You look at me and tell me I’m awesome.
I look at you and tell you “awesome” means nothing in the face of the kind of tired I feel many days.
You see me dealing with medical care, appointments, and therapies and wonder how I maintain composure in the face of a life-long diagnosis.
I see me barely holding it all together some days.
You see our large family craziness and say, “That kind of ‘normal’ is not for me!”
I know “normal” is a myth and we all just have to take each day as it comes.
You see my child doing well in her new environment.
I see the battles she had to fight to make it to this place.
You see us and tell us how well adjusted we all are.
I see us and know this current dynamic has been hard won.
You see the dimple creasing her cheek as she giggles and twirls in her favorite dress.
I see her grieving losses she doesn’t completely understand.
You wonder how we manage to do the activities we do.
I often see the things we can’t do.
You applaud my parenting.
I feel despair in the face of my failures.
You say I’m strong.
I know I’m weak.
You say we’ve come so far.
I see how far we have left to go.
But you know what?
I also see the things you see.
Her beauty, resilience, bravery. My growing patience, wisdom, compassion.
A year ago, I could only see my side of the story, the things you saw were shrouded in gray. I could only see how far we had to go. I could only focus on the ways in which life was upside down. I could only talk about the fears I had for the future.
I’m glad God calls us to do hard things, because that’s when we see a little more of His heart.
I’m thankful for today and the slow shifting of my eyes; more upward. Less inward.
I’m thankful that HE sees her. Broken.
I’m thankful that HE sees me. Broken.
And he heals.
The journey continues.