I am not sufficient.
I look at the perfectly blue, cloudless sky and feel so small.
I'm looking up with tears on my face, looking for an answer.
I am not sufficient.
I have sat at my desk today balancing budgets, paying bills, telling my money were to go and frustrated. There is a number on my sheet that I wish wasn't there. There is a number that will move from my budget to my check register and I wish I didn't have to have it. I know many, many parents who feel the same way.
Our children are our responsibility and years ago before my middle son was conceived I prayed for another baby. I wanted a big family and we tried for years to have number 2. One night I laid prostrate out on the bed, not in tears for a new baby but in tears of worry.
That night I gave my first son back to God and saying "I am not sufficient but You are. Watch over my son when I can not, he is Yours not mine. I am just his caretaker while he needs me to be." A month later we were in awe to find that I was pregnant with our second baby. That is not a coincidence. I believe these two events in my life are connected by an eternal Father who was waiting on me to give back to Him and trust Him fully.
This baby boy was born and all circumstances surrounding his birth can be traced back to complete miracles. Nothing was left out of the miracle touch, not his name, not the date, not the year, second, or even the room number he was born in. Everything about this child was a miracle.
Around 2 years old he was still not talking and and participated in at home speech therapy. By age 3 he was riding a little school bus to speech therapy locally and by 5 he was starting Pre-K and had graduated out of speech. Then 1st grade...struggles started and in 2nd grade we found out he was legally blind in one eye and now in 3rd grade his attention and focus are so bad that I'm hurting for him.
So much makes sense now and my intuition always directed me towards a processing disorder... in 3rd grade it was revealed through testing that he indeed had a processing disorder...but which one?
Auditory Processing Disorder
It felt good to finally put a name with what it might be but we need an official diagnosis.
In the meantime...I am not sufficient.
So sitting in my figures of bills and expenses is this number that is looming...it's the price for a prescription. It breaks my heart. I know it will help him focus. He's had it before.
God will provide an answer but in the meantime...
Homework is a struggle.
School work is incomplete.
He doesn't understand directions.
Focus is nonexistent at school
I get calls from the school.
Emails go back and forth from me to the teacher
Meetings are scheduled
Phone calls to doctors for help.
Trips back to doctors offices.
Compared to others who I know are grieving for their children's health this is not a big deal.
But comparison is not an option.
Comparison is inevitable.
Compassion is next.
"And he took the children in his arms, put his hands on them and blessed them." Mark 10:16
The little children and Jesus have a special bond.
My son does not worry unless we worry him. He walks blindly through his struggles, knowing they are there but trusting it will all be okay.
That each day will continue to turn over into the next.
That he will still be a child.
He comes home to a safe place were this problem is not seen.
That sweet boy plays with his toys in full concentration, building and exploring, creating and experimenting. It's only when we enter his world and bring our expectations that he is different.
I stand in awe when I am near him. He is a genius in his own mind. His world makes perfect sense to him.
Ours does not.
He can't understand our expectations and is frustrated when he can't meet them.
We work quietly together.
I start the laundry, put everyone else in the bed, and we work.
We work close together to make sure he is understanding.
A piece at a time, a little at a time he understands and remembers or gets it as new.
When he gets it, he gets it in his own way.
“But she came and worshiped him, saying, Lord, help me” Mark 15:25
I am at His complete mercy when it comes to my children.
I was given these sweet souls to raise up.
He gives and He takes away.
Two words: "Help me."
Many times lately before entering a conversation or situation I find that these two little words precede the moment. I know I am not sufficient that I will not say or do the right thing without His guidance.
"Help me, O Lord, my God..." Psalms 109:26
Everything inside of me is trusting God through this.
My sons plight will not define him.
God's love and grace and mercy will.
I am not sufficient.
Thank you, Lord.
I choke all the time.
I choke on my words.
I catch myself trying to say something out loud and shake my head and the words don't come.
Give me a pen and a piece of paper and I can "speak".
