January 27, 2016 · 2:44 am

From Mourning to Gladness

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As I stood in church one recent Sunday singing a familiar chorus, one line in particular jumped out at me. Tears of gladness filled my eyes as I sang “Mourning turns to songs of praise / Our God saves, our God saves.”  I began to fully realize that I have, largely, exited the chapter of mourning the absence of communication with Sophie. I am overflowing with joy because she is finally using speech to communicate. I waited three and a half years to hear her speak. It was a long wait. So, it’s taken a long time for my heart and mind to finally realize that the wait is over.

It. Is. Over. Sophie can talk!

The words of this song washed joy over my heart, and I turned to a familiar Scripture containing the image of sorrow turned to joy. Phrases from Jeremiah 31 leapt off the page at me, their truth resonating in so many ways with this journey I have been on:

“‘But I will restore you to health and heal your wounds,’ declares the Lord.

‘I will turn their mourning into gladness; I will give them comfort and joy instead of sorrow.’

‘Restrain your voice from weeping and your eyes from tears, for your work will be  rewarded,’ declares the Lord.

‘So there is hope for your future,’ declares the Lord.

‘Just as I watched over them to uproot and tear down, and to overthrow, destroy, and bring disaster, so I will watch over them to build and to plant,’ declares the Lord.”

For so many months and years, I’ve carried a heaviness with me because of Sophie’s reality. Most of this has been tied up in a desire to hear her speak. The older she got, the more evident her speech gap became, and the more my heart bled. It’s been so hard to see my baby struggle. I was so worried (yes, I confess, Lord) that she would never speak, or that it would take years for her to add words to her vocabulary. I read many stories of apraxic children who had taken private speech therapy for years and only gained a few words per year. The journey overwhelmed me. My heart mourned over what seemed lost to us in these silent years. As I sang that chorus on Sunday, my heart fully realized that the silent years are actually over. I can rejoice in what God has done in Sophie’s life. Because her transition to verbal communication has truly been miraculous. Yes, she is probably only 75% intelligible at home and maybe 25% intelligible to the outside world. But she’s only been speaking for five months. And she has literally hundreds of words. Hundreds. She knows every letter in the alphabet, every animal, every household object, every food item, names of significant people, places, and toys, and she can count to twenty. Her vocabulary development in five months is literally inexplicable and indescribable. I knew at her diagnosis that the apraxia journey could take us years for this kind of progress. Let’s just say I had lowered my expectations quite a bit. But why? It is, after all, an awesome God who is guiding her life.

I used to pray that Sophie would just wake up one morning speaking clearly in complete sentences. Well, that didn’t happen. But somewhere along the way in these last four years, God changed me. It wasn’t necessarily my circumstances that changed; but it was my heart. In each of the passages where the Bible gives images of sorrow turned to joy, God never promises that our circumstances will change. He just says that he will give us beauty instead of ashes, gladness instead of mourning, joy instead of sorrow. Those things are within us. They are not based in our circumstances. Nothing about our circumstances needs to change for us to embrace beauty, joy, and gladness. I have grown to trust God more as we have walked through Sophie’s story. And now I realize that this struggle has brought much more glory God than Sophie’s life could have without her struggle. We can rejoice in her amazing progress and praise God for this growth in her life. I wonder, would I really be able to see the beauty of all of this without the struggle? Would I praise the Lord as much as I ought to? I’m not sure. But as we celebrate Sophie’s entrance into the world of verbal communication, I know that my heart is singing praises to Jesus and my feet are moving to a song of gladness as we hear Sophie’s sweet voice in our lives.

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January 17, 2016 · 7:46 pm

Into Sophie’s World: Surviving Social Settings

apraxia_awarenessAh yes, the dreaded social gathering, where the child struggling with CAS will be under the gun to say words out loud. The struggle is real. If you have a child with CAS, you know what I’m talking about. Social gatherings are intense for a child with Childhood Apraxia of Speech.

