The world has rewarded my boxed in living.

Be safe.

Be good.

Do what’s right.

Be as perfect as you can be.

This life, it works. But there’s more. Much more.

The kingdom’s been calling. God has better for me and this life of mine.

His desires?

Repentance. Forgiveness. Healing.

Holiness. Righteousness. Humility.

Grace. Abundance. On earth as it is in heaven.

Trust. Faith.

He calls me, beckons me to chart new territory, swim deeper waters, tread by the bounty of His grace.

I wrote this post on June 10, 2014. It sat, unpublished, in my drafts folder until today, February 20, 2015. I’ve chosen to publish this post in honor of a writer friend who’s been doubting her words. She’s not sure they’re good enough. I relate. All too often, I’m convinced that my words are too much for people to handle. This post is short, for sure. But the words hold great meaning and are worthy of sharing. NO changes were made to the original post. It’s been sitting in my drafts folder for eight months…until today. Our words are enough, friend.

 

 

 

For 14 1/2 years, I carried a loaded trunk full of toys and materials for speech-language therapy home visits. The rotation was constant. With the exception of family trips to the mall, zoo and grandma and grandpa’s house, the stuff was always there. Neighing horses and beeping timers sounded at every bump.

But now, once and for all, it’s time to unload the trunk. It’s time to bring it back in. It’s time to bid farewell to friends who stood the test of time. The great ones, the loved ones, the classics, the ones that worked for every kid regardless of their disorder or delay. It’s time to say good bye.

Dearest toys and materials, I’ve known you all too well. What works, what doesn’t, the words I’ll need, the response I’ll receive. I’ve loved you, grown fond of you, and relied on you. It’s been a good ride, friends, but it’s time to say good bye. Perhaps later we’ll play. Perhaps later we’ll learn together. Perhaps later we’ll grow together. But for now? You’re heading back to the closet.

Hopping Frogs, you always served me well a minute or two. Hop goes the frog across to the log. Green frog or pink frog, which do you choose? Mom’s turn or Sam’s turn, which will it be?

Stringing fruit (a.k.a. beads disguised as fruit), you’ve seen your days. The frayed edges of your box prove you were well loved. Yes, your fruit shape distinguished you as most clever, most interesting to toddlers and preschoolers. Swooshing down the line to mom or dad, and swaying in the breeze were your specialities.

Oh train. I can’t bear to throw you away. You were tried and true for so many years. Your $10 price tag was long ago worth it. And now, you barely move. New batteries won’t do a thing for you, Mr. Train. I’m so sorry. I’m not sure what to do. So there you go, back in your closet where you’re free to stay a lil’ while longer.

Sweet Nestle Quik boxes, I never really knew your name. Who knew you’d be a hit?! The kids did, that’s for sure. Pull, pull. Up, up. Then shake those eggs and wave those scarves. Your simplicity was golden. Your fray-edged ribbons show your wear. Good bye, dear one. Good bye.

Seek-n-Find puzzle, you were amazing. Absolutely amazing! You were, without a doubt, a tried and true. Your box is held together with layers of clear packing tape. I put together your edges, corners, and middle pieces countless times. Out of your 24 pieces, only 1 wasn’t optimal for speech and language. That means you’re reliable, Mr. Puzzle. You’re dandy. There’s no way I’m getting rid of you.

Dear picture cards, this is just the beginning of your collection. How many times we flipped through, set up, chose which ones we were going to do. I have a hunch you’re becoming obsolete, but to me, you made life complete. You’re as good as a guarantee to me. Pair you with any game, and we are good to go.

Magnetic ice cream and cutting fruit and veggies, you’re awesome, a wooden delight for all ages. You were so useful, I bought four versions of your Melissa & Doug goodness. Thank you for the days of velcro-ing, cutting, and velcro-ing some more.

Lids ‘n Lizards, Jeepers Peepers, and Grammar Gumballs. Who knew you’d be so popular? Who would’ve ever guessed? Super Duper knew what they were doing when they made you. Your catchy rhyme-y names suggest your creators were speech therapists, proving simple + clever is definitely best.

