Category: prayer

Personal Advent Season

For the past six years, I have been marking each year in remembrance of the day my son died, while learning to dread the anniversary of his due date all the more. Thanks to Facebook’s “On This Day” function, each December 14 I am reminded of all the love and support as the due date dawned without even the chance of his arrival. My mom friends rallied to give words of love and thoughts of me as this date shared heavily among expectant parents, arrived while he had already arrived four months earlier to say goodbye.

It took about two years before the reality of the due date coming with no baby really set in. Frankly, it was a lovely gesture that so many remembered a date spoken of fleetingly, months later, especially after the sudden horror of his being born still. Yet those first years after his death, I was almost wholly transfixed with the date of his death. I dreaded it, I loved it, I celebrated it, I wanted to hide from it. August 11 came each year and I felt dragged back into those frightful hours as we waited for him to be born still. Gradually I experienced the gift of God’s peace on Hardison’s death. Of help in feeling this peace, was discussing the continued preaching of Paul and others after being persecuted in the early years after Christ’s resurrection. One thing covered in the discussion was the idea of not focusing on the persecution, but the perseverance. By keeping our focus on God, we can stay the course by virtue of His love. When we are focused on the persecution (struggle, opposition, tragedy) it is much easier to become angry, disillusioned, and to give up. God’s love is shown in the understanding of our turmoil because Jesus Christ experienced the struggle of human life, in part to aid us during our times of need. I took these known ideas to heart more than ever and eased some of the flailing of my soul that I felt upon Hardison’s death. Even so, I met August 11 with pain long before the date showed up on the calendar every year. Somehow, despite my best efforts it still loomed large. Understandable, I know, yet December 14 would sneak up on me and then strike me down based on friends’ remembrance. Then, this year, I learned to appreciate the coming reminder of his due date all because I made a connection between it and the Christian celebration of Advent.

The Christian advent has come to be all about anticipating the second coming of the messiah. Christians wait for Christ to return and fulfill the promise of His eternal kingdom. Each year during the four Sundays leading up to Christmas, a time which has come to represent the birth of Christ, we look back at His coming and forward to His coming again. Even when not speaking in the Christian sense, advent can be defined as “the arrival of a notable  person, thing, or event.”  While reading a devotional taken from Bo Stern’s When Holidays Hurt, this statement took on a whole new meaning. Ms. Stern says “One of the reasons Jesus came to dwell with us – and is coming again – is to wipe away every tear.” Did your lightbulb go off too, based on your own circumstance or what you have read of mine? The bells were ringing like the sound when you get an answer right on a game show and the lightbulb illuminated. I could look upon the advent of Harrison’s due date as a reminder of the love and joy we were anticipating with the advent of a new member to our family. The way Christians look forward to the second advent of Christ, a member of our eternal family. I will still be heart sore and sad as December 14 arrives, but I can also view it as a personal advent season, a reminder every year of what Hardison means to this family. No longer do I only have to be reminded of when and how we lost his physical presence. I don’t have to be bombarded with sadness once the memory reminders start showing up on Facebook, I can reach back to the happy shock the date originally stood for.

These thoughts on personal advent seasons are not only useful due to the loss of a child. Most loss, sadness, and pain, can be brightened by the idea of the remembrance of the excitement of arrival. It may be you will look forward to the coming of justice, of peace, of love. But look forward in anticipation, not just back in sorrow.

Make it Autism Acceptance Month


My son was diagnosed with Autistic Spectrum Disorder at 3 and the Month of April is celebrated as Autism Awareness Month here. There has been a push, that I have known about, for the last 2 years for more acceptance than awareness and a movement to stop leaving autistic voices out of the conversation of how to help those with ASD.

I remember the beginning of our journey as a time of intense confusion and feelings of inadequacy because many people told me nothing was different and strange or wrong about my son, but my Mama Gut was screaming he needed help that I didn’t know how to provide and I was desperate for help from the constant emotional and physical struggle of caring for him. When I got the diagnosis, I felt some relief, the relief many talk of. You know, now there is a ‘thing’, it isn’t all in my head and now I can go out there and find help for him.

