Was Christmas Ever Easy?

Autism is hard. (massive understatement) Autism is always hard, but it's hardest on holidays or special occasions. In the beginning of autism, I had thought that it wasn't going to last a lifetime.  But instead here we are 27 years later and it's been a lonnnnng lifetime already.
Most of this Christmas week, I've been thinking about Mary and Joseph. As the past year has been an intense journey from one blaring fiery trial to the next. I've been thinking how Joseph and Mary must've felt their fiery trial would never end.

Really think about their situations. Mary agrees to do the unthinkable. Agrees to yield her body to the most high to be the conduit for God himself to bring his son into the world. That sounds nothing short of amazing until you realize no one, NOT ONE PERSON was ever going believe her story. That her entire future hung in the balance, and the love of her life, her betrothel, all of it in jeopardy. Would the man of her dreams still accept her, or would he walk away? She gambled, she trusted, God showed her a cliff that looked into a deep chasm and said jump. Mary said, "I am the Lord's servant. Let what you say happen to me. If only I/we could be so obedient.

“Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn't before! What if Christmas, he thought, doesn't come from a store. What if Christmas...perhaps...means a little bit more!” 

And Joseph, can you imagine? The love of his life is pregnant, and HE KNOWS it's not his. If he marries her everyone will believe he had no self restraint. That he had dishonored his own wife. The ridicule, the jokes, the humiliation he must've faced. That's not so bad, I guess, humiliation is really a small thing to many of us. Especially in the world of autism. We hardly notice it anymore. Apparently both these young people, this young man, and very young woman accepted it as part of the cost of obedience. I always wonder if Mary went to see Elizabeth because she had to get away from all of the gossip. Out of sight out of mind? Maybe it was easier for Joseph to make a decision if he didn't have to look at her growing belly every single day? Who can say, but there is no way it was an easy situation. Do you ever wonder how many people Mary told? Who could she entrust with such an unlikely tale? And Joseph? Did he explain to the rabbis at the synagogue what an angel had told him? Chances are, this was one of the best kept secrets of all time. They marry, Mary continues to grow the baby. Do Mary and Joseph discuss this miracle between them in the late hours of the night? Then, Caesar Augustus declares a census! What else could make a man gather up his tiny young wife, big with child and place her on a donkey to take a last minute trip? I imagine his prayers, "But God, I married her anyways. I have trusted you with everything in this situation. Now, how am I to take her on such an arduous journey? Couldn't you spare us one difficulty?" The worry, the fears that must have accompanied them all along the journey. But God is silent. I keep thinking about that. God is silent! This is the biggest moment on planet earth, and God has entrusted it to two fallible, young people. HE TRUSTED them, to do what He told them to do. Incredible. The trip goes from bad to worse because the unthinkable happens and Mary goes into labor. It's a few weeks earlier than the midwife predicted. They had hoped that she might even be a few days late, but here they are, not quite arrived in Bethlehem, and the pains bear down on Mary. It's too soon! Maybe brought on by the long ride on the donkey? Have you ever wondered what Mary may have said on the way? "Joseph, I am so sorry. I don't even know why you married me. I'm so sorry for the humiliation and now this? Where will the baby be born? Who will help me bring this baby into the world?" Did they speak of Jesus father? Did she ask God, "How can you let your son be born on the side of the road? God you must do something!" She was human, even if she was better than most of us. They get to Bethlehem and guess what? All the hotels are full. Not one, not even the Motel 6 has a room. They are forced to accept the barn behind the motel 6. Now I expect both their prayers might've gone something like this. "God where are you? Mary has gone into labor and there's not even a bed for her to lay down on. Are you expecting ME to deliver a baby? Your BABY? And God, has anyone ever been more obedient than I have in this? I just can't believe this can be your answer to my prayers." Then Mary might've added her own panicked words to the mix. "Father God, your son is about to be born in a barn. You must know this is happening. Please assure me that this is your will, that our going on this trip at the last minute didn't mess up your plans." (I had to throw that in because we actually believe we can mess up God's plans.). There are so many possible ways to panic. So much that was unknown. Two of the most incredibly obedient servants, wondering with all that's in them what God is doing. IF God is IN any part of the nightmare they are now living. What has Obedience actually done for them? We don't know if Joseph delivered baby Jesus. We don't know if it was a long labor or a difficult delivery. But if precedence has anything to do with it, none of it was easy.

“Our hearts grow tender with childhood memories and love of kindred, and we are better throughout the year for having, in spirit, become a child again at Christmastime.” 

I have thought about their lives a lot because of Christmas. Because of how hard the past year has been for my family. How many times I feel like I have laid down all that I am at the foot of the cross, only to be stepped on by a world that looks the other way and pretends my pain is my fault. Before I can even lift my head from praying, there is usually someone who will crush my heart with words of condemnation, or maybe just misuderstanding. The hardest part for me has been the loneliness. People don't know what to do so they do nothing. I don't know what to tell them to do so I don't ask for help. Alone is not a good place to be in the dark. When the only sound you hear is your son's moaning and your own desperate prayers.
I confess I have spent far too much of this past year wondering how, wondering why, wondering IF I am doing the right thing each day. I was thinking how God never promised to explain anything to any of us. It seems that most of His admonishments are more like, "Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding." Yep most all of them translate into something like, "I got this! No need for you to worry about it. Just do what I tell you to do. Of course you can and should trust me because I am trustworthy. Besides it will make your life more peaceful and happy." That's the jest of it. I suppose I could feel picked on but were you listening to the story of Jesus birth? It's not like they received a lot of special treatment.  