It wasn't much to long ago, about a year, that I began praying about my words. They never seem to come out right. Someone asks me a question and a choke. I try to explain something and I choke. I can not for the life of me figure out why it's so hard to speak out loud.
I don't have any problem talking to my kids or husband but still, sometimes, things don't come out right.
I feel like the less I say, the better off I am. My words seem to twist in the air as the come out and by the time they reach someones ears that don't seem right. I don't know what is happening or why or if I just noticed and it's always been this way.
If I'm going to speak it needs to be well thought out and planned. Words don't seem to work for me if it's not been thought about, pondered over, or regurgitated before. If that's the case, they come out beautifully.
I have found that I am in much more deep thought lately about my purpose and life.
We all have a purpose...that means I have a purpose, my husband has a purpose, my kids have a purpose and not one single part of me believes our purpose is just to exist but that we have a job to do.
Lately, I have been struggling with what job that is for myself. Maybe it's because my kids are growing up and they need me in different ways and maybe a little less than the previous year. Maybe it's because I have noticed a shift in those people who I call friends over the years. Maybe it is because what I thought was my purpose turned out to be someone else's but definitely not mine.
If there is one thing that has been a secret passion of mine, it is that from time to time I find a connection that pricks my heart strings and resonates through my soul. That connection is usually in something I read. What that means is that an author, somewhere at sometime in this world was writing and had something on the heart. They put it down and out for the world and let a piece of themselves float around from person to person in hopes that it pricks their hearts and eventually someone like myself discovers that piece and a connection is made.
I believe that an author and a reader have a special connection but two things need to happen for the connection to ever exist...the author has to write
& the reader has to read.
While waiting for the Lord, write. Be strong and take heart, and keep writing for the Lord. — Psalm 27:14
I'm learning and as I learn new things something inside me swells and I want to share what I discover but I don't know how and then I question, is it worth sharing, and then as time passes, I feel it must not be important for someone else, and eventually it is forgotten.
Oh that my words were written with an iron pen on a granite tablet so my story could be read forever. — Job 19:23–24
OH, is that it! Is it my responsibility to sit and write? Is it my responsibility to share? Do I have anything inside me that the world wants to hear? As I sit here in a corner home office with the sunset streaming through the window as my only light source I am typing on a screen. It is peaceful in my house, the kids are helping themselves to dinner prepared. I wonder, is this my happy place? Is this were God intends for me to express my words. Not from my mouth but through my finger tips. Am I to take what I have written in journals and studied in books and move them to a place were others can read...where others can connect.
God’s word is a lamp that lights my writing journey. — Psalm 119:105
Then I ask...me? Really, me? Who am I?
Just like you, I was created.
I am loved.
I am thought of.
I am cherished.
The great I AM resides within me, provides for me, loves me, thinks of me, cherishes me, and He inspires me.
So, I will write what is in me. Not for anyone in particular, just because it's in me. It's there. It's brimming and ready to pour out but if I don't pour it out, God will not continue to fill. I have to be willing to pour out what He is pouring in and willing to let it flow beyond the brimming. I asked Him years ago to let me be a vessel, an empty basin that is hollow and void to be filled and used until I was brimming over.
I write honestly from my heart, seeking to make the truth known. — Job 33:3
If God is our helper when we write, the stories we build cannot be in vain. — Psalm 127:1
When I ponder what to write about, I remember the plights of my past and why I now give you praise. Then I reveal your glory by showing how you've worked in my life. — Psalm 143:5
"What will a life magnify? The world's stress cracks, the grubbiness of the day, all that is wholly wrong and terribly busted? Or God" Ann Voskamp
About 3 or 4 weeks ago I took my son to the chiropractor after he took a spill down our steps and was complaining of his hurting tailbone. While I was there I tried to strike a conversation with a lady next to me who was holding a beautiful book. Because it had bird eggs on the cover I immediately was interested in knowing more. She introduced me to the book and I immediately whipped out my Kindle and downloaded a sample of it to remember it for later. The day before my Grandmother passed away I began reading my sample and ended up downloading it and a few others that had been on my list. As I began reading it, I realized it was going to be a special journey just for me.