My daughter is blessed to be surrounded by the most loving and caring family and friends. All of her aunts, uncles, grandparents, great aunts and great uncles, church friends, everyone — they love her to pieces. I’m so thankful that we have a family who is loving, accepting, kind, and wise. I realize that not everyone has this same blessing. I also realize that acceptance does not always equal understanding and knowledge. My family and friends have, fortunately, sought to understand Sophie’s diagnosis and celebrate her growth with us continually. Still, I realize that sometimes significant people a child’s life are just at a loss as to what to do with said child who has CAS because he or she can’t communicate the way children his/her age typically can. How can I connect with this child whom I love in the deepest way possible? How can we communicate and bond without speech? Why does this child struggle so much to speak to me when we are together? That last question is one I hope to shed some more light on, which will hopefully also shed light on the first two.

I’ll get right to the answer in case you don’t want to finish reading this: Social settings can often create anxiety for children with apraxia of speech, which makes speaking even more difficult than it already is. Imagine with me; put yourself in their shoes. They are around a bunch of people who want to talk to them and who are asking them lots of well-intentioned, easy questions. They want to answer; they know the answer. But the nerves get the best of them. Even adults can become nervous in social situations which are part of their everyday routine. Imagine for a child who struggles to speak how that pressure becomes magnified. The closest analogy that I can come up with that helps me imagine how Sophie must feel in social settings is to imagine if I were invited to a social gathering of native French speakers. I took four years of French, but my understanding is limited, and my speaking ability is even further limited. Even back in high school (more than 10 years ago!) when I spoke French much better than I could now, I still felt anxiety over whether or not I was pronouncing words correctly, if I would understand the other person, if I would be understood, if I would remember the correct word when i needed it. I would probably feel like I would have very little to offer in that gathering. So imagine going to such a party, the native language of your choice, and the anxiety that you would feel. It certainly would not help you communicative abilities in that foreign language. The pressure would dam up your abilities even more than the natural language barrier did in the first place. To me, that’s what Sophie experiences when she is in a social setting, except that she does indeed understand every word that is spoken. But in her speech, there’s the concern of being understood, pronouncing things correctly, remembering the right word, etc. As an adult, I would find the pressure of this foreign language gathering hard to cope with. My almost-four-year-old certainly wouldn’t be able to cope any better.

I am in no way advocating that family members or friends shouldn’t engage children with apraxia. But, I think that it is helpful to take cues from the parents about how to make the child most comfortable. For instance, my daughter knows that I understand most all of her approximations, so she’s more comfortable trying to talk to others when I’m around because I can help her. In addition, for my daughter (but maybe not for those who have sensory issues), sometimes playing or touch is a better way to connect than a continual pursuit for dialogue. The hardest Sophie laughed this holiday season was when her grandparents tossed her up in the air and tickled her. She was having a ball, and the words began to flow more easily as she had fun and her nerves eased.

Regardless of which way is best for engaging a child with apraxia, acceptance is key. Child and parent alike need to experience acceptance regardless of what the child is comfortable with. The best thing that extended family members and friends can do is show love, support, and acceptance. The parents of a child with apraxia are desperately desiring their child to speak, for him or her to be accepted and to engage with peers and family members. Feeling judged because that’s not happening YET helps nothing. (We are fortunate not to have experienced that judgment, but I know it’s out there.) If you know a child with CAS, I would encourage you to openly dialogue with the child’s parents about the speech disorder, to understand what that child you love is experiencing, and to find out how to best connect with that sweet child who struggles with speech. I guarantee that he wants to connect with you just as much as you want to connect with him; he just may not know how to do that. Find a way to come down to his level, find other ways to bond, and you’ll be surprised to see that you don’t really even need speech at all to make that connection.

