special needs

Why this mom won’t pray for a special miracle.

by Melissa Holderby on Nov 6, 2021 category faith, parenting, special needs

We are blog friends, right? I mean, I assume you can handle my sloppy truth without judging me too harshly. Well, this mom won’t pray for a special miracle for her special needs son. There, I said (typed) it. And I want to tell you why.

I sat down to write this specific message to you several times without success. Every time I mustered the energy to log into my writing platform, I just sat and stared at the blank screen. The little cursor blinking patiently in the upper left-hand corner of the glowing display. How can I possibly articulate my feelings around this without dishonoring Someone? Or sending the wrong message? Or even worse – discouraging another hurting soul? And every time I slammed my laptop shut and walked away. A little less confident and a little more discouraged.

I’ll be completely honest, friends. I haven’t published anything since April for a multitude of reasons. The world seems to have swallowed me whole and left little of my creative spark behind. Most days I am focused on what has to get done in the next 24 hours at home and at work while still eeking out a little bit of parenting. My friendships, my marriage and my writing have all taken a back seat. Again. Can anyone else out there relate? Can a tired girl get an “amen”?

A special miracle.

Even deeper than my surface reasons, I have been too afraid to share this with you. What in the world could I possibly have to say to meaningfully encourage another warrior momma walking a similar direction? The issues of parenting a special needs child seem too big, and my words feel too small. I certainly don’t want to sprinkle hollow platitudes or insult anyone else’s story with shallow ideas. The Thankful Bee was created to be a balm. A beacon. A place where we can all exhale for a minute, recharge, and then take another step forward. I am truthfully unsure if I can be that for anyone (or even for myself) at the moment.

Still, I feel compelled to share my journey forward on this particular path. In other words, why this mom won’t pray for a special miracle – complete and immediate healing for her son’s cerebral palsy. My story isn’t clean or tidy. In fact, it is fraught with hard feelings and tough questions. Questions like, “Why does God allow babies to be born with disabilities?” Or, “Why does God grant some people’s petitions for miraculous healing and not others?” Does He favor one person over another? And why, despite my professed strong faith, does this mom not pray for that specific, special miracle?

Let’s question the basics.

Before we delve into the deeper points, let’s answer some foundational questions together. I had to really look long and hard at these to determine whether I was stuck in the muck of a basic tenet or not.

Question #1: Do I genuinely believe God is powerful enough to heal my son?

Answer: Yes, His omnipotence has never been in doubt with me. All I have to do is look back at Luke’s adoption story to see His might. God moved impossible mountains to bring Luke, his birth mom and our family together. Nobody and nothing will ever convince me otherwise. Period. I 100% firmly believe that God is capable of erasing Luke’s cerebral palsy with one breath, one word or one nod.

Question #2: Do I honestly believe that God is good/kind/loving enough to heal my son?

Answer: I soul searched on this question a bit longer than the first one. Probably because of those really tough questions I mentioned earlier. And while this blog post isn’t meant to resolve why bad things happen to good people, I still have to answer “YES”. Yes, I can look back on the five decades of my life and point to specific evidence of God’s loving faithfulness. How His goodness rose up out of the ashes of my own past desperate situations to bring beauty and joy and peace. So, yes, I have to answer that God is good and His love for Luke and our family is rock solid.

[Case in point? Have you read about our sparrow yet? It will always be one of my favorite stories. You can find it HERE.]

Let’s really rip it open.

I have examined my heart, and I believe that God is powerful enough. And I believe He is good/kind/loving enough. So, why won’t this mom pray for a special miracle to obliterate her son’s cerebral palsy? Warning, this is where my feelings get extra sloppy. Do I believe that our family is WORTHY of a miracle?

Certainly there are thousands of mothers out there asking God right now to heal their babies of worse things – terminal cancer, pervasive drug addiction, crippling depression, etc. I mean, Luke’s cerebral palsy isn’t a progressive condition, and it isn’t fatal. His muscles are weak and floppy, and his balance and coordination are impaired. He is not yet able to communicate verbally, and he sometimes drools if not prompted to swallow or wipe his mouth. His gross motor, fine motor and expressive speech skills are all impacted, but his intelligence is unaffected. He’s a super smart little cookie trapped in an uncooperative body. He can only improve from here, and he continues to encourage us with his steady progress.