My first clue was that I found my name, Aimee, in the first chapter. Intriguing. Then as I read I realized that this book had been introduced to me on purpose. Not by the beautiful young lady in the chair that day but by the One who knew I'd need it.
Within a few days of my grandmother passing away I found myself making time to read more and more. How she described the feeling of losing a loved one was exactly how I was feeling. It gave me permission to feel that way and at times, gave me hope that the book held the key. More and more I was convinced that our Lord Father wanted to make sure that the message this book held was placed in my hands. That thought alone was overwhelming.
So I read and you should too, One Thousand Gifts, by Ann Voskamp. As I read I started paying attention and as a result I am learning to be thankful in everything...even a spent bowl of cereal is beautiful to me know. So many blessings unfold when I am giving continual thanks. Simple gratitude.
If you would like to join me in recording my blessings and gifts I am doing so through my IG account http://instagram.com/homespun_mom and if you'd like to folllow me I'd like to follow you and see the blessings and gifts you encounter. If you don't have an IG account, they are worth having. Be sure to use the hashtag #1000gifts
Good grief! It's a phrase that I have heard used and used myself many, many times. It's almost never used in a positive way. Actually, I think this will be the first time I use it for good.
Grief by itself is very lonely and painful. It's empty and dark. There is no happiness there but...but, if you pair the word "grief" with "good" it can mean something so tender and precious it will steal your heart and knit together the open wound or tear in your life that has been caused by absence or loss that created that void to begin with.
Out of frustration we may throw our hands on our hips and call out "good grief" when the kids make a mess, the husband makes a mess, the dog makes a mess....you know where I'm going. "Good grief!" There IS another kind of grief. The good kind.
On Sunday morning I woke up when my husbands phone rang. It was early in the morning, not even daylight. I knew by the conversation that it had happened. That one of my dearest loved ones, one of my sweetest friends, one of my babies cherished love, had gone to be home with our Lord Father. In the dark hours of the morning my grandmother rested so completely that her sweet soul and mighty spirit were lifted away into the arms of the One who loves her most. I knew by the conversation I was hearing that my day was going to be much different than I had planned. I knew right then that grief was starting to lay over me like a heavy blanket. I didn't open my eyes, I just listened.
I knew before the phone rang something in my life would be different. Just before the phone rang I had been dreaming I was at my grandmothers house just next door and every one was there except her. The doors were wide open the window blinds had been rolled up, and everyone was moving about as I stood in the kitchen watching and feeling something empty. Her things were being divided up and the things I wanted most were being carted off but I didn't care. I just stood there listening to conversations and discussions, wishing with all my heart I was not a witness to this part of life.
It was a dream.
My grandmother had fulfilled every purpose God had for her and He called her home, ushered there by her angel. Good grief it hurts. Good grief there's so much pain. Good grief I miss her.
Yes good! Goodness! We were surrounded by so much grace and love that how could we not feel anything but good. We were loved on, hugged on, kissed on, and loved on some more. Good was all we could feel at times. We would stop...and think...and remember...and good was no longer a good word for how we felt. We all felt it.
So tonight as I was praying and leaning into God, pressing into Him, pouring out my heart, He leaned down and listened. My Jesus took me in His arms and said to me, it's okay. Grief is part of the healing, it's good. Grief is meant to be felt immediately. The pain is relentless in being noticed right away. So the grief stings, it bites, it wallows around, it plays hide and seek when you least want to, it speeds you up and stops you in your tracks. I'm also convinced it sits on your chest so you can't breathe...but when the tears come and you let go of the grief and let the tears flow, something happens. Release! We give that grief permission to be there but we take control tear by tear.
So as I remember why I'm grieving I learn to love the grief. The grief is good. It means I loved and was loved. It means that the tear in my life's canvas and emptiness can be knitted together. It means I must press into my Father God. It means I get to comfort my babies too. It is not all bad. It is good.
Matthew 5:4 “Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.
Missing you with all my heart my sweet Granny.