That Deeper Story

You don't always know it when you look at them.

They smile. They pick their kids up and cover them in hugs and kisses. They read them books before bed and help them build towers and tell them to dream dreams.

Most likely, they are exhausted.

If not from today, from yesterday or last week or from years and years and years.

From the 20th phone call this week with a teacher or a therapist or a doctor or someone from the insurance company.

From the long lists posted on their pin boards or kitchen cabinets or fridge. The lists of forbidden foods, of rigid schedules, of sensory diets and supplements. The food logs, the oils, the salts, the reminders to pull out the theri-putty or weighted blankets and to never, ever forget to go over tomorrow's schedule before bed.

From "divide and conquer" parenting that protects siblings from the chaos but can wreak havoc on a marriage.

They might look unflappable or they might have eyes welling up in tears.

And you might not know why. You might look at their children and not know there is anything different.

Or you might look and judge- why is that child screaming, don't his parents know how to discipline? Can't she act her age - spoiled brat. You don't always see the child, you don't always remember to believe there could be a deeper story. Everyone has one, though.

Don't you?

But what if you met that child's eyes and smiled. What if you squeezed that mama's hand or offered real words of encouragement to that exhausted dad?

No, not the empty kind. Not "you are a good mom" or "hey, it gets better."

Sometimes being called a good mom comes up empty. Who decides that definition, anyway? And to be honest? Who really knows if something will get better, easier, less intense?

No, say something real, for goodness sake.

"That seems so hard. I would love to help. What do you need right now?"

"Hey, I'm bringing dinner tomorrow night. What's that allergy list again?"

"It's ok to feel like this is impossible. I love you and you're not alone."

They might not have much energy to be a great friend right now or to even return phone calls. (In fact, sometimes the sound of those phone calls makes them cringe. Is the school calling? What now?)

They might be just hanging on by the skin of their teeth, fighting each day to give their kids the best of what they have left.

But fight they will. They are warriors. They see the deeper stories of their children and they won't give up. 

And their kids? Their kids are amazing.

They might not always look or act like yours do. But they are beautiful. Passionate. There are things that move them, that light them up. Sometimes their smile can totally change a room. Sometimes their screams can stop you in your tracks. But they are precious. Loved. Worth fighting for.

Next time you see one of them, take pause before you judge. Before you dismiss or assume. Before you cast words of shame upon them or their parents.

There's a story, there. And it's worth sticking around for. I promise.

To the Mama and Papa Warriors

I see you limping towards the finish line of the summer. 

I know as you watch other people post pictures of kids on the first day of school, that you might not have had a happy picture to post or that you might not even try to snap a picture of your own kid, knowing that getting to her school on that first day with clothes on is about all you can do. Or that you are already dreading the battles and the tears and the meltdowns that come with any fresh season, knowing that September is usually just a survival month. 

Maybe the summer went better than you expected. 

Or maybe it was absolutely impossible, a child who was functioning well, suddenly sent off the rails because of a "vacation" or a bullying incident or, in the case of my own sweet boy, a stomach bug that drastically altered our lives for an entire month, sending three of us out of town so he could be an only child and have full parental attention for 8 days in the hopes of healing finally happening.

Maybe you were fighting back tears by 10 am this morning like me because even the anticipation of the changes coming has sent your household into a tailspin.

I see you. 

I've done what I can to keep my family together this summer and it hasn't been easy. So many of us are finishing the summer exhausted. 

Going into the fall brings a strange mix of anticipation, hope, fear and dread. Will his teachers be as compassionate as last year's bunch? Will they see him for the beautiful child he is or consider him a threat to the classroom? Will they see his exuberance and joy as an asset or misinterpret his energy as dangerous? Will they offer him theri-putty and a trampoline when he's spiraling? Or send him to a corner in punishment and call me early to pick him up? 

Will they work with us or against us? 

Will it be a fight or a partnership? 

Oh, warrior friends, I see you. I know about the IEP's. I know about the times you actually hope for some kind of new diagnosis that might come with strategies that might really work this time. I know that it's possible your child isn't functioning because you bought him the wrong pair of socks for the first day of school or because she knows enough to expect that there will be unkind words from peers who don't have the empathy or language to process differences as good. I know about the long lists of allergies and sensitivities you have to hand to that teacher and the skepticism with which you might be met. I know that people might take your rigidity is a parenting fault, but that you know it to be the only way your family can function. You don't mess with naps or schedules or diets or plans. 

If it's on the visual calendar, it's happening. There's no such thing as "let's just be flexible" because anytime you have tried, the costs have far outweighed the benefits.

I see it.

And because I see it, you know what else I see? 

I see the fierce. I see the fight. I see the hope. It's there. Even on the days when you are seventeen kinds of done before 9 am - the hope is there because we are in this together and there is a God who loves our kids more fiercely than we can. On the days when you don't have anything left, there is another warrior who is fighting hard beside you. Who can listen to you vent, cheer you on, hold you up. And you can do the same on the days when she is all out of strength. 

People don't fight wars alone, friends. 

This is YOUR child, but you are not the only one who loves him, who wants good for him. He or she is beautiful. And precious. And perfect in so many, many ways. And so you wake up and you fight, sometimes from a good place and sometimes not, but you do not fight in vain.

Because love is powerful. And even with all the exhaustion and the frustration and, yes, sometimes the hopelessness, you will fight for that kid to within an in of your life just like God fights for you.

I see you. I’m with you.

The next month is going to be rough. It just will. If you need to scream, let it out. If you need to vent, I will listen. Seriously. I GET IT.

But please, if there is one thing I don’t want you to do, it is to buy into the lie that you are fighting alone. 

God loves my son more than I can imagine. HE wants good for him. HE wants him to thrive and to dance and to laugh and to function. And HE is fighting right alongside us. We are not warriors because we are strong in ourselves. We are warriors because we accept that we need grace, forgiveness, creativity and hope every second of every day to be the kind of parents our children need.

So, friends, take a deep breath. If you are trying to do this alone, call someone fast. Invite him or her to fight and pray alongside you during this transitional time of year. Do it for you and do it for your kids. 

We've got this. Together. One hour at a time.