Answered Prayer

I thought I understood special needs. I thought I had enough experience as a mom to handle whatever would come my way when we brought our last two children home from Colombia. I didn't, on either account, and this past year has forced my thinking to change. I don't have what it takes. One child finds it extremely difficult to self-regulate, and our weekends have been a hell like nothing I have ever experienced. 

(Now mind you, another one of my children has always struggled with weekends and finding appropriate things to do at home, so I thought we “knew” hard weekends.)

We didn't. This past weekend our son tantrumed several hours over the course of the day, raging and screaming so emphatically that he soiled his underwear several times. By the third shower of the day, neither my husband or I had the emotional reserves to get him clean again. So he went to his room, refused to get into bed, and screamed until sleep put an end to the misery for all of us.  

(Amusingly, in Colombia we discovered that our in-country team didn't know a translatable world for "tantrum". Do they use the word 'meltdown,' or 'incessant screaming,' or 'bad temper?') 

By the time we got to church on Sunday, all I could think was, "I can't do this anymore." My spirit was heavy, and my soul was worn-out. How do I even learn to like this child, let alone love them? Although it is hard to read a statement like this, I don't think I'm alone in feeling this way towards a child who has endured significant trauma and also has significant special needs. We are in crisis, because our children still think they are in crisis. Our son has lived with us for a little more than one year; seven years of abuse and negligence cannot be erased in that short length of time. 

(Or ever, if we're being completely honest). 

Despite these truths, I didn't like what was happening in my own heart. I didn't like the walls I was putting up, or the amount of energy it took to merely be with him. At times I would tell him,  "Mommy needs space from you after the way you treated our family." I don't know if that is the right thing to say. I need him to understand that the way he treats others affects their desire to be with him. Not a single relationship in the world allows you to hurt someone without ramifications.

By Monday morning, with the weekend firmly behind us, I was able to sit and pray as I folded laundry. I knew something needed to change, but aside from a medication increase - for which you must have an appointment, and there were no appointments until the next month - I had no idea what it should be. As I asked the Lord, the answer came to me quickly: “Read to him.” After so many long, hard days, we had stopped reading together at bedtime. Could this small, simple act soften my heart again?

This was a literal answer to prayer. A small one, yes. But when your soul is in the depths of despair, wrapped tightly in darkness, a tangible step into the light is more gracious than I deserved. Yes Lord, I will read to Him. And in doing so I will trust that your light and love can heal both of our broken, weary hearts, one page at a time.