Last October I traveled to Nashville, Tennessee for a weekend of mentoring by Robby Dawkins. We (~ six of us) were the ministry team for a conference hosted by the Nashville Vineyard. The church is only a few blocks from the pro football stadium for the NFL Tennessee Titans. On the last day, Sunday, hosts told us there was a football game and parking (only available on the street!!!!) might be an issue. I was driving my rental car. (OF COURSE PARKING WILL BE AN ISSUE!!! DUH!!! )

Alarmed because I do not know my way around downtown Nashville and I had no idea where to park in a congested game-day traffic nightmare, I tried to press in asking Robby’s assistant, Alyssa, for more information— what to do? She looked at me puzzlingly... there was no problem yet. (I inferred, why would we be wasting emotional or intellectual energy problem-solving a problem that did not exist?)

I breathed deeply and off we went. Approaching the church, unknown to any of us, we saw the staff had blocked off parking spots for us using orange cones. I had to laugh. No problem.

There was no problem.

And I could have expended energy trying to plan ahead for one. Jesus was speaking to me. He is speaking to me now in the midst of sheltering at home, and has used the visual imagery of those cones ever since to whisper to me, “WAIT until you actually have a problem to solve it.”

Matthew 6:34 “Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.”

So very true.

There is SO MUCH speculation, prediction, swirling to invade our peace in a time when DUH OF COURSE THERE WILL BE A PROBLEM (crashing real estate values, loss of retirement accounts, economy crashing, death among people we might even know...the list goes on ). And yet, Jesus smiles, knowing He is meeting us as each challenge actually materializes, and He might even be setting up cones in front of the House of God. We are that house, if we can only keep a firm grip on our bold confidence. (Hebrews 3:6 MSG)

Join me in prayer--

Father, Jesus, Holy Spirit, I open my palms before You in surrender. I confess I do not know how things will turn out in the aftermath of this pandemic. There are clear indicators of trouble, a platform for Your intervention and provision. We declare You are faithful, my ever-present help in my time of need. I trust You, the God Who knows the end from the beginning, in Jesus’ name we pray. Amen.

​I remember the rush of bitterness washing over me in the bowling alley. I was less than ten years old, spending my Sunday afternoon along with my siblings being entertained by our father. It was our weekly visitation day, after the divorce, the day we got to represent our mother’s righteous demand for child support before a man who valued other things above his family.  As an adult I have far more grace for the brokenness behind failure. But when Holy Spirit returns such memories, there is a reason. 

The memory was triggered as I hiked a familiar trail alone in the isolation of the COVID-19 mandate to stay cloistered. Families are out in droves, staying in their cocooned clusters of “just us”. Stepping aside for a wife, toddler, and infant strapped to his daddy’s back, the memory flooded back to me in a flash. 

As a jaded child, I thought to myself looking around that bowling alley full of fathers and children, “If you had been there for your family when they needed you, you wouldn’t have to be here now in this meaningless ritual,” judging every sans-mother father there assigned a lane with his brood represented what our grouping did. Abandonment. Divorce. Feigned connection. 

My first response now is to invite Holy Spirit into this memory, into this pain that is still trigger-able for a reason. A wound unrecognized and therefore untended. 

What memories is this current crisis triggering for you in this time of unpredictability and even chaos? What are you feeling? 

The temptation is to quickly sweep the discomfort to the side, to walk past without addressing the underlying wound or even the fresh gouging of new assaults against your heart. But there is an invitation in the pain, a wooing into communion with the Great Physician, the Counselor, the One Who bears our grief. God brings beauty straight out of the charred remains of ashes. 

Come Holy Spirit. Lead us into all truth. We invite the healing Balm of Gilead into our most hidden places of wounding, in Jesus’ name.

​On occasion I like to camp alone, a time when I can pray and worship immersed in nature. Praise isn't something I'm supposed to do, rather, it's something I can't help myself from doing, like gasping at a glorious sunrise. The more I experience God in His goodness, sustaining me, even rescuing me, the more amazed I become by Him.

​Last night I worshipped under the stars nestled by a creek from my tiny Mtn Glo Tent, and pondered King Solomon. We all remember how God offered Solomon anything, and he chose wisdom, greatly pleasing God. What is easy to forget however, is that the entire exchange happened in a dream. And yet it was real. As I drifted to sleep, I asked Holy Spirit if He would speak to me that night in a dream as well, and if I too could choose wisely in a way that would honor Him.

The moment I emerged into the calm, my phone rang.

​I took a deep breath of relief with risk behind me, and answered.

On the line was one of the heavy hitters I took with me last month for Kingdom expansion pioneering work in North Borneo. She related that God spoke my name to her, and directed her to call me with an immediate message:

"I see you as the trophy. You are victorious. You are fully capable. You are well equipped. You are a leader. He is so pleased with you. Again, you are the trophy...you are His champion."

