I Love You

Wesley's bus driver smiled at me as I stepped onto the bus, a twinkle in her eyes.

"I have the most exciting thing to tell you", she said.

"After you got off the bus this morning, as you were waving to Wesley, he said 'I love you!'"

My look must have said it all.  Are you sure you really heard him say that?

She smiled as she said, "You know how you say "I love you" to him each morning as you buckle him in?  Well, he said it back."

She's right.  Every morning I say each word to him and he repeats it back to me.  I.  Love.  You.

This morning it all clicked.  As I waved to him, he told me that he loved me.

I only wish I could have heard it with my own ears.

Self-Initiated Play

There are many wonderful things about this picture of Wesley, as several blog readers pointed out.  It is amazing that he is ignoring the stacking cups (his favorite toy) on the floor.  As well, he is naming out loud the color of each fish that he is going to catch before he catches it.

Did you catch that?  He is naming out loud the color of each fish that he is going to catch before he catches it!  That, my friends, is something I never would have guessed he could have done at the age of three and a half.

Even more than that, he not only caught each fish, but he also put them all back in afterward.  That is an even more difficult task to complete, since it requires detailed fine motor work along with matching puzzle piece shapes with no matching pictures on the puzzle board.  The fact that he completed this puzzle without getting distracted and moving on to something else is pretty amazing.

But what is most special to me about this picture is that Wesley initiated doing this activity. We have been working for years to help Wesley learn how to play by himself.  Because he struggles so much with sensory integration problems, unless we are actively playing with him, he is usually seeking sensory stimulation of some kind.  My job as a mom is to do my best to keep up with my other responsibilities along with facilitating play with him as much as possible.  Usually when I leave Wesley's side to attend to a brother, I come back to find he has run off to do a more preferred (and probably sensory related) activity.  So you can imagine my shock when, after pulling down this puzzle and then going to help Liam, I came back to find the puzzle nearly completed.

While I knew that Wesley could play with this puzzle when prompted and kept on task, it was a joy to me to find him enjoying this game of his own volition.

Do You See What I See?

Can you guess what is so amazing about this picture?

What is it about this moment that makes it so special?

I'll give you a hint...it's not that Wesley is able to do this puzzle.

Hang On

I look into your eyes and see the pain.  In the dim light, your eyes flicker, giving me a glimpse of the hollowness deep inside.  The hurt is almost unbearable, so I look away.  I look back and weep at what I see.  Anger.  Toward God.  Toward me.  Shame.  Hurt.  Hopelessness.  Fear. Despair.  Emptiness.  I feel it to my core.  It is not yours to bear alone.  I bear it too.  Our Savior bore it two thousand years ago.  This is why He came.  And yet, despite His carrying it for us, in our place, here we are, trudging along, weighed down and crushed.

"Jesus , help me" is one of the most honorable things you can say.  The person who has something doesn't ask for help.  The spiritually destitute person has nothing, and that is what God requires of us.... In contrast to the people who build personal kingdoms that fade away in a generation or two, spiritual beggars are publicly praised.  They are citizens of heaven itself, the most honorable of cities, the ultimate right side of the tracks.  Since they have depended on the King instead of themselves, they share in what is his.  This means they have everything, and it will all last.

And so, I cry out, "Jesus, help us!"  For He is our only hope.  But you have no hope.  You have lost hope in the only hope you ever had.  Do not lose heart yet, though.  As your faith hangs tenuously in the balance, grab hold of my hand.  Let me walk with you.  When you stumble, hang on to me as you grab your bearing.  Let my faith be enough for both of us.  The Lord has called me to be your helper, and there is no better time to help than now.  So hang on to me, my love, as I look to Jesus, trusting that He will help us just as He promised.

Tears say, "I am undone."  Could we say anything else more authentically human? Tears say, "The world has reneged on its promises.  It promised satisfaction but delivered injustice, loss, and pain.  It is not the place where I can put my hope." Could we say anything else more wise?  Such a person is an "aching visionary," worthy of emulation.

Your eyes speak the truth.  The world has given you a cup full of injustice, loss, and pain, and you have drunk it down to the dregs.  There is no hope for you here. You know this.  What you may not realize is that knowing this is half the battle.  Let me point you to your hope.  I am already walking this road with you.  Follow my lead as I take another look at Jesus.  He tells us that He loves us.  He promises that He is good.  When you doubt his promises, cling to me.  Let my hope be sufficient to carry you too.

The meek do not rail against the Lord in their persecution.  They might not understand why something has happened to them--it is hard to understand how God's love and our own suffering coexist--but the meek don't demand answers. Instead, they trust God because of who he is, what he has said, and what he has done.

May the Lord restore to you the joy of your salvation.  May you taste and see that the Lord is good.  May you again see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.  But for now, hang on to me as I trust God because of who He is, what He has said, and what He has done.

He came for you.  He bore you burdens.  Come with me as we walk to Him to find rest for our weary souls.

* quotes from Shame Interrupted by Edward T. Welch

Eye Exam

Last week I brought Wesley in for his bi-annual eye exam.  While the results were not what I had hoped, the actual appointment was a moment I will always treasure in my heart.

As usual, Wesley was less than thrilled to be visiting a doctor.  He squirmed and complained loudly as we sat in the chair while the assistant examined his eyes.  He had no interest whatsoever in following the panda bear from side to side or up and down.  But then I thought to mention that he knows his letters.

The assistant seemed surprised, but she quickly pulled out the letter cards to go over them with him before putting them up on the screen.  At first Wesley protested the covering of his left eye.  Then once he realized we were naming letters, he quickly got on board, cheering for himself with each correct answer.

