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 have been numb with depression lately. Except on those days when I am energized by anger. Some of it has to do with the pandemic and continued quarantine; some of it has to do with family relationships and health challenges. And then a daily meditation popped up, challenging me to choose a contained life.
Like many special needs parents, John Felageller has experienced times when medical or education professionals have treated his perspective on his son with special needs as less important and valuable than theirs. In this third post in his series, John addresses what may be the most difficult experience of all for special needs families: when you have struggles working with children's or special needs ministries. John offers valuable takeaways, including recognizing when you need to give back and serve others who are most in need.
My son James has his hair cut about four or five times a year. As long as we keep to a routine, all is fine. Any change would be enormously difficult for him, and therefore for us. The reason I share James’ haircut story is to illustrate that routine and familiarity are fundamentally core to the coping mechanisms of many children and young people with additional needs. And just like the routines followed by special needs families, churches have opportunities to make similar choices regarding children and young people with disabilities in church-based work as well.
Every August, I get out this story of my son and remind myself that even as the walnut leaves begin to fall, even as I am gripped by the sadness of one kind of letting go or another, it is, in Kairos time, the very first Christmas. When I allow myself to live in the moment, I am in the midst of God's glory.