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January 8, 2016 · 1:21 am

Into Sophie’s World: The Comparison Game

apraxiakids2Let’s be honest, all us mommies play a dangerous game. We try really hard not to. And sometimes we do really well at it. Sometimes it’s easier at home, in our normal day to day routine, to avoid this game. But throw in a play date, a verbose younger sibling, or even a party at school, and our minds are instantly playing this dangerous game. That child is speaking in complete sentences, and my child cannot utter two words together. Heartbreak for the parent of a child struggling with Apraxia. The comparison game. It’s deadly to our happy, our self-confidence, and our peace.

Because our oldest daughter is the one with delays, we didn’t struggle with the comparison game at first. We had no point of reference. Sure, we had friends who had kids, but we weren’t around them enough to realize her delays. To us, she was just perfect. Even now that her delays are realized, no amount of difference or atypical development could ever persuade me to love her less. But the comparison game still gets to my happy.

My first experiences with the comparison game came through several different play dates. I’ve got friends; they’ve got kids; we need some company; so we play-date. It’s great. Until you see your child who is OLDER than your friend’s children, but whose development is delayed compared to theirs. It’s heartbreaking. I just wanted to run back to the safety of my house where I could enjoy my child exactly where she was, without worrying about where she wasn’t.

I managed to steal back some of my happy that was squelched by the comparisons I saw during those play dates in the early years. And then my son came. It’s even harder not to compare siblings, because then the comparisons become a part of your day to day routine. They are always in front of your face. There’s always another typical child to compare your developmentally atypical child with. And of course, my son has been on the accelerated track from day one. He began verbalizing before 9 months of age, easily. He’s now 18 months old and speaking in 4-5 word sentences. It was truly very difficult at first not to compare the two of them when he seemed to be reaching milestones that his 3 year old sister had not yet mastered. There was heartbreak in seeing the ways that he was achieving when our daughter was not yet achieving. Without all these comparisons we could just enjoy Sophie. That’s what we wanted to do, and that’s what we learned to do, in spite of the many comparisons that threaten to steal our enjoyment of her.

Even if you aren’t (or are no longer) playing the comparison game regarding your children, there are many other ways in which we fall into this game. We compare our bodies with others’ bodies — are we thin enough, are we overweight, are our muscles as toned, is our hair as nice, do we dress as nicely? Is our house as big? Is our wallet as full? Are our cars as nice? Do we take as nice of vacations? Is our job as cool? There are so many ways in which we compare our lives to others. And all it does is steal away our joy and our peace, our acceptance of who we are created to be.

Because you were meant to be you, and I was meant to be me. I believe that God created me precisely and placed me in exactly this time and place, for a reason. In the same way, I believe that it is no mistake or accident that my daughter is going through the trials of apraxia. I believe that she was created exactly the way she was for a purpose. If I compare her (or myself) to someone else, I’m losing sight of the fact that she (and I) was never meant to be someone else. She was meant to be her. I was meant to be me.

I’ve learned that it’s better to focus on being the best me that I can be, and to help Sophie focus on being the best that she can be, rather than worrying about why I don’t seem to measure up to somebody else in some certain way, or why Sophie doesn’t “measure up” to the achievements of others her age. Those comparisons never get me anywhere except back to heartbreak alley. They still pop up, even though I try to avoid them. But on the whole, I’ve learned to accept myself, strengths and weaknesses, and my daughter, and my son, strengths and weaknesses included, just for who we are. It’s my job to help them be the best version of themselves that they can be, rather than to try and help them become someone else entirely. Don’t our experiences make us who we are? And would we want to be robbed of even those hard times? Because they did create in us the person that we are. In the same way, I don’t want to rob my children of experiences which will help them grow and turn them into the best version of themselves.

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December 31, 2015 · 8:01 pm

The Lighthouse

lighthouseThis year for Christmas I was given not one, not two, but three lighthouse Christmas ornaments for my tree. Some might feel disappointment over receiving so many similar things, but not I. I have long loved lighthouses; we frequently visited one as I was growing up, so they are already special to me. Over the past week I have pondered the importance of the lighthouse. I’ve thought about those desperate situations where sailors were swallowed up by the darkness and the blackness of the sea, needing to reach the land. That beam of light, it was their only savior. It alone pointed them in the way they should go.

