How Candy Crush encouraged me as a parent

Candy Crush.

lt's an online game that has no great purpose beyond mindless entertainment. Use your finger to move a colored candy one adjoining space to connect with at least 2 matching candies and you've got the concept.

Some levels of the game are much more difficult than others. It may take only minutes to complete one level while it could take close to forever to complete the next one.

I can't explain why it's addictive. Why do I sometimes sit and play it until all my lives are gone instead of being productive? Those baby books are not going to write themselves, and the floor looks disgusting. But the candies are waiting to be crushed. And if I play it one more time tonight, I might just win the level and advance to the next.

It's colorful, mindless entertaining activity. As a stay-at-home mom of a needy toddler and a special needs preschooler, I can use a little mindless to unwind during nap time or at the end of the day. That must be the reason I play the game.

At least that was my belief before now.

My special needs son is awesome. He works hard everyday to reach goals that some would think were unattainable for a child with autism. I have seen him work at being social, using his words to communicate, potty training, sharing, etc. The past year of ABA therapy has proved to help him greatly.

But with autism comes setbacks which can be so disheartening after watching your child successfully achieving a goal that was once so difficult. My son recently has experienced a few of them. He doesn't want to eat at "school." He has long meltdowns over cleaning up his toys. And he's had a couple of potty accidents after going over a month without any.

Tonight, I finally lost my cool when he had his second potty accident in a row. "You tell me when you have to go potty," I yelled as I put a clean diaper on my almost-4-yr-old. He whimpered. I marched him back to his room where I closed the book I had been reading to him and told him firmly to get in the bed. "I'm very disappointed in you," I said before finally giving him a hug goodnight and turning out the light.

Not my best parenting moment. In fact, I call it a mommy fail.

I sat across the dark room watching my son try his best to keep from closing his eyes and give into the night time. The glow of the nightlight lit his sweet, innocent face. I thought about his birthday party invitations I needed to address, and I wondered how 4 years had passed so quickly. I was reminded of the last things I had said to him before putting him to bed.

Cue the water works.

And the enormous wave of guilt.

How could I have treated him this way? What kind of mother was I to have lost my cool like that at the end of the day? Worst of all...did he question my love for him?  How dare I show my anger toward him instead of channeling it toward autism?

I felt so unworthy to be a mom in that moment. I wanted to give up on potty training my son. I was exhausted of trying the same methods over and over if it meant we were still going to keep seeing setbacks. I wanted to quit.

Then I turned on my phone and opened a game of Candy Crush. "Why do I even like this game?" I thought to myself. "And why am I still playing this same level that I've been trying to win for weeks?"

And then I realized the life lesson in the game. 

I play it for the challenge it presents me. I play it because no matter how difficult the level might be or how many tries it takes, I have hope that I can attain the goal of winning the level and moving forward to the next one.

I love the game because it is a small representation of what my son has to do every day. 

He works and works toward a milestone until he reaches it and can move on to the next. It's my job to walk through these long days with him. And as disappointing as it is to realize that we may have not yet "won the level," I have to love him through the difficult times of trying and trying and trying again.

Because I have a hope that if we try even just one more time, we might reach that goal today.

The Bible says, "We also glory in our sufferings, because suffering produces perseverance; perseverance character; and character hope." (Romans 5:3-4).

As crazy as it sounds, I believe God used Candy Crush to encourage me tonight to not give up hope. To keep fighting the good fight, no matter how difficult or frustrating. To try to be the best parent I can be again and again and again and again. To persevere in His strength.

I may not move on to the next level tonight, but I will keep trying and hanging on to the hope that this next try might result in success. And I will cheer my children to do the same throughout their lives.

Now it's time to do something productive...

This Moment

"The days are long, but the years are short."

I hear that so often as a mom of young children. And I believe it's true. And I really do want to cherish each moment with my boys...really. But some moments are a lot more difficult to cherish than others when you are in the middle of them.

Like the moment my 3-year-old spilled his milk all over the newly cleaned rug and made milk footprints everywhere as he went crying from room to room, while my 1-year-old went crawling and splashing through the milk puddle. Yeah. I wasn't thinking, "Wow, I just want to cherish this precious moment" as I was cleaning every floor in the house.

