am a "mean" mom sometimes.

After a long time of holding him, wiping his tears, and going over the essentials of why stealing is something that breaks God's heart and hurts others...his face was splotchy and red, but I had held it together.  I hadn't given in, I hadn't turned back.  I had pushed through because I love Isaac, and know that my Heavenly Father loves him even more.  We prayed together, asking God to forgive and help Isaac next time to make a better choice.  I knew Isaac understood.  He felt it in his core.  And when we deal with this again (which I am positive we will) we have a memory to go back to.  And he will probably remember the exact date and time, because in addition to his honesty, he's a walking calendar.

Loving means sacrificing.  It means doing things that are uncomfortable, things that often portray you as the "bad guy" or "mean mom."  Why am I okay with that?  Because I know the result of teaching and training--it will produce obedience in love with respect.  I am building trust not only between myself and my son, but between him and the God who is a merciful, loving, yet strict disciplinarian.  A dichotomy that today, for this mommy, made sense.  I know in my heart of hearts it did for Isaac too.

Lesson passed.

Simple

"Isaac!"

I lean over the stairs in the kitchen and call up, a slice of bread and a knife to spread peanut butter on it in the other.  We all slept in on this snowy March morning, and are running behind.  Isaac has been getting his school uniform on now for...oh...14 minutes.  I set the clock on his bookshelf so he could see how many minutes it should actually take him to get dressed. Isaac has a love/hate relationship with deadlines.

He is humming to himself on his bed as I take the steps two at a time to get to him...

"Buddy, I need you to please get dressed.  We are running late so we need to make the most of our time" and I point to his clock.

He looks at me, half dressed, t-shirt backwards, and smiles.

I sigh and tilt my head to the side.  That smile melts me every time.

We finish our morning routine, and make it out the door in record time.  After dropping Isaac off and calling Dan and Ethan on their route to school to make sure they are up to speed on the schedule for our Wednesday, I walk into the house.  I remember, laundry in the dryer!  If I get to it fast enough, I won't have to iron (praise be to God).  I fold a load and throw another one into the washer.  I even have a few minutes to wash the kitchen floor and mark it off of my to-do list.  Patting myself on the back, I think I've recovered from this morning's tardiness.

As I make my way upstairs to get myself ready, I take my usual stroll through the boys' rooms to do what us OCD moms do best--fix a wrinkled bed sheet, pick up jammies off of the floor...put piles of books back on the shelves from the night before...

Then, I see it.  And it freezes me in my tracks.

On Isaac's bed, his Bible lay open to the story of Jesus' crucifixion.  I look down and see Jesus on the cross, and a paraphrased kid's version from Luke 23:  Jesus forgives everyone who asks him to.  He will forgive you.  

I close my eyes and sigh, just like I did earlier when I told Isaac that he needed to hurry up, we had things to do, places to go...I didn't notice what was taking up that 14 minutes of his morning...

He was sitting on his bed, shirt on backwards, reading his Word, starting the day.

simplicty...

and truth.  

As a parent, I pray every night over my children.  I believe that I am their greatest advocate, their greatest example, and I know those are hard titles to be effective in!  I pray that as they sleep, God would awaken their hearts and give them divine wisdom.  I intercede on their behalves for forgiveness--the image of Jesus sacrificing Himself for love brought that reminder to the forefront.

I forget that my prayers aren't just pep talks to give me hope--they are heard and received by a living, powerful, and gracious God who knows my kids better than I do.  Here, as I look down at Isaac's bed and the tattered little Bible with the broken binding, I am moved to thank God for the simple reminder--He loves my children.  He desires time with them.  He knows what they need and knows how they work...He was there when they were formed in my womb, and was so excited to watch their lives begin!  Even when there are deadlines and to-do lists--He meets my kids where they are. He is with them.  Always.

I sigh and tilt my head to the side...who made the most of their time this morning, Mommy?  So simple.

 

Loving out loud

Dear Isaac,

Guess what?  Tomorrow is your big brother's 10th birthday.  I know you're excited because you keep reminding him of the fact that you're never going to catch up to being as old as he is. And you think he's the best brother ever.

As a gift to Ethan, I want to tell you, Isaac, a helpful tip on being the best little brother ever. You certainly do your job well.  You pester, repeat, sing things like "nah-nah-nee-boo-boo" and run away laughing.  You tattle on him if he doesn't brush his teeth for exactly 2 minutes.  You ride your bike right in front of him when he's trying to shoot a basket.  You jump up and down in front of the TV when he's in the middle of beating a level on a video game.  You yell "YES!" into his ear while you're practically on top of him, watching him play Angry Birds Go!  You forget that everyone will hear you in the auditorium when you are watching Ethan at his school concert and you say a little too loudly, "THERE'S MY BROTHER, THERE'S ETHAN!" and you make him blush and shake his head.  You truly love out loud, Isaac.

