Dinner

I can remember the meals we ate when I was growing up, the casseroles and salads and homemade tortillas.  I remember discovering foods that I hated, like liver and cooked carrots, and foods that I loved, like tacos and ham and chicken divan.  I ate a pretty healthy, balanced diet, because other people were in charge of what was on my plate.

Then I went to college.  In those early years of independence, I found new foods that I loved, like Tony's microwaveable pizza and Ramen noodles.  I ordered hot wings with bleu cheese for a special treat, and I dunked Oreo cookies into peanut butter while I watched old episodes of SNL.  Little changed when I moved on to sparsely furnished apartments shared with six other people, and I ate my canned soup from the pan standing over the barely-used stove.  I made oatmeal for breakfast with a coffee maker and carried a can of Pringles in my bag when I went to work.  I bought a loaf of bread occasionally, but it would always get moldy before I was able to finish it.

When I got married, my husband made fun of my weird, prepackaged meals, and we cooked together at home as often as we went out to restaurants after work.  Dinner was so fun, after years of solitude, to have another person to talk to about the day and whatever else floated into my mind.  We had so much fun inviting friends over to our tiny apartment and meeting up with people at 11pm.  It was a time of bliss, because we had no way of knowing how short it would be, how a new little person would be joining us after only two years.  We had no idea that money would get tight, because we didn't know that we would drop down to one income.  We'd heard words like budget and savings, and they sounded very grownup and serious, but we really didn't know what they meant or how to stop spending so freely.  Honestly, we're still trying to figure that one out three kids later.

Pregnancy messed with dinner, since I never knew if I was going to be ravenous or nauseous, and I returned to my soup-in-the-pan dinners when my husband was at work late, often eating a few biscuits and large serving of mashed potatoes.  But when he was home, it was steak (because babies need red meat) and kale salads (because babies also need their mothers to be miserable) and midnight runs to Taco Bell.

Dinner with babies or toddlers is like this whole other thing, because somebody is running around, whether it is the parents or the kids, and nobody gets to eat their food when it is the correct temperature or even in one sitting.  I developed some bad eating habits, in addition to the others I'd picked up throughout my adult years, and eating was almost never healthy or nutritious.

But life has settled for us in many ways.  The kids will sit for at least five minutes of a family dinner, and we're getting back to the cooking that we liked so much ten years ago.  There are no more midnight meal runs or desperate trips to Wendy's.  We grow herbs and fruit and vegetables in our yard, and I've even learned how to buy groceries better, so I'm prepared to eat something that will actually nourish me when meal time comes around.  (And it keeps coming, like, three times a day.  Every day.  So weird.)

You might notice that I don't share recipes or post meal plans or even workout videos.  I'm on this path to making better choices for myself and my family, but I have no idea if what works for us will work for anyone else.  Neither my husband or myself is repeating exactly what our parents did when we were growing up; we've tailored what we do to fit our people and our tastes.  And, as I've learned over the years, those tastes are evolving and changing all the time.

On Mistakes

This past weekend was the IF:Gathering, and I was able to watch with 39 friends and strangers at my church.  There were several good speakers, and a few moments that simply electrified me.  I want to talk about one of those moments, which happened when Rebecca Lyons interviewed Larissa and Katherine.  Larissa's husband suffered a traumatic brain injury before they were married, and Katherine had a stroke as a young wife and mother at age 26.  Their stories are exceptional and if you missed this special weekend, you should seriously consider finding a rewatch near you or downloading the weekend when it becomes available.

It lifted my spirits so much to see two women representing different aspects of disability on the stage at IF.  They were honest and gut-wrenching and challenging, and I wished I was there in person to hug them both for sharing themselves with hundreds of thousands of people.  The most poignant moment for me was when Rebecca asked them what had been their darkest moment in facing the new reality of life after disability.  Katherine shared a moment when she lay in the hospital, partially paralyzed and unable to speak, when she thought, God, did you make a mistake?

Do you ever have that feeling when another person says something that cuts straight to the core of who you are and what you've lived through, that you feel almost strapped to your seat, unable to move?  That's how I felt in that moment.  Because I remembered the day (or, more likely, days) when I asked that very same question.  When I looked at my very young son, recently diagnosed with an Autism Spectrum Disorder, and I wondered if God had actually meant to give that child to me.  It wasn't what I was expecting as a mother, but mostly I wondered if God realized how inadequate I was for the task.

