Recently the school called to say that she was doing something really strange with her hand. She held it rigid against her chest, wouldn’t use it. It seemed like she’d lost some mobility. They wanted to know, ‘Is this a pre-cursor to a seizure?’
But I didn’t know.
I drove the 45 minutes to the school to pick her up early. A school nurse came out to talk to me. She believed Rhema was having absence seizures. Rhema had been “out of it” all week. ‘Is this the result of medication changes? Is she coming down with something? Is this just a bad week?’ Yes? No? Maybe all of those things? Maybe none of those things?
I don’t know.
She is constantly moving, and she needs constant supervision. I’ve had conversations with God about making me younger, stronger. I’ve suggested that He grow me an extra, bionic arm.
I had to laugh at a recent IEP meeting when someone commented that my almost 5-year old is still treating people as if they are jungle gyms. She’ll climb right up your legs and do a backflip. And she’ll swing from the shower curtain rods. And eat soap. And paint herself in butter. Where will I find the energy to keep up with this child?
I don’t know.
I’m not creative. I’m not organized. I’m not a “natural” teacher.
What God was thinking?
After the IEP meeting, my head was swimming with I don’t know’s. With everything that she needs to learn, are these the right goals for right now? Are these goals going to stretch her, challenge her? Are they realistic?
There was a stack of annual consent forms to sign (not the IEP). I quickly flipped through them and signed my name with an unsteady hand as uncertainty wreaked havoc in my mind.
Someone in the room looked up. “Hi Rhema.”
I turned around in my chair.
There was my girl…
Standing in the doorway in her purple coat and pink backpack. I had not seen her yet. I had been escorted into the meeting before I had the chance to see her in her classroom.
Not looking at me, she smiled. But the smile was for me. She came in and sat down in the chair next to me. Her eyes were averted, but the soft smile never left her face. Cindy Crawford mole above her lip. Exquisite.
All my love.
I reached over and held her hand…
So many things I don’t know.
But then there are moments when I just know with everything in me that I was always meant to be her mommy. And she was always meant to be my girl.
Just like this.
Being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus. Phil 1:6