The Weary World Rejoices....

I know some music teachers don't like Christmas music, but I actually do. I love the ancient and sacred, the classics, the modern hits (except please no Mariah...), and everything in-between. I have found as I get older, the ancient hymns touch me more than ever. The lyrics to O Holy Night pull me in, speaking to my heart and spirit: "Long lay the world in sin and error pining, til He appeared and the soul felt its worth A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices.." I find myself relating on a deep level to the weariness, wondering what they were weary of, what made them weary, and if it compares to our modern weariness. Were they weary of trying to be their own savior? Trying to be perfect and sinless? Trying to make the perfect atonement for themselves when they missed the mark? Weary of unrealistic family and societal expectations? Violence, oppression, and abuse, fueled by hatred and prejudice? As different as our worlds are, we aren't so very different. Still weary, still needing hope, and a feeling of worth and that this life is worth it. Now, however, instead of waiting on Him, He's here, waiting on us. Give Him your weariness this Christmas season, and take His joy in return. What a Savior.

The Habit of Bravery

A few weeks ago, my family and I visited a water park. This park had some pretty wild attractions, and it had been a while since I'd been on a thrill ride of any kind. I loved them as a teen and young adult, and wouldn't even hesitate to ride them, no matter how wild. Sometimes before the ride was over, I'd question my sanity and try to make a deal with God if He'd get me out alive. The ride would come to a stop, I'd get off very much alive, then go get in line again. As we get older, we can start to not feel so enthusastic about these type of experiences. I started thinking, "Well, I might just hang out here in the pool with Libby, and let Jeremy and the big kids have their fun on the slides." But the more I thought about it, the more I decided that I was going to make myself do it. Lauren isn't quite the daredevil I was at her age, but does enjoy some of the bigger rides. I was talking her into getting on one particular slide, and I started explaining to her how much I used to love it, but how easy it was to become complacent, lazy, fearful, etc as you get older. I told her, "You have to practice the habit of bravery. It's a discipline. The more you do things outside your comfort zone, the braver you actually become." And I started thinking to myself, "Wow, that's just the plain truth." Sometimes we think it doesn't count if we aren't jumping out of planes or swimming with sharks, etc, but any time you step out beyond your level of comfort, you're showing yourself you can do hard and/or scary things. The more you do those things, the easier it gets. The easier it gets to be a risk taker in all the right ways. To put yourself out there. To go for that promotion. To get that degree. To make a move that could make a huge difference in your life. To allow someone to love you. To go to that audition. To listen to and obey God's voice when it doesn't make sense. Yes, bravery is a discipline and a habit. Exercise your courage like a muscle. Do it scared. But do it.

I Didn't Have Time...

I didn't have time to throw stones. I was too busy throwing myself into the arms of the Father. I didn't have room to cling to bitterness and anger, because I didn't want to let go of the old rugged cross. I've washed some feet, but I've spent much more time allowing Jesus to dress and bandage mine. I don't have emotional energy for much engagement, but thank God Jesus engages me and heals me a little every day. I love because God loved me first. I remind myself of this daily, but man, I've got a ways to go to come anywhere close to His love. I'm not everyone's cup of tea, but I'm thankful I know about the Living Water. I'm still a work in progress. Thank God I know a master carpenter.