(Side Note Public Service Announcement – Don’t assume that because he isn’t talking that he isn’t taking in every word you say. He also isn’t hearing impaired. So when you ask invasive questions about his special needs or about his adoption story, HE CAN HEAR AND UNDERSTAND YOU. Seriously, I assume you are well intentioned people, but don’t make me punch you. Because I will. Like a protective mama bear with a slightly floppy, drooly, non-verbal cub. )

Moving on…

So, do I not pray for that miracle because I think other families are ahead of us in line at heaven’s “Miracles Answered Here” window? Yep, that’s probably it if I am being completely truthful with myself (and you). We are managing, and Luke is doing well despite his struggles. Feel free to bless someone else with our miracle, Lord. We don’t want to ask for more than we deserve. We want whatever YOU want.

God’s unexpected response.

Anyway, in talking to God about my reasons for not specifically asking Him for a miracle for Luke, He answered me in a very unexpected way with just two words. “SLOW BURN”. Huh? Those weren’t exactly the words I needed. And then it was like the veil was lifted from my eyes and I saw a teeny peek of what God sees. God has already given this mom a special miracle for her boy. Luke’s miracle healing isn’t a quick flash. Instead, it is a SLOW BURN.

Luke’s miracle is the team of talented therapists and teachers who build into him (and me) every week at school. Slow burn.

His miracle is a team of gifted outpatient therapists and other medical specialists who genuinely care enough about him (and me) to patiently listen to my concerns and include me in the decision making. Slow burn.

Our miracle is having two jobs that allow us to accommodate our schedules around Luke’s needs. And some seriously amazing health insurance. And access to resources other families don’t automatically have. Slow burn.

His miracle is the unexpected financial help that has come our way to pay for expensive equipment and services not covered by that awesome insurance. Grants, special funds, and one heck of a financial advocate through our local Children’s Hospital. For example, did you know that a local coffee shop’s baristas covered a portion of Luke’s $7,000 speech generating device by donating all of their customer tips for a full month? Who even does that?! Slow burn.

And Luke’s miracle is a community of friends and family who fiercely love him and support us as his parents. They pray for us, and make us laugh and pick up the slack when we need help. Slow burn.

Your own slow burn.

Where are YOU on this road? Even if you are not raising a child with special needs, I bet there is something in your life for which you’d love a little divine intervention. What is that prayer you leave unspoken? Do you doubt God’s power to grant it? Do you question His goodness around that thing? Or, like me, do you consider your ask unworthy in light of other peoples’ “bigger” problems?

Regardless, my advice to you is to still boldly ask Him. Be that mom and pray for the special miracle. And then look for your own slow burns. God is always listening, and He always answers (“yes”, “no” or “wait”). Sometimes just not in the way we expect.

Until next time, friends!

Melissa

Online resources.

Want to learn more about cerebral palsy? Here are some helpful links.

Cerebral Palsy Foundation https://www.yourcpf.org/

Center For Disease Control and Prevention – Cerebral Palsy https://www.cdc.gov/ncbddd/cp/index.html

Searching for hope in our weary world.

by Melissa Holderby on Nov 28, 2020 category Christmas, special needs

I have to be up front and honest with you. I haven’t posted to the blog in a few weeks because I haven’t been able to write a single word. Not one syllable. A small part of that problem has been simply logistics with my own lack of time and energy. The bigger part, however, has been what some may call “writer’s block”. I would actually call it “fear that I don’t have adequate words”. You see, I started the thankful bee primarily to serve as a light of encouragement to folks who may be troubled or hurting. And frankly, I haven’t even been able to encourage MYSELF lately, let alone any of you. I certainly haven’t felt qualified to guide anyone searching for hope in our weary world. So, I haven’t written any new content recently. Until tonight.

The Christmas Cave

Tonight I took all three of my kids to The Christmas Cave, about two hours south-east from where we live. It’s basically a self-guided holiday light display in the passageways of an underground white gravel mine. Inside among the twinkling lights, decorated Christmas trees and pillar candles lining the dimly-lit path are displays depicting the historical moments surrounding the birth of Jesus. For added atmosphere, holiday music is featured in each area.

I wanted to be in the moment. Truly, I did. I wanted to just relax and enjoy being out with all three of my kids for the first time in a long time. Except I honestly wasn’t. Nope. I was preoccupied with everything weighing on my heart. Burdens with names like “overdue” and “overdrawn”. “Quarantine.” “Loneliness.” “Worry.” Maybe you are acquainted with some of those as well?

