HOW I AM

I once had a class as an undergrad. Sociology, I think. Anyway, in it, the professor challenged us with little tasks to do as extra credit. We simply had to have someone record us doing faux pas activities in public. For example, when someone asks you how your day is in line at Walmart, tell them-really tell them. If you asked me that, I might talk for hours if you'd let me because it's just nice to speak to someone who can carry on a conversation that doesn't include, "But why?" every thirty three seconds. Digressing, I'd tell you that I'm tired. My eyes are heavy from the lack of sleep I'm getting. Let's not forget about emotional tiredness, too. I'm that. I'm that always. I'm not sure if it's my personality that makes me ponder all the things or if it's because I'm a woman that I have an innate need to go through every possible scenario in my mind of what could happen. I'm talking about Abel right now. The kid gives me wrinkles. He's adorably sweet when he kisses both cheeks and reaches for me as if no one in the world will do. But raising a deaf child is really hard for me. Today, I went to look at a preschool in hopes of getting him enrolled in a summer program. That's what I'm told is going to be best for Abel and I think I agree. He loved going to "school" in our last town and I know he cared for his teachers very much. He thrived from being in a social situation with mostly hearing kids and it created more of a routine for him which I think he finds comfort in. It has been months since he has been and the clinging cries of a child who doesn't want to be away from the one person he can communicate verbally and non-verbally with have come back every time I'm going to leave his eye sight. I stepped into the director's office and he immediately started crying. I knew he didn't want me to leave. I tried explaining that I wasn't leaving, but it didn't matter. He was already in panic mode. The teensy bit of time I had in my schedule to fill out paperwork and talk was gone. The lady wouldn't talk to me even though I explained we should just take the tour so we can walk around, get him used to a new environment, and let him see that I'm not leaving him. I know my child like the back of my hand. I feel like I can't leave him with these people who don't. I don't want to leave him with people who don't love him, who might get frustrated with his circumstances. I see every single stare. I feel all your judgement when he's throwing a fit, ya know. And it's crappy. Sometimes I feel as if I don't give him enough slack. This child has been through the wringer in the last six months. He's still persevering. He has had a nearly constant ear infection in that time. He has been on meds and off them. He gained a sibling. He gave up his paci. He had surgeries. He had to move homes. He had to leave babysitters and teachers and therapists. His world is upside down. Recently I learned he has a pretty serious infection. One in which he needs a medicine that isn't FDA approved. This isn't the first time they've talked about having to take the implant out. I'm sick when I think about. Physically nauseous. Highly emotional. So, I'm exhausted. Every day. That's how I am.

Up to my chin in medical bills. Lonely. Overwhelmed. And scared.

And trying to trust God through all of this.

I know He'll provide. I know He will restore Abel's health. I also know I'm not truly alone in this. He hears my prayers. He sees every tear I shed. Lo, I am with you always (Matthew 28:20).