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. 

I am a lover of beauty.

For those of you on my private Facebook feed, you know this from the kind of photos I post. I cherish visual beauty. I cherish experiential beauty. I cherish relational beauty. Even the activities I engage in are in pursuit of beauty...hiking deep within the forest, skiing mountains to gaze over the Continental Divide, scuba diving. It’s all so glorious! 

I’ve created art myself, and my favorite pieces feel sacred because they are in expression of the unseen me. God as the infinite Creator invites me into deeper experience of Him through His weave of Self expression into finite materialization, experienceable wonder.

I look for beauty, watch for beauty, convinced it’s there, waiting to be noticed. Our retired Air Force colonial friend who took up photography understands this about our world. A scene worth enlarging onto canvas and immortalizing upon the wall, he commented once about how he can zoom in, frame and capture stilt legged fowl standing majestically among water logged reeds. On the side of the road. By a drainage ditch. Three feet away from a soggy discarded shirt, faded red coke can and a Dasani bottle.

​Beauty. It’s there. Can you see it? 

Likewise it’s there in people. Created by God, in His image, crafted by His hand. Breathtakingly beautiful.

​Look past the brokenness, the carnage left on the scene by self and by others, and “frame” on the Creator’s intent. Breathe it in. Speak it out. Show it to others. Celebrate it. Fearfully and wonderfully made. Precious in His sight.

Our children. His children. Mankind. Humanity. Beauty.

I had a lot of reading scheduled so escaping to the wilderness seemed like the right thing to do until this happened.

I love to camp, and Colorado provides the ideal setting. As a local, I’m particular. I eschew formal campgrounds, insisting on free range picturesque sites by creeks and hiking trails with 5-star scenic overlook finales. This weekend was no different.

Pickings are slim that meet my specs without a several hour drive. So I set out for a local standard hoping to stake claim to a particular spot popular with others who shared similar aspirations. 

My favorite roost was occupied, but undeterred I eyed another isolated clearing that could have hosted me beautifully for three days. Problem was, the creek separated my van from the mossy gap that beckoned me.

I don’t pack light.

It took me an hour to haul my equipment, piece by piece across precariously seated stones that offered me passage. Well after nightfall, I realized my heavy cooler still sat packed by my camp table and I routinely stored all my food in my vehicle. 

Overnight bear feeding was my worst nightmare. 

Next in rank was attempting to cross a swift creek at night and landing in frigid waters soaking my only jeans, hiking shoes and down coat needed to ensure a toasty night snuggled in my tent. 

Yes, that scenario happened.

Confidence shaken, alone and bruised, I stripped out of my wet clothes and mused, “This isn’t ideal!” 

That phrase has grown to be a comfort to me. My husband and I speak those words to one another when one of our children meltdown creating scenes that used to humiliate us or leave us feeling demoralized. It’s not ideal, but it is ok. We will get through this season, and so will you.

This morning I’m enjoying the campfire in my dry flannel pajamas while jeans, coat and shoes dry out. I have all day. 

And I smile, because I have grown to learn that life can be really good even when it’s not ideal.

I was startled by my daughter’s comment. I reflected on the parents I have met raising children with Down’s syndrome. Not once has the word “selfish” ever occurred to me in describing those parents. But I also can only remember those parents telling me excitedly about milestones their child had achieved, or difficulties their child was facing. Perhaps these parents were “me focused” when they started their journeys, but now, their devotion and commitment were enviable character traits that causes casual onlookers like myself to drop to our knees admitting we are not worthy in comparison.

Out of curiosity, I had my 23 year old daughter with hidden disabilities read the post and share with me her insights. “I think this mother is selfish,” was my daughter’s first observation. “She thinks raising this child is about her, but it isn’t.” I saw pain in her expression.

At first, navigating the unrighteous judgments leveled against us as parents raising children with hidden disabilities (including accusations of selfishness) can knock us off balance. We are still fighting our own internal vows about child raising, what medicinal intervention, nutrition and accountability will look like in our homes. Our own blame-based behavior models may still be intact, not fully grasping the impact neurology has upon our challenging child. But once we topple those idols in our minds, we enter the maturation fast lane. It’s no longer about us, our ideals, or the impression our parenting (or even our advocacy efforts) make on another. 

Our focus shifts to our child whose struggles may impact them for a lifetime.

• What language choices empower my child the best? 
• How can I shield my child from unrighteous judgements? 
• How can we, as parents, use our own transparency, honestly and vulnerability to both protect and advocate for our child? 
• How can we obtain the best interventions in spite of our limitations? 
  

The day will come when our children grow up and read everything we wrote about how difficult it was to raise them. They already fight self loathing and feelings of worthlessness; after all, according to the other voices in their lives, they do not measure up.

I believe her intent was to offer empathy to other struggling parents who are indeed impacted by raising children who present profound challenges to entire families who struggle to cope with the demands. The fact that in her own need, she is willing to invest in the lives of other parents tells me she is focused on others, in addition to her children, and not on herself.

But additionally, I will take my daughter’s comment to heart, remembering that I am here to teach my children that they are worth every ounce of effort expended on their behalves. It’s not about me, no matter how much raising my children with hidden disabilities impacts me. 

A safe gathering place of friends who understand