Answers

America,

He asked him to sacrifice his child. It's a horrible, ugly, agonizing thought. Who would ask that of a parent? Who would ask someone to give away their only son?

It's a thought too painful to fathom. Yet it is something that I understand for the first time in my life in a more tangible way than ever before. He asked me to sacrifice my child. He asked me to give up minutes, moments, snuggles, memories, experiences, etc. He asked me to lay it all down and turn around and walk away, and to find peace in His plan. His plan that I couldn't understand, and I couldn't grasp, but I knew was better than what I could hope for.

In the biblical narrative of what God asked of Abraham and Sara, we don't read about the tears. We don't read about the emotional agony behind the steps of trusting God. We don't read about the sleepless nights or the emotional exhaustion. We only read about the actions of faith. His faith was credited to him as righteousness.

My son was diagnosed with Retinitis Pigmentosa. As a result of this my only son is going blind. For some unknown reason, his vision is disappearing very rapidly (a reality that surprises his opthalmologists). In a period of 9 months, he went from no longer needing to see an opthalmologist to being legally blind at night and having lost a significant portion of his peripheral vision. In the past three months, his field of vision has continued to decline at an alarming rate and he can no longer see the color purple.

I am a homeschooling parent. How does one homeschool a child who can not see? I'm not so naive to think I can figure everything out on a whim, and my son is so smart! He deserves the best possible education he can get. Because of this, and a LOT of narrative in between that I won't bore you with here, we had no option but to look at a residential school for the blind.

I can go on and on about the hurdles that had to be overcome in regards to this residential school. I can't tell you how intensely I sobbed when the door was even opened to him. I cried so hard I couldn't even breathe, and I think my sister's (who was on the other end of the phone) quiet tears and prayers and hugs from miles and miles away, helped me to get myself back together so I could leave my room and keep on parenting that day.

There have been months and weeks of gathering medical records, evaluations, documents, and then the final "test" of summer camp (this was a camp connected with the school, where they would evaluate my son's ability to attend). If you're unsure about my emotional state, click back to my previous post. You'll see that I was a complete mess. Sacrifices, even ones taken with complete faith, are not without agony. Let me say that again. I had to lay down my dream of everything for my son. I had to let go of what I hoped would be, let go of homeschooling him, and pendulum swing to the opposite end of homeschooling, and grasp an empty bed, an empty room, an empty chair at the dinner table, and more for my ten year old child. I had to let all of this go, and walk.by.faith.

He came home from camp and we were torn about what to do. We decided to trust in God's plan, made known to us by whether or not he was accepted in to the school. If he was accepted, he would go. If not, that was our sign that something else was in store.

It's amazing to me how devoid of agony things can appear, when we are no longer waiting for answers. I'm incapable of sharing with you how broken my heart was. I can't even begin to say the oceans of tears I have cried. The idea of my son's empty bed... even now sends me into sobs.

My spiritual director advised me to pray a novena. For my non-Catholic readers, a novena is a specific prayer prayed in increments of nine. It could be nine times in a row, or over nine days, or some other multiple of nine. I am on day six of that novena. The school called me today to give us the news. My son was accepted. But...

For the sake of comic relief, I could let that "but" linger here. I could write about how my dog is currently pestering me for attention, or my children are asking me about eight thousand variations that they would like to add to their dinner. But I'm sure you'd like to know what the "but" was. Yes? No?

The "but" is that we have to be resident's of a state that we are not resident's of. The school reached out to the state's board of education to see if there was a possibility to waive that requirement with my son. This is a testament to the passion for helping visually impaired children that this school has. Their support, encouragement, and helpfulness goes beyond what I could have ever hoped for or imagined. They even went so far as to call the nearest military installation to see if it would be possible to have my soldier transferred there so that my son could attend (or to see if there was anything else that could be done). Unfortunately, there is not. The door is wide open for my son's attendance, if and when, we sell our house and move. So basically? He can't go. At least not in a few weeks when school begins.

I wish I could tell you the joy I feel over the clear answer. I am so excited to see what God has in store for my son and our family this year. The waiting is over, the answer has come. I was asked to be willing to let him go. I was challenged to examine Whom I really trusted. I was forced to put my money where my mouth was, and in this moment, I have been spared the agony of having to actually do it. We went all the way, as far as we could go. The door has closed, at least for now.

In the past couple of weeks, we have been blessed with options for continuing to homeschool my son.
At summer camp, we met another family who homeschools their visually impaired child. The school recommended several adaptive technological devices to continue my son's education at home (they knew that there was a chance he might be unable to attend. They created a packet of resources and recommendations that are specific to each child they evaluated at camp. Just another way that they are amazing!).

Today, we have a lot of decisions to make about what's ahead. Today, I don't know what tomorrow will look like. Today, I am so so thankful that the waiting is over and the answer is here. Today, I can't even begin to define the joy of knowing that in a few weeks I don't have to drop off my child and drive home without him.

I'll take it.

pain

Sometimes the pain is so intense that I'm doubled over, trying not to throw up, sobbing. I have a mass, of some sort, growing on one of my ovaries. It became infected. We are hoping it's a cyst that will dissolve.

I have finished my antibiotics. I will go back for a follow up visit in several weeks to be re-scanned (this will be looking to see if it's grown, shrunk, or disappeared - yay for disappearing acts!). Why am I telling you this? A lot of reasons.

The first is that to attempt to define this pain to you is impossible. It comes in unpredictable waves, but always with the same level of intensity. It begins in my back, and then shoots throw my pelvis making labor seem like a walk in the park. Nothing helps (well, by "nothing" I mean ibuprofin doesn't help, because I don't take heavy duty painkillers as a general policy in regards to myself).

America, I am filled with blessings. Please don't read this as a complaint letter. It's not. I have health insurance. I have an amazing team of medical providers, who tell me when to be concerned and when not to be. I have a husband who rubs my shoulders and sits with me while I cry and breathe and wait it out. I have children who do their best to help out, and who have compassion and mercy in having to miss out on events we were planning to go to because one of those waves came crashing down on me. I am disgustingly fortunate. I do not take this for granted for one moment.

The second is because it has reminded me how often we carry burdens that we don't share. Very few people know what is going on here. Not because it's a secret, it's just not something that generally comes up in conversation. Hey guys! How are ya? I have an infected mess of something on my ovary! It hurts like a son of a motherless goat! How about them apples!?!! 

How many times have we come in to contact with someone particularly feisty or snippy, and assumed they were just a jerk? How many times have we made assessments and judgments about the people we encounter, when we don't have all the details? Why is it so difficult to assume the best in people? Why is it so easy to believe the worst?

Thirdly, prayer is powerful. I am terrified of cancer. I had court side tickets to my Mom's cancer. It wasn't glamorous or beautiful. It was fierce and awful. The devil knows this fear in me. He prods it and stokes those coals in my heart, trying to ignite a fire. If I'm paralyzed by fear, then I have forsaken Love.

This morning a wave came. I say "wave" because it really comes like that. It is sudden and uncontrollable. There will be no pain and then all of a sudden I feel like I can't catch my breath. Even if I'm sobbing, I still know how fortunate I am.