August 17, 2015 · 6:04 pm

Into Sophie’s World: Imagine the Frustration

apraxiakids2On the whole, my daughter is a happy kid. She’s a good listener, helper, and general sweetheart. Yet, while I imagine on some level Sophie has accepted her world the way it is because she’s never known any different, I also cannot believe that she hasn’t noticed her differences and felt some pretty intense frustration in the world of communication. Our integration of American Sign Language into our home has greatly eased her frustrations, but lacking and learning speech itself have still caused much frustration.

I’ve tried to imagine what it would be like to not be able to speak in a world where speech is utilized constantly. But I can’t imagine it. I just can’t. The closest I have been able to come to imagining what Sophie might be feeling is to imagine if I were completely color blind, walking through an art gallery or a beautiful park, listening to others discuss the colors, but not being able to enter in or appreciate the color myself. I can see the objects, I can appreciate their forms, but I can’t rave about the oranges of the leaves in the fall or the blue of a summer sky. I would feel like I had very little to offer in that world. So I probably wouldn’t say much at all. Sophie can hear and understand the spoken world around her, but she can’t enter in to it. I wonder if she feels she has nothing to offer at times. Yet, in her mind she knows she has thoughts, feelings, opinions, emotions, about everything. She wants to express herself, but she can’t. Frustration.

Up to a point, I think Sophie just assumed her words were coming later. But, my son, on the accelerated life-train, began to speak before 9 months of age. At 14 months, he will repeat anything he hears. This is Sophie’s art gallery or nature walk: Right in front of her face her little brother is getting his words, but she doesn’t have hers. Sophie will literally open her mouth to try and say something, and nothing will come out. You can see her mouth working, air being expelled, voice on, but the right words are not coming. Children with Apraxia know what they want to say, but the words just won’t come. She’s knows it’s a simple word; she sees speech as easy as breathing for the rest of us. Frustration.

When we sit to do her speech exercises Sophie tries so hard. She works. She knows the sounds in her mind. She wants to say them. But it’s hard work. One day in a moment of clear frustration during speech exercises, Sophie melted down, and I asked her if she wanted to get her words. Maybe it seems like a foolish and frustration-inducing question, but, Jesus often asked those he was going to heal if they wanted to get well. Wanting it is very much a part of the equation. And I think there was a time when Sophie maybe wouldn’t have said yes. But this time, she nodded, sadness and frustration on her sweet face. Yes, she wants her words. Frustration.

My heart breaks in moments like that. But then I have the chance to pick up my mom-poms and tell her “You. can. do. it. You. will. do. it. Your words WILL come, sweet girl. But we have to work.” And in that moment I talked to her about how Jesus can enable her to do all things. All things. I told her I believed her words were going to come because Jesus was faithful to help us. But sometimes in life, we have to work for what we want. At just 3 1/2, Sophie is having to work far harder than the average child to do something that comes as easily as breathing to most.

The verses in James about perseverance are ones that I claim over my sweet Sophie’s life: “Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything. If any of you lacks wisdom, he should ask God who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to him.” (1:2-5) It is verse 5 that we chose in naming Sophia, which means “wisdom.” We trust that God will give her and us wisdom to navigate these difficulties she faces. The frustration is real, but it pushes us forward. And as we persevere through apraxia, we know it will not be without benefit to us and to Sophie.

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August 13, 2015 · 7:26 pm

Into Sophie’s World: What is Apraxia?

apraxiakids2Prompted by several other pieces that I’ve seen floating around facebook in the last month, I thought that some informative posts about how to enter Sophie’s world might be helpful to those who know and love her. This is the first of those posts.

Many people are probably unclear on exactly what Sophie’s diagnosis means. She’s not mentally retarded; she’s not autistic; nor does she simply have a speech delay. Sophie has a speech disability known as apraxia.

Apraxia is a motor planning disorder. That means, Sophie’s brain cannot plan the necessary movements for speech. Her brain can’t tell her lips and her tongue how to move to make words come out. For some children, this is a sequencing problem. They can say “Ma” or “Bu” but saying “mama” or “butter” would be a challenge because of the combination of syllables. We’re not even to that point yet. Right now, Sophie’s mind has difficulty combining “mm” with “aa” to form “ma.”