Here's my tip:  Never stop loving out loud.  

I have learned so much since Ethan was born.  I learned that I needed to let go of many things.  Ethan taught me how to trust.  And then you came along, Isaac.  You are a great teacher of patience.  I know.  I have been your student.  But I have always witnessed how you have educated your brother in how to grow in love, and he has been gracious and humble in putting you first in many ways.  It is really, truly beautiful how you both have made me better.

I see the moments when he hugs you as you are saying goodnight.  I cherish the mental image of you both splashing in the sprinkler in the summertime, laughing and being silly, the 3 years between you nothing more than a number.   It makes my heart full when I hear you both reading together, cuddled up and giggling over some boyish inside joke or wrestle in the living room.  I am proud when you help one another do simple things, like clean up, without being told.  I love when Ethan bends down to you, and whispers in your ear.  Joy wells up when I watch you both sit and talk out your issues through tears and frustration on the steps in the kitchen.  I'm thankful that Ethan is ok with having you around even when his older friends are--he is a cool guy like that, isn't he? I am excited to see how your friendship grows.

So, as Ethan will always be your older brother, I ask that you respect him.  Encourage him and tell him that you love him all the time.  Ask for his advice, even if he has none to give.  Tell him you appreciate his patience and understanding.  Even if he acts like he doesn't listen.  Keep on.  Because he is listening.

The best gift to give your big brother is you.   Just you.  Because you and your big brother were the best gifts to me.

Love, Momma

Then...

And now. 

The "C" Word

This isn't what you think.  No label ever is.

When I was in high school, I worked at Sea World for the summer.  It wasn't as glamorous as it sounds.  In fact, one of the stores I worked in was called "Label Stable." There, one could peruse various Budweiser merchandise (because Sea World was owned by Anheuser-Busch and what aquatic loving tourist wouldn't want a beer stein decorated with Clydesdales?)  I always thought the shop was a little obnoxious and lonely. I greatly disliked working there.

One muggy summer evening, I was told to start closing the Stable early.  Night shows were starting and not many customers came in to browse. It was this time of the night that was the worst.  The park sold beer, and those folks who had been drinking all afternoon in the heat figured they should shop for breakable merchandise.  I can't count how many broken glasses I swept up when groups stumbled in, picked up things they couldn't hold on to and made rude comments about how they REALLY felt about Shamu.  And sometimes they made comments about me.  One man, I will never forget (although I have forgiven), called me "that chubby checkout girl."

Fast forward to college.  My freshman year I suffered a tragic loss of a friend.  I dealt with it in an extreme way, and as a result found myself dealing with depression and an eating disorder by the time I graduated.  I weighed only 104 pounds my Senior year of college and ate no more than 800 calories a day (I counted) I worked out, and began feeling confident.  I was no longer chubby, and in fact, people said I looked good--"You're so fit!" But I wasn't fit at all.  People just saw me by my label, and I wanted it that way. Inside, I was very hurt, struggling with guilt and anxiety.  I was told I would never have children, in fact. (Only after I was hospitalized for a suicide attempt). Thankfully, I recognized how little this outward appearance meant in the plot line of my existence, and made the choice to think beyond myself and what I thought being skinny and in control allowed me to gain...which ended up being the exact opposite of the truth.

Fast forward again.  This time, a dad and mom sitting in a waiting room with a 2 1/2 year old boy who didn't talk, didn't look you in the eye; who was hidden and locked away on the inside, and we were trying every key.  I couldn't go grocery shopping without condescending looks and sometimes well-meaning but very thoughtless remarks of how I can "fix" my child.

All of these memories, these moments, have a theme.  Looks.  Labels.  Lies.

I have experienced life being "chubby."  I have experienced life being "skinny."  I have a "healthy" son who happens to have Autism.  I have not found true happiness in ANY one of those labels and will not make achieving a label my life's goal.  

Healthy doesn't just happen on the outside.  The real health happens in the soul.  True healing, freedom, then, true beauty permeates from the inside out.  From my experience, it starts and continues with Christ.  His love covers you, allows you to forgive yourself, forgive others, and be okay if you (or your child) aren't "the best." His grace gives you new eyes to see yourself, and to see those around you.  Being the best will only get you so far.  And I'm not interested in the standards I see in magazines or TV.

"Set your minds on things above, not on earthly things"  Colossians 3:2

This is my hope in life:  To overcome the labels I hear and see day to day.  To tear them off of myself, whether they have been placed on me by society, or if I have placed them there myself with intentions of motivating myself to appear better.  To rip them off, even if it stings.  To heal them with truth and not be afraid of the scars.  To teach my children the same.  To replace the "C" word with the "B words."

Beautiful. Broken. Being.

all thumbs

This has been a tough year.