This Christmas was one of those moments where I felt like God thought it appropriate to use a megaphone to speak his message to my heart. I’ll see to it that she gets not just one lighthouse, but three, so that maybe she’ll hear me. And I’ll even speak this word out loud to her through one of her family members. Alright. Got it. Loud and clear, Lord.

The word was this: With the year that you have had, so many trials and ups and downs, know that the Lord is your beacon of light, always showing you the way you should go, always directing you to the truth. He will thus make you a light to others.

This word caused me to reflect on the year we’ve had. With two little ones, I don’t often pause and spend much time in reflection, though this time of year, that is often the trend in our culture. I’ve asked myself: What was 2015 like for me? What do I hope for in 2016?

What was 2015 like for me? From sleepless nights last winter due to our young son, along with stringent dietary restrictions from a milk allergy, to a relapse of trichotillomania and an apraxia diagnosis for Sophie, to the failure of my own health this fall, and a possible genetic diagnosis for Sophie, 2015 has been a year of many challenges.

More specifically, 2015 held a lot of heartbreak for me over Sophie’s differences; it was a very hard year in that regard. I’ve wrestled with the enemy (and, quite frankly, with the Lord) over her relapse into hair-pulling, her diagnosis with apraxia, setting out on a long journey of speech therapy, and a possible genetic mutation. These are hard truths that our family has faced. They have years-long, if not life-long, implications. They are not what I hoped for as 2015 began.

Even though this synopsis seems to point towards a tough year, I haven’t thought about it as a tough year until now because there have been a lot of good occurrences in 2015, too. We’ve taken great delight in the emerging personality of our son (and his improvements in sleeping), and we’ve watched our daughter learn to communicate through words. It still makes my heart soar to see her progression with verbal communication in the past six months. In addition, we’ve been blessed with a financial outpouring which will keep Sophie in private speech for the foreseeable future. I’ve been blessed to continue staying at home with my children, and I’ve made great strides in my writing (this was the year of the blog!).

In my reflections, I indeed see the aforementioned ups and downs. And truly, at every single up, every single down, I’ve seen God’s loving hand directing us, holding us, comforting us, strengthening us, guiding us, giving us glimpses of his deep love for us. It’s all too easy to feel lost in the darkness of my broken reality, to feel like my heart, my life, is a bunch of broken, meaningless pieces. But whenever my thoughts and my gaze began to stray into the darkness, he shone the perfect piece of truth that I needed to see. (Remember when He showed me Sophie’s friends at school? Or when Sophie began saying all her letters without any prompting?) He has met me at each and every turn. He has been the guiding light, the source of truth, through all of the mayhem. He has, indeed, been our lighthouse, our constant beacon, shining the truth of his goodness into our lives.  Although our circumstances may not have always been good, we have seen that our God is very good to us right in the middle of heartbreaking circumstances.

What do I hope for in 2016? More of God’s goodness. No matter the trials, I just want to see more of his goodness in my life. And I know that often times, for me, I can’t see God’s goodness as clearly unless I’m in the midst of trials and brokenness. So be it, if more of that should come. But I’m refusing to sit here in the grip of my brokenness. Rather, I’m moving forward, pressing in, striving to be a better version of myself in the power of Christ Jesus. Maybe all these broken pieces of my life will be shaped into a beautiful mosaic, through which my Lighthouse can shine his light.

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December 22, 2015 · 1:18 am

To the Neurotologist

What did this amazing ear doctor have to say??

