It’s a Rollercoaster
Romans 15:13, “May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that by the power of the Holy Spirit, you may abound in hope.”
We all have burdens to carry in our lives. Some may be enormous, while others may be inconvenient. None the less they take some type of toll on our hearts, minds, and even our physical bodies. Some days are harder than others. Some seasons drag on, and we wonder, “will this ever pass?” Some of us may get caught in the trap of comparing our burdens to others and falling into a pit of self-pity and despair. Our circumstances are unique, but the emotions they create are not.
Recently I found myself processing the pangs of grief, yet again. This grief comes from the loss of a dream, not a person. I did not even realize it was grief until I was able to process it with a friend. There is a saying in the autism community that goes something like; You can have the highest moment of joy and then in a blink of an eye, and you experience the lowest moment of despair. This cycle continues over and over again.
My son, Liam, who falls on the autism spectrum, is able to drive a car and has been doing so for five years. Releasing him to control the wheel of an automobile was terrifying. I experienced so many emotions of excitement, guilt, fear, hope, and uncertainty.
We are fortunate enough to live near a rehabilitation hospital for those who suffer physical and neurological injuries. Part of their services includes a driving school. I decided I would take my son there and let them decide if he was capable of driving. Well, you already know the answer to that question. They provided Liam a thorough assessment of his driving capabilities and then offered behind the wheel instruction.
Through Liam’s high school, he had classroom driving instruction as well as behind the wheel instruction. As a matter of fact, the behind the wheel instructor was certified to give the students their road test. This instructor worked with my son until he was ready for his test. Liam passed both his written and road test on the first try. A HUGE accomplishment and yet a very terrifying reality.
Fast forward five years. Liam has been driving himself to his classes at the community college, to work, and occasionally to the Dunkin Donuts down the street without issue. All destinations probably within a 20-mile radius of our home. He was involved in a car accident, where another driver ran into him, and he handled the situation flawlessly and without injury.
But then, the request came. “Mom, I am not working this weekend. Can I go down and visit Granddad?” My father lives 90 miles away at the Jersey shore. My response, “Well, how are you going to get there?” Liam said confidently, “I will drive down when my shift is over.” The thing was, I was already going to be down there, so there was no way I could bring him. My quick-thinking deferred the decision to my father. “You need to ask Granddad.” You would think my dad would have my back. NOPE! He threw it back right at me. His response to Liam’s text was, “If it is ok with your mother, it is ok with me.” TRAITOR!
A decision had to be made. Talk about the flooding of emotions; I could not get my stomach off the floor. Fear surged through my body. But, I knew. I knew at some point I was going to have to open my tight grip around him and allow him to be the man God wanted him to be. This included him having the independence to fly, well, in this case, drive on high-speed highways. I said I would think about it. This delay tactic allowed me some time to catch my breath and pray. And pray, I did.
Do you know what God did? He led me to a devotion that talked about a mama bird kicking her babies out of the nest and allowing them to fly. Please do not tell me God does not have a sense of humor, nor does He lack the ability to speak directly to our hearts. I heard Him clearly. Then God asked me, “Do you trust me?” As an act of obedience, I opened my hand and told Liam, “Yes, you can go see Granddad.”
As my dad, his wife, and I sat around the kitchen table playing a game, my eyes kept a close watch on the time. I knew Liam’s shift was over at 8 pm. He would come straight here. Down the first highway, connecting to the second, which would take him around our beautifully lit-up city. He would pass his favorite sports stadiums, and the road would take him over the bridge, and onto the next highway, that would lead him to the expressway and then to the parkway. Yup, I was envisioning every mile of the roads he would drive. At 10:36 pm (or so), there was honking outside my father’s house. We jumped up, and there he was. He had arrived in one piece with a box of donuts in his hands as a hospitality gift.
I was so excited because he was so excited. He had done it. God brought him to the shore safely. My boy took another step towards manhood. It was a great moment. But as I mentioned, the highest highs can be quickly stolen by the next event.
Liam loves going on the boardwalk. The very next night, up we went. There is a method to our madness, as we typically go and grab a slice a pizza at our favorite place and then head to the rides. Unfortunately, COVID had closed our go-to pizza spot, and we just headed straight for the rides. It was early, and not many people were there. We had our masks on, and we were ready for some laughs.
I once was the daredevil of the family and enjoyed the twisty turning upside-down thrill of a ride. Yeah, not any longer. So off, Liam went on his own to enjoy his stomach being thrown from top to bottom. As I sat watching my son, from out of nowhere, came my ride of unexpected emotion. A wave of sadness hit me so hard I had to catch my breath. The step of manhood from last night was quickly stolen and replaced with the reality of my “man” still being a boy.
My reality came crashing down as I watched my 21-year-old son on amusement rides, alone, with kids half his age. Fear of his capacity and future began to suffocate me. I cannot explain it. I am guessing the one who comes to steal and destroy decided it was time to knock me off the heights of delight from the night before. Behind my mask, tears rolled down my cheeks. For the first time, I was grateful for the mask. I would never want my son to see my pain. I was able to control my eyes to appear as delighted as he. But inside, my heart went to the pain of our reality, the loss of what I had expected for my son, and the fear of what is yet to come.
I am thankful for the people God continues to bring into my life who help me cognitively reframe my circumstances. I was challenged to bestow grace upon myself. When our dreams and expectations do not become a reality, there is indeed a loss. I was reminded through loving counsel that yes, I am allowed to grieve. I have heard the judgment of people telling me I need to “accept” the story I have been given. Instead, I was handed the gift of acceptance of my emotions and grief.
I lost my mom almost five years ago. To this day, there are still moments, waves of grief, and loss overtake me. The tears fall, and my heart hurts. Have I accepted my mother’s death? Absolutely! But it still hurts. And there are moments when that hurt pierces my heart, and for a moment, I allow myself to grieve. I am not weak because of it. I am strong because God allows it and uses it for my good and His glory.
The apostle Paul reminds us in 2 Corinthians 12:9, “But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.” Paul had asked the Lord three times to release him of a burden, and God said no. Paul’s response was to embrace this reality and allow God to become greater. Paul was relying on the power of Christ to bring good from it.
Our burdens do weigh heavily on us. They can cause deep pain. Through the grief and pain, we have a choice. We can continue to ride the rollercoaster and wallow in self-pity, compare ourselves to others, and fall back into despair. Or we can free-fall forward into the power of the Holy Spirit, allowing God to hold us, sustain us, and transform us into a person of hope and strength.
Please, my friend, know it is a process. I have been walking this path for a long time and have yet to get it immediately “right.” But with surrender, belief, support in prayer, and taking daily baby steps, the waves of grief come less and less, and instead, my heart and mind are saturated in joy and peace of what is yet to come.