I’ve spent more than a few nights lately laying in bed before my weariness carries me to sleep and wondering what I’m doing.

I’m a mother. with 4 children.

The responsibility of that can be overwhelming. I’m not talking about the responsibility of getting them to school on time wearing clean clothes with lunches packed with the food that each child will actually eat with homework completed. I’m talking about the responsibility to grow them to fear God. Glorify Him. Love others. Live for Him.

Yesterday, one was crying while two others were arguing and another one was demanding to be held all while I was trying to make dinner. Without hashing it all out again, let me just say, I didn’t respond real well.

When I hear them speak unkindly to each other, when Lydia hits, when they all speak over each other at the dinner table, I wonder if I really know what I’m doing here. I wonder if God may have made a mistake making me a mother of four.

But, God doesn’t make mistakes.

And, I don’t know what I’m doing here, to be honest. But, He does. And, for some crazy reason beyond my comprehension, He chose to give these treasures to me to raise, even in my incompetence and frailty.

When I’m laying in bed, I’m reminded. God doesn’t want mushrooms; God wants oak trees.

Some mushrooms can grow in only a few hours. Sometimes it seems like you can practically see them growing right in front of you. And, as cute as a little mushroom can be, they have no stems, no leaves, and no roots. They also have no chlorophyll, meaning they have no way of making their own food to sustain themselves. They’re good–and they can produce more mushrooms. But, they aren’t best.

But, oak trees? An acorn can take years to become a full grown tree. The growth from day to day is impossible to notice. You can only see it year to year–even then, it’s not easy to see. But, in the end, that oak is strong. They endure–in fact, they can live for up to 200 years. And, an oak tree’s roots? Remarkable. Some used to think that the tree’s roots out of view mirrored the branches we can see exactly. But, that’s not the case. The roots of a healthy oak tree are much more intricate, much deeper, much more complicated than the branches and leaves we can see. Roots can stretch hundreds of yards from the base of the tree, detecting things that could affect the health and growth of that tree and carefully responding to them. And, even when no growth can be seen in that tree, miraculously, those roots keep growing–in fact, up to 25 mm. a day. If you could carefully brush away the soil and get a close look at those roots, you nearly could see them growing under the surface, seeking out oxygen and water despite obstacles.

That’s what God is looking for in our children and what He asks of me as a mother–grow “oaks of righteousness.”

My family is not the picture of perfection. Our kids don’t sit up straight and set a table nicely and refrain from interrupting. Let me make this a bit more clear–they are the kids who throw tantrums at the grocery store and complain when I tell them they can’t play Wii for a second hour on a beautiful Saturday afternoon and pinch and argue while I’m trying to have a significant conversation with a young mother after church. We don’t have family devotions regularly. And, our prayers before bed are often rushed as the fatigue of the day is on me.

But, I’m going to choose today to believe that God is somehow using me to grow those strong branches. And, I’m going to celebrate those glimpses of little bits of growth for those 4 trees living in our home. Questions about who God is. Little made-up songs about Jesus. Giggles and joy over a kiss from a baby sister. A boy who tells us he is ready to try Sunday School after 10 years of refusing.

I don’t want mushrooms. I want oak trees.

Excitement filled my kitchen when the kids got home, and the story spilled out.

The fifth grade class had taken a math test. It wasn’t unique, just their regular math assessment. When they had all been graded, Evan’s teacher asked them to do something.

“If you think you did really well on that test, stand up.”

All boys stood up. Evan did not.

He’s always struggled in math. He’s gotten extra learning support. He’s had aides help him. But, it wasn’t uncommon for math homework to end in tears. It’s never just come to him, and he knows it.

“Evan, you don’t want to stand up?” She asked him.

He shrugged his shoulders and looked away, assuming that this test was like the others.

“Everybody sit down. . . Evan, stand up.”

I wish I could have seen his face as he stood and as she told him that he and a girl in the class were the only ones to get every. question. right. I wish I could have seen his smile when he heard her words and realized that he had gotten it.

I’m glad he got to see my face as he told me, because I think my face looked a lot like his when he experienced it himself.

Past performance is the best predictor of future behavior. 

I took the Psych classes. I know that’s true. But, I also know that we can be free from past performance, that we can claim confidence in change.

It’s only a math test, one of many, I know. But, it’s a moment he won’t forget, the day he learned he isn’t bad at math, the day he learned that he can do this, that he isn’t marked as a kid who doesn’t get it, that he isn’t stuck and entrapped by what has been. It was the moment he saw hope in what is and what could be. There’s hope for great things, and he saw in that moment that we aren’t going to be surprised at all when we get to see those great things happen.

5 years ago, I sat in my first IEP meeting and cried. The labels in front of me on a 25-page, single-spaced evaluation report answered questions but took my breath away at the same time. The words learning support sounded less stigmatizing than special education, but they really meant the same thing. Our son would not be in the normal classroom and would need strategies and special helps and therapies. The labels told us that. He told us that.

We had a lot of meetings that year. And, I cried at every one. It wasn’t what I had pictured; he didn’t fit what I had pictured, the dream I had in my mind. I wondered if he’d be the child who never left the nest. Would he be able to balance a checkbook? hold a job? be a husband and father? I wanted a cure for all his deficiencies and delays, a cure where only strategies could be promised.

I don’t remember all the specialists’ words (or even who they were) and all the papers I signed that year. But, I do remember one particular conversation with his kindergarten teacher. In fact, I can still picture it perfectly. We were sitting at little desks in little chairs. She was handing me tissues and then she said it—“There’s nothing wrong with Evan. He doesn’t need to be fixed.”

And, just like that, it was a defining moment in my motherhood. I stopped seeing him as being broken and needing repair. Instead, I saw him as a unique little man and saw myself as the woman called to be his mother and advocate. And, I had no idea how to do that for this child who needed so much. Miss Capable became Miss Unable as I faced that calling. I realized I was the one with deficiencies and delays, the one who needed strategies. Could I get a Parenting IEP, please?

Goals:
(1) to put the current needs of her child ahead of her own agenda and/or dreams/plans for the future;
(2) to recognize her weaknesses and shortcomings in parenting and seek to grow in those areas through bringing in other resources as needed;
(3) to become increasingly comfortable with the unknowns inherent to parenting a child with special needs and, frankly, any child;
(4) to ask the question, “What does my child need right now?” with compassion when facing her child’s challenging behaviors;
(5) to be able to name 5 abilities of each of her children without hesitation, focusing on their ABILities rather than any DISabilities;
(6) to demonstrate an awareness that she is not alone; and
(7) to live each day with an assurance that God chose her in particular to be the parent to each of her children and that they belong to Him.

A lot has happened in 5 years. Following an IEP meeting this week, we’re transitioning Evan into full inclusion so that he spends all his time in the mainstream classroom. He’s been doing so well. And, he asked for this change himself which is really something in and of itself. And, he’s ready. We’re all watching closely, but he’s ready.

I think we’ve both done really well meeting our IEP goals.

{happy sigh}