As my eyes opened, I said a little prayer for the day. A prayer requesting patience, giving thanks for the many little blessings in my home. Then my mind drifted off to ponder the other moms. Do they wake up on Christmas morning and think of those two little blessings that live under my roof and call me mom? Do they wonder what they look like, how big they are, where they are?
I then carefully with the stealth of a black ops agent, remove myself from a bed in which both husband and baby are still in a slumber. Tiptoe to the kitchen and brew that elixir I love so much, in hopes to get myself awake enough to crank out some gingerbread waffles. It wasn’t my first choice for this morning’s breakfast, but it would have to do.
As I’m working on breakfast, visions of the perfect day were running through my head. I could envision my little blessings anxiously opening gifts, joyfully exclaiming over them, singing Happy Birthday to Jesus, and filling their bellies happily with my homemade breakfast. I could see them all smiles and overfilled with happiness of the day and love for every one and every thing.
And then I woke them up……..it did not go as I had envisioned.
A tree flickers with twinkling lights in a manic sort of fashion with many colors, lighting gifts that beg to be opened. This in and of itself is overstimulating. The little one wakes up and is already grumpy. He does not get to immediately start unwrapping everything from under the tree. He frowns, he grumbles, he doesn’t take my warm inviting smile seriously. He still questions my love for him. Are we authentic in how we feel towards him, can he use our niceness to get away with any and all things. These thoughts are what I imagine drift through his head as he tries to sort out just what this day means with his limited communication abilities.
Oh the girl and her compelling desire to check out of reality. The girl who has forever been able to self stimulate herself into a completely other world, struggles hard with the day. She fights hard against my constant checking her back into reality. She fights hard to process it all.
The mother is frustrated and trying to hide it. The dad doesn’t know what to say to make things better.
How can they be sour? How can they stim? How can they not appreciate what I’m doing here to make memories? To make things enjoyable for them. What am I doing wrong? Why can’t we just do things like normal for once? Why is it so hard every.single.holiday?
And then the voice says, “It’s not about you.”
What? Wait a minute. It isn’t about me.
In my quest to make it better for them, I’m making it all about me and my “martyrdom” with how I’m working so hard to make it better for them. When in reality it’s all about Him. He doesn’t care if they enjoy their waffles. He doesn’t need them to trust me, feel authentic love from me, be in my reality.
He made them. He loves them. Whatever reality they are sucked into…..He is there.
So I have to step back. Put my focus on the Lord. I have to remove myself from the martyr spot I so willingly placed myself. I can’t make them enjoy this day. I can’t make them understand how hard I worked to make this day happen. I can’t make them appreciate me. I can’t keep them in my reality. However, through Him, I can love them. I can be patient with them. I can sympathise with them so that instead of focusing on me, we can all focus on Him.
Instead of feeling hopeless and helpless in my plight to reach these two, I can trust in Him. As I struggle to control every minute, to fight the stimming, to reach their hearts, I am setting myself up for failure. Giving myself a false sense of power that I do not posses, a power that in reality, will not make them progress any faster than they are capable of.
Patience and faith.
I must learn to have patience and faith with my overstimulated former orphans with special needs on this Christmas day. For I must remember that if I always keep faith, if I keep working to sew good seeds, if I never give up this work, I will find my reward.