I want to share with you one of my deepest beliefs, one that has been forged in the dark nights and long days, that came from my lowest moments and from my son's unexpected life.

God doesn't make mistakes.

It was easy to see why my mind would go there.  Nine years ago, traits like compassion and grace and selflessness were basically non-existent in my life.  I heard an expression that said "If you vote Republican when you are young, then you don't have a heart."  I proudly shared that, and went out to vote for George W. Bush.  (The saying continues "If you vote Democrat when you're old, then you don't have a brain."  If the choice was between having a heart and having a brain, then I chose brain.) I had goals and ambitions for myself, none of which involved other people, something that my husband pointed out to me while we were still dating.  I was unapologetic about all of it.

Then one day I peed on a stick and two lines popped up immediately, leaving no doubt that my life was going to change.  I had a hard time realizing how much.  The little life grew inside me and before he was even born, he had taken charge.  I ate hamburgers slathered in mayonnaise and apple after apple.  I ate kale.  Kale, people.  Long gone were the breakfasts of Snickers and Dr. Pepper, the late nights talking with friends, the size 6 jeans.  And when he came out and I held him in my arms, I knew I would do whatever it took to give him a good life.  I just had no idea how hard it would be to accomplish that.

So yeah, I questioned why God in His infinite wisdom wouldn't put this child in the home of a trained speech therapist or intervention specialist.  Or, at the very least, someone less selfish and cold-blooded.  Having a son on the autism spectrum wrecked me in the best possible way.  It's easy to see it now, when so many years have passed and I have changed so much.  It's easy to see what God was thinking when he lovingly and tenderly created a little life inside my body.  He wanted to help me become a better person, a better mom.

Tonight, the thoughts are swirling, as I think of my mom friends who face similar diagnoses and challenges.  And maybe it's because a lady from my Bible study died this week, but there doesn't seem to be a better time to tell each of you...

God doesn't make mistakes.

The child you are holding, or watching over, or struggling to get into bed, the child who is challenging every idea you ever had about motherhood or life or just everything...He is not a mistake.  And you are not parenting him by mistake.  You are both exactly where you are supposed to be, exactly how you are supposed to be.  There is a God in heaven who created each and every one of us and He wants you to give everything you have to this life.  He wants you to grow in the challenges and revel in the joys and be surprised and broken and restored.  He wants you to live.

He doesn't make mistakes, but we certainly do.  I don't know who originated this saying, but I heard it from Master Oogway in the movie Kung Fu Panda (I'm a mother of boys, after all).  "Yesterday is history.  Tomorrow is a mystery.  Today is a gift.  That's why it's called the present."  And what a mistake it would be to waste your gift.  To spend your gift thinking about what is history, or speculating about what is a mystery.  What about today?  Don't think about what you got wrong in the past or what scary unknowns wait in the future!  Focus on today.

What do you need to learn today?  What can you do today to keep your family going?  What services do you need to investigate?  What is happening today, right now, that you will never get to experience again?  For me, it was hearing my son, the one with all the delays and the expressive communication difficulties calling my parents' dog to come sit in his lap, then giggling in delight when the dog licked his face.  It was disgusting but it was also huge.  It was something he couldn't do even six months ago, something I thought was impossible when he was 3 years old and crawling under tables during his assessments.  Today, when I showed his younger brother a gift I got for him to give his teacher tomorrow during the Valentine's party, he asked if he could take a gift to his teacher too.  I was surprised not just by his words, but that I had been so short-sighted that I didn't pick up two gifts.  (Apparently I have a ways to go in that whole "gracious, think of others" thing.)  Today, at bedtime, he asked me to come sleep in his bed.  I cuddled for a few minutes before excusing myself to my bigger, more comfortable bed.

What if I compared my life to other people I know?  What if I'd let that diagnosis dictate who my child was?  What if I'd resisted the changes developing in me?  What if it was fifty years ago and his doctors had advised me to leave him in a home and focus on my "normal" children? (Side note: I have two other kids, and none of them are normal.)  I would have missed the gifts that today held for me.

Friends (and strangers, if there are any of you reading this) DON'T MISS IT.  Don't miss the challenges of living your life.  Don't miss the trials and the changes they'll bring about in you.  Don't miss the joy to be found on the other side.