Oh tried and true board games. You’re my faves. Your boxes are torn, taped and ripped to shreds. Zingo, Don’t Break the Ice, Caribou and Counting Cakes. We’ll never forget you, Bunny Hop. You were the fave of the faves, the best of all, my most prized possession as a speech therapist, the toy that worked for everyone, every time. Those bunnies, they never stopped surprising. Rest in peace for now, dear friends. You played well.

Little bears, oh how I loved and hated you. One thing’s for sure, you made my job a lot easier when it came to following directions. Who knew tiny colored bears would do the trick? But you ticked me off more than once when you fell out of the trunk onto the icy, snowy ground and spilled all over driveways. Oh, how you ticked me off. I knew that was it, once and for all, when that box of yours broke into tiny pieces, strewn all over a driveway on the coldest of winter days. Oh, how I hated you then. I didn’t hold my tongue as well as I should have when I went into that house. “Oh, what a blessing it is for you to come so families don’t have to travel in this cold.” But my mind kept spiraling back to that icy driveway and how naughty you’d been just minutes ago.

You’re a little bruised, too, gears. Your corner broke off when you slipped out of the trunk onto the cold, icy driveway. My use of you waxed and waned, but only because you were so good. I used you so much that I fatigued of you. I simply had to get a break. I didn’t bring you much those final days. Your C batteries were all used up. I intended to refill you for sweet “T’s” play, but never got you back for that one last day.

Oh, Fisher Price Loving Family and Snap ‘n Play babies, dogs and dolls. I bought up every Snap ‘n Play before you left stores. You were so good, oh so good. Every mama and grandma wanted to know where I got you. Who knew you were a great gift, too?! But I was never sure of you, Fisher Price Loving Family. You were hit or miss, never in-between. So you came out and stayed to play, or got put away right away. Good bye friends, I’ll bring you back out for the grandkids.

Random bag of trinkets, nobody told me about you in grad school! Who knew these tiny treasures could entertain for 45 or 60 minutes? I wanted to buy more of you on eBay, but never got to it. I just kept on collecting you, one by one, until you added up to two bags full. I’ll never forget the seconds of fun you brought to the tabletop.

And then there’s you, oh you. Connect 4. Deluxe Version. How many times did we play? You never got old, you never wore thin. Never. Ever. We could’ve played all day. You served as a distraction between bouts of super hard work, a reminder that we’re human, a reminder that kids who have speech and language delays possess certain brilliance beyond measure of standardized tests. Connect 4, you’re perhaps the most memorable, impactful of all games, toys, and materials. Because you showed me that these special kiddos are more than their speech, more than their language. They’re human. They want to win the game of life, too.

He won nearly every time. I had to concentrate hard to win. It was clear he was genius with his hands and just about anything visual-spatial. 

That last day, I lifted Connect 4 out of the bag and sat it on the table along with some picture cards.

We were about to start playing and drilling one last time, but tears welled big in my eyes.

I told him I was proud. He’d worked so hard. He’d come so far. We’d done this together.

Then, after we played, after we drilled, after we worked hard all over again…

Back in the bag you went, back in the trunk, then back in the closet. 

I packed you all nice and tight. I’m closing the closet. For now, good night.

With gratitude and love,

 

 

 

To All the Dads, Mamas, Siblings & Special Ones:

You’re on my heart this week. You’re on my mind. 

For 14 1/2 years, I’ve visited your homes, entered your sacred spaces, assessed and treated your special little ones. My days as a speech-language therapist are coming to an end. At least for now, maybe forever. Only God knows.

But you, you will never leave my heart.

You’ve made a lasting impression. You’ve changed who I am. You’ve molded me into a better person. You’ve altered my heart for humanity in a way no one else could.

You see, you are special. You are like no other.

Special dads, I’ve seen you. All the varieties of you. The worker dad. The business dad. The hands on, loves like a mama dad. The dad who’s not sure what to think. The dad who’s not sure what to do. The dad who knows exactly what to do. The dad whose eyes tell it all. The dad who knows his son, his daughter’s like no other. The dad who looks his child in the face and sees it all. And loves anyway. Even when it’s hard. Even when being a dad’s nothing like you expected it to be. I see you longing to do something, anything to help. I see you doing all you can, everything you can. I see you working hard for your family, with your family, providing stability and hope, even when the needs seem endless. I’ve seen you, dear dad, you’re a light, a strong presence in your household. Your child needs you. Your child thrives on your presence. You might not think so, but you know just what to do with that special child of yours. You are man, yes man. Still man, even though life’s thrown you a curve ball. Man, even more so. Man, because you stay, you stick with it, you do what’s right and honorable. And you love your family quietly, humbly. Because you know life’s course can change in an instant. Yes, you are a special dad. I see you. Thank you for who you are.