There were many naysayers still in our lives who didn’t believe the doctors or me and insisted if I just – insert discipline or schedule here – we wouldn’t be having any trouble with him at all. It took even more time to educate those people as I educated myself and then to stop giving space to those voices as I learned they weren’t helping me and didn’t take my hard won education to heart anyway. I look back and know that I could have done many things differently, even those things I was assured were helpful and beneficial to a child on the spectrum. I pray that I haven’t done irreversible damage with misinformation and that when he understands or remembers, he will find it in his giving heart to forgive me my ignorance. 

These days, many people ask me what I did, how did I know, what helped, where to go, what to say, like I am the resident local mom on the subject. I am grateful they feel our  journey has spoken to them, but I am quick to remind them that every child is different, be wary of Applied Behavior Therapy and Autism Speaks. Remember your struggle is as valid as the next family’s and find someone you can talk freely with about the highs and lows of traversing this new road you find yourself on. Know that if your child is non-verbal it doesn’t mean they don’t hear you or have nothing to say. Remember if your child is verbose, it doesn’t mean they aren’t struggling with other things, don’t need your voice to help speak to the world. Know that you can read all the websites and books and still need to pray and look at your situation to make the best available choice and if that choice doesn’t seem to be working, SPEAK UP, and try something else. Listen to your own intuition and listen to your child. 

Today I can still see the loving heart that struggles in a world not always accepting of him. I can see the hard work he puts in to learn what most of the neurodiverse population expects when he is interacting with them. I also work hard to remind him that he is PERFECT AS IS. He thinks differently and that is beautiful and shows all of us another way to think about things. I let him know I see his work, his struggle, that though we butt heads over trivial and important things, I am always in his corner with love. I tell him how I don’t think his core needs to change, only that he needs to be aware the way you have to be aware of other cars and traffic laws on the road. I tell him, he can do this, he is worth it all. I ACCEPT him, as he is. Won’t you learn to accept those different than you too?

United States Presidential Election 2016 Feelings

Since this is my space and I need to get out what I feel, today you get to read all about what I am processing in my soul after the United States of America elected Donald J. Trump as the next President of our country.

I am the daughter of a woman and man who spent most of their grammar school time in segregated schools in a segregated community. I grew up listening at the feet of the granddaughter of slaves, and the daughter of The Great Depression and The Jim Crow South, in a town where 20 years before I was born, it was still segregated into Whites Only and Negroes. I grew up listening to the memories of people who lived through some very divisive times, times marked by indiscriminate persecution, belittling, injustice, murder, oppression, and suppression. A time where all the people in charge of making and enforcing the laws of the land truly believed that if you didn’t look like them, you were mentally inferior and lacked the ability to think for yourself or take care of yourself without the saving intervention of the ruling class. As such, you had no rights, the rights you thought you had were systematically dismantled in new laws written for the express purpose of reminding you that you belonged to them and needed them and their kindnesses to survive this life. I lived through my own instances of intrinsic and subtle racism, stories to add to the great diaspora of mistreatment and injustice rampant in this country. As this person, I share my feelings, those which I clearly understand that I am still processing.

I sat up all night watching Election 2016 coverage. From the beginning you could see that things didn’t seem to be going the way the many historical pundits had predicted. Soon, everyone was sputtering to come up with words to explain what they were witnessing. Many, like me, stared at the unbelievable, but not surprising, results with an impending sense of doom. As my kids fell asleep and my husband abandoned me and I tried to drown out the results with the words of a novel, I could feel the collective gasp of people around the world who really could not fathom that the United States would vote an unknown political entity, who had crafted a race built on baiting the worse in many of us, to the highest office in our land. Yet, as the dread seeped in my bones and the tears tried to seep out, I was still thinking, I can’t believe they didn’t take him seriously, the threat seriously, the history seriously. I can’t believe I am possibly about to be forced into an United States reminiscent of my ancestors memories. After nodding off for about an hour I had to get my kids up and started on their days. I also had to tell them that Mr. Trump had won the election. I could barely manage to not cry as they teared up in despair of what Mr. Trump being President would mean for them and their friends. I explained that while we didn’t know what would happen in the future, we certainly knew Who held the future. We are Christ Followers, commonly called Christians, and we believe that God’s Will in the world will prevail, even when we don’t understand, even when we don’t agree, even when attacked. For my kids this helped, but I could tell it wasn’t over for them. They like others around the world, needed time to process. Before I had even got them up, I was being bombarded with the ongoing coverage. My television was still on, I was obsessively scrolling through Facebook and Twitter feeds trying to absorb all the responses and feelings from everywhere and meld them in my mind. Trying to make sense of them, of my own thoughts, of how I could be honest and supportive under the laws of the land which God had placed me. I didn’t delve too deep, my kids still needed my attention to move on with their day and I knew I was just waiting for space and peace to delve a bit deeper.

