Author: Katie Miller

Our family recently returned from an 8-day camping trip to Yellowstone and Grand Teton National Parks. Taking a camping trip of this magnitude is something I never thought we’d be able to do with Shep. Camping with kids is hard. Camping with a child with disabilities is insane. But by the grace of God, we did it and lived to tell the tale. As you might imagine, I had a few resonating take-aways from our adventure.

First off, Grand Teton and Yellowstone are stunning. If you get the chance to go explore them, you should. God’s handiwork and creativity is on full display everywhere you look. During our travels, we saw license plates from all over the United States and met people who’d traveled from SO many different countries to come take in the natural splendor. It was a very unifying human experience to be surrounded by every tribe, tongue, and nation, all gathered together for the same reason—to stand in awe of God’s creation. 

Secondly, accessibility is a gift that I will never again take for granted. I never thought about accessibility in my pre-Shep life, but now it dictates literally every outing we take as a family. There were moments of every single day on our trip that I stopped to thank God for the access He had granted our family during this adventure. For one thing, the National Parks Service makes a concerted effort to make the parks accessible to all people. Many sections of trails and lookout points are paved and offer ramps or boardwalk access. People with permanent disabilities even qualify for a free lifetime parks pass! The thought and care that has been poured into creating accessible places in the national parks makes me feel like families like mine are seen and my son matters too. Who knew a ramp could bring me to tears?

Also, having a handicap parking permit because of Shep’s disability was an actual God-send on this trip. While so many others had to be on the road by 5:00 a.m. to find parking spots at highly trafficked locations, we pulled up on Miller time (usually after 10:00 a.m.) and snagged front row parking with Shep’s V.I.P. access—allowing us to unload all of his equipment so much nearer to our final destination. Praise. God. 

Although effort goes into making the parks accessible, there are many parts that are still not accessible by wheelchair. The parks are huge, so this will always be the case. When we encountered trails that weren’t going to work for Shep’s wheelchair, we busted out his Huckleberry Hiking Cart. Shameless plug here: this cart is incredible! It was designed by a dad whose daughter has special needs. His family loves getting outdoors and he didn’t want to leave his daughter behind, so he designed and created this cart that can tackle single-track trails, rocks, sand, stairs, you name it. He now sells and distributes them all over the world so families like ours can have access to places we never would otherwise. We were fortunate enough to get Shep’s cart paid for by funding he receives for special equipment. To say that I’m grateful would be an understatement. We hiked up stairs for a mile to view Jenny Lake from Inspiration Point. We took a rocky trail with switchbacks to admire the Grand Canyon of Yellowstone. We were able to do what should have been impossible with our whole family in tow. Our trip would have been a much more limited experience without our cart, but thankfully, we were able to tackle just about anything we were willing to take on. 

Which brings me to the next item on my gratitude list—my husband. Like an absolute rockstar, Daniel was the sherpa to Shep’s sweet ride on every single hike we took. He didn’t complain a single time as he hiked steep inclines, carrying our son along the whole time. I’m so thankful to have a husband who goes above and beyond to care for all the members of our family. I watched as Daniel earned the admiration and respect of every winded, exhausted person on those trails. 

Most of my life, I’ve been more of a “how can I blend in?” rather than a “how can I stand out?” kind-of-person, but being out on physically demanding hikes with our noticeably disabled son definitely drew attention—and honestly, it felt like a badge of honor. It was a uniquely humbling privilege to have total strangers stop to cheer us on and offer words of encouragement. We received SO many comments from people who admired us for being out there doing a hard thing when we had every reason not to.  I could see the look in people’s eyes change as they registered what it must have taken for us to do something that most people do without even thinking about it. It made me feel hopeful that our Shep-schlepping might have inspired someone else to do the “hard thing” in their life. 

Not to mention, we got stopped by at least three families who wanted to ask us about our Huckleberry Hiking Cart because they have a disabled loved one who wasn’t on the trail with them that day. They had no idea something like this cart existed and they were excited about the possibilities that it could open up for their families. What a gift to be able to share a life-changing find with other families like ours! 

We came home from our week-long adventure absolutely exhausted, but so full of gratitude. “We can do hard things” is something of a family motto in the Miller household. We say it to our kids all the time and we are doing our best to live by example and put it into practice ourselves. Hard things are, well, hard. But they are almost always worth it. Taking this trip reminded me that pushing myself is worthwhile–for myself, my family, and for all the other people we get to encounter and encourage along the way in life. This trip also showed me just how much God has changed my heart over the last 5 years. Early on, I would have wallowed in the fact that “normal things” like camping trips are infinitely harder for families like ours. My bitterness and resentment would have spoiled opportunities like this completely. But on this trip, I just felt thankful. Yes, it was hard. But God made it possible for us to do this. He made a way for us to rent a trailer, own a vehicle that could tow it, park where we needed to, hike trails we shouldn’t have been able to, and soak in the glory of His creation. How could I not feel thankful for all that? He has been so good to us.

Our family is embarking on our next great adventure—we have become licensed to foster/adopt! We are equal parts excited and nervous. We have felt God nudging us in this direction and we are stepping out in faith with a “Yes, Lord.” While we know the world of fostering will undoubtedly come with hardship, heartbreak, and unknowns, we are eager to see how God will show up in mighty ways as we step well out of our comfort zone.

