Our children grow up and carry with them the scars from the words spoken over them. No matter how mindful we are of this, how carefully we choose our words, our soon-to-be adult children will still need Jesus, His perspective and His healing balm for restoration. Even so, we do need to be oh so mindful! 

As parents of children with hidden disabilities, or really as parents of any child, we are not parenting behaviors— we are shepherding little hearts. Empathy and compassion come before correction and instruction. Even now, my 28-year-old is helping me to understand the impact of my own words on her, words I felt at the time needed to be spoken, but words that could have been spoken after recognition and acknowledgment of her very valid feelings. Her inability to process or choose appropriate behaviors at the time did not invalidate her feelings as a child! 

Today a friend mentioned needing to house a family member for a season to relieve his parents from incessant triggering. There can be constant volatility when a teen is struggling with ADHD and perhaps other undiagnosed co-morbidities. The messaging behind “getting him out of the house” will need to be conveyed carefully.

​Just like a gifted photographer gets to choose to focus on the petals of the wildflower rather than on the necessary drainage ditch three feet away, as parents we get to choose where we direct attention. We can highlight what is true in ways our children see their value, despite the challenges they face. 

This boy has needs. His needs can be better accommodated for a season with fewer people around. The reprieve offers more space for his parents to pursue a better understanding of how he can be best accommodated for his future success. The message our children need to hear the loudest trumpets their value, whether as our babies or as the children of God.​

We turn away from affliction like we turn away from rain. If there is any way to seek shelter, to avoid getting caught in it, we do.

For some reason, today felt different. Just as the storm clouds moved in, I did the opposite. I mounted the trailhead. 

Maybe it's the heaviness I feel for my friend who lost one dear to their family last week. Even though I’m not in her inner circle, I want to feel her pain, to intercede on a level far beyond what I could possibly feel. I want to imitate Christ, my High Priest, One who always lives to make intercession for me. (Hebrews 7:25) And like Holy Spirit, whom the Bible describes as interceding “for us with groanings too deep for words.” (Romans 8:26 NASB)

For several years I used to go alone to the World Prayer Center weekly to pray for the nations. One day I was praying for South Sudan, focusing on a report I had read of a badly burned child tossed into a campfire by marauding soldiers. I entered a type of intercession that could only be described as holy, sobbing and wailing for his mother. I had never been to Sudan. I had no personal pain to rival what that mama had endured, and yet, I prayed as if old traumas were stirred.

I inquired of the Lord about my experience, and heard an answer I will never forget: The Sudanese mother had wept all the tears she could weep and was utterly spent. In my comfort, in my ease, yes, even being the mother of two with disabilities and feeling at the end of my own rope, I could still cry out to represent her pain before the Throne of God. Holy Spirit knew the depths of her agony, and invited me to partner with Him in expression. In doing so, I'm convinced both that young mother and I were strengthened.  

We can't manufacture these experiences with God, but we can set ourselves up for them. We set ourselves up for them by making ourselves available to God by emptying ourselves of our own concerns long enough to enter into the pain of others.

And praying.

​Really praying for those we love who are suffering more than we are. ​