Special mamas, I’ve seen you. Take heart, mama. Take heart. You’re unique. You’re extraordinary. There’s no one quite like you, mama. What a lover you are. You love to no end. You fix boo boos and kiss cheeks, burp and clean spilled milk, pack lunches, transport and balance work and home life like any other mama. But you manage much more, mama. Therapies and visual schedules, meds and IEPs, evaluation reports and flash cards, you’ve seen it all now, haven’t you mama? You never knew motherhood would be quite like this. You wonder when your mama bear heart will be at peace, at ease with this special one’s needs you’ve been entrusted. Mama, you’re so good, you don’t even know how good you are. You’ve cried tears and held them back. You’ve worked like a dog. You’ve pushed and pulled back. You’ve prodded and been patient. You’ve known when hugs are today’s prescription. And you’ve known when hugs are an escape from the work ahead. Mama, you’ve done everything you can. Mama, you’re doing great. Mama, you are awesome, irreplaceable. Take care, mama. Make sure you’re doing something for you. Take care, mama, for you’re the cornerstone of your family’s heart and soul. Mama, you’re special. I see you. Thank you for who you are.

Special siblings, I’ve seen you. Oh, how I’ve seen you. I’ve seen you in the corner, on the side, by the wayside. I’ve seen you waiting, wishing to enter in. I’ve seen you play, and I’ve seen you disappear. I’ve seen you ask and be turned away. I’ve seen your brilliance and your beauty. I’ve seen every bit of your potential flash before me. Don’t forget you’re special, too, dear one. I’ve seen your heart shine bright on the darkest of days. I’ve seen you help and teach and reach out and love unconditionally, like only a sibling of a special knows how to do. I know your heart, special sibling. I understand your position. Who are you? What’s unique about you? What makes you tick and light up? What causes you to keep on keeping on when everything feels impossible and forever? Cling to those truths, dear sibling. The years may be long, or they may be short. Whatever your truth ends up being, shine your light, special sibling. Your life is precious. Your life has purpose. There’s no mistake about your place. There’s a reason you’re there, right there, with that family of yours. Let your voice be heard, special sibling, let your place and your purpose be known. And don’t forget, you’re not alone. Yes, most definitely yes, you’re special. I see you siblings. Thank you for who you are.

Special ones, I’ve seen you. Oh yes, I’ve seen you. Consider your position an honor. You teach us how to be gentler, kinder, more respectful and honoring of diversity in a world that feels monotone at times. You teach us how to be patient and tender, loving beyond measure. You know what it’s like to be poked and prodded, tested, drilled and worked hard. You’re constantly striving to live up to the measuring stick of “normal,” “typical” and “neurotypical,” but truth be told, you’re anything but typical. There’s no need to measure up, special ones. You’re you. Work hard, yes. Do what you can, yes. Exceed their expectations, yes. Listen to your dads and mamas, your special siblings and teachers, your therapists and your doctors, but know this, special ones. God sent you, created you just as you are, to reveal love, to show grace, to bestow blessing. You’re an angel on earth, here for reasons most can’t fathom. You’re more than a number, score or position on any standardized chart. You’re a treasure, a gem, one to be remembered for all the ages. Forgive us if we neglect your humanity. Forgive us if we ignore your limits. Forgive us if we don’t know, if we don’t quite understand what it is you need. You are accepted, as you are. You’re loved, whether you progress or don’t progress at all. Whether you eventually achieve scores “within normal limits” or continue presenting with “significant delays,” you’re deemed worthy. Because you are worthy. Yes, you are special. I see you. Thank you for who you are.