Squeaks and stumbles.

One thing that really struck me hard as I walked along that underground gravel path was Luke‘s reaction to the whole event. He was so excited to see the Christmas decorations, and the way the candlelight on the cave walls made our shadows look ten feet tall. He was especially drawn to the lights on the garlands and trees. Luke desperately wanted to walk the entire mile-long trail, his little chilly hand in mine, pointing and making happy squeaks. It didn’t matter to him that his pace was so slow or that he stumbled in the gravel. No, he just wanted to absorb it all.

But Luke’s squeaks and his stumbles were a painful reminder to me that my sweet, joyful little boy has extra struggles to overcome. In the dark of that underground mine, I felt a familiar sting in my heart. A hurt that despite all of my education as a pediatric therapist, and all of the professional help we consume each week, and all of the resources I have scoured, Luke still struggles. He still doesn’t speak. And he still doesn’t walk without falling. And the road ahead of him seems to stretch way out over the horizon where I can’t clearly see his triumphant victory over his earthly disability.

What a contrast Luke and I were in that moment in the Christmas Cave. Each of us putting one foot in front of another to travel along our candle-lit journey. Except my heart was troubled, and his heart was wide with wonder.

And then it happened.

O, Holy Night.

We got to the part of the path with the scene depicting immediately after Jesus’ birth. I pointed out baby Jesus to my baby Luke, and do you know what Luke did? He waved. My squeaking, stumbling little boy waved to baby Jesus.

Oh my goodness, friends, I got tears in my eyes. And I became acutely aware of the familiar Christmas carol playing in the cave at this moment – O, Holy Night. The line from the song goes, “A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices…”

Yes! I am weary, inside and out! All those burdens I called by name earlier? They recently have worn me clear down to a nub. In fact, the entire planet seems to be searching for hope in our weary world.

A thrill of hope.

God broke through my darkness in that underground gravel mine. And He wants to break through your darkness, too. So, He sent a baby. A very special baby. Born in a cave. So that I can have hope. YOU can have hope. The entire weary world can have hope.

And even with the loud clamoring of all of my worries, I can rejoice. I can celebrate my future even if I can’t see it. Luke’s future. The world’s future.

So you see, tonight I got a tender reminder. Tonight I was gently reminded that I don’t have to know all the answers. I don’t have to have a battle plan thoroughly worked out. And I don’t even have to have adequate words. And neither do you. Perhaps all we need is one small flicker of LIGHT in our darkness. One tiny speck of HOPE in our corner.

Keep walking along your gravel path, friend. Keep putting one foot in front of the other, even on the days you feel weary. If all you can manage is a squeak and a stumble, do it. We aren’t meant to languish, searching for hope in our weary world. HOPE has come. HOPE is here.

I am not strong – I am beautifully broken.

by Melissa Holderby on Sep 19, 2020 category faith, parenting, special needs

I want to say it right up front. I am not strong – I am beautifully broken. And today I want to address a well-meaning comment that my husband and I hear from time to time. The comment is usually some variation of the following.

“You are so strong to adopt a child…”

“To have waited all those years (four and a half HARD years)…”

“And to have trusted the process…”

“Or to have kept going when friends and family told you to quit…”

“You are so much stronger than us…”

“We could never adopt…

“Raise a child with trauma in his or her past…”

“Freely accept a birth mother as part of our family…”

Let’s all PAUSE right here. Allan and I are not strong – we are beautifully broken. Beautifully broken human beings just like everybody else. But Allan and I firmly believe something that you may or may not already realize. Read on!

we are NOT superheroes

It is a falsehood that adoptive families have some sort of special powers. We are not superheroes. Far from it! We are not capable of saving anyone else (let alone ourselves). On the contrary, most days we are a family just like yours trying to raise good kids, pay our debts and keep our household from physically falling apart.

Truth? Other days feel crushingly difficult. Watching our children struggle through trauma they did not create. Navigating a mine field of hard feelings and hard decisions. More internal self-accusations that we are lousy parents and even worse spouses. We are not strong – we are beautifully broken.

On those days, our souls are weary. Sometimes our own tears release the built-up tension. Sometimes we exchange unnecessarily sharp words with those we profess to love the most. Other times we retreat to our she-shed / man-cave to spend angry hours by ourselves in total silence rather than respectfully or lovingly interact with each other. The prospect of navigating our lives without failing our children, growing apart from our spouse, or being swallowed whole by frustration or worry is overwhelming. But we keep going.

