I'm sitting in the Ft. Lauderdale International Airport, contemplating what I'm about to experience.
In a little over an hour, Sean and I board a flight to leave the country. Not very far ~ just to the Bahamas. But virtually out of contact, nonetheless.
At $2.00 a minute, there will be no calls here and there about who's done what to whom, who is to blame, or who has now melted down about what.
There will be no calls from teachers. There will be no meetings with school officials . . . or counselors . . . or therapists . . . or psychiatrists - or anyone else with a bunch of letters behind their names. There will be no new diagnoses to deal with. There will be no tears. I am on vacation. Being a special-needs mom is my full-time job, and I get the next eight days off.
My mom (a.k.a. St. Carol) has courageously (quit happily, actually) moved in to our house to be "Nana-mom" to our three boys. And our two dogs. All of whom have a laundry list of issues to be dealt with daily, along with meds, nutritional supplements, processes, routines, and on and on and on.
I'm not sure she'll ever come back after this.This entire situation is a crystal clear picture of Jesus Christ at work in the form of a 65-year-old woman. My mom is a portrait of grace and compassion, of unending love and incredible honor. She would do anything for just about anyone, and being one of her children is an amazing blessing. And she does it all because this is who she is.
She gives all the credit to God, but we all know about free will. And we all know that she has to make a choice every minute of every day of how to act just like the rest of us do. She decides what kind of mother to be, what kind of friend to be, what kind of daughter-in-law to be, what kind of wife, what kind of Nana ...
Thank you, God, for being so present within my mother; for acting through her and consequently, for allowing Sean and I to rest, rejuvenate, recharge, and just be us.
It may not sound like a big deal, but to us it means the world.
