Seven Steps to Stop Anger in its Tracks (revisited)

This is a special re-post (with a few revisions) for my friends at Heart to Heart, with whom I shared this very story yesterday... (The rest of you are, of course, welcome to read it again!)

Thank-you for stopping by. I pray that my story, at the very least, has shown you that you are not alone! This mothering thing can be so hard, and it's okay to admit that we aren't perfect.

Today, you will find that I've added some tips for moms dealing with anger. If you stop by again tomorrow, I'll have some tips for others (that is, for those whose spouse or friend or relative struggles with anger). I do hope that you'll come back!

If you'd like to share your thoughts, you can leave a comment at the end of this post. (Please do! You have no idea how much I love your comments! They are my encouragement and source of inspiration.) To leave a comment, simply click on the word "comments" at the end of the post. Then follow the instructions in the pop-up window. If you don't have a google account, or would rather not leave your name, just click "anonymous."


The other morning I was supervising Braeden (12) as he went through his morning routine. Because of his cerebral palsy, Braeden's motor control isn't always the greatest, and I suspected that he wasn't doing the best job brushing his teeth. I was watching and coaching, "Okay, now the bottom. Do the back part. No, not there, the inside. Okay, now the outside. No, no, no, here!" He brushed the same areas over and over again, missing the same two spots with every back-and-forth of the brush. It was clear to me that this was not really a motor control issue, but more of a pre-teen laziness thing. My jaw clenched just a little bit as my frustration mounted.

I stepped in to place my hand over his and guide him in moving the brush over to the neglected teeth. He made one of those rude adolescent noises (a cross between a whine, a grunt, and a growl) and swung around to pull away from me. His scowl lit a spark in me that has been dormant for some time. I felt heat climb up my neck, a knot develop in my stomach, and my teeth ground together so tightly I could hear them crunch. In two seconds flat, I went from frustrated to mad.

I grabbed back on to his hand clasping the toothbrush, and we brushed! A muffled, "Ow!" tried to make its way around the frothy brush jammed into his mouth. I continued. "Ow!" A bit louder this time. With everything in me I wanted to grab on to the back of his neck, make him be still, and brush all my fury away. I wanted to scream at him to, "Shut up and stop whining! If you did a good job in the first place I wouldn't have to help you!" I could feel it bubbling to the surface...

And then I felt this little pinprick in my spirit and words from James echoed in my mind, Human anger does not produce the righteousness God desires... The balloon of anger didn't burst, but developed a slow leak. I could tell that it would deflate soon, if I just gave it time and quit puffing more air into it. I shot up a dart of a prayer, "Lord, I need you to interrupt me right now, so I don't completely lose it." Without a word, I let go and stepped out of the bathroom. I breathed deeply once, twice, three times. While smaller, that balloon still rested at the back of my throat. I took the three steps into my bedroom, closed the door, stuffed my pillow into my face, and hollered with everything in me, "Aggggghhhhhhh!!!" Then I breathed again - in through the nose, out through the mouth, again, again.

I realized that the rushed morning hours may not be the best time for teaching. I returned to find Braeden rinsing his mouth. I said sorry that I was rough and asked if he was okay. He nodded. I asked him if we could practice brushing his teeth properly on Saturdays, to make sure he's getting all the areas. He nodded. I asked if I could have a hug. He smiled and nodded and wrapped his one good arm around me, "I love you, Mom. You're the best."

As I sent my big boy out the door to his bus, I reflected on how differently that could have gone. How differently it would have gone in the past. And I thanked God for working in me and for interrupting me when I need Him to.


How to stop anger in its tracks:

1. Learn to recognize the physical feelings of anger that precede the emotional outburst. Respond to those physical feelings by stepping away.

2. Find Scriptures that remind you why you don't want to be angry. Write them out on index cards, carry them around, read them out loud. Eventually, they will get lodged in your heart and mind.

