A year ago, I sat in a developmental pediatrician’s office and learned that my eldest son has High Functioning Autism. I felt like I couldn’t breathe, like somehow all of the air had been sucked out of the room.
Six months later, in a different doctor’s office, I learned that my youngest son has significant learning disabilities and a processing disorder. Again, it felt difficult to take a full breath. It was almost like wearing a belt that was too tight, or Spanks that just don’t fit anymore.
Yesterday morning, when I was pretty sure the day should be just about over and the clock only said 10:47 AM, when my eldest son was severely melting down over sensory related issues and my youngest couldn’t read the word “the” flashcard . . . again, I felt the same, now familiar gasping for air.
You know what makes the difference, every single time? What acts as an immediate release and encourages me to take a big deep breath and keep going?
The crazy girls I call my friends.
(OK, disclaimer here — My husband has also been pretty incredible. There is no way I would be remotely functional or capable of caring for this family without him. It is different though. His support is like a rock. My friends? Their support is more like those old fashioned billows that they use in cartoons to fan fires. They just force air into my lungs.)
There have been too many circumstances lately that have brought me to my knees, doubled over, choking on my own tears. In every single one of them, God has shown me the depth and beauty of His love in the way He uses these ladies in my life.
Not one of them knows what it is like to live in these circumstances. Not one of them is sure how to help or what to say.
It doesn’t matter.
They love me the best way they know how. With food and strong coffee and offers to clean or babysit. They listen when I am ready to talk. They cry when I am ready to cry.
They gently, lovingly point me back to Jesus when I need Him most.
They make sure I know they never, ever doubt that God made me these boy’s momma for a reason and that I can do this.
They make me laugh when I am sure it is impossible. With silly internet videos and sarcasm and crazy text messages, they slowly walk with me as I grieve.
With pool days in the sun and mommy get-aways for the weekend, they help me heal.
I had a tough day yesterday.
As I said, the morning did not go well. In fact, I was in tears when my friend texted me and said a couple of them were getting together for some pool time with the kids and did I want to come?
Um, yes. I did.
Within 10 minutes of being in these ladies’ presence, I could breathe.
Within 20 minutes, I could laugh.
Within 30, they were doing awful synchronized swimming routines, and I could let go and have fun.
There are no words to describe how much this matters.
In their presence, as I am catching my breath, I feel stronger and more capable — like I might actually be able to pull this mothering thing off.
I feel like a human being again. A whole person. More than just a “special needs momma” — I am a daughter of the King.
As they love me and love my boys, I tangibly feel the Lord’s presence.
I want to deeply thank these women.
I try, but they shrug it off and then ask me if I want more coffee or some chocolate.
What gifts, every one.Leave a Comment