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.
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
My family sits near the back of the sanctuary in the church. I feel safe in the back, where we might blend in and not disturb anyone. I find myself so worried about my daughter and the people around us that I tune out the sermon altogether. Ironically, I am in church fretting over something like this. I have to trust that the people in our congregation will have grace for my family.
What will go wrong next? This question has come up on a daily basis for my family this summer. After digging into Acts 18:21, I now see how the hardships faced by the apostles make our recent experiences seem like a walk in the park. Instead of asking “What will go wrong next?” and worrying about what was out of my control, I followed the apostle’s example, rested in the sovereignty of God