I know that God is good. If I didn't believe that, faith would be impossible. Reaching out to take the hand of an invisible God can feel like a foolhardy grasp into the darkness. Stumbling in that dark more days than not, I keep wondering, wishing for someone to flip the switch and a glorious light to illuminate why all these difficulties have come. One of the most important to me is how living through them has even mattered or made any sense.  
This has been one of the darkest moments in my life. At a particularly low moment recently, I asked God if he would recognize my voice in the darkness. 'Cause it seems that I'm at the bottom of a pit, and it's so deep, so far down that no light penetrates the suffering. Then I laugh out loud and cry because I know that God must recognize my voice. I've left Him no choice. He hears it almost nonstop every single day. One thing for sure, I have prayed til my throat is raw while sobbing out a mountain of frustrations! I'm a tad embarrassed to say it has happened enough days that there's not one chance that God won't know exactly who it is calling out his name. It can't matter how deep or dark this trial. It does not matter how deeply I'm buried in this pain and confusion. God will still hear my voice.

So on Christmas morning, probably sometime in the wee hours. Jesus took his first breath on earth. Inhaled the very air of a celestial world he himself had created. So vulnerable, so fragile, the son of God was born to two humans. He drank human breast milk. He wore cloth diapers. He was watched over by a human Father who truly believed this tiny baby was indeed the son of God.

I am so grateful that God guided the wise men with that amazing star. I love that the angels brought the shepherds by singing the birth announcement. It was wonderful love and kindness to do so. God could've left them there alone, with the greatest secret ever given to the world. But even God was a proud father. He set a giant star in the sky. He sent angels to sing of the miracle birth and He brought Kings of earth to see what a real king looks like.

“Christmas waves a magic wand over this world, and behold, everything is softer and more beautiful. ”

I can see Joseph take Mary's hand when the kings bow their jeweled crowns before the peasant baby. I can see their faith solidified by God's acknowledgment of His son. It was like the Father himself put a glowing light of love all around them and hugged that tiny new family with His presence.

The realization of those things, helps me keep going. Helps me push forward when I see no way that things can ever change. Helps me hold on to God's hand long after the warmth of His presence has diminished. Helps me believe there is light no matter how much darkness fills my heart and mind. So I reach for the invisible God I know is there. I pray in the depth of the darkness, and although only my voice echoes back at me... I trust that He hears and recognizes my voice. Christmas proves that God does act in the affairs of man. It is the GREAT plan for Him to do so. We are not left here to fend for ourselves and hope that God might notice us. He always notices, He always hears, and on Christmas morning He leaned down and kissed the earth with His love.

“And when we give each other Christmas gifts in His name, let us remember that He has given us the sun and the moon and the stars, and the earth with its forests and mountains and oceans--and all that lives and move upon them. He has given us all green things and everything that blossoms and bears fruit and all that we quarrel about and all that we have misused--and to save us from our foolishness, from all our sins, He came down to earth and gave us Himself.”  

A Flood of Pain and Grace

I live in Houston, Texas.  Saying that brings about a million thoughts to your mind at this moment in weather history.  The near 50" of rain in my neighborhood came down and down and down and I seriously thought it would never end.  Made me think about the bible character Noah more than once.  I wondered how he endured 40 days and 40 nights listening to the pelting rain?  Then more than a year inside small quarters of stuffy, moldy animal dung along with his entire family?  You gotta admit, not a very fun prospect.  Til you really think it through, really remember what was happening.  All the people, EVERYONE, and everything was drowning all around that boat.  I'm sure they heard crying, screaming, and lots of begging.  People knocking on the door begging to be let in.  I shudder thinking about it.  When things are really bad, it's definitely our family we want to hug every night.  I imagine them holding a candlelit lantern sitting on the rolling ship, arms locked together.  The people who mean the most, we want with us when the chips are down.  Whether that family is blood or the people in our lives that treat us like family.  We need that family during a flood.

As I thought about the word flood, I thought about how it can be used to describe more than "overfilling of too much water, a deluge, a torrent.  It can be a flood of emotions, a deluge of pain, a flood of hope, or a torrent of grace.  This last year has contained so many floods for our family.  We've watched our son in one flood after the next.  As if severe autism isn't enough, he has endured a flood of seizures that we thought might never end.  A deluge of pain as his shoulder dislocated over and over.  (31 times to date)  A torrent of frustration as no one seemed to be able to help us find a way out of this cycle of seizures and dislocations.  

Then all your troubles will fade from your memory, like floods that are past and remembered no more. JOB 11:16

Perspective is really, REALLY a magical thing. My concern for my son's shoulder over rides the flood, whether our business would survive the flood, how would we repair our home... and pretty much everything else at that moment or even now.  When the flood waters rose higher and higher, and we finally accepted the inevitable...we put our furniture up as high as we could and we went to sleep.
I laugh about it a little because, the "old me" the worry wart me would never have gone to sleep.  But I kept thinking of Jesus sleeping in the boat while his disciples flipped out.  Then He had the audacity  to ask them, "why are you so afraid, have you no faith?"  Good questions.  The disciples might've even had some good laughs about that moment years later.  But I guarantee you they were not amused standing in the pouring rain, hair matted to their faces, clothes drenched and the waves pounding them to the deck.

I've struggled and argued and wrestled insurance representatives for over 87 days.  Cried at least four or five times every day for over three months.  Given up, dragged myself off the floor, begged God for a miracle, and repeated the horrible cycle.  Hoped and prayed and tried not to succumb to the stream of emotions as I worry I can't help my son get his shoulder repaired.



