The Death of My Dream... the Birth of His Glory

“Although the threads of my life have often seemed knotted, I know, by faith, that on the other side of the embroidery there is a crown.”
- Corrie ten Boom

I've been doing a lot of thinking lately.  Admittedly, that isn't always a good thing.  But this time it might be.

It is really difficult to understand the suffering of a child.  It is excruciating at times to be the parent of a suffering child and try to make sense of it all.  Why are some children born healthy and others have disabilities?  Why do some children struggle when others sail through their milestones?  Why are perfectly deserving parents robbed of sweet babies before they get to hold them through a painful miscarriage?  There are some things I feel as though I will never understand.

In addition to trying to make sense of the seemingly senseless, the parent of a special-needs child also faces a grieving process.  While they may not have lost a child (yet) per se, they have lost a dream.  Whether you realize it or not, when you imagine your life down the road and the joys and challenges it will hold, you often picture your future children.  And while you may anticipate a few stitches or broken bones, very few parents anticipate days in a children's hospital or a cancer ward.  Most imagine looking at cute strollers, not wheelchairs.  And when they picture well child visits, they imagine leaving with a baby fussy from vaccinations, not in tears after a conversation with a doctor about how delayed their child is.  They imagine their children graduating high school, getting accepted into college, being loved, getting married, and having children.  It never occurs to them...it never occurred to me... that these things may not happen.  

At what point are my dreams selfish?  For a long time I've told myself, and it is somewhat true, that I dream these dreams for my child.  That I am sad because she doesn't get to be normal.  That I don't want for her to hurt.  And while all of those things are both true and noble... there's a bit more to it than that.  Some of it is selfish.  I don't want to spend my free time in a hospital.  I don't want to lose friends because they don't understand what we are going through.  I don't want to deal with home health deliveries.  When I take my kids to the pool, I don't want it to be for aquatic therapy.

Once I allowed myself to admit that, I realized that I might have it wrong.  My dreams... are just that.  They are mine.  And what makes them better than the plan that my Maker has laid out for me?  Sure, I think they sound better...two healthy children versus one healthy child and one medically complex child.  But I have very limited vision... only a snapshot view of a huge screenplay.  And I don't know what happened in the previous scene, or what happens in the end.  So it isn't really fair for me to spend my days moping about wanting a rewrite for my scene... is it?

And on that note... while on many levels my children are mine... they are really just on loan to me from above.  And when I keep that in perspective, its a lot easier to let go of those milestones or the weird looks from other parents in the McDonalds playplace when my chunky two year old can't climb the stairs.  Because at the end of the day, despite all of the heartache and exhaustion... I wouldn't want God to loan that goofy girl to anyone else.  She may have a tendency to land herself in the hospital... and I may want to scream every time she has a seizure and we take a few steps backwards... but I wouldn't trade the hugs, silly smiles, or cuddles for anything else in the world...not even the perfectly healthy child I dreamed of.

I can't wait to see what God is going to do with Brooklyn's life... I know without a doubt... that while I have no idea what the future holds for her... I know there is a plan... and that God loves to use the cracked and broken vessels.  I'm so blessed to get to be along for the ride... and to be another cracked pot in His beautiful collection.  And I can't help but think that as I was rocking her to sleep tonight singing "Jesus Loves Me" and she was randomly repeating words back to me...

"Jesus loves me, this I know..."
"Me. Know."
"For the Bible tells me so..."
"So!"
"Little ones to him belong...they are weak but he is strong."
"Strong!"
"Yes, Jesus loves me..."
"Yes!"
"For the Bible tells me so."
"So!"

  ...He was smiling too.



"I can count a million times people asking me why I can praise you with all that I've gone through.  The question just amazes me.  Could circumstances possibly change who I forever am in you?  Maybe since my life has changed long before these rainy days, its never really ever crossed my mind to turn my back on you my Lord, my only shelter from the storm.  But instead I draw closer through these times.  So I pray, bring me joy, bring me peace, bring the chance to be free.  Bring me anything that brings you glory.  I know there will be days when this life brings me pain, but if that is what it takes to praise you, Jesus, bring the rain.  I am yours regardless of the dark clouds that loom above because you are much greater than my pain.  You who made a way for me, by suffering your destiny... so tell me, whats a little rain?!"