After dropping them off, I found my first gem of discordant tunes in the post of a friend. This friend is a non-POC woman. This friend had been harassed in her car after dropping her older children off at school. The youngest was strapped in their car seat in the back. Her car sported a bumper sticker that evidenced support of Hillary Clinton.  A non-POC man drove close to her bumper, crowding he driving space and intimidating her. He then pulled alongside her and started verbally abusing her with words that called out her gender with common curse words typically used to belittle women and ended with this nugget, “F*cking liberal loser!” My friend was terribly shaken, felt afraid and then took her bumper stickers off her car to avoid a similar situation. And while I felt her fear and was saddened by her experience, on the other side of those feelings I felt vindication and a bit of that Aha, now you see what I am talking about! I felt like saying, yes, now see how you might like living like that constantly not just now because Mr. Trump has been elected President. Because I can’t stop, shaken on the side of the road and pull my skin color off, the thing I am most vilified for. I can’t take my skin, crumple it into a ball and get rid of it to stop the hate from reaching me. Then of course came the post from a classmate who sung the educate yourself and don’t be silly because they can’t do that to you tune of the Trump candidacy. This post was an impassioned plea to not spread panic by telling children they will have to ‘go back where they came from’ because Donald Trump was elected. This is absurd, the post assured, because if you are born here and/or came to the USA legally and/or a naturalized citizens then this IS where you are from (emphasis mine) and there is no WHERE to go back to. This person also included their feeling on how happy they were with the election result because her son would have a fair playing field in the work force and her daughter, in the armed forces, would be safe with a Boss that would have her back. They included how you must educate yourself in order to know you belong here and can not be kicked out. Then they closed with numerous references to God in America and how we traditionally pay lip service to God in this country (saying things like Merry Christmas, In God We Trust, God Bless America and God Bless You) all while they would be standing for the national anthem with their hand over their hearts. Goodness, I didn’t even no where to start with all the assumptions in this statement. While they may believe no one here ‘correctly’ need worry about being kicked out, people are already running through the streets shouting “go back to Mexico, Africa, China, insert foreign nation here!” with enough hate to drive fear into the hearts of small children and old people alike. The problem with leaving this idea as a statement that stands in defense of legal immigration is that the people excited about the idea of deporting illegal immigrants don’t stop to check your legal status or birth certificate when spewing their feelings. Besides, we have been shown that in the United States you can actually prove you were born here and still not be believed, and if you need to prove your legal status to random beings you meet, does this not smack of carrying freedom papers, traveling papers, being pinned with yellow stars of David and forced into internment camps? I mean where does it stop? Do you see? I Love God, I Love my country, but I am not blinded to the faults inherent in humanity, of which I am a part. And I don’t have the privilege of hiding my difference in order to survive, I have to survive anyway. You can’t tell me that now that the election is over we can all go back to some Utopian time pre-election cycle 2016. Let me tell you, for marginalized groups of humans in the United States and around the World, there is no real pre-election 2016 utopia in which to return. Why do you think so many worked so hard to discuss policy that could put all marginalized groups back to oppressed groups and then beg us all to listen and make informed and educated decisions? It isn’t over now, it isn’t in the past and you aren’t at least a good person because(fill in your reason for feeling good)! We all want what is best for ourselves, we get lost when we lose sight that what is best for ourselves isn’t our calling. It is what is best for the collective in which we all live.

