A miracle

I think I was always convinced my children were the best and brightest children alive.  Probably because I had seen them when they couldn't even hold their heads up and they grew and changed in leaps and bounds.  They would do things like clap their hands and I would think, "This baby is a genius!"  Also, I love them so much, I couldn't imagine them as anything but fabulous.

As they've grown, I've seen weaknesses.  I've seen ways they aren't quite perfect (perhaps most irritating are the ways where their imperfections mirror my own).  I've even seen learning disabilities.

Confronting Braeden's learning disability was one of the hardest things that has happened to me as a parent so far.  It may seem like small potatoes but maybe my capacity is sort of small potatoes.  For me, it was really tough to accept.  Here I had this golden boy who was sweet and bright and had big dreams.  I tried to reconcile that with his stark inability to express himself in writing and it was devastating.  Everything he wanted to be when he grew up was absolutely impossible without the ability to write.  I was determined to "fix" him.  There had to be a cure, a solution, a formula to follow.  Except there wasn't.  Talking to my brother Tabor, who also has learning disabilities, was the best thing I could have done.  With Tabor's wise counsel, I slowly came to grips with reality.  I determined that instead of changing Braeden, I would help him cope.  One thing I wanted to try was teaching him to type.  It was another item on a long list of strategies I had employed but I wasn't about to give up just because nothing else had helped.

Then my mom stepped in.

My mom is a force to be reckoned with.  There's no way I can characterize her stamina and determination and ability to make things happen.  If I could buy some of her resolve in pill form I would take two a day.  My mom offered to teach Braeden to type.  She sent detailed lesson plans to her reluctant student.  She was a stickler and 800 miles away, she exacted his best.

And the boy learned to type.

I believe in miracles.  I believe in a Heavenly Father who loves us and blesses us with miracles.  There have been times when I wanted a miracle--had it all mapped out in my mind.  I knew exactly what I wanted and I could see how wonderful it would be and the miracle...didn't happen.

I guess that's why when a miracle does happen, it is stunning.

This time a miracle happened.  Braeden, who had been writing well below his ability or grade level, could suddenly write.  Typing unlocked his expression.  His English teachers scoff at me when I mention his learning disability.  I insist it's there so they'll let him type.  Then I feel swells of gratitude that sometimes leak out of my eyes. My golden boy, the sweet boy who is bright and filled with big dreams, is no longer held back.

I was already indebted to my mother for all the typical mother things she's always done for me.  Now she's had her part in my miracle.

In primary at church we have been talking about how we know God knows and loves us.  Here's how I know:  He gave me my mom.