the last post was news, this one is opinion.
I had a long talk with a friend recently, that got me thinking about all the things people ask us, and we don't really tell the truth about. People ask these questions, but when we answer truthfully we get two responses-"you should accept things how they are and get on with your life" or "God will do miracles!, you have to have faith!" The reality of where we are is somewhere in between, and it is hard to watch your faces when we tell the truth, because what all of you beloved people are really saying, is that you don't want us to hurt anymore. So, here's the truth of where our hearts are now.
As long as Ben is hurting, we will be hurting. We will hurt at every rejection because he is different, at every strange look from other children on the playground. We will hurt at every test, and every fearful cry before a seizure. We will hurt at every tantrum because of medication, and every fun thing we miss because Ben's behavior is unmanageable or he is in a post-ictal state. We will hurt when he doesn't understand how to open his birthday presents, and we will hurt when he tries to talk, and we can't understand him. As long as the world is bewildering to Ben, we will hurt with him, and we will never, ever, stop looking for answers or ways to help him. EVER.
We believe that Ben will always be different. We don't think God has complete healing in mind for Ben. We believe God is still working on him, and us, and you who are on this journey with us. We believe that our dreams for our retirement must change, and our dreams for Ben's future must remain dim. We believe God has more in store, and this difficult time is not over by a long shot. We hope God is planning a miracle beyond our wildest dreams. We hope Ben will talk, have friends, a wife, a job and children. We hope his life will not always be suffering, but God is the potter, we are simply the clay.
We accept Ben for who he is, how God created him, and whoever he is to become. He is beautiful to us, a miracle that he has come so far, that he still smiles, laughs and has joy with such a life. We pray desprately that the hyperactivity will not last, that he will truly learn to speak, that each seizure is the last. Then we pick him up and thank God that he has let us keep such a precious life, that he has untrusted US with one so fragile because HE believes we can do this. Once again we remind ourselves that Ben is not ours first, but Gods'. And we give him up to God's plan once more.
Teena