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Well, the tests are in. And they do not currently show a problem with my vestibular system, which would be causing vertigo. I’m not sure whether to jump up and down because that is GOOD news, or to be a little frustrated that I still have no answers for the two months of vertigo I experienced. The doctor said that if my vertigo should return, they would like to retest me (Oh, joy!) to see if I score on a larger margin of “abnormal” than I did this time. (Apparently, 17% is not abnormal enough to be considered actually abnormal. Okaaaaay. 25% is that magic number, and I’m 8% off. So, it’s really not outside the realm of possibility that there is in fact something going on there.) He did not feel, at this time, that Meniere’s was a probable cause. Something about changeable hearing and positional room-spinning vertigo. I’m glad that we can tentatively scratch that off the list.

Another helpful tidbit that he did reveal, though, was the location of my stroke. The damage did occur on the right side (where I have hearing problems and scored abnormally on the vestibular test), in the area of my brain that controls balance. Okay. So, that could actually explain why I’ve become very motion sensitive since my mini-stroke of two years ago. A possible explanation.

He also said that disembarkment syndrome was a possibility, especially given my sensitivity to motion, though it usually presents with “more severity” (really? I felt it was pretty severe at the time…) and does not “last as long as” my case did. (This is actually contrary to what I’ve read about that condition though, so I’m not so quick to rule that one out, even though he is technically the expert and I am not.)

As for my hearing loss… More tests. He felt there were two possible explanations for that (because stroke doesn’t usually explain it, and because I passed the vestibular test, which could also explain it), which can be confirmed by a CT scan. So, one more time, I will go in for tests. But seriously, guys, if this test is fine, I’m just done. And if it’s not, I may need surgery down the road if my hearing gets too bad. Evidently, my ear bones and drum are not responding properly — they are somewhat immobilized. (This explains why the loud screeching of my son is so incredibly painful in my right ear!! — my right ear has no reflexes.) There are two conditions that can cause this; they can be exacerbated by pregnancy, so as far as the timeline is concerned, they fit. They don’t cause dizziness, but they fit otherwise.

And how am I feeling? Pretty good, really. I haven’t had a lasting dizzy spell in about six weeks — no complaints there! I still have momentary dizziness, but it’s only momentary. My hearing is still not good in one ear, but God has placed numerous women in my life, whom I look up to, who have dealt with similar hearing loss, so that doesn’t concern me terribly. The popping and crackling sounds are annoying, but they come and go and typically don’t interfere with my life a whole lot.

Since I’m feeling good,  I’m just about ready to take these two months and wrap them up and put them away with a giant question mark on the bag, somewhere in the back of my mental closet, and not worry about them anymore. We’ve done ALL. the. tests. And nothing. Nothing. Dollars and dollars, and hours and hours later, nothing. I’ve thrown fistfuls of time and money at this health mystery, and I’m ready to be done with that. Again, I don’t want to sound ungrateful, because it is GOOD news that all my tests are “normal.” But, to have no answer for my episodes of vertigo is still slightly disconcerting. It’s troubling in terms of the future, though, I know in my heart that my future is secure in God’s hands. If he could save me from a stroke that I didn’t even realize I was having, then he can continue to carry me as we go forward. He’s got it. Sometimes faith is more important than answers. So we’ll just go with that.

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December 8, 2015 · 7:10 pm

On Self-Judgment: The Lord is able to make you stand

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I’ve been crushed in recent weeks under the weighty baggage of self-judgment. I’d like to imagine that I’m not the only one hearing that gavel pounding in my mind: Not a good enough mom; not a good enough wife; not a good enough friend. The reasons for these judgments go on and on, but I won’t take the time to vent them all here. Suffice it to say, in my own eyes, I have been constantly falling short. I have been hating every moment of feeling like a failure. Sure, I’ve made legitimate mistakes every day in the past few weeks. But this weight of judgment has been something to be reckoned with. It’s deeper than just a short upset over a wrong choice or a harsh word. The Bible teaches that there is a good guilt, which leads to repentance, but there is also another guilt that comes from the pit of hell. It tries to tie you up in chains. It tells you you’re a failure. It steals your hope. It steals your joy. This is the guilt of self-judgment.