In the midst of praying about moving forward with fostering, we read through a Bible account with our kids that I am confident God brought to our attention for such a time as this. In 1 Kings chapter 17, we read about the prophet Elijah confronting King Ahab and Queen Jezebel about their idol worship and wickedness leading the entire nation of Israel away from the one true God. Jezebel hated the prophets of God and was known for having them hunted down and killed for the truths they spoke, making this a dangerous time for Elijah. As punishment for Israel’s idolatry, God sent a drought on the nation, yet chose to care for Elijah and provide for his needs in miraculous ways. 

Elijah spent time alone in the wilderness, drinking from a brook and having his food delivered by ravens each morning. When the brook dried up, God told Elijah to “‘Go at once to Zarephath in the region of Sidon and stay there. I have directed a widow there to supply you with food’” (1 Kings 17:9). Widows, at this point in history, were among the most destitute, helpless members of society. This woman had no husband to provide for her, no means of providing for herself, and she still had a son to feed in addition to herself. But from ravens to widows, God tends to use the least likely candidates to carry out His will. 

When Elijah came to the widow asking for water and bread, she told him, “‘I don’t have any bread—only a handful of flour in a jar and a little olive oil in a jug. I am gathering a few sticks to take home and make a meal for myself and my son, that we may eat it—and die’” (1 Kings 17:12).  In response, Elijah told her to not be afraid, but to go and make bread for him first and then for herself and her son with the small provisions she had. In turn, the Lord would cause her jar of flour and jug of oil to not run out until the drought was over (v. 13-14). 

In faith, the widow obeyed. God kept His word. God provided for Elijah and the woman and her son—not out of the woman’s abundance, but from His. 

On paper, this woman was not the best candidate to be signing up to serve and provide for others. Her situation was desperate. She did not have the resources to care for her own household, let alone a strange man who turned up on her doorstep. But where we lack, God is more than sufficient. God called her to do what was impossible for her, but not at all for Him. 

We could not have read this story at a better time. While considering foster care, naturally the voice of fear and doubt has crept in. “Are we really the best candidates for this calling? Isn’t life challenging enough? Don’t we have enough on our plates? We have a child with a disability—is this biting off more than we can chew?”

The reality is—yes, we do have a lot on our plates. Life is challenging. This is more than we can handle. But it is not too much for God. 

God has shown us that whatever He calls us to, He will walk us through. We are humbly approaching this endeavor knowing that we are not enough. But He is able to do exceedingly abundantly more than we could ask or think, so we are leaning on His sufficiency, not our own. We are empty-handed, but stepping out in faith with a “Yes, Lord” for however long or short a season He is calling us to this. 

We are imploring you to be covering our family in prayer as we move forward with fostering. We know this will take a village and God’s abundant grace upon our family. Thank you for being a part of this journey with us! 

Up until November 2020, I can pretty confidently say that life had been relatively smooth sailing for me. I’ve always been a driven, goal-oriented planner; and for some reason, God had generously approved all the plans I had carefully laid out for my life. Then Shep was born, and my life turned upside down. Shockingly enough, having a disabled child was not on my life’s bucket list. After receiving our son’s diagnosis and realizing life was going to look nothing like we expected it to, shock and disbelief weighed heavily on us. Could this really be happening to our family? To us? To me? I found myself arguing with God and saying things along the lines of “Lord, we’ve been faithful to follow you. We’ve obeyed you. We have tried to live in a way that is pleasing to you. Why would you allow this to happen to us? I don’t deserve this. Why me, God?”

My temper tantrum with God was the unleashing of the ugly monster that had been living inside me all along— entitlement. This monster actually lives inside all of us, but it usually takes us not getting our way for it to be fully revealed. 

While most Christians would tell you that they don’t believe in the prosperity gospel, many of us actually do—at least subconsciously. The majority of us, especially Westernized Christians, have bought into the subtle lie that if we are “good” and follow God, He will bless us with health, wealth, and whatever else we might ask Him for. This is why we are so quick to call ourselves “blessed” when God chooses to give us financial stability, the spouse we long for, the children we desire, the sought-after job promotion, or good health. It is also why we tend to question God and shake our fist at Him when He withholds something we desperately want. Whether or not we would say it out loud, we feel like we deserve it. We feel that God owes it to us. 

This “gospel” could not be further from the truth of what the Bible actually promises us. The reality is that we are owed exactly nothing. At least not in the way we think we are owed. Romans 6:23 says, “the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord.” According to this passage, as sinners, the only thing we are owed, the only thing we have earned, is death and judgment for our wrongdoings. It is an unwarranted gift that God offers us forgiveness and salvation through His son. We call this mercy—God withholding the wrath that we deserve. Anything else God chooses to bless us with, we call grace. This includes our salvation that He paid the price for. It is an unearned, undeserved gift bestowed upon us by a benevolent God. 

Because of God’s abundant love and kindness, He often chooses to bless us with health, financial stability, rewarding friendships, loving spouses and children, etc. However, these things are by no means owed to us. They are merely gifts meant to point us back to the giver himself.  Their absence in our life is not an indicator of a lack of God’s love for us. 

