Sitting on the bank of a roaring river in the Smoky Mountains, I watch crystal clear water cascade over boulders big as cars and older than time. Smooth as silk, water slides between chutes, plunges into frothy whitewater and slides once more into glacier blue pools.
My husband, downstream, dances a fly-fishing ballet as he throws his line out and back, out and back, his carefully chosen fly barely flicking the surface of a quiet pool.
Joel, who has autism, will join us tomorrow, but how we need this time away; if only for a day or two, to fill up our depleted bodies, minds, and souls!
Even Jesus needed to escape to the mountains on a regular basis. In John 6:15 (ESV) we read, Perceiving then that they were about to come and take him by force to make him king, Jesus withdrew again to the mountain by himself. In this passage, Jesus disappeared because the people, astounded by his miracle of turning a few loaves and fish into enough food to feed 5000, wanted to crown him King of Israel.
How often do we, as parents of kids with disabilities, crown ourselves King or Queen when it seems obvious that no one else can perform the miracles we pull out of the hat on a daily basis? Who else knows the secret to stopping the meltdown, the deep breathing technique to ease the pain, or the right person to Facetime to bring a smile back in the midst of depression? Who else can take our place at the IEP meeting, in the doctor’s office, or at the OT, PT, speech, music therapy, etc. office?
We crown ourselves indispensable, don’t we? I know I did, for over 25 years of Joel’s life. But if Jesus didn’t consider himself indispensable, why should we?
If the King of the Universe needed times of solitude, who are we to say that we can keep on keeping on, day in and day out, without a break?
What is it about a day or two of solitude and silence in the mountains that fills my cup to overflowing?
I am not in control here. No one depends on me here. The wind blows where it will and how it will (70 MPH yesterday, calm today).
There is eternity written on the faces of these rock walls—an eternity I didn’t create and over which I do not rule.
These living waters flow where and how they will. Rocks divert, fallen branches dam up raging waters to create placid pools, waterfalls crash and roar. I have nothing to do with how or where these waters flow.
This is a place where all I have to do is soak in the majesty and beauty of creation, trust in God’s goodness, and listen to discern God’s voice. All I have to do, sitting on the side of this river, is open myself to the refreshment of these living waters.
Do I want to be Queen? Do I want to be the one person in control and responsible for the world in which I live? A world that includes autism, anxiety disorders, depression, and dementia?
No!
I’ve been watching The Crown on Netflix, and I can guarantee you, I don’t want that kind of responsibility!
Here, next to this cascading river, I open my hands. I practice letting go. Here, in this time of solitude, I learn to let God be God; let God be King.
And after 24 hours of soaking up God’s presence in the midst of his awesome creation, I am ready to see my son again; I am ready get back to the job of being Joel's mom. But more importantly, I am ready to simply be who God created me to be—Kathy—God’s Beloved—remembering that "Special Needs Mom" is just one facet of the many-faceted, precious jewel he molded in my mother’s womb 67 years ago.
Kathy is a spiritual director, author, and co-owner, with her husband, of Cloudland, a contemplative retreat center outside of Oxford, Ohio. The mother of 3 sons, 1 daughter-of-heart, and 1 grandson, she also enjoys writing middle grade fiction. You can reach her through her website, kathleenbolduc.com.
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