In case you don't know our story, Britton's shoulder has dislocated over 30 times now.  It began back in September of 2016, when he had a seizure standing up and fell backwards into the wall.  It's been a constant since then.  Seizure, subsequent shoulder dislocation, lather rinse and repeat every painful time .  Over and over it would happen again, with no end in sight til it finally cracked two bones, and tore up all the ligaments. (In case you are thinking, "what's wrong with these people?  Why don't they get it surgically repaired?  NO ONE would repair it.  Seizures would tear it up before it could heal, far too risky.).  It's no longer just a dislocated shoulder, it's a wicked bad, and serious shoulder injury on his dominate arm.  Now the arm can't go back in place without surgery and it just hangs like a puppet arm whose strings have been cut.

I expect Britton would say it's been a flood of disappointments and pain from where he's sitting.  He never talks about the pain, he only begs for help and lashes out on his iPad asking me why I won't help him.  Recently he typed, "you are mean!"  I was surprised and asked him, "why, why am I mean?"  He typed, "you won't help me with my shoulder. "  My heart still throbs from that indictment.  I think he may be the bravest, strongest person I have ever known.  He's had 8" needles to place lidocaine in that joint 9 times so far. He's endured seizures, and drugs, allergic reactions, ER doctors who try but have never put a shoulder back in.  AND... the drugs, I've lost count of the more than 17 IV's with on average 8 infusions of medications to knock him out long enough to get his shoulder back in.  Trying all kinds of treatments, anything that might help.  He has tried to be brave and stay strong and not give in to depression and hopelessness.  Which is more than I can say for myself.

Each morning Britton and I turn on our church "live stream" and I ask him if he wants to watch Ms. Jessica sing?  (Our praise and worship leader)  He always does and we relive the Sunday before, or the Friday or which ever service we decide to watch.  It brings a flood of relief as we are able to leave this physical world and step out of our flesh for  long enough to forget all our pain and worries.  I squeeze my eyes closed and remember there is nothing like God's embrace.  Standing under a flood of hope and unconditional love we are strengthened for another day.  Undergirded with the truth that God does care, and He is working on our behalf.  As the last prayer is said, I am reminded with a flood of gratefulness that God is good and He is asking me the same questions he asked those first disciples as they were pummeled by their storm.
I can see them in my minds eye as they held tightly to the ropes or the sides of the boat as it rocked.  They watched the waves get taller and the clouds darker.  Drenched from top to bottom and sure this was the end, beyond exasperated that Jesus sleeps undisturbed.  

The Galilean Sea was well known for it's storms and every disciple knew someone who had been lost there.  But in that moment of total fear, Jesus exhausted from teaching, healing, and loving this world slept the peaceful sleep of confidence.  As I pictured that story in my mind, I giggled albeit with a tear rolling down my face.  Jesus snoring, those disciples wet and angry.  I can see them, fists clenched, teeth gritted watching him snore.  We've all been there.  Where is God when the waves are high and the rain won't stop?  If we get the guts to wake Him, we might be more than a little angry ourselves.  Demanding he DO SOMETHING to intervene in our situation.  With our fists still clenched our souls rebel from the sting of the same questions.  "Why are you afraid?  Where is your faith?"

I have been on a downward spiral the last few weeks.  I have cried so many times it seems like if I'm awake I'm crying.  After being told NO, by  the insurance company, the insurance coordinators, the hospital.  Everyone said this surgery would not, could not happen.  They were all out of network, and I was all out of ideas.   As I inhaled to release the next flood of tears,  I heard the question in a far off whisper.  It seemed like I had been ramming my head up against yet one more brick wall made out of denials and new reasons why insurance can't do the right thing.  Red tape, bureaucracy all wrapped around my throat so tight til I couldn't even cry out for help one more time.  So I sat in a crumbled pile of despair and whimpered my prayers.  It is no small feat to get an insurance company to say they will pay for a surgery OUT OF NETWORK!  As a matter of fact I would say unequivocally that it took a miracle.  I saw the number on the caller ID and I sighed, heavy and let the sadness drain out of my heart before I said hello.  She said, "Mrs. Holman, we have received the letter of agreement from United Healthcare."  I couldn't breathe.  I felt so many emotions that I couldn't speak.  She said, "Mrs. Holman are you there, did you hear me?"  I swallowed down that gigantic rock of disbelief and said, "I'm here, I don't know what to say.  Thank God."  I hung up and I danced,  I praised God, I shouted.  I laughed and I sang.  Victory, FINALLY, Jesus was awake!

There would be lots to do.  We had to get lots of botox in that shoulder.  (Jump off that bridge when we get there). Then spend the next two weeks after surviving his "noodle arm" while we wait for the botox to do it's thing.  Sounds simple, sure unless you're severely autistic.  

I did explain the whole process to Britton, ad nauseam.  I'm sure til he wanted to say, "STOP TELLING ME, I got it!"  But I needed to be sure he understood.  I needed to be sure that when they started using his arm for a pin cushion we would get yet ANOTHER miracle and he would hold still for it. Yeah I know, what was I thinking?  

We showed up for the botox, the entire staff was amazing.  BRITTON was like a different person.  To put a person with severe autism on a gurney and expect them to lay there and get stuck with countless needles, is not even fathomable.  We thought he would be sedated.  Apparently we were mistaken.  But the unreal happened.  He laid there, he cooperated, he communicated by nodding yes and no.  We watched a miracle, we were there in the presence of Jesus as He overshadowed the room and peace permeated all of us.  My son was calm, my son was brave.  The surgeon told him he was far braver than the football players he worked on every day.  God was so mighty to me at that moment.  I absorbed the love, the presence of God like a flower blooming in a desert rain.  The best day EVER.

