My grandma was on the phone with my aunt when I walked into her kitchen one Saturday—the yellow cord stretched all the way to her stove top. They must have been talking about something going on with one of my two younger cousins, because I overheard her say, “Well, something’s wrong with every one of your sister’s kids. It will be ok.”
Being one of “your sister’s kids,” I considered whether I should be offended. But I had recently been diagnosed with dyslexia, my younger sister had something scary going on with her skin that they thought might be a sign of lupus, and my older sister has Down syndrome. “Wrong” wasn’t being used as a negative. “Something’s wrong with every one of your sister’s kids,” was supposed to be encouraging. Because if life was ok for my mom, if she was able to get through each day with all we were struggling with, it would be ok for my aunt too.
I have two boys of my own now. And there’s “something wrong” with both of them too. All four of us in the family actually: depression, anxiety, dyslexia (times two), autism, chronic pain, OCD, and lingering issues from COVID that may cause my husband to depend on an inhaler when he climbs a set of stairs or preaches a sermon.
We aren’t a perfect family. We can’t even pretend to be. And that has allowed others to stop pretending they are perfect too.
Other moms text me when their pediatricians point out their toddler isn’t meeting typical milestones. Parents of grade school kids ask me for advice when their kids are struggling to read. Moms of preteens stop me in the hall at church when they see signs of anxiety in their kids (or in themselves). We get Facebook messages from parents of older teens when they say they don’t believe in God anymore. We feel safe to people who need to talk to someone who won’t judge them or offer cliche advice. And I’m learning to see that as a surprising benefit of having “imperfect” family members.
I’m fine with someone saying about us, “There’s something wrong with everyone in that family,” because our need for the gospel—both at the moment of salvation and for every day of our lives—is on display through our weakness and dependence on Him. We send a message just by being ourselves that God’s grace is sufficient and Jesus’s burden is light. Other people are desperate for that message, and it’s an honor to hear their stories and point them to the hope we have in Christ.
But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong. 2 Cor. 12:9&10
Sandra Peoples (M Div) is a special-needs mom and sibling. She and her family live outside of Houston, TX where she serves her church as the Inclusion Coordinator for Special Needs Families. She also serves the Southern Baptist of Texas Convention as their Special Needs Ministry Consultant. She’s the author of Unexpected Blessings: The Joys and Possibilities of Life in a Special-Needs Family and the host of the podcast, Self Care and Soul Care for the Caregiver. You can connect with her at sandrapeoples.com.
