“I still have questions, confusion, and immeasurable pain, but I trust the God of all hope.” ~Christina Levasheff, Eyes that See
When a neuropsych confirmed that my daughter had developmental delays, I was not (at least, initially) devastated. Instead I was extremely hopeful. My only concern, really, was her speech and the fact that I would have to wait a while – a few months? a year? – to have a real conversation with her. Back then there was no doubt in my mind that by now she’d be “all better.”
Recently, we’ve been collecting letters from the experts/angels who have known and worked with her for years to give an honest evaluation of where she is today and what she needs. This, from a letter last week:
“Rhema’s language is prompted throughout all activities and with all conversational partners. Rhema’s spontaneous one word speech is not only inconsistent but often inaudible…”
No, today we are not anywhere near where I hoped we’d be. And dear God it hurts to see the truth in black and white. And when I hear children talking and singing with ease and doing all the things that are still out of reach for us, sometimes I absolutely ache. Though, always with hope.
I once followed the blog of a mother as she watched her darling son suffer and deteriorate from a vicious disease, Krabbe Disease. All throughout the journey she and her family fasted and prayed fiercely for a miracle on earth – that never came. When her sweet boy lost his ability to walk, then his ability to see, then his ability to speak and swallow, her faith in God to heal did not waver. I’ll never forget her words about hope – hope in God – in the wake of Judson’s death. She said, It did not disappoint.
“Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts…” ~Rom. 5:3-5
It was hope that strengthened her to walk the path of suffering with her son. It was hope that enabled her to give him over to the hands of Jesus. It is because of hope that their story, his legacy continues to touch and change people all over the world.* It is Christ, the hope of glory, that takes the brokenness and redeems it into something so beautiful… you can’t even begin to tell it all.
Out my window on the train this evening, the light was fading and the water was a silver mirror. On the surface you could see the clouds rolling by, a rippling concert of praise.
“Rhema is diagnosed with severe autism that significantly affects her ability to learn academic, language, and communication skills.”
I’ll never stop, never regret hoping too much.
*Click ->here<- to see the amazing hope in Judson’s story.