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
When God redeemed my worst Christmas ever by using it for good, it came as a big surprise. Most likely because 1982 was the year of my worst Christmas ever, and the using it for good part didn’t come along until December of 2024. 42 years is a long time, which explains my surprise.
Seasons help us to realize we’re not alone. We might still feel alone but we can see things differently and then change our thinking, and even our responses. We know everyone goes through “stuff” but sometimes we need to recognize it just happens to be our turn. The harder part is that we still have someone we are caring for full time, 24/7 added to the new hard stuff!
For families like mine, with an autistic child and my own ADHD and anxiety, Christmas is rarely “calm” or “bright.” In fact, it is often loud, noisy, and overwhelming. Our children get overwhelmed by the lights and the new items. We, as parents, get overwhelmed by all the mess and noise. There are so many sensory inputs flowing through that you feel like you are in a never-ending vacuum of noise. And, that doesn’t even take into account that I’m operating on just a few hours of sleep after leading multiple Christmas services as a pastor.
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.
Sometimes we see our hope clearly in a brightly lit moon and joyfully anticipate the arrival of the sun. Other times, we have to remind our despairing selves that the sun is still there despite clouds or storms that hide it, or distractions like wind and lightning. The sun is still there. And so, we sing. Part 2 of the series, Finding Light in the Darkness.
Whether it’s being delayed on the roads, waiting to see a love one who lives far away or anticipating a fun vacation, being patient sure can be tough. Cooling our jets when it involves an illness, diagnosis or surgery for ourselves or a loved one can amp up the anxiety and feelings of defeat even more. Recently, my friends Ed and Jan showed me through their example how to wait with hope.
If all we do is share what we have with our friends and family—or, dare I say, our ‘clique’ within our congregation!—are we just sharing with those who might be useful to us in some way? Jesus is teaching us through His parables that we shouldn’t just pick our favorites for the team, choose only our friends for a meal, or reach out in ministry only to those who the world views as having influence or who can help us financially. And that must include children and young people with special/additional needs or disabilities.