Or the time my son had a blowout diaper 20 steps from entering the White House, and we had nothing with us except an empty bottle. Definitely not a "savor the moment" moment.

Potty training. Need I say more??

Yes, I can laugh about these moments now (and often do), but I know there are parents out there who will agree with me that they initially are no fun. "Why did I ever ask for children?" may or may not pass through the mind during such times.

I have also found that with motherhood comes a loss of freedom. Are there any other moms who, like me, wonder things like, "Will I ever get to go to the bathroom alone?" I have forgotten what a hot meal tastes like, or what it means to sit down at the table and not have to feed two other people plus myself. And to moms of newborns...there is hope. You WILL sleep again!

Parenting is hard. The hardest job in the world, in my opinion. So why do we have kids? A more interesting question for those of us who have at least one already is...why do we have MORE kids?

The answer is found in the other moments. For example:

Today, I was putting my 3-year-old down for a nap. I noticed he was particularly squirmy and was going to give sleep a good fight. So I stayed in his room and laid my head on the pillow next to his sweet little face. After a little more squirming, he rolled over, threw his little arm around my neck and closed his eyes. I can't exactly explain what I felt, except to say that I felt a great deal of love for him.

Then I remembered something that made this time even more special. I remembered that I prayed for this moment.

I prayed for a child. I prayed that my child would feel loved and would love me. I prayed for his health. I prayed for another child. I prayed for the day I would see them walk. I prayed for the day I would hear them say, "I love you." I prayed for so many things regarding my children. And God is so faithful! (Lamentations 3:22-23)

That doesn't mean that God is my genie, and He gives me everything I ask for. (If that were the case, Drew would have been a girl...but I'm so glad he isn't.) He gives me just what I need. That's better than giving me what I want, because He knows what is best for me.

The point is this:

Moms and dads, the next time you have a not-so-cherishable moment with your kids, cling to the moments that remind you why you wanted children. Remember the times when love is evident. And maybe it will take hours instead of days, months or years for you to look back and laugh at the crazy times in your day.

"The days are long, but the years are short." Today they are preschoolers. Tomorrow they are in college. And we will crave moments when they sit in our laps or hug our necks when they sleep.

And keep praying for them, no matter their ages. Because God is listening. And He is faithful!

"Great is Thy faithfulness, oh God, my Father.
There is no shadow of turning with Thee.
Thou changest not. Thy compassions, they fail not.
As Thou hast been, Thou forever wilt be.
Great is Thy faithfulness! Great is Thy faithfulness!
Morning by morning, new mercies I see.
All I have needed Thy hand hath provided.
Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord, unto me."
(Excerpt from the hymn "Great is Thy faithfulness.")

You can say, "I'm Mad!"

You can say, "I'm mad."

It took me by surprise the first time I heard the therapist say these words to my son. He was having a tantrum and couldn't quite express how he felt any other way. Those two simple words could help keep him from banging his head on the floor out of frustration. Why hadn't I thought of saying this to him before?

Those two words, simple yet profound, are not something a parent typically wants to teach their child. And I laughed a little inside when we all cheered, "Good job!" the first time he replaced his tantrum with "I'm mad!" We were so excited when his Sunday school teacher told us how he had said those words to her. Weird, I know, but sooooo much better to hear "I'm mad" than to watch your child violently throw around his body and scream at the top of his lungs.

Sometimes Sam doesn't understand why he doesn't get his way. For example, he might earn the right to play with a toy for 20 minutes for successfully going to the potty. When that 20 minutes is up, I can see the frustration on his face as I'm sure he wonders, "Mom, why can't I have it a little longer? I wasn't done with it yet." He doesn't understand, but I have a plan. And I think he trusts me. I know he loves me. And I am pretty sure he knows that I love him.

There have been several times lately, today included, when I haven't been able to find the words to say, but I have been angry, frustrated or hurt over a situation. Loved ones are hurting. Our country is divided over moral issues. Friends have lost family members unexpectedly. Sometimes I want to look up at heaven and scream or bang my head on the nearest wall. Life can hurt so much that mere words seem impossible.

