I Can Do Hard Things

I watched a BYU Devotional this morning by Dallan Moody. He talked about responding to trials in our lives by telling the story of one of his sons who came into this world with many challenges. Doctors told them to take their little son home and not to bring him back to the hospital because the doctors had done everything they could for him. He might live a few weeks, a few months, or with an outside miracle, up to two years. Brother Moody told of the many days and nights of service that their family and friends gave to that little boy before he returned home to Heavenly Father last month at the age of seven. Brother Moody thought it was a miracle that this beloved child lived for seven years, but a visiting General Authority told him, "You are being exhalted." Then he realized the real miracle was in what happened to himself, his wife, and his family because they had the opportunity of serving a special-needs child for those years.

As the mother of Cameron I agree. These special children are sent to us to exalt and teach us. I look at my children and husband and know that we are all better people because we have Cameron in our lives. Those of us who have grandchildren with special needs realize that they refine us, and their parents, our children, become better people because of the trials. I can do hard things. A Christian friend of mine who has great faith and insight once corrected my motto to say, "I can do hard things through Jesus Christ, my Lord and Savior, who lifts me up." And I can--because He is there.

Matters of Strength

I had a conversation with a dear friend a couple of weeks ago. She was distressed over a particular hardship her family is challenged with. She said she sometimes gets angry with God that someone she loves has to go through such hard things, even if it strengthens all of them to be better people. I have been thinking about our conversation a lot lately as I watch those around me dealing with their struggles. Another friend almost lost her darling daughter who was giving birth and lost half her body's blood. She said she didn't know what she would do if anything happened to any of her children. The next day we welcomed our beautiful twentieth grandchild under perfect circumstances. Another of my friends prays for her youngest son who is fighting a brain tumor, his fourth bout with cancer, and awaits her husband's open-heart surgery in a couple of weeks.

All of us deal with trials, tragedies, suffering, and heartache. At this point in my life I am finally developing an eternal perspective. I look at my Cameron and know that he will be whole in the resurrection. He is who he is. Would I change him? I used to think people were lying if they said they would never change their special-needs child, but now I can see Cameron's mission in this life as a ministry to the rest of us. He makes us better people--all of us. I think of the song from My Turn on Earth, "You can never know the good if you've never known the bad; You can never be happy if you've never been sad. You have to know the bitter so that you can taste the sweet; You have to be hungry to be glad you can eat..."

If we could choose, most of us would never have anyone we love experience pain or loss. We would have all of our children be perfect--beautiful, brilliant, popular, happy, healthy, and untouched by broken marriages, lost jobs, or financial struggles. The funny thing is that none of us can become who God wants us to be if nothing in life causes us to stretch, question, search for answers, forgive, heal, and learn. I want the kind of strength that will make my children become the best they can be, and in order for them to do that, they will have scrapes and bruises along the way.

I remember the day my grandparents stopped by our house on the way home from Island Park to the disasterous news that my mother, their beautiful, 39-year-old daughter, had slipped from this life suddenly and unexpectedly. I remember their tears and their lamentations that no parents should ever have to bury a child. It was a hard time, but it was the start of a testimony-building time for all of us. We became stronger, better, and more faithful. It was not what any of us would have chosen. We have an eternal perspective that we are a family forever. Now my grandparents and my dad have joined my mother, and through the losses and pain I've come to understand better Heavenly Father's plan for me--and for my children and grandchildren. I can understand Cameron's purpose. I can understand a little more why it is important to learn through trials.

They say that if everyone hung his trails out on the clothesline, they would gather their own back in at the end of the day. "Teach me all that I must BE to live with Him someday."

Matters of My Heart

janjimks: Matters of Heart: Matters of My Heart
I attended my second granddaughter's high-school graduatiion yesterday in Broomfield, Colorado. It was such a reminder that "time flies on wings of lightening; you cannot call it back!" It slips past without conscience.

Twenty-three years ago we welcomed our seventh child into this world. Cameron was a beautiful, eight-and-a-half-pound baby with a round face and fuzzy strawberry-blonde hair. When the midwife handed him to me, something in his face caused me to have a passing feeling that there was something...

A few hours later the pediatrician stood by my bed and kindly went over the signs that my sweet baby may have Down Syndrome. The eyes...the simian crease...the short fingers and small ears. He said we would not know for sure until we had a genetic screening, but I knew. The Asian doctor smiled. He himself surely had slanted eyes. He showed me his own simian crease. Like anyone, my first thoughts were, "Why me?" "Why me, who had never tasted alcohol, tobacco, or drugs?" "Why me who had never even known anyone with special needs?" "Why me, who has six brilliant, creative children?" Then, "Why NOT me?" "Why not our loving and faithful family?" "Why not?" I called my husband, who had just left the hospital and returned to our children. In his shock, he also searched for an answer. Our children worried and wondered how our lives would change...

We broke the news to family and friends over the next few days, and went on with our busy lives as if nothing had changed. Indeed, it had not. We were determined to have this baby be as "normal" as possible. I had no idea what the next few years would bring for our Cameron. What would it be like when he entered nursery at church, kindergarten? What would his elementary years be like? Junior high? High school? Life after that for this little boy who won the hearts of everyone who held him and looked into his blue eyes?

Here we are twenty three years later with a wagonload of memories that we would not trade for all the "normal" boys born those years ago. We always say Cam makes our lives "interesting," but it's really much more than that. Loving a child with special needs makes me a better person. I am more compassionate, patient, humble, self-aware, courageous, faithful, generous, and happy because twenty-three years ago God sent an angel. He wasn't the baby we ordered--he was so much more.