On the day my third son was born, the Lord spoke to my husband. He charged him with loving and caring for our son and to never let him grow bitter about his cross.
This mission from the Lord has been the model of parenthood for us as we seek to help all of our children navigate their way into adulthood. We raise our children to know that everyone has a disability, some you see and some you do not.
There have been days I have wished for the ones you see far greater than the ones not caught by the human eye. Conversely, everyone has abilities, ones you see and ones you do not. Our job is to seek them out and nurture them in ourselves and in others.
We often get caught up in our own disabilities. They can hold us hostage and chain us back from the freedom God offers.
As a woman who has taught children with disabilities and has raised such children as well, there is a danger in allowing ourselves to be identified by our disabilities. That’s not our redemption story. We are not the sum of our crosses or disabilities. Our identity cannot be wrapped up in being a person with a disability or a parent of that person with a disability.
“I hate my wheelchair.” “Life is not fair.” “I wish I was like other people.” “I just want to be free.” “You will never understand.” Again, as a mother and teacher, I have heard these and so many more cries from the heart.
And no, life is not fair. It cannot be. We were not created for fair or equal. Each of our paths is unique. We were created to witness. We were created to radiate. We were created to love, and how we do these things matters. For by our actions and words, we can either bind others to their crosses or set them free.
Those who struggle with disabilities do not want our pity. They do not need our platitudes. They desire for you to look at them and see them fully. While we might be inspired by the way they overcome many challenges, they often do not want to be that spokesperson. It is simplicity, often anonymity, and autonomy they crave.
In a world where mental health challenges have increased substantially, autonomy, individuality and independence are core needs, and we must help provide that dignity to this population of people. They deserve more from us as Christians.
When I am wearing my mother hat, I am also often wearing my momma bear sweater. They go hand in hand. I am a fierce advocate for my children, and yet, at times, as they move into adulthood, I can be too much of one.
I often ask them, “How can I support you in this next stage?” It is hard, after being the hands and feet for someone for 17 years, to get wrapped up in the identity of being a caregiver – for me, a mother of a child with special needs.
My children do not like the words “special needs” or “disability.” They prefer focusing on their abilities. As I step back and let them navigate their life plans and personal care, I have to let mistakes be made.
I can hold vigil in the other room or even hours away when they are off to college, but if autonomy and independence are to be supported, mistakes will be made, and mercy must be granted. We are here to give a supporting hand when asked but otherwise to trust in the seeds we have planted, the plan God has and the unique wisdom and gifts the Lord has given to that child.
We cannot change what is for those who suffer. We cannot make it fair. We can hate the specific cross, hate the disability, hate the effects it brings with it, but we cannot let it rob us of our joy. We cannot let ourselves sit stagnate, stuck in the belly of the whale.
Each one of us is called to mission, and whether we do so on our own two feet or with the support of crutches, a cane, medicine, counseling or even a wheelchair, may we encourage others with our life. May we seek to not be bitter, but to be joyful so that others look to us and shake their heads in wonder.
Through our witness, may we shine God’s love so brightly that others cannot help but beg the question, “How do you keep your joy?” And joy, my friends, is the key to evangelization.
May we all pray for each other to live out these lessons with humble hearts.