THEN... Wednesday came.  Britton woke up with a surly look on his face and growling at every request.  I gave him the extra pain medications as instructed.  He got more upset, he was not himself as each minute passed he became more agitated.  A lot happened that I'm not willing to write about... but there were seizures, there was a drug reaction and there was a 911 call.  From the peace of the procedure room to the terror of aggression and pain.  We plummeted down from the mountain top of faith into the Valley of despair like greased lightning.  Fear like something wild reared it's ugly head and came at both us like the highest wave of the Galilean Sea.  It crashed over Britton and the next wave crushed us both to the bottom of despair.  He lay on the bathroom floor in a restaurant with his face spasming and hallucinating and lashing out like he didn't even know where he was.  Foaming at the mouth, my hands wiping away blood.  The enemy had come in like a flood, and he laughed while we bleed.  What an ordeal, and when we finally got home, he climbed in his bed and laid there just staring at the ceiling.   I put my hands over my face and cried inconsolable tears til I vomited.  If you've lived through some unthinkable things, and most of us have you will understand my dark thoughts.  

I was numb, and it seemed that sometimes dying is so much easier than living.  Sometimes letting go and just giving up sounds so restful, almost relief.  Life is hard and even those who seem to be skipping through unscathed usually have a hidden world none of us could imagine.  If I was fighting for myself, I'd probably given up a long time ago.  But my son, he's counting on me.  I am his voice, his advocate, his mom, his guardian.  

For thou hadst cast me into the deep, in the midst of the seas; and the floods compassed me about: all thy billows and thy waves passed over me. Jonah 2:3 

I had been managing just fine.  I really had.  I was dealing with an unreal amount of pressure.  I was standing firm and being solid in my faith.  I was not trying to deal with anything except my son, cause right now nothing else matters?  My son is going to get his arm repaired and I had so much to be grateful for.  But when that last wave hit me and knocked me down to my knees I couldn't breathe, I couldn't believe anymore.  Giving up, giving in and throwing in the towel felt like the only choice.  I was about to wave the white flag and scream,  "You win life!  I give up!  You're right you're the boss of all of us!"  As I took a deep breath to scream my gut wrenching accusations at a savior I was sure had fallen back asleep.  That's when I heard it.

If you believe God whispers to His children, then I'd like to share with you what I heard.  A quiet question, a gentle awakening of truth, he asked, "What will happen now?"  The strangest question, and I sure didn't have an answer for it.  Still don't.  Out loud I said, "Only you know God.  What will happen now?"  I can't even begin to imagine because sitting in a public place on a bathroom floor, mopping up blood and wondering where it will all end.  I admit it, my faith has taken a serious beating.  This flood, this flood of pain, panic, and serious fear have about pushed me under the waves of doubt wanting to scream, " I will never surface and breath in faith again.... I'd rather drown."   I'd like you to hear with me what the "sleeping savior" whispered.  

"We continue to shout our praise even when we're hemmed in with troubles, because we know how troubles can develop passionate patience in us, and how that patience in turn forges the tempered steel of virtue, keeping us alert for whatever God will do next."Romans 5:3-4

My mind kept envisioning a strong sword, bent and dull.  It was in the fire, glowing hot and changing shape.  I'd like to say I enjoyed it.  I'd like to say I embraced it.  But my next vision was the blacksmith hammering that sword on the anvil.  I've been feeling every swing of the hammer, pounding away at my doubts.  Beating my flesh so that it can finally give up and allow my spirit to trust the God I say I believe in.  

Without warning I felt a warm wash of God's spirit fall over me like a shower of warm faith.  I squeezed my eyes and breathed in the presence of a very AWAKE savior.  Feeling the assurance that if I could only, let go... if I could only BELIEVE God and not only what my eyes can see.   Then miracles would continue to happen.  As I held my doubts with a death grip, in my minds eye I stared Jesus in the eyes and swallowed down all my fears.  How grateful I am that God's answers are wiser than my prayers.   

I do not know what is going to happen in the next few months.  How many meltdowns, how much struggle, how much courage will be needed.  I hope that I can say things like, "God intervened in a miraculous way.  He brought healing to our situation and our hearts.  Britton handled the surgery and subsequent pain like the warrior he was during the botox injections.  I hope...

"Faith is, the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen."  

I definitely do not see one minute ahead.  I cannot even look very far because if I do, my heart may fail me for what is required.  I trust that the grace I need will meet me the moment I need it.   I definitely do not know how this will turn out .  But until then, I will pray that the newly forged Steele of my heart is battle ready.  That warring against my own flesh will create a faith in me that is stronger than even I can believe for.  Mark Twain said, "forgiveness is the fragrance that the violets sheds on the heel that crushed it."
To me it seems that courage is the essence of the heart squeezed hard by brutal trials, leaving behind the perfume of faith.  

Blooming in the Fire

There was so much pain, so many tears... so much through the night in the ER. I left at one point and cried til I puked. It has been a scathing fiery trial all of this. I stood in that sterile bathroom crowded by a million germs, looked in the mirror at my swollen red eyes, and asked God to strengthen me for what was ahead. I took a breath of courage and walked back into the room, swallowing down a gigantic lump of fears and asked God to give me strength one more time.  

Britton was thrashing and crying and that is gut wrenching for a momma to watch. I held him and laid my head on his pillow my face next to his. I patted his cheek and refused to let him see any renegade tears. They used a spinal needle to inject into his shoulder joint some pain meds. He just stares, so solemn, so resigned, my stomach knotted tighter and I swallowed down the panic one more time. As I looked up I could see things from his perspective .  

