Many years ago, our family was transferred by my husband’s employer to a place I didn’t really want to live during a time I didn’t really want to be there. We moved two weeks before Christmas, and then, in our new location, I found myself housebound with two high energy little boys while Mother Nature bombarded us with over 100 inches of snow that winter. The deluge of snow started, of course, right after Christmas and lasted into April. Truth be told, I still remember shoveling the last snowfall on April 4th—as the crocuses popped up through the crystals—looking heavenward and asking, “Really?”
In March of that year, we were walloped with over two feet of snow in a single day. By that time, we were slowly making social inroads into the community. Our younger son has Down syndrome. And his early intervention speech therapist, Joyce, actually lived about two blocks away from us in the same subdivision. In what I still remember as a beautiful expression of generosity, her family reached out to us during that day of “Snow-mageddon” and invited us over for brunch. Eager to visit with another family, in a warm home, over a spread of pancakes—my husband Fred and I bundled up the boys and began the trek around the neighborhood to Joyce’s house. The problem was: the roads hadn’t been plowed. As in, at all. Consequently, we found ourselves wading through thigh-deep snow, one staggering step at a time. Honestly, I have no idea how we actually lugged our children over there, but we did. What kept us going? The feast and fellowship awaiting us.
At times, special needs parenting can feel like a long, hard slog through thigh-high snow. What keeps us going? I mean, what really keeps us going? While pancakes and friendship may have been enough motivation for a 20-minute trek in literal snow, what is enough to carry us through 20, 30, or 40 years of figurative snow drifts in this life?
In the book of Hebrews, after describing person after person in the Old Testament who lived lives of amazing faith, the author goes on to say:
What was the joy set before Christ? As John Piper says, “His joy is in our redemption…”
And, according to the author of Hebrews, who are we to look to for our joy? Jesus himself.
Jesus is our joy set before us.
As Dane Ortlund reminds us in his recently released book Gentle and Lowly: The Heart of Christ for Sinners and Sufferers,
"Christ does not get flustered and frustrated when we come to him for fresh forgiveness, for renewed pardon, with distress and need and emptiness. That’s the whole point. It’s what he came to heal. He went down into the horror of death and plunged out through the other side in order to provide a limitless supply of mercy and grace to his people."
A limitless supply of mercy and grace. Does that sound good to you? It sure does to me.
So, this week, when you find yourself thigh-deep in the byproducts of the blizzard of challenges of parenting children with special needs (no matter what their age) listen to the author of Hebrews. Fix your eyes on Jesus, who is our joy set before us. Rely deeply and regularly on him for a limitless supply of mercy and grace, provided for you and for me, one step at a time.
Steph Hubach is the author of Same Lake, Different Boat: Coming Alongside People Touched by Disability—First Edition (2006), Updated and Revised Version (2020). In collaboration with Lancaster Bible College, Steph produced a Christian Education DVD series based on Same Lake, Different Boat, which is available on YouTube. She has served as a contributing author for the Ministry Essentials Bible, The Dignity and Sanctity of Every Human Life, and Amazing Gifts: Stories of Faith Disability and Inclusion. Steph’s writing has appeared in publications such as ByFaith magazine, Focus on the Family magazine, Covenant magazine, Breakpoint online magazine, and the enCourage blog. Steph currently serves as a Research Fellow in Disability Ministries and as a Visiting Instructor in Educational Ministries with Covenant Theological Seminary.