For anyone who has experienced bouts of anxiety or helped someone else suffering through anxiety, you will know that the small steps forward deserve a celebration.
It's been 19 months since Alec's first symptoms showed up, following the abuse by his teacher. The roller coaster of emotions he felt, that our family felt, is a ride that I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy.
Here are the things we are celebrating in Alec's recovery:
- He can now look at a menu in any restaurant and choose his own meal.
- He can sit through a meal and not have the urge to run away.
- He is once again testing his own blood sugars, measuring out his injection, and giving himself needles.
- He joins us at the family dinner table and eats with us.
- He laughs...multiple times a day.
- He plays with his friends again.
- He rides his bike and goes to the park...on his own.
- He says his prayers before bed, and sleeps through the night (no nightmares)
- He tidies his room.
- He cares for his dog.
Most of the things I have listed seem really insignificant to most people. What's so remarkable about an 11 year old boy acting like an 11 year old boy? Well, for 18 months, he wasn't doing any of these things....the anxiety caused panic attacks, which essentially stopped all 'normalcy' in our lives as a family.
I am so grateful that God has restored our beautiful son to us. I won't take these small steps for granted ever again. We are truly blessed.
Praise God!
We set off a week before Christmas 1998.
Arnaud, me and our 7 month old baby, Ethan, were on our way to France from the Czech Republic to celebrate the holiday with Arnaud's family. We had also arranged (or rather, my mother in law had arranged) to have Ethan baptized in a local Catholic Church on Christmas Day.
My husband didn't want to pay the airport parking fees in Prague, so it was decided that we would take the train from our small village to the big city.
We packed as little as we could, as there would be a lot of walking and connections to make which means we would have to be able to carry everything we brought. I put Ethan in the snugly, my jacket covering us both, then put an over sized backpack on and a large cooler (with all our baby foods and snacks) over one shoulder. With one hand, I carried the diaper bag.
Arnaud was just as heavily laden as I was, with a backpack on his back, on his front, and dragging our large suitcase behind him.
We arrived at the train station, and bought our tickets. Our plane tickets had been purchased the month prior, so we had to time everything perfectly.
We stood on the platform and waited. Ethan slept peacefully...but I was getting hot. We saw the train approach....but as it got closer, Arnaud realized it was the wrong one! Our train was on the next platform!
"Run! Sarah, quickly!" Arnaud shouted over the rumbled of the approaching train.
He was already jumping down on the tracks with his baggage, while I stood horrified at the thought of jumping in front of an oncoming train. If I didn't go, I would miss our only chance to catch the right train....but going meant risking mine and my baby's life if we tripped.
I still to this day cannot believe I jumped too...and ran for my life--literally!
We made it. I was sweating, and promised myself to yell at Arnaud when we were safe and sound on the train.
God had other plans.
The train was packed. Like sardines in a can. All the seats taken, all the hallways filled, people hanging on the outside of the train. Packed.
Arnaud climbed on first. My lip began quivering. My eyes began to tear up. He turned around and held his hand out to help me up. I could barely fit through the entrance with my over-loaded shoulders.
Then Arnaud disappeared into the train. He told me to wait where I was...among strangers...with our little baby boy....he was going to look for a place for me to sit for the ride. I wondered what the heck I was doing in this country, and why I had agreed to take a train to Prague.
The train began to move. I lost my balance, but a kind man grabbed onto me and my things and held me until I regained my feet. I thanked him. It was 30 minutes before I saw my husband again, and he led me down the hall, squeezing through the crowd, to an empty seat....one given up by a man who took compassion on a young father looking for a place that his wife and child could rest.
We arrived in Prague after 2 hours on that train. It was a subway terminal where we got off, and Arnaud went to look for the right line to take to the airport while I sat with our luggage. Ethan was awake and hungry by this time, so I took out some baby food and fed it to him in the snugly. I was hungry too, but I was not able to reach the snacks in the cooler, so I ignored the hunger pangs.
We boarded the subway with no problems, and arrived at the stop for the airport. This is where we found out we had to climb the stairs (there were about 300 of them) to get to street level where we would have to take a bus to the actual Airport!
I bit my lip so I wouldn't cry. I told Arnaud I was okay...but I wanted to just sit and rest my feet.
