Guest post by Jonna J. LeVan
I took a deep breath and let out a sigh of relief. I was feeling accomplished. That’s when my phone rang.
“Blake is crying. We don’t know what’s wrong with him.” The call from my son’s sheltered workshop threw me into a panic. It was not unusual for them to call, but this was different. My son is 29. Autistic and conversationally limited, so there is a lot of uncertainty found in our day-to-day.
What is going on . . .?
I had just finished wrangling my way through the mountain of my son’s mail. The smorgasbord of agency paperwork had been mounding higher, but my overwhelm had kept me from opening those envelopes, not to mention emails.
I swiped on a fresh coat of mascara, smeared a tube of something across my lips, and paused at the mirror. My gray roots stared back. I snatched my baseball hat and headed out the door, wondering what I was about to find.
Don’t panic . . .
When I arrived, his aide told me my son had mentioned the word “belly.” I stood helpless in my sweats and baseball hat, watching as tears streamed down his face. My heart broke for him while my thoughts were dancing a worst-case scenario jig on my brain. We packed up his things and I chose to go home . . . first.
Lord, help! I need direction. Help me see what is really going on here.
In the special needs world, professionals religiously remind us that “you are the expert on your child.” Although some parents may think those words are just stating the obvious, there is a great many of us who don’t feel like an expert on anything.
When we arrived home, my son’s tears suddenly dried into hilarious giggles. It seemed as though he just needed a little break. I get it!
Despite being hornswoggled, I found myself truly thankful that God could use even ornery laughter as an answer to my prayer.
Call to me and I will answer you, and will tell you great and hidden things that you have not known.
Jeremiah 33:3 ESV
Jonna J. LeVan is a wife and mother to a blended family of five young adults. Finding her house (mostly) empty-nested, she felt led to become an autism writer, as everything she writes is touched by autism. She also works as an independent provider for the state of Ohio, assisting people with special needs. Connect with JJ on Instagram and her new Facebook page.
Tracy Crump dispenses hope in her award-winning book, Health, Healing, and Wholeness: Devotions of Hope in the Midst of Illness (CrossLink Publishing, 2021). A former intensive care nurse, she cared for her parents and her mother-in-law and understands both the burdens and joys of caregiving. Her devotions have been featured in Guideposts books, The Upper Room, and many other publications, and she has contributed 22 stories to Chicken Soup for the Soul® books. She also conducts writing workshops, freelance edits, and proofreads for Farmers’ Almanac. But her most important job is Grandma to five completely unspoiled grandchildren.
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It’s a unique word!
Janna, as the mother of an adult child on the spectrum, I hear you! It’s wonderful that day ended with joy though. Thanks for sharing.
I’m sure you have many similar stories, Sarah!
Oh, Sarah. You get it! I was so thankful that it wasn’t something serious! I (almost) didn’t mind getting suckered, as my son has an intense phobia of doctors and his communication is limited. Every day is an adventure, right? Thank you for reaching out!
That’s the best way to look at it, Jonna!
I love this hornswoggled, ornery laughter tale, Jonna. Thank you for your light lift to my day.
That may be your next expression to analyze, Diana!
Great idea!
I had to share! However, this is not the first time I’ve been pranked. I dare say, it won’t be the last! (Insert wink here.)
I’m sure it won’t be, but I love how you responded with love and grace!