Partly I know that, for me, this season of motherhood is just so consuming; it’s easy to feel like a failure because I took 15 minutes to wash the dishes so that we’d have plates and silverware to eat off of, rather than spend those 15 minutes frolicking with my children. (Do you hear that logic there? It’s solid, right? Right.) Mom guilt is just everywhere. I have no Christmas crafts from Pinterest to post to my Facebook. I hear my own angry tone reflected in my son’s echoes. I see the tears that I caused by my overreaction. Sigh.

Yes, mistakes happen. But they are not meant to weigh us down like heavy baggage.

In Romans 14, Paul is talking about how the Christians were judging each other for their differences — it began with Jew and Gentile, but it moved on to things like which foods were acceptable to eat, and which holidays were important to celebrate. (I wonder what Paul would have to say about our current holiday debates???) Tucked in this discussion is a verse that brought me so much freedom from my own harsh judgments. Verse 4 declares, “Who are you to judge someone else’s servant? To his own master he stands or falls. And he will stand, for the Lord is able to make him stand.”

To my soul I heard the soft voice of the Lord: You ARE SOMEONE ELSE’S servant. You are NOT your own master. You do not judge yourself. You stand before me, the Lord, and I AM ABLE to make you stand.

What a sweet relief.

Even if we are displeased with our own efforts and see room for improvement, this verse clearly shows me that I am not even to be my own judge (let alone someone else’s).

Even if I’m falling short in my own eyes, I know that I stand before a loving Father who is able to make me stand.

Even if I am not enough, his grace is enough. His strength is enough. He is enough.

No matter how you find your own self falling short these days, know that your master is able to make you stand. He alone is your judge, and he has spoken grace over your life.

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December 3, 2015 · 7:54 pm

Peace

“He will have no fear of bad news; his heart is steadfast, trusting in the Lord. His heart is secure, he will have no fear.” (Ps. 112:7-8)
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It’s interesting that I’m sitting here working on a lesson about peace for my high school crew, all the while battling anxious thoughts about my own health. Next week I will undergo testing for Meniere’s Disease, which is a disorder affecting the inner ear. There is no cure for this disease. Typically, it results in deafness in the affected ear. It would explain everything that I have been experiencing, from the intermittent vertigo, to the hearing loss, to the crackling in my right ear. Unfortunately, it fits. That doesn’t mean that I have it; but my mind has been reeling from just the possibility. For Pete’s sake, I’m 32 years old! I’m not supposed to be one of those people in “poor health.” And when the crackling began to occur in my left ear also, my adrenaline inched up towards the ceiling. If both ears are affected, I could lose my hearing altogether. It’s one of those “you don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone” moments. I cannot hear my children at night. I cannot hear my husband’s voice sometimes. I cannot hear what my cat is up to, until she’s making a ruckus in my room, terrifying me of another possible bat invasion. Hearing is a precious thing. And right now, my hearing loss is still minimal. Yet, all those sounds are already gone. My heart quickens with unspoken questions: What if it is Meniere’s? What if it does attack both ears? What if I learned sign language with my daughter for my future?! There are so many questions flooding my mind.

But today I worked through the Psalms, recording verses that have brought me peace, hoping they will bring peace to my Sunday school students. And I happened upon this one — “He will have no fear of bad news; his heart is steadfast, trusting in the Lord. His heart is secure, he will have no fear.” I noticed first that this Psalm never indicates that bad news won’t come. But what it does promise is that we don’t need to have fear of that bad news. Why? Because our Psalmist trusts the Lord, so his heart is steadfast. I love that word — steadfast. It seems so sturdy, so immovable, so secure. It’s because my heart is secure in the Lord that I can look down the barrel of a possible Meniere’s diagnosis and feel a steadfast peace invade my heart. Like David, I realize that this physical world is full of threats, imperfections, diseases, and brokenness. It would be naive, at best, to assume that none of this will ever affect me. I know that it’s going to affect me. But I also know that it’s ok. Because I, too, was made for someday, for another place, where all of those imperfections are banished forever. And until then, I can be ok with today. If December 14th comes with a Meniere’s diagnosis, then I will ask God for the grace to be ok with that day. And each day after, I will continue to seek his grace to be ok with this temporary struggle, day by day. May my heart be steadfast, trusting in the Lord.