T. O. V. H.  We named these letters in random orders and decreasing sizes with pauses to cheer and clap.  As Wesley consistently named his letters correctly and continued to participate in the activity, my heart welled with pride.  My son was doing something I had never imagined would be possible at three years of age.  It was all I could do to quietly sit there instead of jumping up and down with joy and ecstatic praise.

When we switched to cover his right eye, I immediately knew something was wrong.  Wesley was no longer able to correctly identify letters, often naming letters that looked nothing like the letters shown.  Then once the letters were enlarged, he began to name them correctly again.  While I was disappointed to discover that his nearsightedness and astigmatism have again increased, it was so exciting to have Wesley show this to us rather than waiting to discover it once his eyes were dilated.

As we left, the assistant smiled at us, telling me that Wesley's naming of his letters would certainly be the highlight of her day.  Later, when we met with the doctor, he spoke similarly, expressing how impressed he was with how well Wesley is doing and even how much better he sat still and participated this time despite his obvious displeasure with the situation.

Wesley, we are so proud of you!

On another note, Wesley's verbal skills are suddenly exploding.  Just in the past week he put together more two (and five) word phrases than he's put together in his life.  When we took down the tree, Wesley kept waving at the tree and saying "bye tree".  One afternoon when he wanted to play with his gears, he kept saying "spin gear".  And best of all, as we walked into a restaurant a few days ago, I asked Zach if he wanted juice to drink.  Wesley overheard our conversation and said, "Juice!  I want juice!  Yeah!"

Then today, Wesley asked his first question.  I had decided to give him play time in his room rather than a nap today.  After changing his diaper, I pulled out some toys and said, "It's time to play.  Have fun!"  He looked at me, cocked his head to the side, gave me a half smile, and said "play?".  When I said yes, he laughed and exclaimed "play!"

Sometimes it is hard to see any progress.  The day to day grind of working with Wesley can begin to feel like a burden.  But then God, in his kindness, blesses me with weeks like this where I have the opportunity to see that God truly is at work in Wesley's life.  Wesley is growing by leaps and bounds.  Sometimes those leaps are small, but they are there.  And they are beautiful.

The Sting of Grief

I always knew this day would come.  But yet, as I faced this situation for the first time, I was not prepared.

It was never supposed to be this way.

I blinked back tears as I read the invitation to a birthday party for big boys, quickly realizing that only one of my big boys was invited.

In that moment, the dagger of disability again pierced my heart.

If not for his disability, my son and this boy would be friends. They would run around together, playing and fighting and talking and getting into trouble as big boys do.  It was my son's disability, not his age, that disqualified him from being a big boy.

No one meant to be hurtful.  It is true; Wesley is not friends with this boy.  He probably has never even noticed him.  And he certainly had no idea that he was missing out on a birthday party.  In fact, if he had gone, he would have played by himself rather than joining in on the big boy fun.

But I knew.  And my heart was crushed at the unexpected and painful reminder that this is not how it was supposed to be.

As we entered the Christmas season, I often thought, "this is why Jesus came".  He came to offer us a hope beyond the suffering we experience in this world.  "He was despised and rejected by men; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief.  As one from whom men hide their faces, he was despised, and we esteemed him not."  Isaiah 53:3

Jesus knows what it is to be rejected.  He experienced this sorrow firsthand when even His closest of friends walked away from Him in his darkest moments, as He was overwhelmed to the point of death.  While this does not take away the sting of my own grief, knowing that Jesus understands my bleeding heart brings comfort to my soul.  And because He understands, He is a safe person for me to draw near to when life is hard.

"Surely he has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows; yet we esteemed him stricken, smitten by God and afflicted. But he was was pierced for our transgressions; he was crushed for our iniquities; upon him was the chastisement that brought us peace, and with his wounds we are healed."  Isaiah 53:4-5

Nap Time Blessings

This fall, nap time took a turn for the worse, stretching my patience thin and changing our family routine.  About two months ago, Wesley discovered that he doesn't actually have to stay in bed.  With his newfound freedom, if I leave him in his room before he falls asleep, he quickly slips out of bed to play.  This exacerbates the already existing problem that Wesley has always had a difficult time unwinding and falling asleep.  It routinely takes him at least an hour to settle down and close his eyes.

So now, instead of playing games and chatting with Zach while his brothers nap, I get Zach settled with his legos and books before going in to lay down on Wesley's floor.  I set my voice to repeat, hearing the same words come out of my mouth every few minutes. "Wesley, head on pillow.  Wesley, be quiet."  Some days he falls asleep rather quickly, and I tiptoe back out of his room after only twenty or thirty minutes.  On those days, I consider myself lucky.  Most days, though, I lie in there with him at least an hour.

As I lie there, I often find anger stirring in my heart.  Why won't he just be quiet?  Why do I have to continue to tell him to lie down?  Doesn't he understand?  Where is the disconnect that causes him to forget my command over and over again?  Why is this so hard for him?

The other day, though, God opened my eyes to see a more beautiful picture. As I lay there on the floor, the Lord quieted my heart and I just listened to my son.  This is what I heard:  "I want play!  I want out!  I want all done!  Mommy!"  He then proceeded to begin counting his fingers, going from one to five and cheering Yay! for himself upon completion each time.  He missed three and four sometimes, but he carefully put up his fingers one at a time and counted them over and over again.

In that moment, my heart quickly changed from frustration to joy.  Look at what the Lord has done!  My boy is speaking so well...better than I would have thought possible at this point in his life.  This is the Lord's work in him, and it is beautiful.

When I lie down with him at nap time, I still instruct him to lay down and be quiet, but I also thank God for my little boy who can tell me that he'd rather play.