Six Months later (or so)

It's been six months or so since Luke's health scare. Maybe longer, maybe shorter, I haven't done the math. But it's been a while. Luke continues to thrive.

Thrive. I remember using that word a lot last year when trying to explain what I saw going on with Luke: "He's not thriving anymore". That didn't seem to bother anyone else but it sure bothered me. Shouldn't we all be thriving? Not just surviving? If we're always in constant survival mode then something is wrong. Nine year olds are too young to stop thriving. That should be a red flag to everyone, not just the mother.

And then that terrible tic--so bad that he was diagnosed with Tourette's. So bad that I couldn't send him to school for three weeks. All because of stress.

And so I continue to marvel--every day, actually. Even if I don't mention it in my blog, it's always spoken in my prayers: "thank you for getting us out of that school." I watch Luke continue to come back to life; I am seeing the Luke I haven't seen since he was six years old. Playful, energetic, teasing. Even the times when I have to scold him for joking around at a time when he should be down to business, I am secretly happy. Happy that I have a reason to scold. It's been a long time since I had to scold him for laughing too much. Smiling, laughing, happy. Speaking about the future and what he would like to be when he grows up. Looking forward to tomorrow and instead of just getting through today. Asking others to play with him, instead of trying to get away. It's hurts my heart to think that all those years we had misunderstood him, he was just depressed and miserable. I try not to think about it though.

I don't mean to keep going on about Cologne Academy like it's a terrible school. I still think it is a decent school and if it ever comes up in conversation, I tell people that it's great for academics. But it wasn't a good place for us. For some reason, it didn't work for us. I don't know if it was the rigidness, teachers or what. I can't really put a finger on it. It just wasn't where we were supposed to be, even though it seemed like the practical choice.  Like feet trying to fit in a wrong sized shoe. You can wear that shoe all you want, but you're going to be miserable! Which leads me to my reason for posting this today.

It hit me like a bolt of lightening while I was doing the dishes (I get all my spiritual work done during the dishes, it seems.) Luke and Henry and Anna had just gone downstairs to play Legos, and I was thinking again that only a few months ago, Luke would have preferred to play alone, and here he was, cheerfully inviting them to play with him. That sort of thinking always leads me back to those dark days of his regression and health scare. I don't think I've ever shed so many tears for anyone before, or prayed so hard. Makes me sound saintly or something--all that praying and being on my knees--at least, this is what I would think of people who prayed so fervently during their trials. I would think, "wow, they are so strong in their faith!"

 But I wasn't saintly,  I was just scared. Scared and lonely. I went to God not because I was strong but because I was weak. My weakness showed in my tears and prayers. Only God could stand this sort of weakness. Only He seemed to understand. I also knew that He was the one who had the answers. And I hate to say it, but I went to Him only after all the doctors had no answers for me.

Though people were concerned and sympathetic, I knew that they didn't understand why it hurt so much. What was scaring me so much. All I knew deep down inside was that something was wrong, terribly wrong.

"It's just a tic," I heard that more times than I could count. I got pretty good at smiling and saying, "I know." But that's about all I would say to those people who used the word "just". They were the people that didn't get it, and so they didn't get to see the depth of my pain either.

But for me, that terrible tic, the never ending sound of "eh, eh, eh", never stopping to give Luke a moment of peace, was something symbolic to me. This sound that kept forcing it's way through Luke's voice was the same to me as a baby's cry that never stopped, a baby that couldn't be consoled, a baby that never gave his mother a chance to rest until she could find out what was wrong.

And today I realized that had it not bothered me to the degree that it did, I would never have transferred Luke to another school. Simply because that wasn't the plan. The plan was to switch only Lucy--because she was having such a hard time with friendships and we felt she needed a new start. But to take Luke out of school was unthinkable. He was already going through so much. He would be teased all over again about his tic, and the stress of a new school could make his tic worse or even create more tics.

But isn't God good, by allowing the pain to force us to move from what seems "logical and practical?" It made no sense to switch all the kids at once--rather extreme, really. And yet, Dennis finally put his foot down (he was trying to stay out of the school drama) and said rather firmly that if one kid was going to switch schools, then all the kids were going to switch.

Once the decision was made, I felt peace and even excitement over switching schools. I couldn't wait to be done with the old one. I wish I had allowed Luke to skip the last few weeks of school like I had wanted. But instead, I listened to his teachers and kept him with "familiar routines". More and more, I'm learning to listen to my own heart instead of the logic of others.

But he survived. Not thrived, but survived.

Now, he is thriving. God had used all that pain for good. All those days of pain prompted me to seek another way out. And he is thriving and alive! Taking on new interests in life, asking to be involved in groups, proud of his work in school and asking me to hang them on the refrigerator.

God uses pain to prompt us sometimes I think. Pain is an extreme; a signal to our body that something is wrong and needs to be cared for. Pain in our souls is very much the same thing: a symptom of something that needs to be addressed. Whether it's a change in our lifestyle or a change in our heart, pain is there to help us, not hurt us.

And when finally listened to rather than avoided, look at the good it has done. Happier, stronger, and more resilient. Ready to live our life.

 Until the next time, when pain must enter into our lives once again.