3. Ask God to interrupt your typical reactions.*

4. Breathe.

5. Pay attention to the times of day (or month) that you are easily triggered. Make those times of day as routine as possible and avoid things that add more stress (such as trying to teach a new skill or send an important email).

6. Always ask for forgiveness.

7. Don't forget to thank God for each and every success.


Have you experienced that pinprick in the spirit recently, where God interrupts your natural reaction to turn you around? Maybe when you were about to speak those snarky words to your husband? Or share that juicy morsel of gossip with a girlfriend? Perhaps it's your own anger story? I'd love to hear how God has been working in your life!


* This phrase is adapted from a live talk given by Lysa TerKeurst.

Seven Steps to Stop Anger in its Tracks

The other morning I was supervising Braeden (12) as he went through his morning routine. Because of his cerebral palsy, Braeden's motor control isn't always the greatest, and I suspected that he wasn't doing the best job brushing his teeth. I was watching and coaching, "Okay, now the bottom. Do the back part. No, not there, the inside. Okay, now the outside. No, no, no, here!" He brushed the same areas over and over again, missing the same two spots with every back-and-forth of the brush. It was clear to me that this was not really a motor control issue, but more of a pre-teen laziness thing. My jaw clenched just a little bit as my frustration mounted.

I stepped in to place my hand over his and guide him in moving the brush over to the neglected teeth. He made one of those rude adolescent noises (a cross between a whine, a grunt, and a growl) and swung around to pull away from me. His scowl lit a spark in me that has been dormant for some time. I felt heat climb up my neck, a knot develop in my stomach, and my teeth ground together so tightly I could hear them crunch. In two seconds flat, I went from frustrated to mad.

I grabbed back on to his hand clasping the toothbrush, and we brushed! A muffled, "Ow!" tried to make its way around the frothy brush jammed into his mouth. I continued. "Ow!" A bit louder this time. With everything in me I wanted to grab on to the back of his neck, make him be still, and brush all my fury away. I wanted to scream at him to, "Shut up and stop whining! If you did a good job in the first place I wouldn't have to help you!" I could feel it bubbling to the surface...

And then I felt this little pinprick in my spirit and words from James echoed in my mind, Human anger does not produce the righteousness God desires... The balloon of anger didn't burst, but developed a slow leak. I could tell that it would deflate soon, if I just gave it time and quit puffing more air into it. I shot up a dart of a prayer, "Lord, I need you to interrupt me right now, so I don't completely lose it." Without a word, I let go and stepped out of the bathroom. I breathed deeply once, twice, three times. While smaller, that balloon still rested at the back of my throat. I took the three steps into my bedroom, closed the door, stuffed my pillow into my face, and hollered with everything in me, "Aggggghhhhhhh!!!" Then I breathed again - in through the nose, out through the mouth, again, again.

I realized that the rushed morning hours may not be the best time for teaching. I returned to find Braeden rinsing his mouth. I said sorry that I was rough and asked if he was okay. He nodded. I asked him if we could practice brushing his teeth properly on Saturdays, to make sure he's getting all the areas. He nodded. I asked if I could have a hug. He smiled and nodded and wrapped his one good arm around me, "I love you, Mom. You're the best."

As I sent my big boy out the door to his bus, I reflected on how differently that could have gone. How differently it would have gone in the past. And I thanked God for working in me and for interrupting me when I need Him to.

Have you experienced that pinprick in the spirit recently, where God interrupts your natural reaction to turn you around? Maybe when you were about to speak those snarky words to your husband? Or share that juicy morsel of gossip with a girlfriend? Perhaps it's your own anger story? I'd love to hear how God has been working in your life!

