Happy Birthday!

I originally wrote this Facebook post two years ago.  Today my 'little' man is turning 12!  As I re-read these words this morning I realize that they have only become more true with the passing of time...Happy birthday baby boy!

Ten years ago today I became a mother. Ten years. So much has happened in a decade. It has been an amazing journey. My son has taught me so much about myself, about what's important in life, about the kind of parent and role model I want to be and about the true meaning of success and happiness and he has redefined the meaning of a life worth living.

So much of that day ten years ago is beginning to blur with the passage of time. Yet there is one moment that still stands... out in perfect clarity, not dulled by the years but always in perfect focus. My husband brought our new baby to me and laid him on my chest. I looked down, he looked up, and our eyes met for the first time, grey meeting the deepest blue. And I was lost, my heart hopelessly entangled with this precious little life I had helped to create, staring up at me as if he knew me, had known for me a thousand years, looking at me as if he had just found his way home.

The world defines my son as a 'special needs' kid. For us, he's just special. Full of laughter and fun. Smart. And since he's now 10, smart-a$$ sometimes, too. :-) His unique needs give him a unique perspective on the world, one that we are privileged to share and learn from. He loves deeply, feels deeply, hurts deeply and laughs from the very bottom of his soul. He is an amazing big brother, a good friend and a polite and courteous member of our community. I am so proud of the young man he is becoming.

I cannot image what the next ten years will bring (parents of teenagers please don't tell me...I'm not ready to know yet!) But I do know that I have no regrets about becoming a parent. I do know that nothing could have prepared me for the life altering changes children have brought to my life. And I know that nothing could every replace the love, joy, hope and blessing they continue to pour into our family.
 
I thank God each and every day for this little man who has graced our home and our lives for the past 10 years. I pray that I will live up to the great responsibility of being his mother. God is great, the works of his hand are wonderfully and fearfully made. My son is the living proof. Praise be to God. 

As long as their is light, there is hope....

I came across this picture on Facebook and I think it has an important message. 

Our culture today tells us that if people aren't a benefit to us, if they don't bring us joy, if they aren't positive and productive, then it's okay to rid your life of them.

But we all have times when we walk in darkness and I am grateful for those who did not abandon me in mine but offered to share their light.

And while I walk through this period of sunshine in my own life, I hope that I look for opportunities to share that light with those who are in the dark. Because as long as one of us has light, there is hope and there is a way!


Isaiah 9:2 The people walking in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of deep darkness a light has dawned. 3 You have enlarged the nation and increased their joy.

Redeeming Father's Day.

Father's Day is coming up this weekend...there are always mixed emotions for me. My dad died in 2000.  I miss him. I was always 'daddy's little girl'. We had a very close and special relationship. But I cannot let time, sentimentalism and wishful thinking allow me to make him into something he wasn't.

He was a difficult man. He had demons that he never conquered in this life. And his struggles impacted my life in ways that still resonate and cause ripples. The word father brings up feelings in me that are complex and conflicting.

However, I also know that my father came to know God, or I should say became reacquainted with God, in his final days and I find such peace and joy in picturing my father, such a wounded man in this life, whole and healed and restored, face to face with the living God. I take great comfort in knowing that we will meet again, and when we do, all those worldly problems will no longer come between us.

Father's Day also has another meaning for me because  I share my life with a man who is the father of MY children. And I am overwhelmed by the blessings he has brought not just to my life, but to that of our children.

Our children have a father who not only loves them to pieces, but respects them. They have a father who will not only gives them everything he can, but also teaches them to do for themselves.  He has been, is and I know will continue to be, a fine example for our children.

He is teaching our son what it means to be a man in this world. He is also teaching our daughter.

They will both grow up knowing that men can be strong without being dominant, filled with faith without being judgemental, committed and loyal without being a doormat. He is teaching them what it means to be loved in healthy and renewing ways.

This incredible man I married takes parenting so seriously. He considers it the most important job he will ever do. And yet, he brings such a sense of fun and silliness to our lives. He teaches us how to laugh at ourselves. He finds the ridiculous in the mundane. He takes us on a journey of laughter and joy that makes even the tough times bearable. His irreverent sense of humour is, I believe, one of God's great blessings to our family.

I am blessed beyond measure to share the job of 'parent' with this incredible man who has redeemed the role of 'father' for me in so many ways. I love you pieces, my beloved husband.

Happy Father's Day.

For the love of the game.

Yesterday I had the great privilege of attending the Special Olympics to watch my son compete in the elementary school events.  This was my third year and it was, once again, the highlight of school field trips for me.  Each year they begin with a processional.  All the kids march in with their school banner held out in front of them.  Bagpipes pipe them in as the Police band plays.  A professional announcer calls out the names of all the schools.  A professional motivational speaker opens up the games.  Retired teachers, staff from several businesses and lots of community volunteers are walking around organizing and encouraging and smiling. 