Then I just felt those traitorous tears pouring down my face against my will. What a nightmare this is for him. It takes 8 people for conscious sedation. All around him, doing all kinds of things. It's like a busy subway station of activity. The doctor yanking and pulling hard because he's suppose to be asleep, but with max doses of two meds, he's still fighting them through so much pain. What to do, how can I help? Without conscious thought I decided to sing in a whisper. I know how crazy that sounds, right? But I sang, "You make me brave, you make me brave..." While I held his face and patted his cheek. The busy ER became very quiet, and got still. The presence of the Lord permeated the room, and everyone paused to breath it in. Britton slowly drifted off into the drug induced sleep needed. Then the spell was broken and the worker bees went back at it. They spent hours pulling and yanking, manipulating. They let Randy work on it for a while after they each took turns and were all worn out from each valiant attempt. They flipped him on his belly, and the battle began again. The swelling made it far more difficult. Bottles of drugs everywhere, doctors calling out for more drugs, one yanking another monitoring, momma just praying and not caring what anyone thinks, daddy holding both his feet, wishing he could do this for him. It felt like a Mash unit in a war zone. Welcome to the complications of autism. sighhhhhhhhh

In the middle of it, the nurse says to me. "You are a great mom!" But then her eyes filled up with guilt. I turned from what I was doing because I heard the Lord whisper, "Pay attention!" She said, "I have twins with autism. They are three. I have no patience for it. I am not the mother you are." A tear escaped and she wiped it away so no one in her professional life would see. The confession was left hanging as the battle intensified. Later I went to my car to get Britton's much loved quilt full of holes. She was sitting on the curb smoking, with the front of her scrubs soaked from tears. I stopped, and paused. I have no pride left because autism sanded that away years ago, I look down at her and confess, "You know, when he was three, I was nothing like I am now." She looked up and stared at me so intently. Like she was searching deep inside me for some hope. I told her how it's not possible to have the patience the understanding that you "learn in the valley of the shadow." That it is earned, won on the battle field of Love. That God would be faithful to teach her, to mold her into the mother her boys would need. Trusting Him would be how she could do this. Holding on to Him and reaching up to the heavens would give her the courage that was not her own. Then she let me pray with her, she let me console HER. It was a holy moment, I felt God all over us. She was very professional and hopped up because there was a job to do, and Britton's shoulder was still out. We tucked our secret alliance away, and we both went back to the battlefield. We pretended that we had not shared that still moment where God had paused a battle long enough to give aide to someone in pain. That precious moment, where a war hardened, old General reminded the fresh young private that she too will someday wear the battle scars of a thousand wars. She too, will someday pave the way for those young frightened warriors behind her, praying someone has an answer, looking to her for courage. I pray that I encouraged her to trust God. I pray that I gave her hope that the battle is far less intense, and not as bloody as it use to be.  
The reason? We now know our enemy, we are a huge army of battle torn families and we have better weapons. "For the weapons of our warfare are not carnal, but mighty through God to the pulling down of strongholds." The battle is so fierce, those on the front lines for endless years have pointed out the enemy over and over only to be told the enemy is YOU. But mom's know, daddy's know, doctors are beginning to know. The truth seeps up from the cesspool of deception, and is beginning to permeate even the hardest of hearts. We know the day our child was changed from what he was meant to be into... something else. We know the day we were convinced to let poison be injected into them. We KNOW our enemy. But that is not the most important lesson of this night.  
This night the lesson is, God does not, will NEVER waste our suffering. He will take us bleeding and bruised, and change us into someone stronger than humanly possible. Then He will instill courage into your heart and give you love so strong you will know it is from another world. Yes, even on the frontline, He shows up and says, "Use this moment, don't let this go to waste." How I love his voice.  

When the fierce battle ended and the beat up boy/man laid exhausted, with a bruised and bloody shoulder so swollen you aren't sure it's not something else growing under his skin. We all stepped back and breathed. He's laid out on the table, beaten, shoulder shredded and bleeding. However, the wicked battle was won for that day.  
Randy and I sat in the well worn plastic chairs, and held hands. Holding each other up, having fought one more time and won. Even we are surprised. The exhaustion is so deep at this point I laugh saying, "even my hair is tired." We both laughed with tired eyes so full of the pain watching our child suffer. The emotion swells and I started to cry because, well, because.

I hugged him and we just held each other. We wondered how in the world we have survived this long. Love is a powerful force. If I could step back and look with spiritual eyes, I believe this is what I would've seen. I felt God's spirit like a breath of wind, a blue swirl of smoke, wrap us, caress us, love us. I would see his spirit whisper to those who joined us in the battle that day say, "Notice, this battle weary family trusts God. Yes they are weary, but they are infused with my strength. They believe, and I am with them. That means, if YOU believe I will be with you too." The battle tried angels having seen so many of God's children through countless wars, would be caressing, and massaging Britton's head. Fingers doing circles on his temples as they blow the breath of heaven across his exhausted flesh. Still confused why God so loved this world and these broken humans.

