By Kelly Shank
Years ago, I remember walking past a preschool as I was pushing my son in his stroller. While I watched the children playing outside, I stood there and cried. We had made the decision to remove our son from preschool to focus on therapies at that time. I recall feeling completely at a loss because all I wanted was to feel like everyone else: I wanted my child to be on that playground, and I did not want the life that I was having to walk.
Fast forward almost seven years—and an autism diagnosis later—and I still get
hit with that same wave of feelings sometimes. It makes me panic and feel like
I need to control something. Insecurity, jealousy, and anger all hit me like a ton
of bricks, and it seems like the weight might crush me. Those moments are fewer and farther between now, but that need and desire to look like everyone else can still sneak up and bite.
When I look around, I realize others may be dealing with their own struggles, even though it may not be
obvious. While I know a diagnosis can add layers, the “keeping up” mentality is something I think we all can wrestle with. I just think for some, it’s easier to attain than others.
My son’s diagnosis has taught me about 700 things, but one of the biggest areas I have been humbled in is learning how to be content. I think this humbling process (that is ongoing) has taught me that keeping up—or trying to—is a constant and losing battle because nothing will ever be enough, and there will always be something more to try to gain or achieve. Inevitably, that pressure we put on ourselves is often transferred to our children.
Here is what I know: Somehow Jesus supernaturally allows us to find peace and contentment, regardless of circumstances. If my hope ended in the here and now, I would be continuously grasping for straws. By His grace, however, my hope does not end here. I can live my life with the blessed assurance that my hope is in the eternal, and anything I might tangibly gain here will one day be lost. If I can cling to this, and teach my son to cling to this, then I can close my eyes each night knowing I have more than I could ever imagine.