How to stop anger in its tracks:
1.. Learn to recognize the physical feelings of anger that precede the emotional outburst. Respond to those physical feelings by stepping away.
2. Find Scriptures that remind you why you don't want to be angry. Write them out on index cards, carry them around, read them out loud. Eventually, they will get lodged in your heart and mind.
3. Ask God to interrupt your typical reactions.*
4. Breathe.
5. Pay attention to the times of day that you are easily triggered. Make those times of day as routine as possible and avoid things that add more stress (such as trying to teach a new skill or send an important email).
6. Always ask for forgiveness.
7. Don't forget to thank God for each and every success.

* This phrase is adapted from a live talk given by Lysa TerKeurst.

Throwing Fits

Braeden (12) recently spent a week at camp. Camp is always special, but this one is extra-special.

Every summer, since my firstborn was six-years-old, I sign my kids up for camps of various sorts. Sports day camps, arts day camps, vacation Bible schools, and overnight Bible camps. For Braeden, camp has always involved me finding and hiring someone to work as an aide with him, assisting him in both doing the tasks and the social aspect of camp.

If I'm honest, there haven't been too many camp experiences that he has enjoyed. You see, many kids with special needs find large, loud, group situations overwhelming and stressful. Braeden is no exception. In fact, one summer, we left a VBS registration line up with both he and I in tears. Him, because the thought of me leaving him there in all that chaos was terrifying. Me, because the knowledge that he could not go to VBS (like "normal" kids) was devastating.

Yet I keep trying. (No, I've never dragged him kicking and screaming into VBS.) Trying different camps, with different focus, having different aide workers. Because camp is an experience I don't want Braeden to miss out on. I always knew that if we found the right one, he would love it as I did in my childhood.

I spent so many years attempting to give my son a normal experience, when what he really needed was a special experience. Camp Rehoboth: Bible camp just for kids with special needs. Rehoboth means room. Turns out that is exactly what Braeden needed - room to move, room to grow, room to simply be.

He moved on from there and dug another well, and no one quarreled over it. He named it Rehoboth, saying, "Now the LORD has given us room and we will flourish in the land." ~Genesis 26:22

I don't know about you, but I am learning that I spend far too much time and energy trying to make things "fit." I want to fit in. I want my kids to fit into the roles their teachers have for them. I try to fit everything into its perfect place in the house. My schedule is all about fitting tasks into time. Fit here, fit there, fit everywhere. (About makes me want to have a fit!)

Sometimes, we all just need a little room.

The Gift You Never Wanted

It's a special day. Feels like you've waited forever for today. Finally, it's here!

People begin to arrive for the celebration, many of them bearing gifts. You eye the brightly-coloured packages with a sense of anticipation. Fluttery feelings dance through your stomach. Today is the day!

You notice something unusual - there is a package, just peeking out from a polka-dot gift bag, that is wrapped up in plain brown packing paper. For just a moment you wonder about that package, but soon the joyful mood around you distracts you from your musings.

The excitement builds until the time for opening the gifts arrives. At last! You begin with care, trying not to tear the pretty paper, but that only lasts for a moment before eagerness wins out and you tear into each package voraciously.

As each present's wrapping and packaging is tossed aside, a pile of precious items grows at your feet. You open one package that promises blue eyes, another offering curly brown hair. Sweet baby smiles and coos...endless childhood hugs...bundles of dandelion flowers...

You are done, and there is so much joy. But wait, that intriguing box - the one wrapped simply in brown paper - remains. You aren't very excited about opening that one. In fact, the thought of accepting that gift is a bit scary. But you know that if you ignore it, the giver will be hurt. It is with trepidation that you take this gift in ugly wrapping onto your lap, slowing pulling back the corners.

It can't be! No. You want to stop opening it. You can tell that this box holds something much different than baby-powder smells, booty-covered toes, or bassinet naps. This is big. Scary. What is this thing?! There are a million words to describe it, to understand it, but the explanation that reverberates in your head is, "Something is wrong." Sometimes this present is called Down Syndrome or heart defect; in my case it was called Cerebral Palsy and Epilepsy.