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December 1, 2015 · 7:35 pm

Into Sophie’s World: Learning to Talk — Please Ignore the F-Word

apraxiakids2We are all so thrilled about Sophie’s newfound ability to communicate her wants and needs verbally. It’s so great. But it can also be really frustrating. Why? You ask. Because the apraxia and hypotonia are not gone. So, what you have is a four year old mentality (vocabulary, opinions, feelings) with a one year old’s verbal expression. We learned soon after she began to speak that she knew most of the 26 letters of the alphabet, and recognized them in random order, along with many of her numbers. We’ve discovered that Sophie knows a lot of stuff that’s been trapped inside for a long time. Just last week she was naming bizarre animals like the octopus for her teacher. Other times, I just cannot understand her to save my life, and she can get frustrated in these moments. It’s necessary and beneficial for Sophie to continue in speech therapy to more quickly refine those sounds and close the gap of delay in which she currently stands.

Even though we do experience some frustration with these ugly reigns of apraxia and hypotonia that keep Sophie’s speech held back, we do also get some humor out of the deal. For instance, I find myself embarrassed and needing to explain to people that we do not use the F-word at home… As Sophie has played with different sounds, I have begun hearing that word very frequently. It’s a bit shocking at first. So I explain to people (when we are at public places like church, or the library, or the hair salon, or a friend’s house), she’s not repeating a word that she’s heard; she’s trying to say something else and that’s what’s coming out. Thank GOODNESS we have the F sound and the K sound down …. In time, I know that she will sort out the sounds she is trying to say. But in the meantime, if you hear the F-word 1) Don’t judge me; and 2) Just ignore it. (You can add a 3 — Laugh a little with me, if you like.)

Laughter helps me keep perspective during this new challenge of parenting Sophie. I’m thankful for the challenges, because I know that without them, God’s grace just wouldn’t be as evident to me. It’s the struggle that allows me to see the beauty, the miracles that are happening in her life every single day. My son’s growth is every bit as miraculous, but because he’s “typical” I don’t recognize the great grace poured out in every one of his days. I’m thankful for the struggle, because it makes us more aware of God’s goodness. It opens our eyes to beauty that we wouldn’t otherwise see.

With all that Sophie has struggled through, we have released her into God’s hands, again and again. And we always find that he is so faithful to reassure us of his care for her. As I wrote my last post and expressed my desire again to release her into God’s hands, no fear of what the future may hold, my loving Father was so quick to show me everything that is actually going on in Sophie’s head by turning on her “speech lightbulb,” as I like to call it. I wonder if all he wanted was for me to relinquish control and embrace her future, trusting that he does have the BEST plan for her life. I know I’ve made that choice time and again in her almost four years of life. It’s probably a good choice to make daily. I love my children fiercely, but I know their Heavenly Father loves them even more. No amount of my perceived control over their lives can get them to heaven. Only God can do that in his loving and mighty plan. Holding on with a death grip won’t do anything but suffocate them and tire myself. Giving them to God, that will actually make a difference. May their hearts always be turned towards the One who created them and loves them with an everlasting love.

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November 28, 2015 · 3:15 am

Thanksgiving

I just spent a lovely Thanksgiving celebration with my dear parents, my brother and sister-in-law, and my sweet niece and nephew. It was completely delightful. I find myself beyond thankful this year in particular for my sweet mother.