Inspiration from a Pirate

Do you ever feel like you tend to play it safe? Not take risks? Not put yourself out there? I'm not talking about free climbing or swimming with sharks, necessarily, but maybe for someone out there, it's a dream put on hold. It could be something as simple as not taking risks professionally, or not doing things we enjoy because of anxiety. My good friends, Jennifer and David Smith, owners of David Christopher's in Sheffield, took a trip to the UK at the end of the school year. They saw an archway that inspired them to make a beautiful wreath similar to the colors/themes in the arch. When they posted the finished product on Facebook along with a caption explaining where they'd gotten the inspiration, I commented that I believed the hallmark of a great trip or cultural experience was inspiration. My last beach trip inspired two blog posts. Here's the second. On our last beach trip, I had let fear kind of hold me back from enjoying the water. Note: This was before all the recent shark attacks in the gulf coast region, and I'm definitely not making light of that horrible situation. I was playing it safe, sitting in my chair, getting in ankle deep, etc. On our last day, I had spent the entire afternoon, and even got some alone time on the beach. I used to always love to walk on the beach, and I'm not sure why I hadn't been doing so. As I sat in my chair that day, and pulled my book out, anticipating getting lost in it while listening to the sounds of the waves, I realized I had forgotten my reading glasses in the condo. I was not walking all the way back, so I just kept refocusing and willing myself to see better. I got really cracked up at myself, and sitting there in my chair, giggling at my own absurdity, got me even more tickled. I was reading Jimmy Buffett's A Pirate Looks at 50. He lived a very adventurous life, and the irony of me squinting at my book, from the safety of my chair and umbrella did not escape me. Which, you guessed it, made me laugh even more. All of a sudden, I packed the book away, took my hat off that had been sheilding me from the sun, and walked out into the gulf. I played, jumped waves, and let them go over my head I enjoyed the warm sun drying the wet droplets from my body; I walked down the beach and stopped to talk to people who were fishing. One guy offered to help Sam, so when he came down there, I sat on his wife's towel with her and we talked like old friends. I do realize that I wasn't jumping out of an airplane or anything like that, but I was living. Sometimes as adults, and moms especially, we are just so buy doing all the things that have to be done, that we don't stop to smell the salt water. Think back to yourself: When is the last time you played? Laughed at something stupid? Struck up a conversation with a stranger? Submerged yourself in the ocean? Gulf, sea, whatever. In the midst of all the doing, don't forget to live. Set an example for your kids of truly living and being present.

The Joy Pool

I heard his squeals, moans, and other exuberant vocalizations before I saw him. I had just given my crew at the pool a few last minute warnings about sunblock, and let them know where I'd be, and was about to make my way down the boardwalk toward my beach chair for some solitary beach therapy. Instead I turned my head toward the familiar sound, and saw a young boy, about my Liberty's age, playing with his dad in the pool. Dad was motorboating the boy through the water, threatening to "get him", as good southern dads do. The boy grinned from ear to ear as he dragged his half eaten apple through the heavily chlorinated water. We special needs parents have choosing our battles down to an art. Mom sat on the edge of the pool, with her feet in the water, watching Dad and Son, with a content smile on her face. That is, until I spoke to her. "How old is he?", I asked with a smile. I could see her stiffen a bit, as she slowly inhaled, steeling herself for the conversation with the nosy stranger. She hesitantly replied, "He's 10..." I said, brightly, "Oh ok! My daughter just turned 11!" and gestured toward Liberty floating contentedly in her giant donut float, making some of the same, familiar sounds. I could see Mom start to relax a bit. By this time, Dad was listening to the conversation. I said, "Vacations don't look much like they used to. But we just had to decide if we were going to sit around at home all the time, or brave the world. It's still good. Just different." They both smiled a lot bigger this time, and heartily agreed. "Just have to go with the flow." We all agreed, laughing. I wished them a wonderful vacation, and headed down to my chair to read and take in the beach and gulf with all my senses. If you're the reason moms stiffen when strangers approach them, in the immortal words of Bob Newhart, "Stop it!" And if you see special needs families out, encourage them. Especially if you are walking it out yourself, or are close to someone who is. A little encouragement goes such a long way. To quote I forget who: Remember what you needed, and be that for others. I see you, Sis. I'm here too. We got this.