You wish you had never even noticed that package. Sometimes you wish that you had never come to your special day. But you have no choice, you place that present in the pile with all the others.

As days and years go by, you have moments where all you see are the treasures that came out of the first several gift bags. They are like gold coins from a treasure chest. Other days, you will find yourself seeing only the stuff from the other package - the unwanted gift. Beside the gold coins, they are lumps of coal.

The passage of time reveals a surprising discovery. Something seems to be happening to those coals. You see a glimmer peeking through the dirt and ash. Suddenly you remember - under the right circumstances, coal becomes diamonds. Diamonds! Diamonds such as unbridled joy at a new accomplishment, unconditional love for others, unexpected moments of beauty. Each diamond is valuable beyond measure. Certainly more precious than a handful of gold coins.

You think to yourself, "If I had never opened that gift in the ugly package, I would never have discovered these precious gems!"

A woman with a handful of gold is rich. A woman whose gold coins lay among a pile of coals knows she's rich. A woman whose coals slowly turn into diamonds not only knows she's rich, but knows that she is blessed!

Having a child with special needs and/or medical issues is like receiving that gift wrapped in packing paper. At first, we may not really want to open that gift because the wrapping doesn’t look as pretty as we hoped it would. But once a Mom tears into that paper to see what’s inside, she will discover unimaginable treasure! Sure, there will likely be a number of cubic zirconia stones (and more coals) mixed in with all the treasure – each will bring new disappointment – but the discovery of real diamonds makes the gift worth every moment of discouragement.

Deficient

Not for the first time, I am pondering the words of James 1:2-4. This time, though, I heard them quoted from the Message.

Consider it a sheer gift, friends, when tests and challenges come at you from all sides. You know that under pressure, your faith-life is forced into the open and shows its true colors. So don't try to get out of anything prematurely. Let it do its work so you become mature and well-developed, not deficient in any way.

What jumps out at you from this passage?

For me, the word "deficient" leaps off the page. In life, in faith, in all things, the LAST thing I want to be is deficient, insufficient, or less-than. It would seem that my best defense against being found lacking is to allow the difficulties of this life do their work, to not try to get out of trials, and to allow them to make me mature and well-developed. I don't know if, in the midst of things, I would consider pressure and hardship a gift. Yet after the fact, I can honestly say that I would not be the person I am without having had certain unpleasant life experiences.

Without a special needs child, I would have little compassion for the pain, heartache, and utter exhaustion so many parents are walking through. Because I had to fight, research, and advocate for Braeden, I feel equipped to help and encourage other parents to ask for what they need.

Had I not walked through the valley of the shadow of depression, I suspect I would be unsympathetic (and even judgemental) of others in need of counselling and medication to treat their mental health issues. Instead, I find my heart burdened to pray for my friends caught in the mire of emotional anguish.

If I had not been a teenage disaster, not experienced the loss of two pregnancies, not been a fatherless girl desperate for a man to love me, if I had not had times of plenty and times of very little, and not had empty and angry painful years in my marriage... Who would I be? In spite of the pain that each of these experiences caused me, I do not believe I would want do go back and do life again without them. For then I would be a woman who knew not the scandalous grace offered through Christ, the freedom found in offering forgiveness, the love of a Father who never leaves, the beauty of a marriage restored, the bonds of friendships soldered over shared sorrows...

What about you?

Does this version of the passage give you any new insights about your own faith walk? Looking back, can you see how certain trials have shaped and matured you? Are there struggles that you have come through, that you can now genuinely say were a "sheer gift?"

Just Me

Before reading this post... If you haven't seen them yet, two posts went up yesterday to commemorate our two April birthday girls - Megan and Shea.

Now, I would just like to clear the air a bit. My friend, Bobbie, was certain that Shea's birthday post was going to double as a pregnancy announcement. Let it be said, on the record, that I do not ever expect to be making such an announcement again.

