You are a special mama.

I hear you.

I see you.

I understand you.

I am with you.

That look, I recognize it. I see it. The way you look at your child. Your quiet, wondering eyes tell all. The way pain has settled in. What does this child’s future hold? Will everything be ok?

That voice, I hear it. Your anxiety, your worry, your being on the edge every moment. Your wondering who has the answers. Your wondering who can help me with this child? Your need to know you’re not alone. You’re not alone, that’s what you need to hear.

That feeling, I get it. That others simply don’t understand. They know not what you have been through. They know not what your child needs. They know not how to respond. Their understanding of what your child says and does is limited. Not by their own fault, but by virtue of not being you, not being in your shoes. You take not a single thing for granted when it comes to your child. Embrace that gift. Use it to hear, to see others better, more deeply. Live more fully.

That gut horror of yours, stop overanalyzing it. Did you do something wrong? Too much of this, not enough of that? Could you have done something earlier, something more, something better? Could you have prevented this from happening? Would a different parent have been better for this child? Accept this gift from me. You have done nothing. Your guilt is not warranted. Your gut leads you astray. You are the parent your child needs.

That joy of yours, that pride, I sense it. It comes overflowing in that moment. It takes your breath away. You never thought your child could do that, could be so great, could meet, exceed all your expectations. Believe it. Your child can do anything. Anything is possible. That triumph is yours. That triumph belongs to you and your child.

Because you are great.

You are courageous.

You are strong.

You are an amazing mama.

You can do it.

You can do this.

This is hard, but you are doing it.

You are doing it.

You are a special mama.

And I see you.

May the gift be yours to embrace.

But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart. Luke 2:19

Amy

Today I am pleased to introduce you to Heidi, warm and welcoming, a bright light at just the right time.

As I walked through the exhibit hall that second afternoon of the American Speech-Language-Hearing Association (ASHA) convention, I was admittedly uninspired. Maybe my intense continuing education schedule paired with the Georgia inspired box lunch of fried chicken wrap, three bean salad, and blueberry cobbler was the culprit?

Then, I looked up.

A light blue sky with a little bee in my line of sight. And a smiling woman with an orange dress. And a crowd.

Little Bee Speech, the sign said. Apps not a part of my current therapeutic repertoire, I had not even taken a second glance at the other app exhibits. But this? This one was different.

Drawn to the blue skies and the cute little bee and the blonde with the orange dress, I couldn’t help but walk right over. I knew this was something I’d love!

I exclaimed to the woman with the orange dress that I really identified with the exhibit and wanted to hear all about their product. After a warm welcome and introduction to the company, she showed me the app titled Articulation Station Pro. Simple. Adorable. User friendly. Kid friendly. Fun. Real photographs. Adaptable. She took a picture and showed us how the app will soon have an option to add custom photographs and target words.

I was sold! For a while, I’ve had my mind set on purchasing an app to replace my articulation cards. This was the one!

A swarm of others gathered around, so I thanked the woman in orange and moved out of the way to make room for another demonstration.

Just to the right, a man behind the booth. I grabbed a bunch of brochures and verified procedures for purchasing. I asked the man if I could take a couple of the cute ladybug pins from a bowl on the table for my kids, explaining they would expect a souvenir when I arrived back home. Responding with his contagious smile, he so kindly asked how many kids I had and what age, and added his kids like them too. I couldn’t help but envision me and my husband chatting the night away with these people at dinner.

Before turning the corner, I grabbed every business card I could. A husband and wife team! Heidi Hanks, M.S., CCC-SLP, speech-language pathologist, creator of the Articulation Station Pro, and blogger at Mommy Speech Therapy. Chris Hanks, her husband and Little Bee Speech User Experience Designer. And this woman in orange, I do not know, but she was simply lovely.

Around the corner was Heidi, busy speaking with customers. When it was my turn, I approached, explained who I was, shared that I find their exhibit to be a light in this place, and asked if I could feature her on my blog. Heidi warmly thanked me and agreed, clearly full of gratitude. I planned to take a picture of Heidi, or Heidi with her husband and the woman with the orange dress, but instead, she invited me to be in the picture and found someone to take it. Point, click, we had our shot. A moment in the light had been expressed and captured.