Sadly, so many of us have the “Why me?” heart posture when life doesn’t go our way and we act as if we have been wronged by God. However, there is another way we can ask this same question but from a totally different mindset. In 2 Samuel chapter 7, God promises David that He will build him a house and establish the throne of his kingdom forever (v. 16). He is promising David that the long-awaited Messiah will come through his family line. In response, David says, “Who am I, O Lord God? And what is my house that you have brought me this far?” (v. 18). David’s “Who am I?” is another way of asking “Why me?” but with a posture of complete humility rather than entitlement. The entitled person asks God, “Why would you allow this thing to happen to me?” The humble asks, “Why would you choose me to receive such mercy and grace?”

David recognized that God owed him nothing. He was a flawed, broken sinner like the rest of us and he did not lose sight of that. Having this kind of humility opens us up to receive all (the highs and the lows) that God has for us with gratitude, not entitlement. 

Two chapters later, we see David bestow the same mercy and grace on another that God has shown him. Saul had been Israel’s king before David, and his son Jonathan would have been next in line for the throne had God not anointed David instead. Jonathan and David were dear friends and loved each other like brothers. Sadly, Jonathan died in battle alongside his father thus allowing for David to take over the throne. In ancient times, it was not uncommon for a new king to kill all surviving family of the former king to prevent potential uprisings. Yet contrary to this tradition, David asked, “Is there not still someone of the house of Saul, to whom I may show the kindness of God?” (2 Samuel 9:3). It was told to David that Jonathan had a crippled son named Mephibosheth. David had Mephibosheth brought to him and told him, “‘Do not fear, for I will surely show you kindness for Jonathan your father’s sake, and will restore to you all the land of Saul your grandfather; and you shall eat bread at my table continually’” (v. 7). 

Here, David gives us a picture of the kind of love God has for us. He showed Mephibosheth mercy by sparing his life. He showed grace by restoring land to him and inviting him to dine at the king’s own table. 

In response, Mephibosheth “bowed himself, and said, ‘What is your servant, that you should look upon such a dead dog as I?’” (v. 8). This is humility. He recognized that David owed him nothing. As a crippled, broken man and the grandson of the former king, he saw his lowly state in the face of King David. Imagine how off-putting this narrative would be if Mephibosheth responded with entitlement and said, “Well, you owed me all that anyway. And while you’re at it David, I’d like half of the kingdom too. I deserve it.” 

We can learn so much from Mephibosheth’s example when we recognize that we too are lowly, broken, and have earned absolutely nothing. While it is true that, in these accounts, David and Mephibosheth were asking the right “Why me?” question in response to blessings, not disappointments—they still demonstrate the proper attitude that any blessings we receive are gifts, not debts owed to us. Like Job, we should embrace the humble posture of accepting from God both good and adversity (Job 2:10). And in many cases, what we see as “adversity” is merely God not choosing to bestow certain gifts that we felt inherently entitled to—a spouse, good health, a sought-after job, neurotypical children, etc. 

Like Mephibosheth, we come before our King empty-handed, yet, God chooses to extend abundant mercy and grace to us and invites us to dine at His table. He owes us nothing, but He offers us everything, in Him. What a beautiful picture. 

I pray the Lord continues to reframe my mindset, replacing my entitlement with humility and gratitude. Lord, change my “Why me’s?” to “Who am I’s?”

“What is mankind that you are mindful of them, human beings that you care for them?” (Psalm 8:4)

I think there is probably a part in all of us that longs to know what the future holds so we can feel prepared for what life has in store for us, and possibly even alter that reality. It’s most likely fear and the desire for control that drives this longing. Sometimes I wonder how life would actually play out if God gave us a glimpse into our would-be futures. Would we embrace all that lies ahead? Even the hard parts? Or would we make whatever decisions necessary to avoid our trials and suffering?

If God had told me that our life would be up-ended by disability, would I have chosen to have a third child? Or would my husband and I have stopped with our two healthy, neurotypical children, choosing the easier path in life? Admittedly, I’m inclined to think I would have played the coward and opted out of hardship—bowing down to the idols of ease and comfort. 

How gracious of God to not give me that choice. I would have missed out on so, so much. For it is in my trials and suffering that God has brought about more growth, refinement of my faith, eternal perspective, and true joy than any of the “easy” parts of my life. 

What a mercy it is that God does not reveal all that life will hold for us, but instead calls us to trust Him fully as He walks with us through it all. If allowed glimpses into our futures, our aversion to pain and suffering would likely cause us to dodge the most formative experiences in our lives. We would bypass the very circumstances that transform us more into Christ’s image and draw us ever closer to His heart.  

As we reflect today on Good Friday, I am reminded that unlike us, Jesus did know fully of the suffering that was in store for Him. John 18:4 begins with, “Jesus, knowing all that was going to happen to Him, went…” 

This excerpt from the gospel of John is taken from the Garden of Gethsemane. Jesus had retreated to the garden with His closest friends in His darkest hour to cry out to His Father, knowing the time had come for Him to die. This quote is immediately followed by Jesus bravely approaching His friend, Judas, who had come to betray Him and the guards who had come to arrest Him. Jesus knew exactly what would happen to Him—betrayal, mockery, false accusations, beating, crucifixion, and most painfully, separation for the first and last time from God the Father. He knew all this would happen. And He went anyway.