I wonder if God would rather hear me say "I'm mad!" to Him. I once heard a friend tell me that it was a sin to be mad at God. But I respectfully don't agree. He knows how I feel. He can look at my face and even inside my heart and know before I say the words. And if I'm going to have a real relationship with Him, the reality is that I will be mad at times. Just like I've been mad at everyone I have ever been close to. It's acting out of that anger that would be a sin.

I  can be mad at God. You can be mad at God. It's what we do with that anger that counts. We have the choice to acknowledge it and ask Him for help, or to deny how we feel and allow our anger to build inside. We can trust Him while not understanding His ways, or we can turn our backs on Him and rebel. I don't know about you, but I know that He loves me.  I think I'll trust Him in the midst of frustration.

Are you hurting? Frustrated? Somewhere in the grieving process? You can say "I'm mad!" Then consider trusting the One who sees your life beyond this point. I bet there is a purpose in it all.

Your higher ways teach me to trust You.
Your higher ways are not like mine. 
Your higher ways are the ways of the Father 
Hiding His children in His love.

Someday I will fly and maybe then You will take me aside and show me the bigger picture. 
But until I'm with You, I'll be here with a heart that is true and a soul that's resting on Your higher ways.

(Excerpt from the song "Higher Ways" by Steven Curtis Chapman)

An Open Letter to Struggling Parents

Dear Struggling Parent of a Newly Diagnosed Child with ASD,

I have never met you or your child. I have never seen your face. I've never even heard your name. I don't know your story, but I know a few things. 

I know what it's like to lie awake at night and wonder if your child will always be different. Will he ever be able to say my name or tell me that he loves me? Will she one day be able to have a conversation with me and tell me what she's thinking? Will he always flap his arms? Will she always need to live at home with me? Will she always be able to find friends that truly appreciate who she is and love her in spite of her differences? Will he ever sleep through the night? Does he hear me when I talk to him? What would happen to her if something happened to me? 

I know what it's like to be jealous of every other parent in the store or at the park because they can ask their children questions...and their children actually answer back. Those children look at their parents when their name is called. They know that it's dangerous to walk away from mom and dad. Yes, I've known the guilty feeling of jealousy. 

I know what it's like to question if everything you've been taught is true. To shake my angry little fist in the air at a God bigger than my imagination and ask, "why my child?" To wonder if it's worth calling out to Him again on your child's behalf. To wonder if He cares at all. 

I  just wanted you to know that with all this crazy autism comes a bright side. A side that some parents may never chose to experience. I know a few things about that side, too.

I  know what it's like to celebrate every tiny milestone...the ones that usually get lost in the life of the typically developing child. He made a new sound! She held hands with a peer in class! He actually ate a goldfish cracker that was broken! She said hello without prompting! Everything is celebrated. 

I know what it's like to hope for a better future than the one you envision now. To meet other parents who have walked this puzzling journey before you and hear their stories of encouragement. To find just the right trained professionals who will not only work with your child, but will love him and advocate for him. To find yourself surrounded by people who love and support you and your whole family. To encourage other families who need to hear your stories. 

Best of all, I know what it's like to have a relationship with the only One who truly has control over your child's life. To look back on your own life and see how He has prepared you for this long road ahead. To know that you have Someone who is so much bigger than yourself Who you can run to and ask for strength, wisdom, love and understanding beyond your own, and trust that He will answer your prayers in His own perfect timing. 

Sooooo...

To the mother who is listening to your child tantrum for who knows why...I'm praying for you. To the father who is wondering how to pay the mounting bills for therapy...I'm praying for you. To the parent who has just heard the diagnosis of ASD...I'm praying for you. 

Hold tightly to the sweet moments with your child and let go of the disturbing ones. You are not alone on this journey. Know that this too shall pass. And lean on the everlasting arms of God. His arms are capable of carrying any amount of heavy burdens. And while you're at it, trust your child's future to Him. He made your child. He made you the parent of your child. He doesn't make mistakes and He has a purpose for you both. Rest in that tonight and get some sleep. Tomorrow is another day. 

I just thought you needed to hear that. 

Sincerely, 
Leigh

P.S. Maybe you can find as much comfort in these verses as I have. 

