I’d walked past them so many times. In their wheelchairs, heads slumped to chests or staring vacantly at the television. My mother lives here now. She sleeps a lot now, just like them. She’s 94 years old.
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I’ve just finished reading the Lord of the Rings Trilogy. Frodo the unlikely hobbit hero, with the help of faithful Samwise Gamgee and the unwitting aid of his enemy Gollum, throws the Ring of Power into Mordor and saves Middle Earth…
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A smiley Jonathan radiates sunbeams, exudes contagious joy. Saturday I straggled out of bed later than usual. Concerned, I hurried to Jonathan’s room to find him sitting on his bed, beaming…
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REGRETS AND REDEMPTION Recently, a medication side-effect drove me into a pit that was new territory for me. Sure, I’ve been down before, but this-- being pressed down into an alternate reality that defied reason, blotted out joy, deferred hope-- this….
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This is happy Jonathan. There's just nothing like this sweetness. Nothing.
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Others are what it takes. Others’ lives co-mingle with ours, surrounding this boy who needs yet gives so much. That imperfect striving made perfect in love, others’ goodness goading me to be better.
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It happened again! His smiling eyes met mine--the twinkle, the crinkle in the corners just like Daddy’s and for three seconds everything seems so normal. A smile...Tummy full, fresh breeze caressing his cheeks, Mommy’s colorful skirt. Ordinary pleasures made extraordinary when he shares them with me. Sweet deliciousness jumbles with longing, sadness.
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Last year launched my post hands-on Mom phase for all but our dear Jonathan as our fifth son Matthew embarked on his college career. With a mixture of dread and prayerful anticipation the incurable dreamer in me hoped for some monumental vision to fill the next two decades with purpose and meaning.
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As the weekend progressed, a heaviness began to settle over me. Irritability, worry…how was I going do this long term? After all, I’m not getting any younger. Jonathan keeps getting stronger.
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I’ve prayed all sorts of prayers since Jesus invaded my life. Some embarrassingly small in faith (is there anything smaller than a grain of mustard seed?) Some sad. Some mad. Some glad! One thing I’m convinced of - He’s heard them all. … This recent series of answers has got me thinking. What makes for fruitful prayer and perhaps just as importantly, what doesn't? What's needed? What's not? And what constitutes “fruit?”
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Jonathan’s beautiful brown eyes sparkled today. Golden late afternoon rays dappled the front porch where he sat watching me help with our dog Tosca’s much-needed clip and wash…
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Things get messy sometimes. Jonathan loves swimming. The delighted anticipation on his face as he approaches the pool has me hooked.. You can hear his high falsetto coos echoing the length of the aquatic center. I think it must be sensory heaven for him - the feel of the water slapping against his arms, squealing and laughter of children, buoyancy. A few weeks ago, we rushed in (meeting Daddy!) only to find the bathroom in both the family changing areas occupied.
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I'm thankful that when I ask God for something with faith like a mustard seed, he doesn't answer in kind. Periodically, I pray that God will help me connect better with my son Jonathan. Because he is on the autism spectrum and non-verbal, I don't always "feel" the connection.
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I think it's good to share challenges as well as victories. Yesterday helped me realize why my previous grocery triumph was so incredible. Yesterday was a grocery disaster:):(!
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