Why would He do that? Why would a man knowingly choose to embrace suffering when He could’ve easily avoided it? The Bible tells us in Hebrews 12:2, “For the joy that was set before Him He endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.” And in Isaiah 53:5, “But He was pierced for our transgressions, He was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was on Him, and by His wounds we are healed.” 

Jesus embraced suffering for us. We were the joy set before Him. Jesus chose to endure physical pain, the ache of betrayal, humiliation, and the sting of death all to make peace between us and God and heal us from the devastating effects of our own sin. Jesus could have opted out of suffering. But He didn’t. To think of what we would’ve missed out on if He had.

This knowledge leaves me humbled and full of gratitude for a savior who loves me so deeply that He willingly took my place upon the cross. It also makes me thankful that suffering never gets the last word because we serve a God who redeems it all. No matter what light and momentary affliction I face here on earth, God will use it for my good and His glory. Friends, we can look to our futures with nothing to fear. 

photo credit: The Bible Project

Our family grew! About a month ago, we added a second dog to our home— a little pug. We named her Mercy. The meaning behind her name is three-fold. 1) When my kids were a bit younger, they loved Kate DiCamillo’s sweet book series about a quirky couple with a pet pig named Mercy Watson. Pugs are pretty pig-like, so it just worked. 2) Psalm 23 says, “surely goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life” and boy, does Mercy follow us around everywhere! And, 3) Lord, have mercy! This pup is something else!

This might seem like a funny, inconsequential post, simply announcing something as run-of-the-mill as getting a new dog. But to me, the last month has been the sweetest reminder of God’s kindness toward us and His care for the tiniest details of our lives. Stay with me ‘til the end— I will tie this into how God is working in our lives!

Daniel and I both grew up with dogs as a big part of our childhood, and from the time we started dating, we knew we would want to have dogs in our future home. Less than a year after we got married, we adopted Pippin the pug and he truly was our first baby. He was a central figure in our newlywed phase and we loved and doted upon him, as our phones’ camera rolls can attest. Pippin ushered us from the newlywed phase into the new parent stage as we welcomed our human babies into the world. He was there as we brought each of our three children home and he is woven through some of their earliest memories. Pippin brought so much joy into our lives and to me, he will always symbolize one of the sweetest seasons of our life. 

After Shep was born, life started to spiral for us. We had three kids, 3 years old and under, that depended on us for just about everything. We were in the throes of genetic testing, lab work, and assessments to gain an explanation for Shep’s developmental delays. Not long after Shep’s first birthday, we got his diagnosis and we began the grieving process all over again. Sleep-deprived, grieving, and overwhelmed, I was in the trenches of depression and felt like there was simply too much on my plate. 

Pippin, the dog we’d adored for 8 years, began to feel like more of a burden than a blessing in that season. With three young children to care for, we did not have the ability to care for Pip like we once had. We made the painful, but necessary decision to re-home him. Graciously, my brother and his partner offered to take Pippin for us and we couldn’t be more grateful that he got to stay in the family. Pippin lived out his remaining few years being loved and cared for by family that had known him all along. We were so, so thankful. 

We grieved saying goodbye to Pippin. Not just because he was a dog we loved, but also because we felt that we were saying goodbye to a whole chapter of our life–a sweet, joyful, easy season that we look back on so fondly. After Pip, Daniel and I weren’t sure we’d ever get another dog. While in the trenches, we could not imagine being in a space where we would have the capacity to care for an “extra” living being beyond our kids. 

Less than two years ago, when Shep was 4, we began entertaining the idea of getting another dog. The dust had settled a bit and we desperately wanted to give our kids the sweet childhood experience of owning a dog, even if it meant making life more complicated for us. We took the plunge and adopted our labrador puppy, Indie. We love our Indie dearly, but I will say that the first year of puppyhood with her was ROUGH. Her energy, size, and destructive tendencies had me questioning on multiple occasions if we had done the right thing in bringing a puppy home. 

By the grace of God, we made it through the toughest patch and I can thankfully say that Indie has turned a big corner and we love having her in our family. She is the biggest scaredy-cat, odd duck of a dog I’ve ever met, and is probably the only lab who’s terrified of water—but we love our goofy girl. She has brought out a tenderness in Harrison we’d never seen before and she is such a playful companion for our energetic boy. 

We haven’t even made it to the 2 year mark of having a dog again, but for some reason we got the hair-brained idea to add another one to the mix. We were really hoping to find a dog that would be a special buddy for Poppy, who is honestly more interested in having someone to snuggle with than play with. 

We were really hesitant to start over with a puppy, so we hoped to find a dog that was a little bit older. We began scouring Craigslist, adoption websites, and humane societies. Unfortunately, none of the dogs available were what we were looking for in terms of breed, size, age, etc. But one morning, I refreshed my Craigslist search for the hundredth time, and up popped a post for an 8-month-old, female pug who was being rehomed because her owners worked full-time and she was home alone too much. By the time I had copied the phone number and sent it to Daniel, the post had been flagged and removed. 