I was stunned. Timing is everything.

Then last night, as I'm sharing with my host my vision for founding a non-profit to bring autism intervention to developing nations, discussing setting up the board, the same feeling hit my stomach: rapids ahead, uncertainty, a mission seemingly without the skill set, but determination.

Immediately the affirming word returned, "His trophy, His champion, victorious, capable, equipped". His word had imprinted, and now is triggered with the internal feeling I get when approaching rapids in a kayak.

I thought of Gideon threshing his wheat while hiding from his enemies in a vat. God addressed him as "O valiant warrior!" And truly he was.

What rapids are you approaching that turn your stomach a bit, that threaten to tumble you upon the rocks?

​Listen intently for the affirmation God is poised to speak into your spirit at that very moment, to imprint upon you that indeed, you've got this. He is with you with every thrust of your oar.

Should we seek divine healing for our children with autism and other neurological differences? ​
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I serve a living God who heals not just emotional wounds, but who literally performs miracles in pursuit of the hearts of mankind. He reveals Himself this way sometimes.

When I was ministering in Myanmar exactly two years ago, I prayed for a Buddhist woman who was incapacitated by broken bones in her ankle. A Japanese pastor's wife and myself prayed for a miracle and God responded in under 3 minutes with an inexplicable miracle, the kind of life event that is so profound the woman immediately gave up her familial belief in Buddhism for our global God of creation, the God of the Bible. She joyfully surrendered her life to Him, to this miracle working God of love. ​

Our ferry from Negros Island to Bohol Island was delayed for several hours, and concern arose for our ability to fulfill our commitment to speak that evening. Any changes could also impact the next day's schedules.

The journey before us involved a rough sea crossing. ​The two Dramamine pills I took were making me terribly sleepy as we waited ad nauseum in the hot, cramped, pre-loading staging area at the docks.

​As we headed toward the rocking craft to board, my travel companions began throwing out ideas for rescuing the sabotaged conference speaking schedule. 

• “Melanie could take tonight’s session while we sleep!“ 
  Me: “Ok.” 
  
  
• “Melanie could give up her plenary tomorrow to make up for lost time!”
  Me: “That works.” 
  
  (Peals of laughter ensued.)
  
  
• ​“Doesn’t anything ruffle your feathers?” one friend playfully chided. 

​​Not much.

And believe me, not getting frustrated is not in my “natural” temperament.

The truth is, raising children with hidden disabilities, precious wonderful children that are incredibly trying and who cause us to die to ourselves every...single...day of our lives, produces lovely fruit of patience, tolerance and perseverance. 

All of the peace I cried out for in my prayers during the most trying seasons of child raising, I have now, not because my babies are near grown, but because peace can be internal independent of agitators or circumstances.

You are not just molding your children. Your children are molding you, and its a beautiful thing. ​

There are plenty of subjects regarding depression and anxiety that I think are underrepresented in discussions thereof, far too many to list or count. But one unacknowledged symptom in particular has been on my mind lately. It affects me, it affects my friends, and it even mildly affects those who aren’t sick at all. I’m talking about self focus. 

I wrote to my friend about it recently and she told me the word I’d used initially, “narcissism,” was too harsh. “Narcissism” evokes images of self aggrandizement, selfishness, and delusions of grandeur. But the image I want to convey is one I’m positive most people have experienced on one level or another. 

​Imagine you’re a researcher scheduled to speak at a panel, or a guest speaker at a church, or a high schooler giving a presentation. The anxiety therein is understandable. Everyone will be focused on you. You’re in center stage with the spotlight on you. Now think of the first day at a new school, the first time you tried to talk to someone you had a crush on, going to a fancy dress event you didn’t feel confident in attending. It feels similar, but why?

This is what I mean by “self focus.” Even in situations where the world isn’t actually watching us, it sometimes feels as though if we slip, everyone will see us fall. 

​The difference between the life experience for neurotypical people and neurodivergent people with anxiety is that for us, the anxious feeling is constant. Mental illness is a bubble engulfing you that’s so large you can’t even begin to see outside it, and all you have left to focus on is yourself.

​When I go out to meet with people, I spend hours ahead of time fretting over how I’ll mess it up. When I write for people to read, I’m terrified of the catastrophic effects it will have, that I’m doing it wrong and people will notice.

On especially bad days I’ve been known to forget how to walk properly and I have to manually move my feet, because what if I’m doing it wrong? Will people notice?  I am hyper aware of myself at all times and that means I assume others are as well. 