How? Not by our own human strength. By faith.

Don’t miss it – keep moving forward.

I love this quote from author and pastor, Rick Warren’s blog. “Where do you get the resilience to keep going? Faith. It’s believing God could do something any moment that could change the direction of your life, and you don’t want to miss it, so you keep moving forward.“

We believe it, so we keep moving forward. For example, pressing through the choppy waters of parenting (because God sees us). Holding fast to the belief that God prepares a good path ahead of each of our children (because God loves them). Handling our marriage with love and respect (because God leads us). Attending one more therapy appointment, one more counseling session or one more conference. Whispering one more prayer for guidance and strength. Keeping our eyes on God. Keeping the faith.

The plan includes YOU, too.

God sees us, knows us, leads and loves us. In addition, he made a grand plan to save us because He knows we cannot possibly save ourselves. That plan includes YOU as well, if you allow Him. Some days He grants us faith to take the next blind step, to make the next trusting move. Other days He calls us to faith to let go of our fierce grip and surrender to Him. To accept help from our amazing human support system who loves our broken little bunch. And honestly, some days it is just enough faith to tie a knot in the end of our dangling rope and hang on for dear life. Regardless of future outcomes, we feel blessed and at peace. No matter what.

A very faithful ancient Bible guy (Paul, who authored most of the New Testament) wrote, “We are pressed on every side by troubles, but we are not crushed. We are perplexed, but not driven to despair. Hunted down, but never abandoned by God. We get knocked down, but we are not destroyed.” (2 Corinthians 4:8-9)

So, you see, we receive misguided comments. Allan and I are not strong – we are beautifully broken human beings just like everybody else. The truth is that we lean into our faith and the faith of our friends and family who love us. We don’t have superhuman strength. But God undoubtedly does, and we are following Him wherever the journey may lead.

Adapted from original 11/6/17 Facebook post. Featured image by Lars_Nissen_Photoart from Pixabay

Kayaking upstream against rough rapids.

by Melissa Holderby on Apr 18, 2020 category parenting, special needs

This week’s blog post covers something I never enjoy doing. Kayaking upstream against rough rapids. I rank it right up there with running. Yuck!

I prefer to save running for bear attacks or a zombie apocalypse. The only Marathons I need are gas stations, and I don’t ever want to run for office. Likewise, I avoid running a fever (especially these days). Ironically, I have been known to run my mouth, but that can still be done sitting down. I even went so far as to blog about a toxic form of running related to Bernie Sanders and COVID-19 prior to our global shutdown.

Truth be told, I did participate in a community 5K once. I thought it would set a good example for my kids, and they participated, too. I wogged across the finish line, chugged a bottle of water and promptly puked in the bushes. Never heard of “wogging”? It’s a lazy combination of walking and jogging (“w-” + “-ogging”). Still NOT running. STILL got the same medal as every actual runner.

All that being said, I do have lots of experience with the other strenuous physical activity I mentioned. I am a world-class champion at kayaking upstream against rough rapids. My guess is that YOU are, too, and you don’t even realize it.

our current river adventure

First of all, I need to explain some background information so you know what I mean by “kayaking upstream against rough rapids”. Our youngest son – Luke – was diagnosed with something called “hypotonia” (essentially floppy muscles) as an infant in 2018, and then more specifically cerebral palsy as a toddler in July 2019. He had his first seizure activity a couple of months later in October 2019.

As you may already know, I don’t necessarily believe in coincidences. Luke being THE EXACT CHILD adoptively placed with our family after a very long wait punctuated with heartbreak is no exception. For example, all of his medical issues are already very familiar to me professionally because of my career as a pediatric physical therapist. I actually developed a half-day workshop in 2016 for other therapists related to managing the very thing.

Even more personally, our daughter (now in college) was diagnosed with significant delays involving her speech at a very young age. Allan and I walked that long road with her, and had front row seats to witness her victories. She is thriving, and there is no reason that Luke won’t as well.

solid kayaks and strong paddles

It would seem our family is perfectly suited to help Luke move forward. So, where is the conflict, you ask? I can most easily explain it using a picture from a family kayaking adventure.

The kayak and paddle represent our resources available to navigate the river (aka life’s adventure). In the case of Luke’s diagnoses, my kayak sits pretty well in the water considering my professional and personal experiences to date. Clearly my photo reflects a time BEFORE Luke’s medical issues. The water is calm. I’m grinning. And I don’t have my usual tight grip on the paddle.

