It’s been a tough few moments.  But I’m reminded that I have too much to do to let some tough moments make for a tough day.  It’s only noon.  I’ve still got a lot to accomplish; I’ve still got so much to be thankful for; I’ve still got more blessings than heartaches to count – if I choose to.

I’ve been shying away from writing for one big reason: my son has a FB account.  Do I really want him privvy to my inmost struggles with his disease? Struggles and issues that I feel the need to pour out, explain, make known to alot of folks – that possibly he may not be so keen on sharing? Do I really take the chance to let him know about my own turmoil?

Well, I’m taking a chance here.  I’m taking a chance that he likely WON’T see it, because he’s a typical boy.  It’s games on his phone, it’s the xbox that grab his attention…….and trust me, if it takes ANY time at all to read, then yeah…….it’s likely NOT going to happen.

But………

Momma needs to write. Momma needs to cry through the keyboard.  Momma needs to empty her heart and get her thoughts straightened out through the magic and therapy of writing.

I was reminded (again) today how fragile my walls are with just a phone call from Sam’s para.  “Annie, I don’t know what it was, but he had such a hard time even lifting the fork today to eat.”  Peaceful Bible study moment shattered.  I feel hot tears rising in my eyes, surprising me that they can still flow so readily. We’ve been at this FA thing for going on 8 1/2 years now.  Will it ever get better? Does it get easier?

I hate to be flaky.

All I could think about was the embarrassment my kid must’ve felt in that crowded school cafeteria.  Surrounded by noise, chatter, movement, endless activity……..and he is struggling to make enough energy to lift up a fork to his mouth.  I can’t take this sometimes.

I hate being broken.  I hate seeing my children be broken. Over, and over, and over.

“Oh Annie, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to upset you.  It just really concerned me.”

I have no answers.  All we know to do, as Sam’s parents, as humans – is to try and load him with the recommended antioxidants to slow down the nerve damage, and to ensure that he gets as much rest as he possibly will allow.  Yes – he often bucks wanting to sleep.  His mind and his body have never been in sync with each other since the introduction of Friedreich’s into his world.  One craves activity and engagement, the other resists it more and more as time progresses.

I dry my eyes and hang up the phone. And then turn to the next thing I know to do: pray.  A humble, empty plea – for Jesus to take over where we are powerless to effect change.

“Father, please help him where he struggles.  Keep his frame of mind protected and touch him where we cannot reach.”

And I have a feeling, that when I pick up my kid today, he likely will be tired, but probably won’t even mention what happened at lunchtime today. He’ll be in a good mood, glad that school is over, and knows that his beloved puppy and xbox is waiting on him.  While I’m struggling most days inside to see the light through the darkness – he just keeps on; he doesn’t question, or really even complain much.  Yeah, he’ll have moments where frustration over his limits really gets him, but I feel like I’m the weak one in this deal.

He rarely cracks.

And right there is that simple answer to that simple prayer that I’ve prayed so many times.

I’m revisiting a Bible study I did years ago, simply titled, “The Life of Christ.” It’s not complicated, but I forget so easily just how profound that it all is.

A concept of ‘kenosis’ has been reintroduced to me while going through it; which simply means the process of emptying out. It’s exactly what Christ did when He came to this earth as a man.  The Creator, the One who ‘who made himself nothing’, who emptied out His power, His position, His privilege, His very will……..to be broken.

To be broken. Over and over and over……

But the one thing Christ did not empty himself of in the process of kenosis – was His capacity to love. Had He grumbled against God to the task set before Him, or felt anger or disappointment or the slightest begrudgement towards fallen and helpless man – there would be no room in His heart for the love it took to walk the walk and to have lived the life that He did.

Love.  It means everything, does it not?

I’m reminded that when hearing about other’s struggles and walking through them myself, esp today with Sam…..it just hurts to love, and it always costs us something to chose that path.

I’ll never know the price that Christ paid.  I can read about it.  I can hear songs that sing about it.  I can feel remorse for it.  But truth is – I’ll never have to experience it. It’s a debt that though I owe, it’s been marked ‘paid.’  A cost for love that I can never fully appreciate, just only get glimpses of.

These verses have brought me a special comfort today, when I consider my own personal failures, and when I am confronted with situations that I am powerless to effect change over: “For we do not have a high priest who is unable to empathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who has been tempted in every way, just as we are – yet he did not sin.” Heb 4:15.

“In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness.  We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us through wordless groans.” Rom 8:26.

“Therefore he is able to save completely those who come to God through him, because He always lives to intercede for them.” Heb 7:25

Through brokenness, through my tears, and because of the deliberate emptying of Himself, it soothes me so much – to know He’s here, in the empty places.

And Sam, if you’re reading this, that comfort, that Savior, that power that keeps your momma and daddy knit together when the edges start coming unraveled, it’s for you, too. I only hope you see it through us. We fail at it lots, but don’t see us, see Him.

That is love, and that is what will keep us going.