In honor of Pediatric Cancer Day on February 15th, we are re-posting this blog from Stephanie McKeever You know that floor in your children's hospital you've never seen but wondered what secrets it holds? The one that requires a chaperone for admittance? That's...
I scanned the field looking for my child as a group of all ages played football. There were young kids, teens, young adults, even his best friend, all playing together, learning and laughing. But, there was no sign of my child. I searching the parking lot where...
Worship for me was turned upside down when I found myself on the floor a few times in tears, literally. Pain, heartache, changes worship. Praising God for who he is and not what he does for us makes it come straight from the gut. Maybe that’s what God wanted all along from me, worship from the deep.
Invisible disabilities are disabilities that are unseen to the world. Our kids appear ‘normal’ or ‘typical.’ And it can be an uphill climb, unless we rely on the God who sees. Invisible disability is not invisible to our God.
Stephanie shares what she learned through her son’s pediatric cancer and how we can help others.
Grieving the loss of the life you wanted isn’t cured by catchy phrases or meal trains (though food is always a close second in my opinion.) Grief will find you closest to the Father if you let it.
All my attempts at self-care will only take me so far before I can’t go anymore and I’m a blubbering mess 24/7. But if my self is found in Jesus first, he will care for me. He is my refuge and strength, my fortress. He is my place of self-care.
Our lives were altered long ago by disability. Cancer took us right up next to the edge of not okay anymore. But in our broken I hope you find the whole Jesus multiplying.
I want my borders expanded, my way. Sharing this love I have, the love of Jesus, is a risk. But, Jesus took that same risk, didn’t he?
There are days that get me down. But we have a choice in this special-needs life to whine or worship during those days. And, I can’t find many Bible verses leading me to whining.
The what ifs, the needs, the sleepless nights—they can drive us to where Jesus is waiting with open arms for rest when the weight of this love gets too heavy.
What are you hanging on to at the beginning of this new year? Is there something you could really, I mean really, give to God this time around and let him have all of it?
I’m not gonna tell you there won’t be hard days within disability. But what the younger me didn’t know was there would be so many gifts hidden among those days.
I’m becoming okay with being different. We’ve been made different, a Special Needs City, and we shine bright. Shine so others may see creation at its fullest. Shine so others may see our devotion to our Father in heaven. Shine so others may turn and give praise to Him because of it.
Even though our journey has been pain filled, it’s dang hard if I’m honest, I still get to see more of God’s goodness than you might imagine.
I’m in a place where I can’t rely on me anymore. But I am trusting, hanging on to hope—my God is bigger than all of it.
God just might have a bigger plan waiting at the end of this road than I can see from my point of view.
My boy is sick. Really sick. Some days are better than others. I tell a lot of people, “I’m fine.” and “He’s okay.” But, the reality is, he’s sick. He’s sick and that’s compounded by the special needs we’ve always known.
Sometimes God chooses to stop the storm and to heal the child. And sometimes he takes us through the valley of the shadow of death before we see the beauty on the other side.
We are not your normal #Blessed. Never have been. Never will be. But, we are still blessed.
This past month I have cried more than a lifetime of tears. It’s like a dripping faucet that can’t be fixed. Crashing waves that ebb and flow. As I write this I can’t stop the tears from falling off my cheeks. And you know what? It feels okay to not have that wall anymore.
God made it pretty clear this special needs walk has nothing to do with how many door knobs I wipe. So, I’m giving control back to Him for a while.
I’ll be the first adoptive foster parent to tell you, it’s not always easy, but it’s always worth it.
Just like King David made room for Mephibosheth at his table, God always makes room for our children at His table.
My struggle with grace is real. I struggle with giving grace. I have no problem accepting grace. But offering it to others? That’s where my struggle begins.
Special Needs Déjà Vu; it’s my reminder to get back to the bigger things; like the eternity set in our hearts.
Can we only be thankful when circumstances get better? It’s tempting to think so. But it’s a lie that actually keeps us from true contentment of living in Christ.
People will change. Circumstances will definitely change. The diagnosis will change. What I need is our unchanging God in a changing special needs world.
I get tired of constantly having to advocate. Thankfully, we have someone who goes before us. We have our Advocate. We don’t go in this alone.
“You make it look so easy!” This crazy life looks easy? I am so thankful people are gracious enough to tell me that I make caring for Evan look easy. But hold your horses, folks. Most days are a marathon that we have to pace ourselves to get through. This life? It’s way beyond me.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned from special needs … pray. Before everything else. When I’m overwhelmed and in the midst of the chaos. When there’s nothing else. Pray.
We all know disability draws the attention of others. We often feel like everybody recognizes our son. This has made us more aware, whether we realize it or not, somebody’s always watching.
Sometimes that special needs Humble Pie isn’t very tasty stuff. But almost always when I look back I see how God has changed me or used that time for his glory. And for that I am grateful for when he humbles me through special needs.
I think it’s high time I start being thankful for the disability trenches along with the saving graces. I often wonder just what he saved me from by giving me this different way of life. Because of our needs I have a close-knit family, a husband I rely on everyday, and a family that knows the power of Christ. I think that right there is enough to keep me thankful for every one of the trenches disability has brought us.