We called immediately and were told that we were already second in line. Daniel told the owners that we were extremely interested, explained how we are a home-schooling family that is home a lot, and that we are former pug owners with a major soft spot for the breed. The owners called Daniel back within a couple of hours, told him the pup was ours if we wanted her, and said we could come get her that afternoon. 

Daniel and I are not typically parents of the spontaneous variety, so I never thought we’d have the opportunity to surprise our kids with a dog—but that’s exactly what we did, and man, was it fun! I’ll never forget the look on my kids’ faces when Daniel walked in with a new dog in his arms. 

Mercy has been the sweetest addition to our family. Little Miss Personality took our home by storm and acts like she’s always lived here. She is sweet, sassy, smart, and snuggly. Mercy is an extreme extrovert and likes to spend every second of her day cuddled up with the closest living being she can find. Poppy simply can’t get enough of her and carries her around like she’s her own little baby. Mercy has been sweet and gentle with Shep, and she makes Harrison laugh every day with her quirky personality. We all adore her!

It has been so fun to watch Indie and Mercy together as well. It took about 12 hours for Mercy to establish herself as the alpha dog and it is pure comedy to watch her run the show and boss around a dog about 6 times her size. The girls act like sisters as they alternate between wrestling, playing tug of war, and snuggling together. Mercy does not give Indie an inch of personal space and is often found sneaking into Indie’s kennel with her and curling up right against her. They are polar opposites in looks, size, and personality, and they couldn’t make a funnier pair. They have been so much fun!

The icing on the cake is that Mercy came to us crate-trained and mostly potty-trained. Thank you, Lord! She hasn’t shown destructive tendencies and really only chews on her toys, not furniture. We feel so spoiled that we got her with the hardest part of the puppy phase being largely behind her, and feel grateful that of our three dogs, bringing Mercy home has been the easiest transition. I’m telling you, getting an 8-month-old puppy rather than an 8-week-old puppy is where it’s at! 

All that rambling about our dog stories is to lead me to the point of: God has been kind to us. God hears our prayers even for “silly things” like wanting a new dog. It was clear to us that God orchestrated the details of us finding Mercy–through the unlikelihood of us seeing a post that was live for less than 45 minutes, to us finding a breed that we love that is simply not as common in Idaho as it was in California. These weren’t prayers for essentials like our daily bread or mortgage payment–this was an extra. And still, God blessed us with a “yes”. 

To me, the tale of the Miller dogs has a beautiful redemptive arc to it. There has been loss and goodbyes, but there has also been restoration. God restored our ability to own dogs again. He’s brought us into a stable enough place where we could say “yes” to our kids for a request that seems so normal for most families. This is something we never take for granted as our family’s limitations often lead to more “no’s” than yes’s.” God has also restored to me the joy of dog ownership, which was something I lost completely in my darkest season. Owning a dog, for a time, simply felt like a burden too big to bear, and graciously God has allowed me, not just my kids, to experience the joy of having dogs in our home again. 

I’ve just felt very thankful over the last month and I thought I would share that joy with those of you who have been following along with our family’s journey. I try to be candid and open about our trials and losses, but I also want to publicly give God the praise He deserves for His abundant kindness as well. We may have long seasons of loss in life, but our God also has been known to restore the years that the locusts have eaten (see Joel 2:25 and Job 42). This season has been a taste of restoration for our family, and we are resting with gratitude in that place. 

“You’ve only got 18 Christmases with your kids. Make ‘em magical, Mama!”

Parents, no doubt you’ve also come across chipper little guilt trips like this (conveniently linked to a Pinterest board with about a hundred ideas for Christmas crafts, activities, baking projects, and clever traditions guaranteed to make the holidays magical and memorable) while you’ve been absent-mindedly scrolling through social media.

While I’ve worked hard to free myself from the burden of unrealistic expectations through limiting my social media use and choosing not to let comparison to others rob me of my joy, occasionally I’ll feel that all-familiar mom-guilt creep in and I’ll start questioning if I’m doing enough for my kids. Then I’ll jump right on the bandwagon of planning out a “magical” Christmas season full of wondrous activities that my kids may or may not even enjoy. 

Well, with Christmas just days away, I can officially say that none of my plans have come to fruition, and the Christmas season in the Miller household has been anything but “magical.” For the last week and a half, ALL FIVE of us Millers have been fighting the virus to end all viruses. We’ve fared fevers, chills, bodyaches, and debilitating exhaustion. Only to roll into phase two consisting of sore throats, coughs, and never-ending congestion. With young kids, our home is no stranger to sickness, but this has got to be the sickest our family has ever been. All at the same time. Earlier in the week, Daniel and I alternated spending half the day in bed while the other had the excruciating task of caring for three sick kids. When you barely have the energy to lift your hair dryer, lifting and caring for your disabled 5 year old son is nearly impossible. It’s been rough over here to put it mildly. 

Over the last 10+ days, my kids have missed their class Christmas parties and ice-skating field trip. We’ve baked exactly zero gingerbread cookies and cut out zero paper snowflakes. We haven’t made treats for our neighbors or walked through Winter Wonderland Christmas Light displays. We haven’t made salt dough ornaments or decorated sugar cookies. We’ve been too busy just trying to survive. 