Are we all still together? Great! Let’s churn the waters a bit.

smooth waters become rough rapids

What happens to the river bed when we add an unexpected challenge like our Luke’s medical diagnoses (or remotely schooling our children while still attempting to work from home, prolonged social distancing, cancelled event plans, empty grocery shelves, etc)? Now our relatively smooth waters have become more bumpy. Then let’s add in the threat of an emergency like our Luke’s seizures (or too few ventilators, a sudden job loss, loved one in ICU, etc). Now we are shooting some pretty rough rapids! Oh, and sometimes we even need to paddle UPSTREAM in the midst of it all because we left behind important things like our Luke’s developmental milestones, and we need to go back and get them. Feel like you’ve also left something important behind as you are swept down the COVID-19 River, too? I bet you do.

So now we are all kayaking upstream against rough rapids. Thankfully, our family has been blessed with several resources specific to our cerebral palsy journey. For example, Allan’s job provides amazing health insurance (and he still has his job). Luke has a skilled medical team (and his four therapists are doing their best to accommodate Luke’s needs remotely during this crazy shutdown – we appreciate them even more now than we did before!). We also have a supportive network of friends and family willing to help (currently via Zoom and Google Hangouts). Sweetest of all, we have received hugs (virtual), prayers, encouraging words, and hot coconut almond mochas – nonfat, no-whip (delivered with a masked face and a gloved hand).

limited endurance

As you can see, our kayak and paddle are solid. However, the journey can still be draining. No one on the planet has limitless endurance. We have sat with Luke in countless waiting rooms. I have spent hours filling out medical grant applications to help cover the costs of Luke’s therapies and equipment not paid by our insurance. A needlessly complicated billing system at our local children’s hospital does not help either. I have a clinical doctorate degree in an allied health field and almost thirty years of experience in the medical business, and I still often can’t make heads or tails of those monthly statements! Some days I feel tired and spent, and other days I feel pressed and crushed.

I especially don’t like watching Luke struggle even though I know personally and preach professionally that growth comes from challenge. It stings sometimes to see much younger kids soar past Luke with far less physical effort. I hate that my son so obviously wants to walk and talk, but his little body doesn’t yet cooperate. On those days, I also feel sad and a little defeated.

we are all paddling

What river are YOU paddling today? Are your waters calm or rough? Are you currently enjoying a leisurely float downstream in your own bubble of isolation, or are you fiercely battling very real rapids? Do you see people on the river bank (social media)? Make sure you focus your attention on the ones cheering for you, and NOT the ones unintentionally throwing rocks your direction. In other words, just because someone posted it, doesn’t mean you have to consume it.

Not currently coping with Pinterest-perfect spring craft projects your friend suggested to entertain your littles? Or Instagram-worthy photos of that DIY project your friend just posted that make your own yard / deck / home interior feel even shabbier? Then give yourself permission to ignore those for now. I currently consider myself #winning if I am showered, dressed in something other than pajamas, and no one is the house is arguing. Score!

And for goodness sake, if someone offers to paddle your kayak for you for a while, LET THEM. For example, accept their help picking up your groceries. Let them cut your grass this time. Be specific in how they can pray for you if they offer. Use their gift of time and talent to catch your breath and rest your weary muscles. And then get back in there and keep paddling upstream. We CAN do this. See you at the finish line!

Featured image by Paul Brennan from Pixabay.

Always keep a nice tight grip on the reins.

by Melissa Holderby on Feb 23, 2020 category parenting, special needs

Ever been on horse back? I’ve been fortunate enough to sit in the saddle several times in my life. My preferred horse will always be the one with a gentle, cooperative nature. The one who nonchalantly allows me to lead our journey and doesn’t mind me keeping a nice, tight grip on the reins. No free-spirited steeds for me, thank you. If I am sitting on top of a thousand pound animal, I’d like to know that he is willing to let me “drive”.