However, this does not mean that Sophie doesn’t understand your words. She doesn’t need you to speak loudly or slowly. If you’ve interacted with her at all, you know that she is sharp as a tack. It’s important for people to understand that Sophie’s receptive language — what she understands — while perhaps minimally delayed, is not grossly delayed as her speech is. Her disability lies only in the lack of mental control over her mouth and tongue. The neurological channels that should be open and firing for her brain to move her mouth are, for whatever reason, not open and firing.

The remedy for apraxia is intensive speech therapy where, little by little, we teach her brain how to control her mouth and tongue. Of course, Sophie’s motor planning issue is compounded by the fact that she also has hypotonia, or low muscle tone. This is why Sophie often moves around with her mouth open and has sometimes even has trouble forming a smile. Her facial muscles are just slightly slacker than yours and mine. We definitely underestimate the amount of muscular strength and control required for speech, even for a closed mouth. It is very likely that Sophie will someday be able to speak normally. This is great news. The road to resolving apraxia can be a very long one. For some children it resolves after a few years of therapy and doesn’t create any lasting issues. For other children, the struggle will continue into their teen years, as if those years weren’t hard enough without a speech disorder.

Right now, Sophie’s road appears to be a long one. But, we are just starting out, so you never know how different things may look in a year from now. Just to give you an example of where she’s at, right now we are stoked because she is able to produce three consonant sounds intentionally and two vowel sounds intentionally. She is beginning to learn to blend those sounds together. There are so. many. sounds. to learn. It’s a long, slow process. But, we are in process and seeing actual progress for the first time ever, so we are excited. Currently, Sophie can say “up” and “bye bye.” Sweet, sweet speech.

At the heart level, I choose to take it one day at a time. I am ok with today. I am trusting God for tomorrow, and for those teen years down the road.

I hope this gives you a better understanding of what apraxia is and how we treat it. I’ll be writing more about the social aspects of dealing with apraxia in future posts.

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August 9, 2015 · 7:08 pm

Leftovers

leftoversI don’t think I know anyone who really gets excited about leftovers. When I was a kid, we always had the leftovers buffet for Sunday lunch. My mom didn’t have to work to prepare a nice meal, and we weren’t wasteful because we set aside an opportunity to use the leftovers. My mom always ate what needed to be eaten up. Maybe it was the oldest, or maybe there was just a little dab left. She didn’t want to let those remnants go to waste. Now that I’m the mom of the house, I find myself eating up all the little bits of this and that which are left over, creating some very interesting meal combinations. But, I don’t want to be wasteful, so I do it.

John 6 records a story of “leftovers.” Here Jesus miraculously feeds over 5,000 people from five small loaves of bread and two fish. It didn’t look like much, but Jesus thanked his Father for it, and began to work a miracle. What if we could just give thanks for the small portion we have been given — whatever it is — and trust God to do a miracle with it?

The story tells us that everyone ate “as much as he wanted.” That’s just awesome. Guys, Jesus has enough. Whatever we stand in need of, he’s got enough. No matter how few fish we have in our basket to offer him, he’s got the power and the compassion to use it. It will be enough.  Some days I feel horribly inadequate. But if I take the small amount of ability that I have and give it to Jesus, he will do more with it than I could imagine. Jesus isn’t going to run short on whatever I may need. From our talents and abilities, to our weaknesses, to our physical abilities or inabilities, to our resources or lack thereof — Jesus can use it if we give it to him. And miraculously, I believe, we will find, it is enough. Because he is enough.

As a matter of fact, there wasn’t just enough that day, there was more than enough. There was so much food that day that Jesus gave his disciples these instructions: “Gather the pieces that are leftover. Let nothing be wasted.”

Let nothing be wasted. I love those words. Especially as I ponder God’s choice of apraxia for my daughter, for our family, those words bring me such peace.

Jesus wastes nothing.

There is no part of my difficult journey, of Sophie’s difficult journey, that Jesus will not use to make me a better version of myself and to bring more glory to his name. Jesus wastes nothing. What he has chosen for her life, he will never waste on her behalf. I’m looking for basketfulls of his amazing glory in her life story.