Light it up Blue, Light up my World

When I was a child, I had a close call with drowning at a place we called The Blue Hole. It was a rock quarry where we'd swim and picnic, and my brothers and uncles would prove their lack of sanity by jumping off the bluffs. I remember jumping and splashing, and stepping off a rock into water about eight inches or so over my head. I couldn't swim. The water was crystal clear, and I could see my mother and her best friend, Sheila, standing there talking as clearly as if I were topside. My mother says they looked over and saw my big eyes looking up at them, bubbles coming from my mouth and nose to the top. Sheila was closer, and reached over and pulled me out of the water. I hadn't aspirated any water, but had they not been standing close by and happened to see me, that could have ended very differently. One day in the last year or so, I had the realization that I felt like I did that day so long ago almost every day. My head is under water, I can see everyone else above the water, they can also see me, but in this image in my mind, they don't see the water. They don't see me drowning. Grief is a strange thing. Grieving for someone who is alive is even stranger. Cyclical grief is even stranger still. You're constantly moving through all the stages, then starting over. As most of you are aware, April is Autism Awareness Month. I saw a meme that said, "April is Autism Awareness Month, but for me it's also January, February, March...." and so on. It's so true. When it's the most pressing thing about your daily existence, you certainly can't be unaware. There is so much I don't share. And although as I and anyone who deals with Liberty often can tell you, she is a delightful child...I'd by lying if I said it wasn't hard and stressful. When people ask me about her, I don't tell them the things about her that a neurotypical child might be embarrassed by. I don't talk about the unhygienic, gross, frustrating, annoying, inappropriate, and sometimes painful things she does (she isn't mean, but she does things out of frustration at times). I don't talk about how we can't turn our backs for a second or she'll make an epic toddler sized mess. I don't talk about how there are certain situations she just doesn't fit into, so if we can't get a sitter, we don't go. There are many things we don't do, many places we don't go. I don't take her to band concerts. Rarely to a wedding. Our lives revolve around her in so many ways. Speaking of babysitters, I was always hyper vigilant about who I left my children with, but I had no idea just how obsessive I could be until I had a child who couldn't tell me if someone was mean or neglectful, or worse. One big paradox with us "special" parents is trying to balance the crushing loneliness and isolation, not because we don't have people, but because hardly anyone we know lives in "our world"; with the desire to self isolate because we are physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausted. However, when I feel at my most stressed, my most broken hearted, I remember that my experience of her autism is nothing compared to what she goes through every single day to just try and live her life. To communicate. To make her needs known. In spite of this, she is almost always smiling. She gives the best hugs and kisses on the planet. She loves her family so much and thinks her big sister and brother absolutely hung the moon. She is sensory seeking, so while that means she makes messes, she also lives life wide open and loves fun more than anyone I know. She's absolutely fearless. And she's my hero.

All By Myself, Don't Wanna Be...

Somewhere along the way, many of us learned people weren't dependable. Not all, but many. Even the kindest, most loving people will unintentionally not follow through and leave you hanging. So we developed a mindset of "If you want something done, do it yourself." "If you want it done right, do it yourself." Or my personal favorite, "God helps those who help themselves." People spout that one off like it's actually in the Bible. (It isn't.) And so, with that in mind, we DO...do it ourselves. We don't ask because it seems easier not to. We don't ask because we'd rather not be let down. We don't ask because we don't trust people to keep their word, remember what they agreed to, or do it correctly. And then, somewhere along the way, if we're not really careful, that begins to bleed over into our relationship with God. We don't approach boldly. We think our wants and needs are small and unimportant. Or we dont trust God any more than we trust people. James 4:2 says we have not because we ask not. And then sometimes we pick up things that are not our cross, and carry it, thinking we've earned religious brownie points. I had an experience a few years ago that is burned in my brain, and on the hard days, I review it as a reminder. I was totally bogged down and overwhelmed with trying to do the daily caring for of Liberty, and then on top of that, doctor's appointments, therapy, evaluations, etc. And then dealing with my own grief as well, while soldiering on, doing what I had to do for my family and home. And I was fine one minute, and in the next was sobbing into my arms on my kitchen counter. I cried out, "God, I can't do this by myself!" And I heard that still, small, gentle whisper of the Holy Spirit, "I never asked you to." Friend, He can be trusted. He is faithful. Cast all your cares on him. He is the friend who sticks closer than a brother. Ask Him to order your steps, to show you what He wants you to do, and give you grace to let Him do the rest.