Dear special family, I’ve seen you. We’ve worked hard together, we’ve loved together, we’ve faced trials and tribulations. We’ve sat in silence, laughed and cried with joy, wondered and wandered a time or two. We’ve known and we’ve not known at all. We’ve succeeded and we’ve missed the mark. We’ve fought for what’s best, for what’s right, for what’s needed and necessary. We’ve made calls, referrals and investigations into the causes of these needs. We’ve drilled and done the same things over and over and over again. It’s a fight worth fighting. It’s a cause worthy of care. It’s a life worth living. Every bit of our work together has been worth it.

But now, yes now, it’s time to say good bye. It’s time to set your family free to someone else who will do the therapy.

I may return, I may not. But this you must know. My decision’s not been easy. My decision’s not been light. My heart’s heavy and light all at once this week. For I’m leaving you, but following the call God has on my life to write, photograph, live, love and be an advocate for the voiceless of this world.

This, I promise. I will not leave you. I will not forsake you. I will not forget you and your special family. I will be a voice for you. I will help the world see your beauty for what it is – pure, raw, lovely, extravagantly and exquisitely unique.

What God has in store for the days ahead, I’m not exactly sure. But I know one thing for sure. I will continue to be your advocate. From this day forward. You can count on me to see you, to remember you, to acknowledge you and constantly remark that you are created beautiful, wholly unique, special like no other.

Thank you, special family.

Your place in my heart is permanent and prominent. Your story, it’s a beautiful treasure I honor like no other.

 

 

 

NOTE: The two beautiful photographs of the girl who has down syndrome are courtesy of Andrea’s Photography on Flickr’s Creative Commons.

God began calling me to write all the way back to 2003. But I didn’t launch my blog until July 2012.

I wasn’t blind and deaf to the call at all. I was busy working as a speech therapist, buying houses, taking vacations, and having babies with my college sweetheart. I was busy living the American Dream.

The call to write continued. It was quiet. Nobody knew but me. But God was persistent.

After many years of feeling called, I began to wonder if I was imagining things, if I was daydreaming crazy visions out of thin air. To remind myself of the events I considered signs of the call, I combed through old journals and pieced together proof through the years. It was obvious. A story had unfolded. So I put it together tidy and titled it the only way I knew how.

A Possible Calling.

I’ve debated this calling. I’ve doubted it. Believe me. It’s been a journey.

I’ve sought wise counsel. I’ve prayed. I’ve thought, then thought some more. And bless his soul, I’ve talked to my husband about it hundreds of times.

I have a tendency to be a people pleaser, to do what’s “right” and “good” by all-American girl-next-door standards, so ultimately, I had to step away from all the voices, be still, and sit with God.

Yes, it was then that I knew. This is what God has planned for my life. This is what He wants me to do. This isn’t the American Dream, it’s a God-Sized Dream. All was good between me and God. He’d called me to write, and now, I would write even more. The dream was ready to take flight.

But making dreams reality hasn’t been a walk in the breeze. I could have given up by now, I could have given in. I could’ve said forget it, because all this wonder and worry isn’t worth it a bit. There’s no degree, no guarantee, no paved path, no pay for this way, at least for today.

When in doubt, I returned to the peace I experienced between me and God. I couldn’t ignore that. I couldn’t pretend those pieces of proof didn’t exist. I couldn’t disregard every pull of my heart for the last 12 years. I couldn’t deny this feeling I was supposed to transform my work life completely.

I knew very clearly, all the way back to August 2012, that changes were coming. My husband and I began discussing options. But it wasn’t until August 22, 2014, that we made our final decision.

My last day of work as speech-language pathologist will be December 18, 2014. 

I realize that statement is dramatic, feels permanent, and might concern people who believe I’m wasting my master’s degree and 14 1/2 years of on-the-job experience. Here’s what I want you to know. I’ve pondered each word of this post carefully. My husband and I have thought through this decision extensively and exhaustively. Rest assured. There’s always a chance I’ll return to speech therapy in the future. This may end up being a sabbatical. Or it may end up being permanent, an early retirement from speech therapy. Time will tell.

Here’s what I know for sure.