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You see, it’s been 20 years since I nearly lost her to advanced, aggressive breast cancer. 20 years! I can still picture myself as a 12 year old girl, visiting the Cleveland Clinic on Thanksgiving to see my mom who was recovering from a bone marrow transplant. The cafeteria was swamped, so we figured we’d get a bite on the way home. But, 20 years ago, nothing was open on Thanksgiving. So, my sweet daddy fixed us PB&J late at night when we got home from the hospital. (So very thankful for him, too!) This is perhaps my most memorable Thanksgiving. Sometimes those hard times are the ones that we remember the most. When I realized that this year marked 20 more years of having my mother rather than living without her, the memories just began to flow.

I’m so thankful that she was able to shop for every fancy dress with me. Every homecoming, every prom.

I’m so thankful that she was there for every important ceremony, graduation, sporting event.

I’m so thankful that she readied me for my wedding.

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I’m so thankful that she was there for every baby shower and to see her grand babies just hours after they were born.

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I’m so thankful for all the times she has come to stay with me, to serve my family, after babies have come, or when my husband has traveled.

I’m so thankful for every holiday we’ve spent together — 32 Thanksgivings, which could have been 12; 31 Christmases which could have been 11; 32 birthdays which might have been 12.

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So many late night conversations.

So many prayers.

So many meals fixed for me, my brother, our friends.

So much nurturing.

What in the world would my life look like without my sweet mother’s nurturing, serving, loving spirit? I can’t even begin to imagine.

As I’ve reflected on the immense, immeasurable impact that my dear mother has had on my life, I have realized the immense, immeasurable value in what it is that I am spending my life doing right now. My mother has poured herself out like a drink offering for her family, for me. She is a huge blessing to me. Her life has been about serving Jesus by serving her family. This is a beautiful way to spend a life, especially one given back, one that was so nearly snatched away. What a gift. I hope that my children will likewise see me as a gift and a servant who poured herself out to help them become something beautiful. I owe so much of who I am to my dear mother. And so I am, this Thanksgiving, so incredibly thankful for her, for the past 20 years of living in her love.

To daughters and sons, don’t ever undervalue your mother and the sacrifice she is making for you every single day. She is sacrificing everything for you.

To mothers, what you are doing matters so much more than it feels like, so much more than you could ever see. Your life as a mother is a beautiful thing.

To my mother, thanks for being there. I simply love you.

And to God, thanks for blessing me with such an awesome woman to be my mother, and for letting me keep her here 20 years ago.

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November 16, 2015 · 2:11 am

Into Sophie’s World: My Apraxic Girl’s Learning Milestone

Learning, without the verbal ability to express it, is tough. We haven’t been able to teach Sophie little songs or rhymes, or use repetition that seemed to have any lasting impact. Because Sophie couldn’t verbalize any of it. We’ve talked about things like, colors, letters and numbers, days and months, for three and a half years. Colors and shapes caught on first, because they were easily recognizable visually. But letters and numbers have been our Everest these past several years. But no more. Sophie knows her alphabet!!
sophie_lettersSomewhere in the past couple of weeks, Sophie’s speech light bulb has turned on. She’s finally talking (though not always intelligibly). She’ll try to say just about anything. I’ve waited for so long for the switch to flip, for her words to come. And here they are. We’ve been so excited to hear Sophie attempting speech!sophie_aI have been blown away by the understanding and learning that have been revealed by Sophie’s newfound speech. She’s been hearing songs, watching phonics shows, doing letter puzzles, and playing with the alphabet train for months, but we had no idea what was soaking in. This week at bath time, I got out the foam letters (after hearing her “sing” along to the alphabet song on the TV). I quizzed her on random letters, all 26 of them, and she knew all but maybe 3. I’m so proud of her in this moment, I just had to share it with all her people. I know that most kids learn this information at a much younger age, but without speech, that’s been really hard for Sophie. sophie_bIt’s amazing to hear so much of what’s been trapped in Sophie’s sweet little head come pouring out as she learns to speak. Speech is still tough, and her sounds aren’t very precise. But we absolutely will take it. I’m so very proud of my girl! Thank you Jesus for speech!sophie_c

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