I actually had a frightening experience during riding lessons as a kid. My horse unexpectedly laid down in the dirt and tried to roll over with me on his back. My foot was caught in the stirrup and I couldn’t break free. Needless to say, I was terrified. My instructor wisely made me “get back in the saddle”, but that afternoon I vowed to never lose control of a riding situation again. Oh, not because I vowed to become a more skilled rider. But because I promised myself I would only ride easy-going horses in the future.

life is an unpredictable, half-ton animal

So, the reins in this story are figurative and the horse is really a metaphor for life. Life is an unpredictable half-ton animal, and we are strapped on top for the duration of the ride. What if my life tries to roll over and I am somehow trapped in the “stirrup”? What if I can’t control the situation and I get crushed underneath? Sounds dangerous. No, thank you! I’ll just keep a nice tight hold of these “life reins” here, and then I can enjoy the ride. No surprises. No harm. Even if I can’t see what’s coming up ahead, I have confidence in my ability to manage as long as I have a nice, tight grip on the reins.

But, today’s story didn’t take place in a horse barn. It took place in a medical waiting room.

controlling the Clydesdales

Our son, Luke (two months old at the time), had started weekly outpatient physical therapy appointments at the local children’s hospital. The diagnosis at that time was nothing super alarming. We caught it right away and intervened early so a smallish problem (think miniature pony) did not become a biggish problem (think Budweiser Clydesdale) down the road.

Anyway, I was 100% confident that Luke would overcome the obstacle. After all, I had a nice, tight grip on the “reins”. We had Luke with the right specialists, and I was skillfully following through at home between appointments. At the time, I was trying to figure out how much to be Luke’s attentive home therapist and how much to just be his snugly mom. To be completely honest, I am still trying to figure that out. One thing for certain, my husband nicknamed me the “Tummy Time Tyrant” with good reason.

pulling so hard on the reins is exhausting

Only problem? I was exhausted. Worn out. I was single-handedly orchestrating appointments with multiple therapists, applying for medical grants and staying on top of Luke’s needs at home. Add to that the drain of working full-time in a super stressful work environment, parenting two other “kids” with high school and college stressors, and trying to keep the house relatively clean. And let’s be honest – my standards for what passes as “clean” has shifted over the years. Somewhere in there, I just completely gave up on being an A+ wife. (A “C” is passing, right?!?!) And crap, when was the last time I actually cooked a meal that included fresh vegetables? Ugh – I cannot keep up!

a gentle reminder

While prayerfully lamenting about my mental fatigue that morning in the therapy waiting room, God gently reminded me that I had snatched the reins back from him. That He never intended for us to do life “single-handedly”. He lovingly reminded me of several times in my past when I had no choice but to rely on Him and the other people He placed in my path. Melissa, I always come through with the right resources for your best possible outcome, whatever that may be. How many times have I brought hope and healing out of your lowest moments (aka your piles of horse poop)?

Our adoption journey to Luke would be a classic example. Allan and I completely surrendered the reins to God in May of 2018 after unsuccessfully trying to control the outcome of that rocky path for over four years. We had to let go of the reins even further less than one week later when Luke was born (surprise!), and we dropped everything to go meet him with no advanced warning. There were no specific plans and no guarantees. We truly had little to no control atop this wild half-ton stallion running at break-neck speed into the unknown.

desperate times call for an expert

In that most desperate and seemingly impossible set of circumstances, we gave over complete control to Him. Truly, our only choice in those chaotic days was to surrender control completely and let God take the reins out of our weary grip. My prayers went something like this… “Please just show us the next step we need to take, one at a time. We want whatever You want. We trust You with the outcome, whatever that may turn out to be.”

I don’t know exactly when I decided to snatch back my nice, tight grip on the reins after we returned home with beautiful, little Luke in our arms. I don’t actually recall it happening. However, at some point I started my exhausting attempt to control every outcome again. If I had to guess, I’d say the reins crept back into my hands gradually, without me even noticing. Sneaky! It shocks me how easily I am tempted back into old habits and away from all the lessons I have learned.

I see you, fellow control enthusiasts

So, fellow control enthusiasts, let’s do this thing together. Right now. Ready?

Deep breath…

Exhale…

Now gently drop the reins.

That’s right. Just lay those sneaky suckers down and breathe.

You see, we all need gentle reminding now and then. In other words, reminders that God loves us enough to handle us with care when we trust Him with our fragile selves. But what if we get off course because of unexpected rocky terrain, loose footing or our own human miscalculations? No worries. He promises us Light to get us back onto the path. But what if we travel through thorny, painful places? And we inevitably WILL, right? He promises to be there with us in those moments, too. We just need to loosen our tight grip and embrace the unpredictable ride. We are never alone. He promises.

Image by Miriam Müller from Pixabay.