There’s also another way to look at this story of leftovers. Perhaps trodden upon, mashed, mangled from life’s hardships, sometimes we ourselves don’t feel like much but a leftover. But Jesus says, “let nothing be wasted.” My heart hears: “let no one be wasted.” No matter how mangled, torn, or used up we may feel physically, spiritually, or emotionally, in Jesus’ eyes, we are not beyond use. We are worth gathering up. We are still useful, usable, in his eyes.

As a child without words, Sophie is often overlooked by others. Few people, especially peers, truly understand how to interact with her. Yet I know that my Jesus sees her. To Jesus, she is not a leftover, to be passed over because she can’t enter in the same way as others. No one is beyond his use, no matter the disability, the dysfunction, the damage.

Jesus wastes no one.

The leftovers aren’t a chore to Jesus like they sometimes can be to me as I eat a strange concoction of fried cabbage, noodles and olives, and half a sloppy joe. Jesus won’t waste our experiences and he certainly won’t waste us.

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July 23, 2015 · 7:50 pm

Treading Water

stormy seaSo often life has felt, to me, like a lengthy exercise in treading water. Treading water is tiring. It’s about surviving, keeping your head above the water. You’re not trying to go anywhere when you’re treading; you’re just trying to maintain your position. Sometimes that’s how I feel like I’m moving through life, just keeping my head above the waters. When I was a working mommy this was oh-so much more true. Now juggling two busy kiddos, one with special needs, the pace is slower, different, but I still feel everyday the need to persevere, often tired from treading water.

As I was studying the story in which Peter walks on water, I had some realizations about the way we do this life, this “treading exercise,” if you will.

Jesus has sent his disciples ahead of him, perhaps knowingly into stormy waters. We are foolish if we think that Jesus has not foreseen the storm we are in. He is fully aware of where we are, even before we got there. And in this instance for the disciples, Jesus is not physically present with them to save their bacon like he was a few chapters ago when he told the wind and waves, “Quiet. Be still.” They are sent out on their own, to be buffeted about by the waves. And it’s terrifying to them. Our storms are terrifying aren’t they? Why did Jesus send us here? Where is he in the midst of this crazy wind, these wild waves?

But Jesus comes. Oh yes, he comes, because he sees exactly where we are. Exactly. And he’s walking on top of that water. If you’ve seen a stormy sea, you know it’s not the sparkling, pristine, calm, flat sea that is often in illustrations of this story. No, the wind, Scripture says, was wild. But Jesus is walking on that water. Of course, he’s Jesus. He can do that.

But then Jesus tells Peter, in the midst of the stormy winds, “come out of that boat and walk on the water to me.”

“Woah, Jesus! Do what? I couldn’t even safely swim through this water, let alone walk on top of it!” Oh, no, wait, Peter doesn’t say that. He gets out of the boat. A brave soul. That’s what I want to say when Jesus calls me into the storm…

Maybe, like me, you sometimes feel like you are nearly drowning in the storms of your life. Maybe your trial is so difficult, your sorrow is so deep, your anger is so severe that you can barely keep yourself going. Walking on the water seems beyond unattainable. Treading is just all you can muster.

I want you to think with me about what Jesus asks of Peter here. He tells him to get on out of that boat and walk on the water, on top of it. Jesus doesn’t say, you can swim through this. He doesn’t say, just tread water till I get there. He doesn’t say, just keep your nose above the surface. He says walk on that water, Peter. Whatever your storm may be, Jesus can empower you in the midst of it. Life, these storms, it’s not about just treading water, just maintaining, being safe, staying alive, surviving. No, it’s about finding the power of Jesus to walk on top of that storm.

I want to do more than tread water. I want to stare straight at Jesus and walk on top of that water, stormy sea or not. Because I trust him. And I know he’s there with me in that storm. I’m done treading; I’m ready to walk.

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July 21, 2015 · 7:20 pm

Favor

mary-jesusI find it very interesting that as we meet Mary the mother of Jesus in each of the gospels, the writers explain that Mary found favor in God’s eyes which is why she was chosen to be the mother of Jesus, God’s son. But when I think about the difficulties that Mary’s life surely contained because of her chosen role, I wonder if favor maybe doesn’t look just like what I have always thought it looked like.

When I think of favor, I think of something good, happy, successful, the desirable outcome, pleasant feelings, being liked or admired. I’m sure that Mary did experience many of those things. Even just from the perspective of a mother, I’m sure she did because of the joy of motherhood. There’s my idea of favor in her story to be sure.