Illness, bitter cold, husband out of the country for two weeks...and here we are at the end of January.

Isaac turned 7 years old last month, and I, 35.  In just a few short weeks, Ethan will turn 10.  TEN.  As in, years he's been alive--as in, years since I have been an official mom.  That has thrown me for a loop more than my 10 year wedding anniversary.  For some reason, I feel older.  Not wiser...just...all thumbs.

Some of you reading this have had a 10 year old before.  You've experienced this slow-motion sensation of watching your children as babies and then, as you are confidently walking with the parenthood remote control in your grasp, you trip, press fast forward, and drop the remote completely. And when you look up, you see kids who are eager for space, needy for private time, are almost as tall as you, who can match you with wit and humor, who can hold intelligent debates with you, have inside jokes with their friends, and sadly...the rewind button never works.

"Still," you say, "your boys aren't THAT old."  You're absolutely right.  But it's in this place of limbo, knowing I will soon be dealing with the greater unknown...the years where mom isn't as special, maybe a little more taken for granted even then when they couldn't say "thank you" or give me a random hug...and that makes me a little sad.

I don't want to dwell here.  I want to soak up all the lovely moments and file them away in my thoughts, able to pull them out as I go through uncharted territory with my growing sons.  So, I have been reading a wonderful book that has been giving me encouragement.  In the book, the authors give boys' ages a sort of theme based on their physical, mental, social, and spiritual growth--right now, Isaac is a "lover" and Ethan an "individual."  These are a few of the words used to describe boys at these stages:  The lover:  tenderness, obedience, attachment to Dad, and competitiveness.  The individual:  searching, evolving, experimenting, and criticizing.  Of course, these are just suggestions since no boy is alike, but, truthfully, it's spot on for us. And I gulped and turned the page...

The chapters I forced myself to read about the years ahead and what to possibly expect caused me to say things like, "oh no..." and "God, help me" under my breath.  Seriously, guys.  I was a blubbering mess.

I know not to be afraid.  If being a parent has taught me one thing, it's to know that I can do my best, but sometimes, that won't be enough. I need to take deep breaths, like I'm diving underwater. I need to be open and honest with my boys, setting examples of grace that will carry us through those tough relational times.  I have to remember not to take things so personally, but to command respect and authority in love.  It all sounds so hard and far away and like a dream.  But, one day, boys turn into young men.  I want to be alert, wise, and aware.  I want to be mom so I can learn to be a friend.

For now, I will keep building forts, having wrestling matches, making jokes about bodily functions...hugging and kissing them when they are hurt, making countless snacks, cheering for them, reading them stories, and helping them understand the world...and teaching my boys that it's okay to be all thumbs.

hope and other gifts

What a morning.

I woke up to the sound of Isaac beside me in bed..."Mommy...It's YOUR birthday now.  When's the party?"

I smiled with my eyes closed and then remembered...it WAS my birthday.  I paused, letting my brain adjust to the time and day.  Yesterday had been Isaac's 7th birthday, and I had spent the day sleeping or in the bathroom fighting a miserable stomach bug.  I remembered crying as my husband packed up our gifts and Isaac to go and celebrate Christmas with the Hladky side of the family (Ethan, who also had the bug the night before was better but stayed to help me).  I was missing out on so much.  This wasn't how I had planned it to be! Stopping for another second, this time in the present, I realized my headache was gone...my upset stomach wasn't rumbling anymore...I took a deep breath, holding it for another second to make sure I wasn't dreaming.  Exhaling to find I was most certainly awake, I opened my eyes.  I had a new day to be thankful for.

Still moving a bit slower than usual, I began inspecting all the things I hadn't been able to do:  a laundry basket full of clean clothes sat in the corner of the bedroom...dishes were piled in the sink...toys and gifts were scattered precariously throughout the hall, kitchen, and living room, and I looked like a freight train hit my face. I began quietly searching my heart to think of those who are struggling with health issues of their own...loss...pain...loneliness...despair.  It was overwhelming and I didn't know where to start...

So, I had to stop.  Focus.  Just take a deep breath, and recall all the things that had already been done for me and for those I have heavy on my heart.

Grace...mercy...strength in time of need...wisdom...healing...because of Jesus.  Because of the one whose birth we just celebrated a few days ago...

The best birthday gifts are the ones that have already been open, just sitting unnoticed daily in the corners of our hearts.  We just need to take a minute to count them, soak them in, and walk with the purpose we have been promised.  Sometimes we will stumble.  Sometimes we will run and soar.  Other times we will have to wait.  No matter what, we keep moving and in due time, we will arrive.

On this birthday, I am reminded of Romans 8:38...

"For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor any other created thing, will be able to seperate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord."

Hope.  It really is the greatest gift.

Happy birthday, with hope...