​One of the most comforting things I’ve ever experienced was going through a minor existential crisis. I know, that doesn’t make sense, but bear with me. The baseline of an existential crisis is “Nothing you do matters.” Roll that one over in your mind for a minute. No matter what I do, the world spins on. It doesn’t matter if I tripped and fell in public, it doesn’t matter I said something awkward, it doesn’t matter I couldn’t behave “normally” on one day or another. Strangers don’t care about me! My mild slip up will not affect their life and it shouldn’t affect mine either.  

The world spins on. It’s liberating to think about. But, I had to come to that revelation myself, after a long period of introspection.

​It’s not a subject that gets talked about, because it’s a hard topic to tackle from all sides and for all parties involved. I had to sort through my fears alone and even now it’s not easy to make the lesson stick in my mind, because fear is hard to conquer when it stems from messed up chemical reactions.

​The self focus is still there, and it makes me feel selfish and broken a lot of days.

​I wish I could give advice on how to counteract that voice. I wish I could tell you “do X, Y, and Z and it will shut off that voice forever.” But unfortunately it isn’t that easy.

All I can say is to please be understanding when we’re fearful.

• Remind us gently that we aren’t the center of the world.
  
• Be a safety net so we feel less fearful of walking that tightrope between chronic anxiety and the bravery and effort it takes to push through it.
  
• Remind us that we're likable, lovable, and remember that we aren’t bad for thinking mostly of our own perceptions.

​Because at the end of the day, we aren’t selfish or evil or even self centered. We’re just sick.

I like to be “that one” who has shopping done by October and the exterior lights ready at the flick of a switch the night after Thanksgiving. I practice what I have dubbed “being good to myself”. That means I think about tomorrow and do today what will be an assist to me tomorrow. It’s why I don’t rush to grab the vacuum and find the bag full with no back-up special order replacement bags on the shelf. It’s because I ordered them last month, out of kindness. Kindness to me.  

Three years ago Holy Spirit impressed on me that the years for over the top outdoor lights had come to an end.

I love my holiday decor, and every year tried to top the last culminating with the aurora borealis over Santa’s workshop with animated elves and life-size Santa waving from his sleigh. I did not hesitate when I believed I had heard God, because I knew this purge was a difficult directive. I immediately posted for my friends to come and take whatever they wanted out of my garage.
 
Gone. Done. 

And not a year too soon. I went to India to minister that Fall, and barely got my interior decor up. Last year I was in Myanmar and the Philippines for November. This year it was Indianapolis, Augusta, Cuba, Florida and Dallas, which doesn’t even count the 5 days in Nevada that just happened. Anywhere but Colorado, but for all the right reasons. I’m scrambling to get stocking stuffers, order gifts, and here it is December 14 and my tree still isn’t up. 

Thanksgiving is over. I can breathe deeply, content in the peace that comes from a sense of completion and well-being. Love and joy are the hallmarks of holidays spent with family. 

All is well in my world. 

My circumstances have not changed, but my sense of acceptance has matured right along with the aging of my children with hidden disabilities. 

My son is approaching his last semester as a senior in high school, shy the credits he needs to graduate. There are other paths to success than academics and glee club. 

My adult daughter on the spectrum is unemployed, yet chose to forgo the annual family pilgrimage to Texas for feasting with those we all love. By now the cooperative extended family is well versed in questions not to ask that showcase her deficits, and all of us celebrate her remarkable strengths.  Nevertheless, anxiety won this year and she remained home in Colorado. We missed her, but nobody batted an eye. 

Guilt free decision. 

Yet I remember the days when the activity in our home, the door bell ringing, the festive music, the buzz of the oven timer, the rearranging of the dining room to accommodate more people, and the cheerful voices of guests would almost certainly elicit a meltdown in my daughter. Also elicited was my own deep sense of sorrow when she missed what was supposed to be that magical moment called Thanksgiving Dinner. 

Learning to topple the idol of ideal in my life changed everything. I look for love, laughter, and shared connections to define well being, setting aside the pursuit of white picket fence living. 

What's right in your world? Let that define your experience this holiday season and drive your gratitude. 

​I addressed a group of mothers raising children with autism in Havana, Cuba this week. I offered the love of God, and some basic affirming truths taken from Scripture. I shared that even when medical questions are answered, we may still have spiritual questions.

One woman had tears streaming down her face as I spoke. 

A man who doesn't know God approached me afterwards, hungry for more. 

There is a bond between parents who have faced similar challenges. We understand each other's pain. Isolation alienates, and robs us of hope. The reassurance of "Me too!" is a universal experience that bridges between cultures. 

And Kingdom culture dictates that we do everything in our power, even travel to far reaches, to offer the comfort of our shared stories and the Light of the Savior of the world. 

Go bridge some gaps in your world. Your experiences, failures and triumphs, put you in good company with others who are also committed to overcoming. Hearing from you makes their journey a little less difficult through connections that bring hope.