But there are some other things that don’t seem to fit this idea of favor. For instance, the whole “conceived of the Holy Spirit” part of the story — this was surely rejected by some in Mary’s community as an excuse for improper conduct. Mary’s reputation must have suffered because of this “favor” that God bestowed upon her. In addition, she had to watch her own son be killed brutally at the young age of 33. I’m losing sight of the “favor” here. (Yes, I know there was a resurrection. But as she watched her son die, she didn’t know that for certain.)

I guess what I’m realizing is that when you find favor in God’s eyes, he chooses you for a special task, not an easy task, not a task that is always pleasant, but one that has eternal significance, one that is very dear to his heart. Maybe the path of favor does include pain and suffering. But maybe that’s an indicator of just how much favor you have in God’s eyes.

Many people (bless them) remind me often that God has chosen me and my husband specifically to be Sophie’s parents. My pastor likes to say, “special child, special parents.” Yet, I’ve often grieved the road that we have set before us, when the stress and frustration are through the roof, when the disappointment and the fear are real, when the questions are large and the progress is at a standstill. Oh, to be “normal” to have a “favorable” time with our young children. But maybe this difficult road is a sign of God’s favor. I’ve certainly never thought it was a sign of punishment; I know my Bible better than that. I have often viewed this as an opportunity for God to show his glory. But I’ve never looked at it as a sign of his favor.

Yet when I was reading about Mary finding favor in God’s eyes, knowing all the suffering that she walked through as the mother of Jesus, it was as if God whispered to my heart that he has found favor with me. I don’t share this to be boastful. I share it to encourage you. God has chosen you for the path set before you because of his favor for you. Favor doesn’t always mean success or happiness or ease as defined by this world. But it does mean that you and I are chosen. We caught God’s eye, and he decided, I’m going to use this one. Yes, she can do great things for my kingdom. There is eternal significance here in what I have for her to do.

It can be hard to see our significance from our vantage point here on earth. It’s like trying to see a movie on the big screen from the front row, looking through a straw. We catch glimpses of what’s going on, but the bigger picture can be hard to understand. I’m sure Mary must have felt that way at times in her life. Likewise, I can’t see yet how my story, how Sophie’s story, amounts to God’s favor or what he is going to accomplish in our family for his kingdom. But, even so, I choose the same response as Mary, whose eternal significance is now so evident, “I am the Lord’s servant. May it be to me as you have said.”

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July 16, 2015 · 6:45 pm

Hope

serving-hands
The return for my prayer of thanksgiving has been a deep welling up of hope in my heart. It’s deeper than a hope that this speech disorder will someday be a distant memory and that Sophie will speak with the eloquence of a great orator. Of course my heart hopes for those things. But this hope is different. This hope is not marked by instant happiness, or even by lightness, necessarily. But it is marked by perspective, and it is marked by peace — an abiding peace which moves with me through each day, giving me the grace and compassion to be okay with our “right now.” It doesn’t remove my sadness. It doesn’t always ease the pain, but even in the midst of the pain and sadness, I feel this deep current of hope, of peace, in my soul. This hope extends beyond this world and into the next — the one we were truly created for.

I believe that one day Sophie will stand before her creator and bless his name, out loud, in perfect eloquence. I believe until that day he will hold every one of her tears and every one of mine in the palms of his nail-scarred hands. Because of what Jesus has done for you and for me, we can all have this hope that extends beyond and through and deeper than the heaviness, the pain, the sadness, the brokenness of this world.

This is my hope. All others will disappoint. If I hope for speech, I may be disappointed on this earth. But when God created Sophie, he created an eternal soul, a sweet girl who can live forever, in perfection, because of Jesus’ sacrifice. Although she is bound for a time in this life by a speech disorder, that says nothing of her eternal self. Oh to have the eyes to see this truth in all human beings around me. Thirsty souls, meant for something so much more than what’s here.

If I just focus on what is seen, the here and now of this life on earth, well, it’s a bit of a downer. But when I feel this hope, when I know with all that I am that there is another reason entirely for our creation than this earth alone, then life makes much more sense, and I have every reason to be okay with apraxia. It is a “light and momentary trouble” that  is “achieving for us an eternal glory” (2 Cor 4:17).