I am a follower of Christ and firmly believe in God’s true sovereignty over all. While I will and do pray for the President, other elected officials, volunteers, my country, and the world, it does not negate the feeling of desperation and fear uppermost in my mind and heart. Loving and trusting God didn’t erase the pain of my child’s death. Loving and trusting God does not erase the pain of my child’s absence on the physical plane and by the same note, loving and trusting God does not erase my fear today or keep me safe from those who wish to harm me. Loving and trusting God does not ensure a pain and trouble free life, it does ensure I will be strengthened to endure the race before me because I put God first, seek Him first. It ensures that no matter how my earthly body leaves this plane, my true home will be revealed in God’s glory. This faith helps me and does not erase the practicality of being alive in this time as a member of a marginalized people. You may not have my faith, but I pray you understand that my pain, fear, and distrust are real and should not be erased, suppressed, or disregarded because it isn’t your truth today. I don’t want a bleak Dystopia to be ushered in, I pray that history doesn’t repeat itself, I pray we aren’t disillusioned, decimated, or caught off guard. I pray that as we move forward we find a way to look at the problems in our systems and vanquish them while shining a light on anything we can get right. I pray that while today I feel the need to call on the faith of my ancestors that allowed them to make the seemingly ridiculous decision to get up and face hate every day by going to work, to church, walking down the street, by speaking out, by getting an education, by continuing to live every day with dignity even when afforded none by others. Then by having and raising their children to do the same.

The Chronic Sorry

Do you have a habit of apologizing after every perceived feeling of slight leveled at you by another person? You know when you speak your mind and someone looks at you like they don’t understand and you go, “I’m sorry”. Really? Do you even know what you are apologizing for? When you leave the situation are you stuck wondering about all the things you could have said, instead of sounding like a mindless drone. Frankly, you didn’t even do anything, you are just feeling someone else’s unease and jump in with your ‘sorry about that’ just to make them feel better, but it is only making you feel worse. You start feeling like you can’t do anything right, you have nothing valid to say and that others are plotting ways to not deal with you all because you have been lulled into the dangerous trap of the Chronic Sorry.

Chronic Sorry builds up the little people who only feel good when they are on a pedestal of their own making. They are always in charge of PTA and bake sales and fundraisers and dance decorations. If they aren’t they try to find ways to undermine your ideas because really, they should be in charge then everything would be perfect. I mean, just because your little Johnny wasn’t at Plaid Prep with their little Richard, you can’t possibly understand the importance of running a 5th grade dance! Now, yes, I certainly know this doesn’t apply to every person you meet. I know plenty of very personable PTA presidents who could crowd source rings around me and always has great ideas about dance decorations without making me feel inferior. So please take the sarcasm as it is intended, to make you smirk because you probably have encountered at least one of these people who lead you to offer the Chronic Sorry in their space. 

I have a terrible case of Chronic Sorry. I am forever apologizing for not getting to that rewrite, or sweeping the classroom/playroom, or even for ordering pizza when I was supposed to cook. Often I am not getting around to something because I did 50 other items on my to-do list and put out 20 spontaneous fires that popped up and the thought of standing at the stove for another hour is more than I can handle. And really, once I am on the other side, I realize that this is realistic and my husband isn’t actually asking me to do more or even really upset about the idea of pizza. But in the moment I feel the unrelenting weight of guilt at not being all things to all people at all times. And how in the world did I learn that this was a thing to aspire to anyway. Not all women grew up with this idea, but many of us did and it inevitably leads to anxiety, depression, and Chronic Sorry. Those who find a way to break this cycle are doing a grand service to the next generation and not just females either. Males have their own weight of unrealistic expectations. If we could teach them that sharing responsibility when sharing a life is the ideal, that happiness, healthiness, and fun are just as important as the bottom line, we could all shake the dust of Chronic Sorry off our proverbial shoulders. 

I am still working on it, it helps to have people in your world who call you on it. I do and thank goodness they help me see the error of my ways, but also that they don’t give up in exasperation when I continue because it just hasn’t become second nature yet. But I am optimistic that with prayer for a mind filled with pleasing thoughts, work on feeding my mind with pleasing things, and the determination to remember that I don’t have to fix all the problems alone, I too can be free of the Chronic Sorry and enable the next generation too!