As the convention came to a close, I thought of my encounter with Heidi, her husband, and the woman in the orange dress, and I was overflowing with gratitude. Before I knew it, three days’ worth of moments in the light started rushing in…

Maya Angelou, her voice, her prose, the way words flow right out of her. Inspiration as a great, she had to let us know we are a rainbow in someone’s cloud.

A woman presenting a poster reminded me of Rachel from Glee. The sparkle in her eye, her energy, her exuberance, her depth, her striving to be who she was created to be. The words on her poster came to life as she explained. An expressed mutual understanding of material, that mysterious chemistry of friendship you feel when you just know someone could become a great friend under different circumstances. Later, recognition of one another at a restaurant, smiles and a wave in passing.

Ami Klin, Ph.D., renowned researcher in autism, Director of Marcus Autism Center, his work narrowed to a mere two hour session. Writing furiously, grasping each word, documenting for later review, nearly in tears twice at the stunning findings of his research and the very real possibility of a medical device for screening infants for autism someday. Hope for families, hope for children. Phenomenal was the word.

Overby, Flipsen, Rvachew and another. I found myself in this group of five in close at a poster session, “three here” Overby exclaimed outloud “are experts,” as she realized the group in front of her. (I, the least of these, and NOT one of the experts!) A semi-circle of thought around this research on childhood apraxia of speech. I happened upon it, and once I knew the circle I was in, soaked up the opportunity to listen, participate without reservation. Dignity and honor was expressed through eye contact and ears open to my clinical observations within the framework of the research.

David Ingram, well known and regarded child speech and language professor presents his research in progress. Practical, interesting. Clearly a down to earth, genuine, and gentle man, I approached with a comment after the seminar. I had barely begun, and he quietly flipped my name badge over in an effort to discover who I was. A kind gesture of genuine acknowledgement from a man who didn’t have to care at that moment.

First American to orbit earth, Senator John Glenn lovingly introduced his wife Annie. Arm in arm, a wink, a tease, true honor in 69 years of marriage. A reminder that despite all of mans’ greatest achievements, what matters most is love.

And congresswoman Gabrielle (Gabby) Giffords, recipient of ASHA’s prestigious Annie Glenn Award, hand waving in front of her, restricted motion but unbridled emotion, exuding gratitude to an audience of therapists in ovation. A precious, indescribable moment experienced uniquely by those present. A brief heart-felt speech that we all supposed required weeks of practice, and her husband Mark Kelly held her from behind to ensure she didn’t fall as she leaned over the edge of the stage to greet and thank her therapists in the front row. A woman choosing hope. gratitude.

All lights. All rainbows in the clouds.

Heidi, Chris, and that woman with the orange dress – A warm and welcoming place.

The others – Authenticity. Connection. Hope. Dignity. Acknowledgement. Love. Gratitude.

All these things we welcome.

All these things we give.

Our greatness lies not in our personal or professional accomplishments and achievements. Rather, our greatness lies in our ability to lay down our lives in service to others in honor of our mighty God. Grateful we are able to give. Grateful for all we have been given.

Do to others as you would have them do to you. Luke 6:31

Amy

Today, I wonder a little deeper. Who am I?

Months ago when I was about to launch the blog, a wiser man asked if I was an author. I thought the question was a little odd and answered quickly with no, explaining I’ve simply felt called to write for years and am finally taking the next step by starting the blog. His question stuck with me, and there have been days I’ve felt compelled to contact this man and ask what he meant. If he meant am I an author, published and all? Of course not, definitely not. Not even close. If he meant in my heart of hearts, am I an author? Do I draft sentences and paragraphs in my head all day long, am I an author? My dream, maybe my call to be an author? To move hearts with my writing? Then yes, I suppose the answer could be yes. Maybe my answer should have been yes. Am I an author because I put my thoughts to the screen? Am I am author because I daydream of being a published one some day?