No matter what you are facing today, I pray you know in the deepest places in your heart that there is hope. Hope that extends beyond this earthly existence. Philippians 4:6&7 promise that when we present our requests to God, with thanksgiving, that “the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard [our] hearts and [our] minds in Christ Jesus.” This hope, this peace, is the fruit of my prayer of thankfulness.

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July 13, 2015 · 2:37 pm

In Obedience, A Prayer of Thanksgiving

I Thess 5As I have been processing Sophie’s diagnosis of CAS (Childhood Apraxia of Speech), God brought to mind this Scripture: “Give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus” (1 Thess 5:18). In all circumstances — not the ones that we like, the ones that are comfortable, the “good” circumstances — all of them. Why? Because this is God’s will for you. Otherwise, it wouldn’t be happening.

And so I pray:

IMG_0531

ASL for “thank you”



Lord, Thank you for apraxia of speech. Thank you for choosing this for us. I admit, my heart does not feel particularly thankful, but I choose it out of obedience to Your Word. I know you are a good God. You do all things well. As you crafted each part of Sophie in your powerful hands, you allowed this to be part of her makeup. So we receive it from you, with thanksgiving, knowing that whatever you design, whatever you allow, you will use to glorify yourself. You are an all-powerful God of miraculous deeds, and I trust that we will see your glory in this road we walk with Sophie.

I can’t see where this road will lead, what pitfalls we will encounter, how long the road is, where there might be hills or valleys. But I know my Father is leading me. His word is a light unto my path, and I will choose to walk in obedience. I can’t think about “down the road,” but I can be ok with where we are today. Down the road is too much. But today, I can handle in his grace. And I know that when we get to “down the road” he’ll be there too, with grace for that day as well. So for today, in obedience, I will choose thankfulness.

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July 8, 2015 · 7:37 pm

Fearful

apraxiakids2

Tomorrow Sophie and I will go to Columbus for her official speech evaluation. I anticipate that she will be diagnosed with Childhood Apraxia of Speech, something I have written about before. This diagnosis, in a way, looms over me, and in another, means nothing at all. Our struggle is unchanged; my child is unchanged. But it is a reality check. We have a long road ahead. Sophie’s “speech delay” will now be a “speech disorder.” Her childhood will be different. And I am fearful.

There’s a story from the book of Mark, early in Jesus’ ministry, of a man named Jairus who was a ruler in the synagogue. His daughter was very sick, on her deathbed. This is one of those stories that I don’t think came alive to me until I became a mother. The thought of my child on her deathbed is overwhelming. (It’s not something I think that I should dwell on. But any mother knows, those fears dart in and out of our minds more often than we’d like to admit.) So Jairus comes to Jesus and asks him to come touch his daughter and heal her. Jesus is on his way to heal her when the woman subject to bleeding for 12 years crosses his path. He takes just enough time with this woman, who desperately wants to touch his robes to be healed of her ailment, that the young girl dies. One of Jairus’ servants meets them on their way and says that his daughter is dead. I can only imagine the agony that Jairus must have felt in that moment. He just wasn’t fast enough. He was her daddy, and it was his job to protect her, but he couldn’t get Jesus there fast enough. This is surely and intense moment of crisis for Jairus. His heart is must be in a thousand pieces at this moment. He is, no doubt, immobilized by fear and grief.

There is much in this world that I want to protect my children from. As Sophie faces a CAS diagnosis, I do have fears about the struggles she will endure. I fear that she won’t have any friends. I fear other children will make fun of her. I fear that her little heart will be broken. I fear that I won’t be able to connect with her, to understand and help her through these things because she can’t even tell me what she feels. I fear that the enemy will try to damage her heart through this fallen aspect of her physical being. And I feel so helpless, because I know that there’s so much I won’t be able to protect her from.

I think if we are honest, we all have fears about what the future holds. No matter what our stage in life may be, there are always fears. Our enemy always tries to immobilize our hearts by locking them up in our fears. As I was reading this story of Jairus a few days ago, I was just blown away by Jesus’ response to the news of Jairus’ daughter’s death.

He says: “Don’t be afraid; just believe.”