"When you pass through the waters,
I will be with you; 
And when you pass through the rivers, 
They will not sweep over you. 
When you walk through the fire, 
You will not be burned; 
The flames will not set you ablaze.
For I am the Lord, your God, 
The Holy One of Israel, your Savior; 
Do not be afraid, for I am with you."
(Isaiah 43:2-3, 5)

Running for a Cause

Today, my family participated in our city's run for autism. The purpose of the event was to raise money to help pay for therapy for families who cannot afford it. Sam is blessed to receive Applied Behavior Analysis therapy.

He loves his therapists, and we have seen the wonderful results that this particular kind of therapy can bring. We wish every child with autism could receive ABA. So suiting up for the race was a no-brainer.

Today's event reminded me of another race...one that all of us are running daily. In the race of life, some run for fame or glory. Others run for position or power. Many run for money or material possessions. Or perhaps for family or friends.

According to the Bible, none of these causes will bring eternal satisfaction. Ecclesiasties 2:17 says, "So I hated life, because the work that is done under the sun was grievous to me. All of it is meaningless, a chasing after the wind."

Ok, so what cause is worth all the fuss of life? Does it exist? I believe 1 Corinthians 10:31 gives the answer for why you and I are here on this earth. "So whether you eat or drink or whatever you do, do it all for the glory of God."

Sometimes that is easier said than done. Distractions come at us from every side. The enemy does his best to thwart our best laid plans. We get down. We feel like giving up. We take a detour not meant for us. Our run becomes more of a crawl. We lose sight of our purpose.

What do we do then? In Philippians 3:13-14, the apostle Paul says, "Brothers and sisters, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus."

We must press on. We must remove the things from our lives that weigh us down on our path. And we must focus again on the One who laid the path before us.

Are you on a detour? Change direction and press on. Have you recently taken a fall? Get back up and press on. Are you carrying a heavy burden? Lay it down at the feet of Jesus and press on.

At the end of your life, I hope you can echo 2 Timothy 4:7 which says, "I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith."

How is the view from your path today? Whatever it is, know that God is running with you.

In Jesus' name, we press on.

The Spiritual Spectrum

It was a Sunday morning. I sat down where I always sit on Sunday mornings...behind the keyboard on the platform of the church's worship center. The first service was about to begin. People were still filing into the balcony. The orchestra was seated, ready for the downbeat. On the outside, I appeared to have it all together. On the inside, I was an emotional wreck. My blood was running through my veins as cold as the frigid air blowing down from the vents above. I didn't feel like worshipping that particular morning.

Four days prior to that Sunday, I had opened an envelope containing a piece of paper with some test results. My sweet, innocent little boy was diagnosed with autism. Even with all of the speculation in the months proceeding, I was not prepared to read the words typed on that paper. It was almost as if I became obsessed with my child's autism at that moment. I could barely focus on anything else. The fear of the unknown took hold of me.

As the service began, my mind started thinking about all the signs of autism that were present in my son. Some of them were obvious. Some were endearing. Some seemed almost typical for any 2-year-old. I began singing the words to a familiar song along with the choir, smiling as I pictured my sweet little boy standing in front of me in our living room with a stack of books on the couch next to him. He had memorized all of those books and he loved for me to repeat his words as he quoted them one by one. Over and over again, he would "read" books all day long. It was his way of communicating. He had no idea what words like "encouragement" or "understanding " meant, but he loved to say them.

I  began to get frustrated as I continued singing the worship songs that morning. I wondered why God would allow my son to have the ability to say all of those words, yet he couldn't use any of them to communicate his thoughts and feelings to me. I longed for him to just converse with me, tell me what was going through his mind, or tell me that he loved me. After all, I had been sitting right beside him the entire time.

Have you ever had one of those moments when truth comes at you with so much power that it seems to smack you right in the gut? This was that moment for me.

That Sunday morning, sitting in that familiar spot behind the keyboard, I heard a gentle voice speak to my heart. "Isn't that what you are doing to Me? Even at this moment, you are singing memorized words, but you don't even know what you are singing. And I am sitting right beside you, longing for you to tell me from your heart that you love Me."

Wow!!! At that moment in time, my Heavenly Father revealed to me that I was on the spectrum, spiritually speaking. And just as I was disappointed in my child's lack of conversation with me, God was disappointed with my lack of genuine conversation with Him. The Bible reminds of this truth. Matthew 15:8 says, "These people honor Me with their lips, but their hearts are far from Me."