Last night, my daughter was in tears even before I went to give her a good-bye hug. Today, the day I was to leave for the American Speech-Language-Hearing Association convention. I don’t leave often, and she’s an emotional girl, so she just couldn’t get over the fact I was leaving for 3 1/2 days. We hugged and hugged, and I reminded her I would only be gone a few days and there would be lots of people here to love her and have fun with while I was gone. But the tears still came. Daddy calmed her down and talked her to sleep after my final hug in bed, tears still streaming when I left the room. This morning, she peered in the room in the wee hours while I was still getting ready. Tears streamed again. More hugs. And later, more tears and more hugs. This tearing of my heart. The author in me writing the moments on my heart, in my mind. The mom in me feeling guilty for leaving a crying little one so sad. The business owner and speech-language pathologist in me rationalizing why I had to go. Yes, mom I certainly am. And today, I have extra confirmation I am a loved mom, that is deeply missed by at least one little daughter.

This morning in the airport, a young man sat down in the little work cubicle across from me. He struck up conversation about his life, how he helps his dad with the catering business, how he had a hard summer and they are taking a vacation to get away from it all. Dad showed up and first thing he said to me was “Are you a writer?” This struck me as odd. Why in the world would this man think I was a writer? Sitting with my laptop wasn’t anything unique in this sea of work stations with tabletops and outlets designed for electronic productivity. Finding his question still out of place, and for a moment wondering how to answer (Um, am I a writer? Yes or no? I have a blog, but I’m not a professional writer or author? So, I guess no?), I said no, I’m a speech-language pathologist. We engaged in some conversation about my practice and specialities I have been trying to focus on the past couple of years – apraxia and down syndrome. He commented I was calm, quite possibly one of the last words I’d use to describe myself! Maybe it was just that he and his son made me feel calm? He showed me pictures of their mobile catering unit; I was humbled knowing this stranger shared with me something so dear to his heart.

Later near my destination, far from the rest of the speech-language pathologists, at Jimmy John’s a few blocks from my hotel for the night, a woman looked up and smiled at me from several booths down. My first reaction…why are you smiling at me? Is there something I did to engage you that I forgot about? Do I know you somehow? Her name was Bertha, beautiful, vibrant, lovely with smooth dark skin. She approached, asking me if I was here for the convention. I asked why she was so far off the beaten path. She had hotel troubles and just found a new one while she was sitting here. She’s been coming to the convention every year since 1965, this might be her last year at the convention. She couldn’t be more friendly and welcoming, and I love this woman up until we depart ways. And I wonder again…who am I? To a complete stranger, my presence was positive enough from four booths down that she smiled and felt confident she could approach. I appreciate that, especially finding out later in conversation she was a seasoned woman of much grace.

And later yet at the hotel, a call from a mom. She’s looking for speech-language therapy for her two-year-old son and she’s heard I’m one of the “gurus” in apraxia in the area, and I’m floored. Yes, this. This I have been dreaming for my practice. That one day, I’ll be able to specialized solely on childhood apraxia of speech and down syndrome, the things I love most of all. Although I don’t consider myself a “guru” of ANY sort, this is certainly confirmation I’m on the right path to attaining those dreams of specialization. Insurance will prohibit us from working together, but it was wonderful conversation and I have no doubts it would have been a joy and honor to serve this mom and her son.

So who am I? Well, for now my “professional” roles are three. Mom, blogger (author? writer?), and speech-language pathologist. For now, I marry all three. That special mom role, of course, I will never surrender. I play that role on the days I’m working and on the days I’m not. But what about the other two? For now, I leave them placed in God’s hands. He has the path planned, the path cleared in advance of my arrival, the path prepared just for me. He created me, you, uniquely, specially, to do something He called only me to do. The not knowing, the being unsure is hard some days, but I will wait.

So tonight, I’ll read all the blog posts and tweets from the Compassion International Compassion Bloggers trip to Peru, and I’ll feel without a doubt my heart is there, I dream of that someday. And tomorrow, when I walk into that convention center full of speech-language pathologists, I’ll realize as I do every year that I fit just right into this profession. And Saturday night, I’ll be welcomed with love by my husband and my three little children, and I will feel with all confidence that this is perfect home too.

For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Jeremiah 29:11

Amy