Every part of my fearful heart loves these words. All those fears that plague me, all the what-ifs of life, all of them still when I hear Jesus’ words to Jairus. Because I know that he would say the same thing to me even now in the midst of my circumstances. Maybe I don’t have to protect Sophie from everything. Maybe I can just believe in Jesus and place her in his loving hands. Whatever our moment of crisis is, I believe that Jesus is there, telling us not to be afraid, asking us to just believe in him.

Child can’t talk? Don’t be afraid; just believe.
Facing an illness? Don’t be afraid; just believe.
Left without a spouse? Don’t be afraid; just believe.
In financial ruin? Don’t be afraid; just believe.
Lost a loved one? Don’t be afraid; just believe.

Jesus has power beyond anything we can understand. And his scope of sight extends so much further than ours. What looks bad to me just now, I can believe that Jesus sees in the grand scheme. He has the eternal perspective that we are so quick to lose here on this earth. Because Jairus’ daughter was allowed to die, Jesus had the opportunity to raise her back to life, displaying exponentially more glory in her healing. In the same way, if our fears become reality, Jesus is there, ready to display his power and glory if we seek him. And we will see it in ways we never would have expected, ways we never would have been privileged to experience without our struggles. Even in the midst of all the uncertainty we now face in sweet Sophie’s life, I hear Jesus whisper, “Don’t be afraid; just believe.”

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June 30, 2015 · 7:51 pm

It’s a Messy Life

IMG_1326

It took 6 minutes for this many tissues to explode onto my living room floor.

Life sure can be messy, can’t it? My kids find themselves in all kinds of scrapes every single day. Sometimes you’re stuck under a picnic table or in a pot. Sometimes you fall and get a boo-boo. Sometimes you spill cereal or throw tissues all over the house. Little messes, in the big picture.

 

Sophie in a pot

Stuck in a pot.

But sometimes the messes in life are much bigger and can’t be cleaned up with a vacuum, paper towels, or a bandaid. Sometimes the messes are little, but sometimes they are big. I’m not sure which category today’s mess falls into, in the grand scheme, probably little. Although this morning it did not feel, or smell, like a little mess. Messes can be that way. They can feel pretty big when we’re in them.

There I was minding my own business (probably the instigation of the mess), fixing some breakfast. My children, I thought, were happily playing in the living room, dressed, fed, and needs met. Suddenly, my three-year-old daughter comes into the kitchen, crying. My first guess is a fight over a toy. This happens so frequently that I’m considering purchasing a referee’s outfit.

But then she holds up her hands.

“Sophie, what is on your hands, honey?”

And then the aroma hits me. It’s poo. She’s got poo all over her hands. Fabulous. Breakfast forgotten, comforts aside, my gears shift as I begin to clean her up.

Sophie made a mess, and she did not know how to get herself out of it. Thankfully she hadn’t tried wiping her hands on the carpet or the couch as we do with the grass when our hands get messy outside. She knew that this mess was going to need some assistance from mommy. Amazingly, I wasn’t mad at her. Maybe her tears softened my heart. She was so upset about what she had done, that all I could feel was compassion as I cleaned her up.

We’ve been talking in church lately about how life can be so messy. We’re all a bunch of sinners down here. Our lives are messy, no matter how much we try to control or hide the mess. Yet, in the midst of our mess, there is One who loves us so very much. When we come crying to him, the dirt of our mess all over our hands, unable to help ourselves, his grace floods our lives, and he takes care of us. No, Jesus is not just a boo-boo fixer. It’s not as though we should just continue making mess after mess because we know he’ll be there to clean us up. But, as I felt so much compassion this morning for my daughter, I was reminded that, while our messes do have consequences, God is not angry with us when we come to him in a mess. He’s not thundering down at us. When we come crying to him, he opens his arms with a love and compassion that are deep and genuine. He knows that we make messes, and he’s not inconvenienced when we come to him. Rather, he made a way, he sent his son Jesus to cover that mess. No amount of my own trying can ever get rid of my mess, but Jesus’ blood, it can cover any mess. He is the one who washes my soul.

Why do we try to hide our messes from God and from each other? Each of us is equally broken, equally sinful. Why do we thunder down judgment on each other for the messes we inevitably will make? Where is grace in this world? What if we quit trying to hide our messes and lived out a genuine life before our family, friends, co-workers? It’s not as though hiding my mess makes it any less real. And if, in showing it to others, I can also show them the love and grace of Jesus which covers my sin, then maybe they can know that his grace covers their life too. No matter what their mess is, it’s not bigger than his sacrifice.