We continued on.
We made it to France. I began crying when I saw Arnaud's parents, and was given a big hug. I vowed never to take anything for granted about travel again. The visit was wonderful, and the baptism was just beautiful (I'll leave that story for another post).
Then we had to return. The same way we came. But in reverse order, with heavier baggage (we received LOTS of presents for Christmas).
Onto the plane we went. Arriving in Prague, we caught the bus that took us to the subway station...the subway was nearly empty, as most people were out partying on New Year's Eve. There was plenty of room to sit while riding.
It was looking like an easy trip back home! We had a whole cabin to ourselves on the train, so Ethan could sit by the window and have some space to play around for the 2 hour trip.
We arrived at the second-last stop before our town. It seemed an extra long stop, and eventually Arnaud got up to see what was going on. He was then informed that this was the last stop, and there were no more trains going to our town!
It was nearly 10:00 at night, and I just wanted to be home. We got off the train and began to walk aimlessly through the town. It was starting to snow. There was a light on in a hotel close-by, so we stepped in to see if we could rent a room for the night.
"Sorry, we are completely full. All the hotels and hostels are full on New Year's Eve."
We then asked if there were any taxis we could call, and were informed that there were none.
I began to cry, silently. Arnaud hugged me. He thanked the woman at the front desk, and we walked out into the cold again.
Just as we began to descend the stairs, someone called out to us in Czech, "Hey, hold on! I think I know someone who can help!" The man went into a back room where many people were drinking and ringing in the new year, and brought out an elderly man.
I don't remember his name, but he owned his own car. In the Czech Republic, most people did not own cars until they were in their mid-late 50's, as it cost them 10 years' salary.
He offered to drive us to our small town, a 30 minute drive. We eagerly accepted the offer. As we drove, I took out all the money I had on me and told Arnaud to pay him all of it. I didn't care if it was way more than a normal taxi ride would cost, I was just so thankful to be going home.
When we arrived at home, it was nearing 1:00 a.m. We unloaded the car with the driver's help, then Arnaud handed him the money. He had tears in his eyes, placed his hand upon Ethan's sleeping head, and refused the money.
He drove away. I never knew what it was like to meet an angel in real life. But I knew then....and I also knew that God was watching over us, and would continue to do so.
It's not a very good feeling to know that your every move is being watched, especially when you want others to view you as a good person, but you know they are just waiting for a mistake to prove you are not.
Instead of going about 'as usual', you begin to try and orchestrate how you will say things, or which clothes will best portray the person you want to be....your reactions to the kids will change in front of others, as you second guess yourself as a parent.
You can pull it off for a long time, but the effort catches up to you. The fatigue sets in, and the constant justification of your actions and words eat up all the confidence you have left.
The gig is up. "YOU" have been outed. And it's not the 'you' that you want to be.
It's lonely when you get to that point.
That's when God meets you, holds out His hand, and lets you know that He still loves you, even if the world forsakes you.
God offers new life....new breath....and hope for the future He has planned for you.
I have officially signed up to home school Alec until June.
I'm am both terrified and determined....but mainly terrified. It's a decision of necessity, not one of calling, although I have no doubts that God has lead me to this path.
I have been thrown into the world of 'curriculum', 'progress reports', 'learning objectives' and scheduled lessons. If I didn't have an appreciation for what teachers do before this, I am in awe now that they are capable of performing all these duties year after year for 30 students at a time! I took it for granted all the organizing and planning that teaching involves....but I will never again look at a (good) teacher without a deep respect for the service they provide.
Although I'm early on into this, I have quickly recognized that I am in need of quite a few refresher courses in Grade 6 math....and science....and language arts...and...well, all of it!!! It's hard to stay ahead of Alec when all the new ways of learning go against the processes I learned in school. Maybe this is God's way of getting me back into the learning mode before I attempt going back to school?
As scared as I was to make this decision, I am confident that it is the best one for Alec and for our family. The stress levels have diminished so much in our home now that we are not dealing with harassment from the school, and hope is once again restored for our futures. It's an empowering decision....to know that I am capable of providing for my children in a time of need.
God is so good...He even provided my mother's skills as a teacher to take on some of the more difficult lesson planning, as well as offer to teach Alec 3 mornings a week. I don't think the decision would have been as easy to make without the support that Mom has offered.
