a little bit of God talk

The church I attend has a special Lenten devotional series each year. This year they asked members of the school's faculty to help write it. My mother passed her assignment off on me, and this is what I wrote. I wanted to share it on my blog because I often think about how my focus has shifted over the past seven years of Punkin's life, how simply knowing him has shaped me into a more joyful person. I was asked to base this devotion on Mark 7: 31-37. In this reading, a man who is deaf and mostly mute is brought by his friends to Jesus for healing. Jesus heals him, but tells the men not to talk about it to anyone. They are unable to keep the secret and soon everyone is talking about the miraculous healing.

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When I think about the healing of the deaf and mute man, I cannot help but think of my own son, who has Fragile X Syndrome, which includes a diagnosis of mental impairment, ADHD, sensory processing disorder, autistic behaviors, and speech delay. Unlike most children, he can’t answer my questions or relate his feelings and experiences with any amount of accuracy.

When he was much younger, I thought about him being cured in the same way as the deaf man. What would that be like – to engage in a conversation with a person who just a few minutes ago struggled to find a single word? I can’t imagine it, and I can’t imagine being quiet about it, either. I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be running the halls of the mall shouting, “IT’S A MIRACLE,” but I would definitely tell everyone who gave me five minutes of their time. It’s obvious why the men in the story did the same; it’s easy to understand their joy.

What isn’t easy, though, is understanding our own struggles. We want God to swoop in and perform a miracle; we want Him to heal our pain, relieve our burden. The truth is, though, that He has a different plan for us sometimes. We may not receive a miraculous healing, at least not the way we desire.

Now when I think about my son’s future, I don’t pray for a cure; I just pray for God to continue to bless us. You see, sometimes a commitment to God means accepting His challenges and allowing Him to lead you to a point where you see your burdens as miracles, your pain as opportunities for praise.

Having a child with a disability has taught me to appreciate each developmental milestone; when it takes your child until age five to use a crayon, coloring becomes a miracle. God has also, through my son, taught me patience and a new level of compassion.  When we are at our lowest, we can lean on our Savior and see how He continues to provide. People tell me all the time, “I don’t know how you do it.” Here’s a confession: I don’t. God does.