I’ve found myself bemoaning the lost time and moping about how this Christmas season has not gone to plan. Yet, in the midst of my pity party, God showed up. He worked through the hearts and generosity of His people to show our family love and provision in incredible ways. 

This week, we have had multiple friends show up with homemade chicken soup, breakfast burritos, and full dinners. Bags have been delivered to our front porch full of boxes of tea, popsicles, crackers, orange slices and countless easy snacks for the kids. There have been bags of puzzles and coloring books meant to quietly entertain our kids. Friends have grocery shopped for us and walked our dog when we could barely get off the couch. 

With each unexpected front porch delivery, I found myself crying at the realization of my very own “George Bailey” moment. If you’ve somehow made it this far in life without watching It’s A Wonderful Life, the final scene displays George Bailey, completely down on his luck on his very own Christmas that had not gone to plan. There are unwarranted charges of fraud against him and there is a warrant out for his arrest. Without any explanation apart from “George is in trouble,” Bailey’s entire community rallies around him to raise funds and show their support for their friend— no questions asked. 

_{^{Still from It’s a Wonderful Life (1946). | Paramount Pictures}}

I felt so humbled to be the recipient of that kind of love this week. To have friends pause their busy lives to show up for you in practical ways, expecting nothing in return—this is a true gift that reflects the heart of God. I’m convinced that there is a special reward in heaven for those who don’t simply ask “do you need anything?” but train their eyes to see the needs, and then jump in to fill them. 

In addition to showing me His care and provision this week, God has also forced me to slow down long enough to think about another Christmas that certainly did not go to plan—the very first Christmas. Granted, young Mary was not strapped with the burden of creating a “magical Christmas” for a housefull of kids—she was merely tasked with bringing her firstborn child, God incarnate, into the world. No big deal. 

An unwed pregnant teenager, no doubt dealing with the scrutiny and judgment of others, Mary’s “Christmas season” was already off to a rocky start. Factor in over a weeklong roadtrip from Nazareth to Bethlehem either on foot or on a donkey for an untimely census. Imagine arriving in town, 9 months pregnant and exhausted, only to have door after door shut in your face when you inquired after a place to sleep. With no other options, Mary and Joseph settled into a filthy barn to rest for the night. I imagine Joseph desperately making a makeshift “bed” out of a pile of hay for his betrothed. Mary—miles from home, her mother, her friends, or any familiar female companions, would prepare to deliver her very first baby into the world with only the help of her young, inexperienced fiance. I can’t begin to wrap my mind around the fear Mary must have felt in this most life-altering moment of her life.  When her baby boy entered the world, Mary did not lay him down in the hand-crafted cradle that surely awaited him at home, but instead gently placed the King of Kings in a humble feeding trough. 

I’m guessing almost every detail of the first Christmas story we’ve all become so accustomed to did not go according to Mary’s plan. What kind of birth plan involves being exhausted, far from home, and surrounded by animals for anyone’s baby, let alone God’s son?

Yet, even when all did not go according to Mary’s and Joseph’s plans, God still showed up. He still accomplished what He set out to do. God came to gift us. He came to bless us. To provide for us. Not the other way around. All we do is show up. He does the rest. Even the wise men’s generous, well-meaning gifts for the King paled in comparison to the gift He was bringing to them—Himself.

So as I think on the Christmas season we are currently having, and I recognize just how empty-handed I am in what I’ve had to offer my kids and my God—it’s as if God has invited me to sit back, relax, put my slippered feet up and rest in the truth that it’s not about me and what I bring to the table anyway. This year, He’s invited me to slow down and marvel at His provision, love, and care for me and my family that He’s showing just as much today as He did 2000 years ago. 

Christmas has never been about ice skating or how many cookies we bake. It’s not about how much “magic” I can pump into the month of December. It’s only ever been about God’s great love for us. This year, we haven’t done many of the traditional Christmas things we typically do. We’ve had to let a lot go. But we have sat around our kitchen table over bowls of chicken soup, discussing the names and attributes of the God we are celebrating this season. Jehovah Jireh—The Lord Provides— felt especially personal this year.  

My Dear Shep, 

You turn 5 this week. 

I’d be lying if I said this birthday wasn’t hitting me hard. For starters, you’re my last baby and 5 is just. so. old. Having my youngest child turn 5 graduates me from a young mom to just a plain old mom. How did we get here?? 

Birthdays are always bittersweet with you, my sweet boy, but 5 feels especially hard. Five is the year many kids are learning to read, taking the training wheels off their bikes, starting Kindergarten, making first friends at school. But for you, five won’t be any of those things. And even after all this time of getting used to that realization, it still hurts. 

Each year, you are growing and changing so much physically—you’ve already lost your first couple teeth and gained two adult ones and I am NOT okay with it. You’re bigger and stronger than you were a year ago and it’s getting harder to carry you around. Your body keeps aging, but your mind and soul are still so, so young. My little Peter Pan, it feels like you’ll never fully grow up. How is it possible for this very thing to feel like a gift and grief? Maybe one day we will celebrate a birthday without it feeling like ripping off a scab. But maybe we won’t. And that would be okay too. Because scabs are a sign of healing—which has already begun, but won’t be complete until Jesus calls us home. Until then, sadness and joy can both have a place in our home. 