And as I watch, my wonderful, beautiful, autistic boy jumps and dances and sings and waves his hat in the air, proudly wearing his school colours and smiling with an openness and joy that brings tears to my eyes and brings this mama’s heart near to bursting with love and gratitude.  Here, in this sacred space, these kids—some, like mine, with autism, some in wheelchairs, some with Down syndrome, some with complex challenges not easily defined—here they are all the same.  Here, they all belong.  Here, they are all athletes.  That is how they are referred to by the announcers.  That is how they are treated by all the event organizers.  That is how they see themselves as they run and jump and throw. 

Each event is set up exactly as it would be for any sports team or competition.  Real equipment.  Real timers.  Real long jump pits and real race tracks.  Real scores are kept and tallied and compared with real winners and losers.  And through it all, these wonderful kids are treated with a respect and a seriousness that is often missing from other aspects of their lives.  Here, they get to be ‘just like’ the other kids.  For a few hours they get to experience what their ‘normal’ peers take for granted:  the ability to compete, the chance to win, and the chance to lose; to experience the anticipation of waiting for race results and final scores.  They mount the podium to receive ribbons, or they practice good sportsmanship as they cheer on their friends and classmates in spite of their own disappointments.  There are no consolation prizes or participation ribbons.

For a few brief hours yesterday I got to experience being the typical parent at a typical track and field event.  Except that in many ways it was not typical.  Most track events don’t have wheelchair races.  I imagine that relay races don’t require a peer coach.  When I was in track and field long jumpers couldn’t hold their teacher’s hand as the ran down the course.  There were so many things, large and small, that reminded me that this was not a typical experience.  But it was nonetheless a better one.  Because these kids were not competing with each other.  Oh, they were quite serious about their ribbons and prizes.  But competition was not the spirit of the day.  Inclusion was.  Respect was.  The opportunity for everyone to participate was at the centre of everything. 

I watched my son participate in a relay with a boy who had significant physical challenges, costing them a first place ribbon.  And then I watched him laugh for joy when he was presented with the second place prize.  We talked on the way home not about how they lost first place, but about how great it was for that boy to be on a team that placed second…probably a first for him. 

Throughout the day I smiled and laughed and winked conspiratorially with other parents who were experiencing the same happiness as me.  Walking through the gates of the stadium we had all dropped the weight of being ‘special needs’ parents and became simply ‘parents’ cheering on our athletes.  For a few hours, we were free from stares and comments, misunderstandings and pity.  For a few hours we were surrounded by people who saw our children not as burdens or exceptions but as athletes yearning to play in the games.  For a few hours, we knew the joy of celebrating our special kids for the things that make them truly special…their humour, their perseverance, their sportsmanship, their kindness, their willingness to keep on trying. 

There is an old sports expression:  For the love of the game.  That’s what I saw at Special Olympics.  I saw students coming together from different backgrounds, with different needs and a variety of challenges, and playing for the love of the game.  The freedom they found in that…the freedom to enjoy participating over winning, the freedom to celebrate an opponent’s victory as much as your own, the freedom to include everyone and exclude no one, regardless of ability…that freedom is something every athlete should get to experience.  But I fear that in the fierce competitiveness and pressure of sports today, playing for the love of the game is often missed, often lost. 

And so as I left the stadium yesterday, picking up once again the mantle of ‘special’ mama, I felt sorry for those ‘normal’ kids, competing in ‘normal’ games because I knew that no matter how many games they won or trophies that they accumulated, they would never know the pure joy of playing just for the love of the game that our kids experienced that day.  And I said a special prayer of gratitude for the many and unexpected blessings that God has rained down on me, chief among them my beautiful boy and his amazing joie-de-vivre!

This has always been one of my favourite photos of my son. These are his last precious days as a 4 year old.

It is a time before words like 'autism' and 'IEP' and behavioural modification' entered our lives. It would be six more months before we had answers and a new journey.

But here, at this moment, we are winding down his first year of school. We are sighing with relief that melt downs and battles of will and phone calls from the principal are coming to an end, at least for a few weeks. We are sighing with gratitude for the amazing teachers and staff who have supported and encouraged us this past 10 months.

It is a moment when life paused and joy entered in. It is hot. It is sunny. We are safe in our little home with our family. It is the first day for the sprinkler. He is wet and happy and eating cherries on the porch. This is a moment of pure childhood innocence, filled with warm breezes, skinned knees, laughing children and a contented mama.