I’ve been working as a speech therapist for 14 1/2 years. I strongly believe that my work as a speech therapist has been training grounds for what’s to come. Nothing has been wasted. I’ve served my patients and families well, to the best of my ability. I’ve given them my 100%. We’ve worked hard together, we’ve loved together, we’ve been patient together, and we’ve made progress together. I’m grateful beyond measure. And I’ve learned oh so many things.

Who’s to say I won’t be called back to speech therapy someday?

But now, it’s time to take what I’ve learned and apply it elsewhere.

This is my life. Part two.

HOME AND FAMILY

I’ve never considered myself a full-time stay-at-home mom type. I’ve worked the whole range of 1-5 days per week since we had our first child 12 years ago. But now, I’ll be dedicating more time to our home and family. I’d like to declutter and get life in order. I need whitespace to breath, be and create. I want to live more freely and love more deeply. I want hot homemade dinners, chocolate chip cookies after school, and summers free to roam with the kids while they’re still somewhat small. I want to hear my husband out when he comes home from work instead of tuning everything out because I’m so stressed out from the day. It’s time to inch my way through the ridiculously high stacks of books in our bedroom, and maybe I’ll finally have time to check out the women’s bible study I pass every Thursday morning on my way to work. I’d like to keep an even closer eye on our family finances. And I’d love to invest in friendship because it’s been on the back burner far too long.

SPECIAL NEEDS PHOTOGRAPHY

In early June, it occurred to me that I’ve LOVED taking pictures my whole life, but constantly stuffed the dream of becoming a photographer down deep. So I’m pursuing this passion to the next level. I purchased my dream camera in September. Its capabilities are beyond my current abilities, people. And that’s a good thing. That’s what I wanted. I wanted a camera I can grow into. So I’m going to EXPLORE special needs photography. I’d like to use the skills I’ve gained in 14 1/2 years of speech therapy and take them to the next level. Instead of focusing on fixing deficits, I’d like to focus on the inherent beauty of special needs. I’m skilled at developing rapport quickly, and I’m comfortable in just about any family’s home. So I’d like to give this a whirl. My short-term goal is to give away a bunch of FREE special needs photo shoots so I can gain experience, build a portfolio of work, and determine if a part-time business is viable.

WRITING

Writing will become my primary work focus. I’m currently publishing blog posts at a rate of 2x/week. My publishing frequency will likely increase to 3x/week by early to mid-2015. In September, I launched a new long-term vision for my blog. I’ll be writing content even tighter within that vision. I’d like to connect deeper with other writers, and I’d like to attend more local and national writing conferences as finances and schedules allow. I’ve been asked to lead and join writing groups locally and online, I’ve been encouraged to write books, and I’ve crossed paths with a few people who have indicated interest in partnering for special projects. Ultimately, I’d like to use my gift of writing to advocate for people whose voices need to be heard more loudly, and to encourage others to live out their purpose.

So these are my dreams.

This is my life. Part two.

From here on out, I’m leaving a lot more room for God to work. There’s no specific path I can take that will ensure success at home, with my family, in writing or photography. There’s nothing I can do to make any of these things happen the way I’ve envisioned. All I can do is trust God’s leading me in the right direction, use my gifts to the best of my ability, wait, and trust that in the end, it will all piece together into a beautiful life story.

This is the biggest leap of faith I’ve ever taken, by a landslide.

I’m living with the end in mind. So while part of me is scared to death because this is not perfect or certain, expected or known, a bigger part of me is excited and humbled beyond belief. Because I know I won’t regret this. I know it’s going to grow my faith by leaps and bounds. And I know God’s going to prove He’s greater than any dream I ever imagined.

So here I am. On the edge of something new. My part two.

 

 

I’ve been intrigued by the psychology of Disney’s Frozen since I saw it in the movie theater twice in one day. But beyond the psychology, there’s something else that will always tie our family’s heart to Frozen. Our nine-year-old daughter’s name is Elsa. After Frozen released, we downloaded the entire Frozen album from iTunes. Elsa and my husband proceeded to memorize every word of every song. And now? Well, let’s just say she’s overdosed on Frozen and is taking a sabbatical. Because with all the Frozen mania, I’m pretty sure that wherever she goes, people reference Frozen when they hear her name. “You’re Elsa, like Frozen?!”