I don’t know all that five holds for you, Shep. Maybe this is the year you learn to sit all by yourself. Or walk around the house in your gait trainer. Maybe you’ll sign or speak your first word. Or maybe you won’t do any of those things. 

But I do know that this year, you will smile ‘til your whole face squints. You’ll hold my finger tightly in your hand. You will laugh hysterically at leaf blowers, lawn mowers, trash bags being opened, and at absolutely nothing at all. You will blow raspberries at dinnertime and fling food on the floor. You will squawk loudly in quiet places and never feel ashamed of a fart. You will listen to your favorite songs and start rocking back and forth when a real banger comes on (Wheels on the Bus, I’m looking at you!). This year, you will be tickled by your brother, smothered with kisses by your sister, and snuggled by your mama and daddy. You will bring joy to everyone who has the privilege of knowing you. Because that is just who you are. 

Coming up on half a decade with you, it’s hard not to reflect on just how much life has happened for our family over the last 5 years. I remember holding you in the hospital the night you were born. You were swaddled in a brown muslin blanket and adorned with a little pixie bonnet I’d crocheted. Your daddy and I looked into your sleepy face and adored your long fingers and toes, and we wondered aloud what you’d be like as you grew. 

You are nothing like we expected you to be. You have been our greatest surprise in life. 

And if I’m being honest, for someone as Type A as me, surprises can be a challenge. 

I remember early on in our journey, I was so determined that if I worked hard enough and did everything right, we’d help you catch up and close your developmental gaps.  Each day, I was playing the roles of physical therapist, speech therapist, feeding therapist, and occupational therapist in addition to carting you around to see all the real professionals we’d lined up to help you succeed. Every moment of the day was a chance to be working on developing skills. I wouldn’t allow myself to just sit and snuggle you. I’d prop you up away from me so you could be working on your head and neck control. I wouldn’t allow myself to just play with you—I had to turn every minute into a teachable, skill-building moment. I was trying so hard to wear all the hats that I forgot how to rest in my most important role—mom. 

By His grace, God has helped me to trust that He alone is sovereign over your progress. We still do all the therapies, but I’ve learned to stop putting all my hope in them. I’ve learned to slow down and actually enjoy you where you are at and stop striving so hard for more. Today, we snuggle, we read, we go for long walks, we listen to music, we blow bubbles. I’m no longer trying to “fix” you. I’m learning to embrace you fully. Because you don’t need another therapist. You need a mom. If all you ever learn from me is that you’re loved, it will have been enough. 

God has been so good to us, Shep. He’s proven Himself faithful. Proven Himself near. He is working all of our hard things for good. He has given so much peace and joy in the midst of hardship. I never thought we’d be where we are today. But I should’ve expected God to exceed my expectations. That’s just what He does. 

Shepherd, as we celebrate your 5th birthday, I am reminded of the gift you are to me. You love unconditionally. You rejoice at the simplest things in life. You smile with your whole being. You laugh with abandon. You are a daily reminder to me that the value we ascribe to trivial things and worldly successes is so often misplaced. You remind me of simple truths. You show me God’s heart for the least of these and paint a vivid picture of how God’s upside down kingdom works. Shep, God giving me you was the best thing that could’ve ever happened to me. You woke me up. God has used your life to refine my faith and transform who I am as a person more than anything else in my life. I am so thankful for you. 

I don’t know what the rest of our life’s journey will look like, but I’m so grateful I get to do it with you. I love you more than you’ll ever know. 

Love, 
Mama

“Mom, I wish I had a brother to wrestle with. I love Shep, I just wish he could wrestle with me,” Harrison timidly confessed. 

“I know, buddy. I understand,” I replied. 

This was not the first time my 8 year old son shared this sentiment with me. I was simultaneously pierced by his words and proud of him for telling me how he really felt. I was struck by the irony that the very thing Harrison was pining after was exactly what he was doing—wrestling. He wasn’t wrestling with his brother. He was wrestling with God. 

My husband and I have had numerous conversations about how having a disabled son is not only going to impact us, but our other children as well. Just as we have had to process a reality that is far from our expectations and grieve losses, we will need to give Harrison and Poppy the space to process and grieve in their own ways. I shared in a post several months ago that our daughter Poppy is somewhat of an anomaly, in that she appears largely unphased by the setbacks of disability and has not skipped a beat since Shep entered our lives (thus far). 

With Harrison, however, we’ve watched him work through his own struggles with having an atypical life due to the confines of disability. Harrison has had to surrender his expectations for what having a little brother would look like. Harrison won’t be teaching his brother to play catch or taking him for bike rides. They won’t love the same books or stay up late talking from a shared bunkbed. They won’t wrestle. Shep naturally slows down our pace of life, which is hard to swallow for my go-getter, extroverted, do-all-the-things son, Harrison. These are undeniable daily losses for him to grieve and he is learning to wrestle through these at a young age. 

While it can be easy to look at Poppy’s ability to take life’s setbacks in stride with great admiration, I’m humbled when I think about how much my journey with Shep mirrors Harrison’s.  I too, have wrestled with God and continue to do so. 