I am fully aware that God can do whatever He chooses, and He may choose to heal the 2nd surgical procedure just as He did the first. But the more time that passes the less likely it seems. And I am beginning to be okay with that. Once we're done with diapers, I am fairly certain I won't want to return to that stage in our lives.

Real life right now is busy, bordering on hectic. Pat's hours of work have been beyond ridiculous - not that I'm complaining, because it's only for a short season in our lives and only once every 4 years or so. Regardless, that is leaving me as the sole caregiver, housekeeper, chauffeur, affection provider, and disciplinarian. There are moments where I might just be feeling a little overwhelmed. (Yes, you can feel free to pray for us!)

Therefore, five is enough. Especially when one has special needs, one has oppositional defiant disorder (Mom-diagnosed only, not professionally), and one has mischief running through every vein. If you're counting, that only leaves two children NOT making Mommy insane!

I realize that this post was mostly me venting. Not at all inspirational, not well-written, not fun or funny. Thanks for being here and listening reading. Sometimes it's really good to just spill it all out to a girlfriend. ;)

Peace that Passes Understanding

We often pray for this indescribable peace. We try to explain what this peace means, what it feels like to others. It is difficult to capture the essence of what it means to experience peace that passes understanding. (Phil 4:7)

One needs to experience it in order to understand it, and even then it is difficult to explain. But I will try...

Last week I received a phone call from Braeden's teacher. Currently, he is in a program for children with severe cognitive delays (in his last year of elementary school - grade 5). Our expectation all year has been that he would continue in this program and go to the one and only middle school that offers it. This call, though, was to share good news - based on recent assessments, they would like to move Braeden UP to the program for children with mild to moderate cognitive delays! Unfortunately, the school that the teacher named is one of the two middle schools in town that I would "never, ever send any of my children to."

You see, this middle school is a place of bitter memories. In the eigth grade, while I attended that school, I was violently assaulted by another girl. During his two years there, in another special ed program (for children with learning disabilities), my nephew experienced endless bullying and abuse. It is difficult to believe anything but the thought that "most of the kids at that school are just plain mean."

Since the call, I have been praying for guidance, but continually felt my own emotions getting in the way of my understanding. I have been (somewhat frantically) seeking guidance from friends, other teachers, other parents, academic test results, and so on - looking mostly for evidence to back my belief that this school was no good.

Not one to typically be motivated by fear, I did not recognize what was driving my search for answers and affirmation.

Finally, growing weary in my own efforts, I gave up. "Lord, I can't hear Your voice over my own desires. I cannot be wise in making this decision. Please, just shut doors that I should not walk through and leave me with only one wide, open door."

Not much more than half an hour later, the phone rang. It was the Intervention Services Coordinator (the decision-maker as far as placements in special ed). I methodically and unemotionally shared my concerns with her (I had practiced what to say and how to say it so I wouldn't sound like an over-emotional mother - a total ruse). She listened and validated me, assured me she wanted to work to make our family happy.

Unfortunately, there was no space in this program in the school we wanted - two families would need to move out of the area for a space to open up. There was no bus to our second school of choice from our end of town. There was space, though, in one other middle school. Ironically, it was the other of the two schools I would "never, ever send any of my children to" (this one, though, for solid, valid reasons that may eventually result in that school being completely restructured) - it was my #1 never, ever school. Bang! Wham! Slam! Three doors firmly closed, only one door remaining.

She asked that I keep an open mind, meet the teachers, tour the program and the school. She assured me that these are her very best special ed teachers in the entire district - in this school I feared. She promised that she had not once had any complaints from parents of children in this program and at this school regarding bullying or mistreatment by the general population. She told me that they have another child in the program who is a good match for Braeden both academically and socially.

I turned toward the only door that was open for me, I took a tentative step, then I hurried right through. And the peace came. The fear dissipated. Blessed assurance that Braeden is in His hands before he is in mine. Peace that is indescribable and completely beyond my comprehending. Peace that is contrary to my basic instincts. Peace that passes understanding.