Halloween 2014 was bound to be filled with millions of little Elsas and Annas. In fact, I asked our Elsa if she wanted to dress up as Elsa this year, and she said she’s going to wait until she’s 17 and get a “real” fancy Elsa dress for Halloween. But I was right about those millions of girls dressing up as Elsa and Anna. As I peered through a window in my daughter’s dance studio Halloween week, I saw six girls dressed as Elsa and two dressed as Anna. That represented just one dance class of 15 little girls.

On November 4, 2014, the Wall Street Journal featured an article titled “Elsa dominates Anna in Frozen Merchandise Sales.” It’s a really fascinating article if you’re interested in the psychology and popularity of Frozen, so definitely check it out. But this blog isn’t about numbers. It isn’t about sales. And it isn’t about data, marketing or anything of the like. So I have no intention of digging deeper into sales of Elsa merchandise vs. Anna merchandise.

But I would like to explore the WHY behind “Elsa dominates Anna in Frozen Merchandise Sales.” Because I like to analyze things like that. It’s simply fascinating and kind of fun.

So here we go. Let’s “Let it Go.”

Anna is everything everyone looks for in a sister or a friend. She’s vibrant, loving, energetic, spontaneous, and confident. Anna is authentic. She grieves the loss of her sister, loves chocolate, and is a romantic at heart. Anna is determined and loyal, and won’t let anyone stop her from accomplishing her mission. Not to mention, she’s cute, beautiful and rocks that green coronation dress.

But then there’s Elsa.

We identify so strongly with Elsa because of her gift.

Elsa possesses a special gift. She discovered that gift at a young age and used it for good. But eventually, the gift brought pain into her life. In fact, the gift she once used for good hurt a loved one, her own sister. The only solution was to limit Elsa’s contact with people, and to “keep her powers hidden from everyone.”

Elsa had a gift. Her life had purpose. Yet, she was asked to “conceal it, don’t feel it, don’t let it show.”

THIS is why we identify so strongly with Elsa. THIS is why “Elsa dominates Anna in Frozen Merchandise Sales.”

So Elsa hid away. She put gloves on. She became measured, reserved, and isolated. She was “a good girl.” Ultimately, Elsa spent too much of her life fearing her gift. She held back. She was scared that horrible things would happen if she released her power. She was scared that releasing her gift, wild and free, would have consequences.

Eventually, Elsa couldn’t keep it in anymore.

She had to break free. She had to break through. She sought freedom to use her gift with wild abandon.

When Elsa finally broke free, she made beauty with her gift. “That perfect girl is gone,” she sang from the tall ice castle she created in the wilderness.

Let’s face it, we’re disingenuous when we hide our gifts. There’s a falsity in putting on the good girl face. We aren’t perfect, but we are beautifully gifted.

Truth be told? We’re all like Elsa.

We’re all powerful, beyond our belief.

We’ve all been gifted with lovely, beautiful, amazing powers.

But sometimes, often, our gifts scare us.

Because we know there’s more to life than this.

We know, intuitively, that God put us here for a reason. We have a purpose to fulfill. We’re here for such a time as this.

Yes, we want to break free. Free from bondage. The good girl, the perfect girl, the measured, reserved, isolated girl wants to be free.

So we relate to Elsa. No longer could she sit on her gift. She let it go. She let. it go.

Yes, that’s what we want. To let go. To be free. To be released, to be me.

Gloriously, beautifully, powerfully, mysteriously, ridiculously free.

Me.

So I’ve presented my case, now it’s your turn! I’d love to know who you relate to more in Disney’s Frozen, Elsa or Anna, and why. Let’s chat in the comments!

And did you know I’m doing a GIVEAWAY today? I’m giving away ONE Disney FROZEN Collector’s Edition Blu-Ray DVD + DVD + Digital Copy! I know a lot of you already own Frozen, but a lot of you don’t. And NO household with girls should be without a copy of Frozen this Thanskgiving. So leave a comment on the blog, visit my Facebook page, follow me on Twitter, complete the Rafflecopter entries for each below, and you’ll be entered to win the DVD! Giveaway runs through Friday. I’ll notify the winner promptly so I can get you the DVD in time for Thanksgiving!

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