As the early morning began to open it's heavy eyelids, and rear it's sleepy head from the earth's soft bed. Britton's bone-tired, and drained body lay gently breathing in some restoration. It was a strange for the emergency room to be so still. The doctor's shift was over, and she stopped by to make sure all was well before we left. She said, "I'd like to thank you for what you did for us tonight." Randy and I looked at each other and I raised my tired and questioning eyebrows and shrugged. She looked almost grief stricken as she poured out her life's work. "We see the dredge of society here. You work and you work and after awhile you forget the people are even human. The majority of people who come here are so entitled, so demanding. Sure you get to help some people. Someone goes into cardiac arrest, you bring them back. It's something. But most the time, we just patch up drug addicts and fight them over more drugs. Watch the elderly come to the ER in hopes that a family member will finally visit as they die of loneliness.  A baby dehydrated because the mom is too drunk to remember he needs fed more than once.  Tonight, you showed us the best of what humans can be. You actually gave an entire Emergency Room hope that there are still good people in the world." She said a lot more than that, but that was the jest of it. Randy and I were rendered speechless by the encounter. We had teased each other early in the night, before the battle got fierce. That coming to the ER was like going to Walmart, you never know what you're gonna see. The doctor's face squeezed with emotions, and she put her thumb and finger up to prevent tears. We didn't really know what to say to her. So, I reached over and patted her and told her how much we appreciated all she had done. How wonderful it is to have a doctor who listens and cares. That what she does matters even when no one notices, she makes a difference. She seemed choked with the never received appreciation. She turned to leave because she had a flood of emotions rising so fast she had to get to her car before they spilled out all over the harsh reality she works in.

Oh God, He is really something. He is always up to something you never imagine. Planning, moving, helping if only we will listen and be part of a much bigger plan than we can contemplate.

I have no idea how, or why we are going to have to have Britton's surgery in Philadelphia. I'm still astonished as I think of how all that came to be. An another autism mom who heard our story contacted another autism mom, and made sure I knew how she had fought this same battle. She reached out, she loved, she cared for a family just because she had battled the same monster. (God Bless you Val! God uses all our pain!)  
But after tonights battle, I'm believing that God has laid out a plan. That we are to obey and follow his lead, and "step quickly to the battle line." I laughed as I cried after the doctor left us standing there pretty much with nothing left to say. Stunned, amazed, at how God had taken so much horrific tragedy and done something incredible right in front of our reluctant eyes. Then shown it right to us, (a rare occurrence) while we blinked back astonished gratitude that He allowed us to see Him at work. 

He's just like that isn't he? One of my favorite scriptures is, "Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God.… 2Corin 1:3 

That pretty much sums up last night.  It's good when you get to see beauty in the ashes.  When you're life has burned so out of control and you stand in the rubble and ask God why things have been allowed to go so far.  But like a flower growing up out of volcanic ash, it unfurls it's colorful face tilting up, seeking the light of the SON.  As I contemplated these things in my minds eye, I realized that the beauty, and resilence of this chosen flower cannot grow in any other soil.  

Luke 12:27

"Consider the lilies, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin; but I tell you, not even Solomon in all his glory clothed himself like one of these. 

The Sound of Silence

  I sit holding his head as he writhes during yet another seizure.  His eyes roll back in his head and he turns a horrible shade of blue.  He chokes and I do all that I can do keep him from biting his tongue to shreds.

The Sound of Silence....
"And in the naked light I saw
Ten thousand people, maybe more
People talking without speaking
People hearing without listening...and no one dare, Disturb the sound of silence."

These lyrics have been going around and around in my head a lot lately.  They aren't the best lyrics, or maybe they're just hard to hear.  When I googled the song it came up under, "Disturbed Lyrics"
Well I'll go with that.  I am feeling deeply disturbed.

Sure it's mostly the same old thing I'm upset about.  It's the masses refusal to hear.  The medias refusal to report.  The Congress's refusal to care.   I found it ironic that my son couldn't hear after his MMR and he has never been able to speak again.  Funny that by silencing our children, they have also made the public DEAF!

As I was driving home from the clinic this past week, I kept thinking of that age old question, "If a tree falls in the forest, and there's no one around to hear it, did it make a sound?"  I wanted to SCREAM!  SCREAM louder and harder than I've ever wanted to scream.  But I am pretty sure, just like that tree, there is no one to hear it.  You see this life we live, this life of pain, and sickness, and fear was not my choice, certainly not my son's choice.  Believe it or not, accept it or don't, my son was vaccine damaged.  That's right, I said it right out loud.  I SAID IT, and I STAND BY IT!!
He was fine one minute and the next he was BLUE and not breathing.  I knew the minute it happened, but all the doctors just kept trying to say it had to be something else!  Really?  Why did it HAVE TO BE SOMETHING ELSE?    However, they had no other answers.  After 18 long months of running tests, and wrong diagnosis's, they had ZERO answers.  I have a thought, maybe, two plus two actually EQUALS FOUR!!!  Imagine that?

Someone beginning to navigate this vaccine world with a new baby, someone I care a great deal about....tells me she does not read my "VACCINE POSTS" I admit I was a tiny bit surprised, and sad.  Okay, maybe shocked, I know a ton of people block me, and others just scroll as fast as they can.  I've been told how upsetting the truth is.  It's fine, I get it, you rather not know the truth.  It's super uncomfortable and you're not dealing with it every single day.  You get to sleep 7-8 hours every night.  Unlike my 25 years of averaging 4 hours.  You're not praying to live forever because you don't have to worry about WHO will care for your vaccine damaged child after you finally collapse into the grave.  I could ignore the truth too.  I could do it if I was you.  I don't know because that information didn't exist 25 years ago.  But it does exist now.  Honestly, is any excuse good enough to inject toxins full of heavy metals, and fetal dna into your baby without you feeling comfortable that you've done the research?  WHAT, WHAT do I have to do to get you to consider the possibilities?  Do I scream louder?  I imagine this blood curdling scream from a heart that has been broken over and over again for the last 25 years should be enough!   The blood curdling scream that I hear inside my mind when I realize you might not be willing to consider the truth, is so loud I shake my head to silence it.   Somehow you still can't hear me!  Do I send you more research?  I'm pretty sure that you wouldn't read that either.  What do I do?  How do I reach you?