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June 21, 2015 · 12:31 am

Climbing the Wall

camp 1

Camp: The place where many silly crazy things happen. This gem is me along with one of my oldest and dearest friends, Hilary. I had just defeated her in a fierce minute to win it competition.

 I spent many a summer at a wonderful church camp called Cross Training Camp. Countless memories run through my mind of my experiences there from age 9 onward. Even after Sophie was born three years ago, I still participated on a part time basis. I spent 20 years of my life involved with this camp.There is no other program that impacted my view of myself more than this program.

While I love nature, I’m not what I would consider to be a “super athletic” person, but camp challenged me to do physical things that I never thought I could possibly do. This camp ran a military theme with marching and a drill competition, and taught survival skills, canoeing, archery, and fire building. It’s not a “girly” camp. (Is there a girly camp out there??) Yet, I found myself never feeling more like the woman God created me to be than when I was participating with this program. Camp always made me feel so alive, so right. And I miss that now that it’s done.

camp wall 1

Here is one squad going over the wall at CTC. Looks tall, doesn’t it?

I remember as a child the first year that the obstacle course was built in the woods near the church. I heard rumors of this 10 foot wall that we’d have to climb. I was terrified. I never thought I’d be able to do it. But you know what, I had some awesome counselors who got me over that wall, year after year. And then, the tables turned. It was my turn to lead young ladies over the wall. I met girl after girl who felt just like me: “I can’t do that.” And I would tell each of them the same thing: “Let’s focus this week on seeing what you can do rather than thinking about what you can’t do. If you go outside your comfort zone a little, I will help you see what you CAN do. And you just might be surprised.” And girl after girl went over that wall. They faced their fears head on with the support of their team behind them. The pride they exuded in that final night of camp, racing over the wall with their team, it always brought us all to tears. It was the picture of perseverance and overcoming.

We now have a little itty bitty climbing wall in our backyard that’s part of our swing set. This afternoon I helped Sophie scale it. So many memories of camp came rushing back as I encouraged her: “You can do it! That’s it!” all the way up the wall.

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Sophie scales the wall

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Bunny does everything Sophie does

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This little wall is a huge challenge to her. I’m sure when she looks at it, that wall feels 10 feet tall. But she doesn’t give up, in spite of how big the wall seems in comparison to her small stature and weakened muscle tension. One hand hold at a time, she reaches the top of that wall. She’s so pleased when she gets to the top. And I’m right behind her, cheering her on.

The walls look different these days, but some days they still feel 10 feet tall and insurmountable. But I learned something over the years that I climbed and helped others climb that wall in the woods of Cross Training Camp. The walls are not insurmountable. Apraxia feels like a 50 foot wall to me. Can I even see the top? How will we ever scale this wall? From my camp days, I know the answer. We will climb the wall, one hand hold at a time, together, me behind Sophie supporting her, and a whole host of people behind me, cheering us on. Together, we will persevere.

You see, there was a rule at camp regarding this wall: If you helped your campers get over during the competition, then you had to go over the wall yourself, too. It’s a challenge that I would never forgo, despite the difficulty that it brings. And although this wall looks different, the same rule applies: I will scale this wall with my daughter, whatever it takes.

No feeling compares to those that rise upon seeing that determined face pop up over the wall, teeth gritted, dirt and sweat abounding, climbing that wall with all she has, team cheering her on. For many years, I’ve had a picture on my desk of one young lady in this exact moment, and the caption reads, “Always remember what perseverance can achieve.”

Camp wall 2As we scale this wall that is apraxia, our teeth are gritted. We are, some days, weary and discouraged. We will experience wounds and pains along the way. Some moments will seem so scary that we can’t keep going. But we will. And one of these days, in my mind’s eye, I’ll see Sophie’s little face popping up over that wall. Because we won’t be stopped. We will persevere. We will climb this wall.

Although camp is in my past, it’s lessons remain: No obstacle is too great. Let’s not be bound up in thinking about what we can’t do. Instead, let’s just see what we CAN do with a little perseverance.

“I CAN do all things through Christ who gives me strength.”  Phil 4:13

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