“Learning to listen isn’t a gift; it’s a skill.” “Anytime is a good time to learn to listen.”
These statements are great places to start in the month of “love” as we share cards, gifts, and time with others. It’s a skill that can be learned and we will be all the better for it. In our family, we are still learning and growing in this area both in our marriage as well as with our grown children, their spouses, the grandchildren, and our son with special needs.
The playground was bustling with laughter and movement, but my boys, then just two and four years old, played in their own quiet way. After a speech therapy session, we stopped at a nearby park, a familiar part of our speech therapy routine when the weather was nice. My older son wandered the perimeter of the playground and discovered sweet gum balls—a spiky green fruit on the gumtree but which dries out and turns brown and drops to the ground.
The lessons I learned while raising a child with EA/TEF have been many and varied. That’s to be expected since our son was born in 1982 with esophageal atresia (EA) and a tracheoesophageal fistula (TEF), two conditions that left him unable to swallow and required immediate surgery. Many of the lessons came about as a result of the surgeries and invasive procedures he endured between birth and age 5. Other lessons came later as he became more independent in adolescence and adulthood. I encourage you to use these ten lessons as a springboard for considering what you’ve learned as well.
Kingdom Focus is what first comes to mind. Those of us who are married and have someone in our life with special needs for whom we have responsibility (often 24/7 and 365!) know that without focus, we are doomed. AND for those of us who are believers in Jesus, we add to that His Kingdom focus and our part in it.
For us, we have 5 top ways to work on our marriage and keep it strong. There are more, of course, but let’s not get overloaded!
A few years ago, I made a change in the way I interact with my children. It’s a small practice, but it has profoundly helped our family understand and grasp the truth that God loves and delights in us. Every single day, I tell my kids, “I love being your mom.” This intentional habit has transformed not just my relationship with my children but also how I relate to God.
The playground was bustling with laughter and movement, but my boys, then just two and four years old, played in their own quiet way. After a speech therapy session, we stopped at a nearby park, a familiar part of our speech therapy routine when the weather was nice. My older son wandered the perimeter of the playground and discovered sweet gum balls—a spiky green fruit on the gumtree but which dries out and turns brown and drops to the ground.
The lessons I learned while raising a child with EA/TEF have been many and varied. That’s to be expected since our son was born in 1982 with esophageal atresia (EA) and a tracheoesophageal fistula (TEF), two conditions that left him unable to swallow and required immediate surgery. Many of the lessons came about as a result of the surgeries and invasive procedures he endured between birth and age 5. Other lessons came later as he became more independent in adolescence and adulthood. I encourage you to use these ten lessons as a springboard for considering what you’ve learned as well.
As the New Year begins, we are often bombarded with messages encouraging us to aim high, make big resolutions, and do more. But as parents—especially those navigating disability—this approach can feel overwhelming. Instead of striving for lofty goals, what if we embraced the sacredness of small steps and new beginnings? What if we allowed ourselves the grace to parent differently—in a way that meets the unique needs of our families and honors the season we’re in? For many families like mine, Sunday mornings don’t look like they “should.” We are navigating multiple invisible disabilities—diagnoses like autism, ADHD, anxiety, and more—and we’ve had to embrace flexibility, creativity, and sometimes just letting things go when things feel too hard
Ruth saw a bright future for herself. She didn’t have an exact plan in front of her. But at 18, she vaguely knew what she wanted in the future: a master’s degree, a husband, a job she enjoyed, and children. Emma was on another path altogether. When Emma turned 18, she was already enrolled in a school for students with more significant disabilities.
My daughter arrived in the Intensive Care Unit (ICU) in the middle of the night on the eve of Thanksgiving. A tough respiratory virus attacked her lungs, and she needed a substantial amount of oxygen support. And now, this unexpected illness meant Thanksgiving was going to be completely different than we had all planned.