The problem is, I KNOW WHEN YOU WILL HEAR ME.  After that injection that changes your babies life.  I'll be the first one you call after the doctors have no answers for you.  I'll be the one you're asking what to do.  I'll be the one that will help you.  I'll hold your hand, I'll cry with you.  But.... couldn't you just let me save you today instead? THIS IS NOT ALL ABOUT ME AND MY SON!  NOW IT'S ABOUT YOU, AND YOU'RE BABY!
Couldn't you just HEAR MY SCREAM TODAY?

I know it's not popular, I know it has lost me friends, and it won't win you any friends either.  But the reality is, if you choose the hard way.  If you choose to protect that tiny little life that God so graciously gave you.  Then WHO CARES about those who aren't on your side.  I PROMISE, let me say that one more time, I PROMISE that if you will research for say.... 30 minutes you will NEVER vaccinate that baby.  I CHALLENGE YOU to do so.  Isn't your babies future worth 30 minutes?  You prayed so many years for that baby.  Now you get to learn what it's like to love someone so much more than you have ever loved yourself.  You will protect that baby from so many perceived dangers.  This danger, has been hidden.  Cloaked in deception and lies.  Covered by billions of dollars that lines the pockets of our government officials, who love money more than children.

So let's consider for a minute what might happen if you don't vaccinate.  First your baby gets whopping cough.  That's bad.  It's horrible to watch and hear.  It could require hospitalization.  It's NO FUN.  Will your baby die, the chances are SO slim in America.  (the CDC says that 277 people died of pertussis from 2000 - 2015)  So five years later you dodged that bullet, and your six year old gets chicken pox. It's uncomfortable.  They will probably run a fever, the misery factor is off the charts.  They may be left with a few little scars, but they'll recover and now they are immune.  Good trade.  Two more years pass and your 8 year old comes down with measles. (Probably exposed by someone who got the vaccine and is still shedding the virus)  Wicked, wicked fever, lasts at least three days.  You need to monitor them, and keep them as comfortable as possible, you have to take off work... again, now their immune to measles, again, it's a good trade.  But none of these, not one of these is going to leave your child with brain damage.  With a life of seizures, with their future and all their hopes and dreams gone.  (SCREAMING-) NONE OF THESE!!!!
disclaimer - I am not a doctor.  I do know that there have been RARE cases of death with measles, and I do mean rare.  There has even been death with whopping cough, and brain damage from people who let their childs fever go unchecked for days)  although the chance is almost nil.  However, your chance of autism is 1 in 68.  ONE IN SIXTY EIGHT!!!!Yeah I'm screaming, ONE IN 68!!!

The tears pour down my face as I sob and beg God to open your eyes, your ears, your heart!  How do I NOT tell you these things and sleep at night?  Today my son isn't eating.  He also has Crohns disease, thanks to his vaccine damage.  The pain he is in daily makes me shudder as I think on it.  I sit holding his hands as he writhes during yet another seizure.  His eyes roll back in his head and he turns a horrible shade of blue.  He chokes and I do all that I can do keep him from biting his tongue to shreds.  As I do this, I think of you, and all the young mothers out there with cotton in their ears.  I think of the young doctors who KNOW the truth, but have been silenced by their boards, and employers to keep their mouths closed or lose their jobs.  Then I wonder... would I have listened?
Would I have researched all those 26 years ago?

I don't know the answers to any of those gut wrenching questions, but what I do know is, I wish with every cell in this mommas heart that I had been challenged to do so.  Honestly there is no other choice, I will post this blog, and pray you read it.  I will beg God to move this blog up on the google search engine every time a young mother starts to search.  Mostly I will pray for all of you who have little ones and you're struggling with what to do about the next round of vaccines.

My son has stopped seizing now, and he's beginning to breathe.  His color isn't a normal pink yet, but it's no longer twilight blue.  I lay my tired head on his panting chest and listen to his heart beat.  In the thump thump I hear, "speak out mother.  Tell them.  Save as many as you can!  Make something good out of all this suffering!  Please, make my life matter!"  I sit up with an even stronger resolve.

His eyes blink open as he swims up towards consciousness.  His hand is shaking hard, but he reaches towards me with a thousands words written in his eyes that I cannot read.  My resolve increases, and I know my voice will now be amplified by adding his voice to mine.
If I stay silent, then they have silenced him as well.  I cannot allow that, they've stolen so much already.

The sound of guttural choking, the sound of body parts thrashing, the knowing looks as he holds my hand and wishes for a different life.  This, this is the COST of SILENCE.

"Fools, " said I, "you do not know
Silence like a cancer grows
Hear my words that I might teach you
Take my arms that I might reach you."
But my words like silent raindrops fell
And echoed in the wells of silence

And the people bowed and prayed
To the neon God they made
And the sign flashed out its warning
And the words that it was forming

And the sign said,
"The words of the prophets
Are written on the subway walls
And tenement halls."
And whispered in the sound of silence

**Research websites
www.vactruth.com
www.generationrescue.org
www.thinkingmomsrevolution.com
www.ageofautism.com
www.callous-disregard.com
www.canaryparty.org

Life Support - for my mother

Wikipedia

Life support - refers to the emergency treatments and techniques performed in an emergency situation in order to support life after the failure of one or more vital organs.  