That day changed how I walk into a worship service. I want my mind to be totally engaged with God while I'm singing, playing keys or listening to God's Word. And I have to pray earnestly to keep the distractions away. I'm not always successful, but now I am aware of my "diagnosis."

So, where are you on the spiritual spectrum? Maybe you are like me and struggle with focusing on God. Or perhaps you deny His existence. Maybe distractions come at you from all directions. If you can relate and you want to do something about it, how about some spiritual therapy?

"Call to Me and I will answer you and tell you great and unsearchable things you do not know." (Jeremiah 33:3)

"Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength." (Mark 12:30)

I love You, Lord, and I lift my voice
To worship You. Oh my soul, rejoice!
Take joy, my King, in what You hear. 
Let it be a sweet, sweet sound in Your ear.

The Journey Begins

Dear God,
Please use this child to bring glory to Your name, and please help him to be normal. 
Amen.

This was the prayer I prayed every day of my pregnancy and through the first year of Sam's life. There is no explanation as to why I felt such a need to pray it daily, other than God was preparing my heart for the journey that was about to begin.

I remember the first time I suspected that my son had autism. Being a first-time mom, I wasn't quite sure what to look for. But I wondered why I had such a difficult time getting his attention. Why didn't he look at me when I called his name? Why was he hitting all of his milestones just a little late? Why didn't he like having other kids playing around him? Why did he excitedly flap his arms and stare at the ceiling fan instead of playing with his toys? Why did he want all of his toys to spin like the ceiling fan?

I was in denial. Each time a red flag popped up, I dismissed it. Not my child. I prayed a specific prayer to God over and over. He had to honor that prayer. My son was going to be a preacher, worship leader, missionary or evangelist, right?

Then the concern was voiced by my husband. The words "Maybe Sam has autism" spoken over the phone caused me to have a good cry in the parking lot of Walmart while hanging up on Jim.

By the time my sister confessed that she suspected he was on the spectrum, I knew it was probably true. Sam was barely two years old. He knew all of his letters and their sounds. He knew his numbers. He knew his shapes. He knew his colors. He could name body parts, animals and animal sounds, quote every book in his bookshelf...and he could sing!

And sing all the time, he did. He sang on key with the prettiest little preschool voice I've ever heard. He learned through music. He sang all the songs on his lullaby CD in perfect order. He tried to sing not only words but the instrumentation as well. And when he had learned all of those songs, he learned more. He sang VeggieTales songs, commercials, YouTube videos, Switchfoot, praise and worship songs. He even sang the Olympic Fanfare. And, yes, every pitch was correct.

He could do all of these wonderful things. He just couldn't communicate with us like his peers. That prompted a visit from a speech therapist. Which led to a call to the pediatrician (who up until this time said there was nothing wrong). Which referred us to some wonderful people that would help us navigate the spectrum journey.

After receiving the diagnosis of autism, I remembered my daily prayer. Nothing will rock your world or your faith quite like watching your child struggle or getting such a diagnosis. I questioned God. Why, when all I wanted was for my son to be used by God and "normal", did He choose this as an answer?

Then the revelation came. He would use Sam to bring glory to His name. He just chose to say "no" to "normal." Isn't that just like God? To use those we humans would deem not worthy. Because using a child with autism would bring Him even more glory than if he were to have answered "yes" to "normal."

I still don't know what Sam's future looks like exactly, but I know Who holds it. He has a purpose for Sam. He has a purpose for every child with autism. And He will use them as He sees fit.

Today, Sam is almost three. He is thriving. I couldn't be prouder of him! With the help of wonderful trained professionals, he is communicating and learning how to be more social. He is funny, happy, loving and still singing...always singing! He is the most awesome almost-three-year-old I know.

I wouldn't have had my daily prayer answered any other way.

You're more than one in a million. 
No one could take your place. 
Though I could try, there's no way that I 
Could ever forget your face. 
You're more than one in a million. 
No other ever could do, 
'Cause not even one in a million 
Could ever compare to you, 
Could ever come close to you.

(Excerpt from "One in a Million" from the VeggieTales CD, "25 Favorite Lullabies")