Christmas Appreciation

Do you ever wonder, "what the heck should I be giving all those teachers for Christmas?"

Maybe you don't bother with this - I understand. There's a part of me that cries out against the senseless guilt-driven tradition of gifting the bus driver, Sunday school teacher, et al. But there's this other part of me - the part that has learned that people do better when encouraged - that tells me I must. Not because I'm obligated, but because I'm called. If I don't take the time to let all these people know how much I value the time and effort they put into building up my children, who will? And truly, there are many who invest much more in my children than what they are paid to! (Have a special needs child - you know what I'm talking about. These people are gifted!)

The difficult thing of giving to a whole bunch of people I really don't know is, well, figuring out what to give! Sometimes, the season gets ahead of me and I'm left on December 15 madly rushing through WalMart to purchase a bunch of chocolates. But when I'm thinking ahead, it's nice to offer something that requires a little more effort (maybe even some kid participation).

This year, our offering will be homemade Saskatoon berry jam, a la Grandma! I'm not really sure the kids helped her at all along the way, but who doesn't love homemade jam?! For next year, though, I just may have found the perfect project - not too difficult for mom AND good for kiddo participation.

Now, you know that crafts hate me. I've grown to accept this aspect of myself. But who says you can't teach an old dog new tricks? (Not that I'm an old dog - I'm still young, and more cat-like, if anything.) But seriously - I think I could do this one. Cool, eh? It's simply cutting and gluing. I'm pretty sure I can cut and glue, as can the kids.

But for this year, we'll rely on Grandma (aka Suzie Homemaker) and her homemade jam. Yummy! At least she's related to the kids...that makes it better than buying chocolates, right?!

P.S. I just want to give a shout out to any of you who are employed or volunteer in a position that impacts the lives of kids. Words simply cannot express how precious your work is. Just in case you don't hear it from anyone else this Christmas - THANK-YOU!!!

News of the Day

I was about to phone my mom and tell her all about the mundane news of our day, when I decided it would be more fun to torture my readers with the details.

It is snowing outside! Not giant, fluffy, spring-time snow. Nope. Little hard teeny tiny flakes, blowing in a swirly pattern. It's disgusting! Here's the forecast for today (thank-you Windows Vista)...
Hi: -8°
Lo: -12°
Current temperature with wind chill of -19°C. Snow flurries. Mostly cloudy. Chilly, Blustery. Temperature of -8°C. Winds 38km WNW. Humidity will be 81% with a dewpoint of -12° and comfort level of -18°C. There is a 39% chance of precipitation. (For you Fahrenheit thinkers,our current temp with wind chill factored in is a yucky -2.2°F.) Now, this probably wasn't something I'd need to tell my mom on the phone, as she lives a short 5-minute drive from me, but hey - a girl's gotta complain!

If you're thinking, "no big deal" (well then, woohoo, I've got a reader from up north) I'll just drive the point home. Pat was supposed to be driving 5 hours north for a meeting today, and he cancelled! My husband is like the postal service, where neither rain nor sleet nor whatever will keep him from his destination. As he often reminds me, the man is a professional driver. He's very comfy driving in some pretty poor road conditions. On a side note, my professional driver husband just attended a driving class last week - a mandatory driving class that his company sends their employees to if they've earned themselves a few too many traffic violation. Teehee.

Braeden's bus is running one hour behind! Now, I already have my complaints about his bizarre school hours - he's in a special ed class with adjusted school hours (9:05am-2:35pm) - so hearing this morning that those hours would be shortened further, and on a day when I can't even boot the kids outside to play. Five kids up since 6:30am + blizzard outside = can I just say, aaaaagggghhhhh!!! So far, I have mediated 3 major altercations involving bodily harm, I have rescinded the privilege of using play-dough, I have granted 4 time-outs, and I have yelled "STOP IT" twice - all before 9am. Now, if you'll excuse me for just a moment while I heat a bottle and put the cranky baby down for a nap...