At times, within the Christian community, there is the temptation to race through our trials and feign “okayness” to try to prove to the world that our faith in God is solid and we cannot be shaken. Yet, in reality, taking time to wrestle with God in the midst of our hurt can actually prove to sharpen our faith and draw us nearer to God. 

The theme of wrestling appears repeatedly throughout scripture. Job was counted a righteous man and clung to God in the midst of losing every single thing he had— his family, his wealth, his health, his friends. We read his story and are inspired by Job’s initial response “‘Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked shall I return there. The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord’” (Job 1:21). Yet, this same man goes on to say to God, “‘Show me why you contend with me. Does it seem good to You that You should oppress, that You should despise the work of Your hands’” (Job 10:2-3) and “‘Your hands have made me and fashioned me, an intricate unity; Yet you would destroy me’” (vs. 8). 

Job is asking the question we’ve all asked at one point or another in the face of hardship— “Why, God?” He is hurting and is not quite ready to take his undesirable circumstances lying down. While Job recognizes God’s sovereignty, he is still wrestling with God over why He would allow such terrible afflictions into His life if God truly made and loved him. This pendulum we see with Job swaying between “blessed be the name of the Lord” and “why me, God?” is oh, so human. Job was not unshakable. He had questions and doubts, and he brought them straight to God himself. Yet, he was still counted a righteous man. 

God meets Job where he is at, in the midst of his questioning, and in a somewhat frustrating turn of events, He does not answer all of Job’s questions. He, instead, reminds Job who He is. He is the all-knowing, all-powerful, omnipotent, sovereign God. Our understanding of the world and our own lives pales in comparison to His. This humbling encounter with God leads Job to repent of his pride, and confess that he “uttered what he did not understand” (Job 42:3).Their exchange ends with Job stating, “‘I have heard of You by the hearing of the ear, but now my eye sees You’” (Job 42:5). This back and forth wrestling match draws Job nearer to God and allows him to experience God more intimately than he ever had before. 

Another well-known man to wrestle with God in this manner was David, who authored many of the psalms. There are countless examples of David taking his authentic expressions of grief, doubt, fear, and anger directly to God. He wrestles through his own “why God?” questions when he is struggling with feeling abandoned and forsaken. The beauty of these psalms is that David’s unfiltered emotions are spilled out before God right alongside his expression of faith and trust in God, creating a tension—a push and pull—much like wrestling. This is evidence that our relationship with God is never one dimensional. It has depth, just like our other human relationships do. If you’re curious to read some of David’s wrestling for yourself, check out Psalm 13, 22, and 44 for starters. 

Finally, I would be remiss to not mention the strangest account of wrestling in the Bible. Jacob, a man who had been promised so much by God, still struggled with fear, insecurity, and doubt. The day before he was about to be reunited with the vengeful twin brother he’d cheated and stolen from, Jacob was afraid and cried out to God for deliverance (Genesis 32:11). Jacob spent a sleepless night alone in the wilderness until a “stranger” showed up. Jacob proceeded to physically wrestle with God all night. God touched Jacob’s hip socket, putting his hip out of joint, and Jacob stubbornly declared, “‘I will not let go unless you bless me!’” (Genesis 32:26). 

This odd story that occurred very much in the physical realm is a picture of the spiritual reality at play. Jacob was after God’s deliverance, His blessing, His peace. Those things could only be attained by drawing near to God and wrestling with Him through his fears and doubts. This wrestling match with God led Jacob to declare, “‘I have seen God face to face’” (Genesis 32:30) — an intimacy you cannot claim until you’ve gone toe to toe with God. My favorite detail of this story is that Jacob was left with a limp—a tangible reminder of his encounter with God. This mark of weakness that Jacob would carry with him daily would serve as a reminder of God’s strength, his own frailty, and the time that God drew intimately near. 

When I reflect on these three varied accounts, I see how God not only allows our wrestling, but invites us into it and uses it to refine our faith. It is normal to question “why?” when life does not go according to our plan. But so much hinges on where we go with our questions. God wants us to take our doubts, fears, questions and raw emotions to Him, not away from Him. We may not get all the answers we seek, but we just might get a closer glimpse of God Himself. 

You have to be close to someone to wrestle with them, and God is constantly beckoning us to come closer. Throughout scripture, God extends invitations for us to draw near to Him in verses such as these: “Come to me, all you who are weary and heavy burdened, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28) and “Cast your anxiety on him because he cares for you” (1 Peter 5:7).  These are not empty words from a distant God. These are promises to meet our wrestling with a loving embrace.  God promises to draw near to us as we draw near to Him (James 4:8).

I want to add that true wrestling entails bringing your questions to God with the intent of actually seeking to find God in the midst of your mess. The New Testament is full of Pharisees who questioned Jesus with the motive of trapping and disproving Him. Their questions were not sincere—they had already made their minds up about who Jesus was. This kind of questioning is not going to refine your faith. But questions asked from a heart that is sincerely trying to find God in the valley, will do so. 

This is my prayer for my Harrison, and for myself—that we would have the courage to wrestle with God in our darkest moments and in doing so, we would see Him face to face. I pray we would not be left unchanged in our wrestling, but be granted the gift of a limp as a daily reminder of a loving God who draws near.  

And what about you, friend? With the heaviness in your own heart– are you wrestling with God or running from Him?