When God redeemed my worst Christmas ever by using it for good, it came as a big surprise. Most likely because 1982 was the year of my worst Christmas ever, and the using it for good part didn’t come along until December of 2024. 42 years is a long time, which explains my surprise.
Seasons help us to realize we’re not alone. We might still feel alone but we can see things differently and then change our thinking, and even our responses. We know everyone goes through “stuff” but sometimes we need to recognize it just happens to be our turn. The harder part is that we still have someone we are caring for full time, 24/7 added to the new hard stuff!
For families like mine, with an autistic child and my own ADHD and anxiety, Christmas is rarely “calm” or “bright.” In fact, it is often loud, noisy, and overwhelming. Our children get overwhelmed by the lights and the new items. We, as parents, get overwhelmed by all the mess and noise. There are so many sensory inputs flowing through that you feel like you are in a never-ending vacuum of noise. And, that doesn’t even take into account that I’m operating on just a few hours of sleep after leading multiple Christmas services as a pastor.
Ruth saw a bright future for herself. She didn’t have an exact plan in front of her. But at 18, she vaguely knew what she wanted in the future: a master’s degree, a husband, a job she enjoyed, and children. Emma was on another path altogether. When Emma turned 18, she was already enrolled in a school for students with more significant disabilities.
Zechariah, despite being visited by an angel, doubted what he had been told, and so Gabriel told him that because of this doubt, Zechariah would not be able to speak until his son was born. So, he became unable to speak, and therefore unable to communicate through speech. What did he do? And what does his story teach us about people who cannot communicate by speech, or choose not to, today?
I could almost hear the voice speaking into my heart. That was weird for me because I can count on one hand the number of times when God has spoken to me that manner. That simple truth—that Jesus cares about the small things—allowed me to comprehend the passage in a new light. And this new perspective can be applied to the very human endeavor of parenting children with special needs and disabilities.
This text was the first in a long thread to lighten my spirit. The thread began the day before when a couple in our church small group sent devastating news about the death of their grand-baby. We responded with pandemic-style support—text messages—and then the response from a mother in our small group who had lost a baby many years ago.
Except for posters on 9/11 saying “We Will Remember,” life has returned to normal for those who were not directly impacted. For those of us with a child impacted by disability, there is another date that is cemented in our minds. We each have our own twin towers moment, that moment when our world came crashing down.