What a vivid lesson, this past month has brought.  My precious momma laying in a hospital bed.  Hands tied down, and a big 'ole tube, rather several,  stuck down her throat while she fought for her life.  And fight she did.  They kept drugging her and drugging her, and she still fought for consciousness.  It was incredible, and also one of the saddest things I've ever seen.

I don't think it was life she cared that much about, however ALL her children sat at her bedside, praying, and encouraging, and telling her how much they loved her.  This woman loves her children, and she was NOT gonna miss seeing them, even under these circumstances.

The one of the hardest parts of situation, was the fact that she could not speak.  In the beginning we gave her paper and pen and she wrote.  She wrote her needs, she wrote her desires, she even joked with us.  However as the severity of the situation and the fear and drugs took over, nothing she wrote made any sense.

“Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage.” 
― Lao Tzu

The kids, and even the grand kids would sit in her room for hours, and try and try to help, to understand what she needed.  She did the best she could, but she would constantly throw up her hands in despair, because we couldn't figure out what she wanted or needed.  I cried, and I grieved and I couldn't believe how close to my own life at home this was.  The nurse actually said to me, "you can't try any harder, she really isn't going to remember much of this."  I said, "But, I should be able to figure it out!  I have spent almost 25 years reading someones hand gestures, their eyes.  Discerning their intent, just by gut instinct.

You see, my son, Britton can't talk.  He uses his hands and his eyes, and anything at all to help us communicate with him.  He occasionally will still throw up his arms in despair.  His brain was damaged when he was just a baby...Our daily life seemed so much like trying to understand my mom while she was on Life support.  I never thought about it that way, and yet....  every day is about giving him the support required to stay alive.  He can never be alone.  He can't make himself understood, he is really at the mercy of whoever is with him.

“The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places.”– Ernest Hemingway

The similarities are pretty remarkable when you think about it.  His health has been a rollercoaster ride since the very first seizure back in 1991.  He could talk back then, not many people realize that.  He talked a blue streak as a matter of fact.  He loved to sing and repeat children's poems.  When he began to lose his ability to speak he would watch Disney movies nonstop.  I think he lost a lot of his ability to know what they were saying, so he kept trying, because he knew he could understand BEFORE.  sighhhhhhh  Such an awful thing to happen to a tiny child.

Then it was in and out of the hospital for tests, for years.  Heck we still do it.  But life-support has never ended for him.

Mom had that tube down her throat for four days.  She begged me nonstop to get it out.  She would beg me to untie her hands, and I would do so every chance I got.  (Inspite of the fact that my sister kept telling me I was going to "hospital jail!")  I would sit on alert, making sure she would not be able to pull the tubes out before I could stop her.  (Sitting on alert in a hospital, keeping watch is something I've had a lot of practice at.)  Having that tube down your throat, really is beyond terrible!  It is so unbearable that they give you paralytic drugs so that you don't gag to death.  I don't expect you ought to be conscious with that happening to you.

Truly, severe autism is pretty awful too.  In so many situations I've wished he could be unconscious so he didn't have to know what his life really entailed.  From the tiny two year old, losing his language, staring at me in confusion.  The nine year old, crying every single day til he vomited and mercifully falling asleep.  To the life of seizures of unknown origin that just come out of the blue and steal his health and everyones hope.  To the young man, who watches his nieces and nephews, born, and learn to speak and the questioning looks when he wonders why he is different.

I've felt so responsible all his life.  I spent years, doing all the therapies I could find.  Hoping and hoping and hoping.  Sitting him in my lap and begging him to see me, to hear me, "come back to this world."  I truly believe he has spent his life trying with everything in him.

Once again I have to say he is the bravest person I have ever known.  He still smiles, he endures more than I can even comprehend.  He fights those "straps around his wrists, and he begs me to set him free."  Every single day I try.  Every single day, I'm willing to go to "hospital jail" if I can make his life one tiny bit better.  It occurred to me that he's a lot like my mom.

"Promise me you will remember you are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem and smarter than you think." A.A. Milne

I know this is a little different than most my blogs, however I am going to add this comment.   You should have written down if you want life support or not.  If you do, GREAT, tell someone.  If you don't, TELL SOMEONE, and get it down on paper.  Life is beyond unpredictable,and I wish like anything my son could tell me what he wanted from the very beginning.  Of course that's not possible, but my husband and I have had long talks about life support.  It just isn't possible to know the contingency for every situation.  

It was brutal not knowing for sure what my mom would want if the situation got worse.
By the way,  we got a happy ending.  On day four, she miraculously began to recover.  The fluid drained out of her lungs, and she was able to breathe on her own.  In spite of the misery, my mom is a very unusual individual.  No complaining, no whining, just thankful.  She really is someone special. I am grateful she is my mother, I've spent lots of years being amazed at her faith, and her acceptance of her constant illness and pain.  However she never gives up hope of healing.

I've never understood how God chooses which people he heals, and which people he doesn't.  At the end of the day, I'll just thank Him and be grateful that life support is a possibility when needed.
I may have never felt so thankful.  My mom has lived on the edge of severe illness for longer than 15 years.  I realize that I will have to face living without her someday.  This "little scare" was some kind of a wake up call, even though I thought I was prepared, I am not.  I felt like a little girl, as I wrapped myself around her as she lay in that bed trying to breath, all I thought was "mommy!"  Apparently we never out grow loving our parents.

“But there's a story behind everything. How a picture got on a wall. How a scar got on your face. Sometimes the stories are simple, and sometimes they are hard and heartbreaking. But behind all your stories is always your mother's story, because hers is where yours begin.” 
― Mitch Albom, For One More Day

"You never know how strong you are until being strong is the only option you have"