It’s the ending that counts

Years ago when I was a stay-at-home mother, I’d see my neighbor ladies leaving for work in the morning.  Their hairdos were perfect and they stepped into cars that were more expensive-looking than mine.  I often was still in my pajamas at that early hour.

And sometimes I felt I had really messed up my life.  What had happened to my desire to study law?   Would my great American novel ever get written? I felt at times like I was wasting my life.

“Do you work?” people would ask.  I learned to reply in the affirmative.  I did work.  I cooked, I cleaned, I took care of my son.  But when our old car wouldn’t start, when my son’s diaper leaked –again!– when $100 had to last all month for groceries, I wondered if I had  really missed the boat.

Then came the diagnosis from speech pathologists.  My son had verbal apraxia.  The occupational therapist said he had sensory defensiveness.  I had put all my marbles in the “good mother” basket and I felt I had failed even at that.  Other children the age of my son were walking early.  My son didn’t walk until he was 15 months old.  Others were very verbal.  Mine didn’t start with even the most basic of sentences until he was 3.  I studied about verbal apraxia and sensory defensiveness.  I fought and fought to get my son the help I knew he needed.

Some of the worst parts of this time in my life were the times when people judged me.  I felt it from the lady at church who had three girls.  She didn’t understand why my son couldn’t sit still through church, why his hair was often messed up.  I overheard a lady come right out and ask my mother if I were a good parent.

Ask any mother who has a child on the autistic spectrum and you’ll hear similar stories.  Integrated children can be bribed or threatened to sit still; non-integrated children are physically unable to sit still.    They aren’t bad children and their parents aren’t bad parents; it’s like asking someone who has two broken feet to run a mile.  It just ain’t goin’ to happen.

And the community I lived in didn’t help matters any.  I lived in isolation because of deep hurts I had and so my support system wasn’t as strong as it should have been.  Looking back, I marvel I didn’t completely lose my mind at times.

I enrolled my son in public school because I was not confident in my ability to teach someone who had special needs, but when he came home from public school almost catatonic, I knew I had to at least try to homeschool.  And I did.  For twelve years.

Toward the end of those twelve years, my son and I flew to New York City to meet a world-renowned psychiatrist/neurologist who had written many books about dyslexia.  I had painstakingly written an account of all the doctors my son had seen, about all the nutritional therapies we had tried, about skin brushing and joint compression techniques, about all my son’s accomplishments in school, in sports, in scouting.  I kept the report as concise as I could, but it was pages long.

The doctor read every word of my account.  He asked questions, most of which started out like, “How did you know how to do this?  How did you know that?”  After the end of our consultation, I was pretty sure I had the doctor’s approval.  I hadn’t failed as a mother.  I had done everything I could do, not perfectly, not always with a smile, but I had run a race that had been set before me that was grueling.

The young handsome man beside me (my son) could talk now.  He could read and write.  He could stand in front of people and sing solos.  He was an Eagle Scout.  But even more important, he was a fine human being.  He was happy to help people.  He had many friends.  He was honest and knew how to work hard.  Jesus was in his heart.

Whenever I’d pray and ask the Lord for help during my parenting journey, He’d always tell me to trust Him.   I learned I couldn’t even trust the Lord without His help.  God truly is the All Sufficient One.

So what I’m trying to say with this long account is that it isn’t the beginning that matters.  All races in life aren’t equal.  Some have more hurdles than others, some have better scenery.  Those neighbors of mine who looked so put together every day had their own trials.  But the most important thing is that we keep our eyes on the Lord and let Him have Lordship of every part of our lives.  We might not see the results on this side of heaven, but if God is in it, the ending will be glorious.