Hope Blooms

We just celebrated Resurrection Sunday.  Easter Sunday.  The hope we have in our risen Savior.  This year I've found particular significance in the holiday.  Nothing about the significance of Christ's work for us has changed, but our lives have.

We've had a lot thrown at us.  A lot of labels.  A lot of potential diagnoses.  A lot of maybes and what ifs regarding our children.

And yet, the reality is this.  These are the same beautiful children we've always had.  The ones that God gave us.  Created in his image. Cherished by him.  Christ died and rose for Mercy, Gilead, Abel, and Pip.  Not for mitochondrial depletion, autism spectrum disorder, sensory processing disorder, FPIES, or mild cerebral palsy.  Those things, or the possibility of those things, are not who they are.

I still cry a lot.  I'm exhausted and confused.  I don't know how to be the best mom to them.  This is hard!  But hope blooms.  It blooms when the child who struggles with empathy pats his baby brother and says "it's okay, we're almost home" when he's crying in the car.  It blooms when Pip takes a whole three ounces from the bottle.  It blooms when Gilead works up the nerve and strength to go down a tunnel slide.

 We have been so loved by the body of Christ.  Our children know that Jesus loves them.  They have no concept that he might not.  

So we keep living each day in hope.  I administer meds.  We go to therapy.  Teach bodies to move properly, go to appointments, and teach little people that Jesus loves them.  That they are created in the image of God--feeding tubes, motor delays, and all.  They are no less a reflection of Him.

Morning medication ritual.

And this year we celebrate our hope in the risen Christ.  We don't deny that life is hard.  It is hard.  But Christ is risen, and He is here.  He is here.  He's alive.  And there's so much hope.