Phew, that definitely helped turn down the volume.

Speaking of Mr. Fussypants, he's got a cold. Nothing major, just enough snot running and chest rattling to interfere with getting a good sleep (for him and his mommy). We've also discovered a new talent this morning. My freaky, heart-wrenching, exhausting growing up too fast baby Kai is now attempting to pull himself up. He got into the bathroom this morning and discovered that the side of the tub is just the perfect height for him to reach and pull on. You know, I was loving my little fantasy of being at the beach all summer with baby boy just sitting nicely in his one spot on the sand, shoveling it up and munching it down...me lounging beside him (well, okay, more like turning in constant circles counting "1-2-3-4-5, good everyone's still alive"). Farewell, fond dream, farewell.

Well, as riveting as I'm sure my play-by-play has been, I must run and referee another shouting match. Nothing better than a joint birthday party where 2 kids get lots of new toys that they love lord over the other kids with no new toys to bring out the joy in every family!

Happy B'Day to the B-Boy

Technically, this post should've gone up yesterday. But I'm a bad Mom, lol!

Recently, I turned 30. No trauma, no big deal. Yesterday (March 16), my big boy turned 10! I cannot believe how he's growing up...and I really can't believe how old that makes me - I have a child in the double-digits!

I remember the day he was born. Pat and I were just barely adults. We had a crazy love/hate relationship going on - high drama every day. But we were committed to making our family 'stick' for our baby.

Braeden Thomas arrived at 6:21pm, squishy and purple and totally beautiful. They whisked him away for x-rays of his left arm, as it hung limp and flaccid at his side. Determining that nothing was broken or dislocated, the doctors brought him back to me for some bonding.

Specialists galore took a look at Braeden's shoulder, arm, wrist, and hand, offering a variety of diagnoses. An MRI revealed a number of brain abnormalities. The doctors offered a bleak picture - a boy who would likely never walk, never be 'normal.' At age 2 we noticed a distinctive in-turn of his left eye and visited an opthamalogist - you've never seen such thick bi-focals (but they do the trick). At 2 1/2 Braeden had his first complex partial seizure - thankfully, they are well under control now with medication. On Christmas Eve, nearly 3 months before his 3rd birthday, our big boy took his first independent steps! Woohoo!

At age 5, after extensive research, Pat and I suggested that all of Braeden's symptoms stacked together formed a pretty clear picture of cerebral palsy...doctors agreed and we finally had a diagnosis - left hemipareisis cerebral palsy with epilepsy.

There have been many occasions for grieving the differences I see in my boy compared to typical children his age - school, sports, aborted attempts at vacation Bible school, the day they told me he would have more success in a special education classroom, when other children ask him why he drools/drips/slobbers (or whatever descriptive word they choose), hearing the question 'what's wrong with your arm?' and so on.

But the joys are so much greater. The sweet success of toilet training. Hearing a stranger in the store talk to him and realizing that stranger was able to understand Braeden's words. Listening to Braeden answer questions with, "I have palsy. I was born with it. God made me this way," with pride and self-confidence. Seeing typical children include him in their play out of love. Listening to his contagious giggle as he makes a joke - Braeden is the FUNNIEST kid ever! Listening to him read an entire 'Franklin' book without help. Seeing him play with his long-awaited baby brother. Watching him ride his adapted bike around, listening to other kids telling him how cool his 4-wheel drive is. Seeing how his tender heart breaks when someone is sad. Hearing him tell me, "you're pretty, Mom."

This child of mine is a gift from Almighty God. He brings me both joy and pain, love and heartache. He is mine...for a time. He is beautiful, precious, and perfect just the way he is. I love him and he loves me. And it is his special day. Thank-you, Lord, for the gift of my boy...

Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I set you apart; I appointed you as a prophet to the nations. ~Jeremiah 1:5