If you have any tips or words of encouragement about home schooling, I'm all ears!
Christmas is my most favorite time of year. My heart is full of memories of large family dinners, Christmas carols, a fireplace blazing with warm light, and eggnog.
I even love going out and shopping for unique gifts for friends and family....looking all those other shoppers in the eyes and smiling, knowing it may be the only time I ever lay eyes on them, and wanting to make sure my first impression is a caring one.
And then the guilt hits. It seems I save all my Joy and Christmas cheer for complete strangers, and fail to provide the same for those closest to me. I am much less patient with my children than I am with whining shoppers in checkout lines. I can see the humor in almost any situation...but I seem to be blind to the need for it at home.
My home should be a safe and calm place for my family to lay their heads...instead I have let the negativity cover all the opportunities for peace. My heart sinks when I look at the pile of dishes left in the sink...when I should be elated at the fact that my husband cooked dinner for the family.
The laundry piles are on my mind when my youngest wants a story read to her before bed. The vacuuming did not get done (again) because the dog escaped from the backyard and we all had to go find her.
BUT.....
My children are healthy.
Our home is nice and warm.
There is food in our fridge.
Gas in our van.
Bills are paid.
Dear Jesus,
Create in me a clean heart and renew a right spirit within me.
Thank you Lord for answering prayers, even before they are spoken.
Thank you for Your saving Grace, and for giving us Your Son....knowing that we would use and abuse Him in this world. Your Love amazes me daily.
Amen.
I was reading a friend's blog today, and her words spoke to me and to some of my pain.
I'm not sure I knew this particular area that I was hurting before reading her words, but I sure know it now.
Her journey is one of heartache, anguish, bone-crushing agony...and hope. A path that has brought her to the brink of ruin so many times, and yet she pulls herself back and bravely faces the world again....even though it's only a matter of time before the waves of grief pull her once again towards the ocean of despair.
Her baby girl died this past spring. Suddenly, with no warning. There is no comparable pain.
So how could her words speak to my struggles? How can I even remotely relate to a portion of her pain? My children all continue to breathe, sleep, and live.
I think I realized today that while Alec is still alive...and while he still makes small steps towards recovery...a part of him did die back in December when his teacher hurt him.
A part of him did die.
The part that gave him his spark, his will to live....
I miss who he used to be. I accept who he is now, but my heart will always grieve what could have been. I cry myself to sleep many nights. I beg God to let us all go back to before the 'bad stuff' happened. I fear the future.
God has the power to bring back to life that which has died. It's not always what He chooses to do.
It's hard for me to trust in His plan when I hurt like I do.
I want to care about others and their problems, and I want to be happy for those who never have to know their 10 year old child has contemplated suicide,....but sometimes I feel my heart isn't big enough anymore.
My pain is not the same as my friend's pain. But it hurts too.
I'm waiting for God to help me release the hold of anger on my heart...and maybe he's waiting for me to allow him.
I have been asked this question multiple times, and I mostly stumble over my answers.
The truth is, it's hard to explain how God speaks to me. Sometimes He speaks through visions or dreams, other times it's a still, quiet voice. Not quite a whisper....more of a gentle breeze past my ear with words that burn my heart.
I have had God speak to me through others....even through non-believers. As pain and turmoil is shared, that loving caress with words that build you up from the inside out is as much God's voice as the booming baritone that most expect to hear.
Sometimes I miss the message....maybe most times, actually. He guides me with words that make no sense to the World's ways. I am asked to say or do things that will most definitely make me stand out....but not in a 'wow, she's so awesome' kind of way....more like a 'yep, she's whacked' kind of way.
That's how I know it's God's voice.
And that potential for embarrassment is what keeps me from the growth I desperately need.
The voice has been strong lately, and He's telling me to forgive. He has even been clear on WHO to forgive, and HOW to do it. I'm still hurting. My son is still hurting. And God wants me to forgive. I know the message is urgent, for He has used every communication tool to convey it.
I have had dreams. And visions.
I have heard the still, small voice brushing past my ears.
I have heard the booming command, and had His words jump at me from the Bible. My heart has been convicted.
So I will listen. Because I know that God's ways are not always understood, but they are always right.
