In the movie, Home Alone, the short bad guy would mutter “rasa-frasa-rasa-frasa” whenever he was angry or frustrated.
Some of my days are so comically awful that all I can do is collapse into my recliner after the kids are in bed and ask no one in particular, “What the rasa-frasa was that all about??”
But some days are so bone-wearying and spirit-depleting that I can do nothing more than hang my head and whisper to God, “what are you doing?”
February 14th, 2018 was one of those days. It was one of my most difficult times as a parent, but it was also when everything began to change for the better.
I wrote this that day:
Yesterday Coen was diagnosed with low-functioning autism. And we were told to also expect a diagnosis of mental retardation in the future.
Today I got a call from otolaryngology to schedule further testing of the poor kid’s nasal passages.
Today I also got a call from ophthalmology to schedule a follow-up for his vision issues.
I also confirmed his tethered spinal cord surgery for next month.
Then I took him for his 2 hours of weekly physical, occupational, and speech therapies.
Then we went to the pharmacy for what was supposed to be a quick pick-up. Instead, the boys and I were there for nearly 90 minutes. All the while, I was worried that we were going to be late going downtown for Coen’s gastroenterology appointment
In the midst of all the rushing, phone calls, and scheduling, I wondered, “What is the purpose of all of this??”
Then an elderly black man leaned over and asked politely, “Excuse me, ma’am. What are you feeding that child?”
I replied, “It looks weird, doesn’t it? It’s pureed pumpkin and peanut butter. He was left in a crib in a Chinese orphanage for the first three years of his life, and never given food, so he didn’t learn how to chew. He has to eat baby food, but I make it as nutritious as I can.”
Before he could reply, he was called to pick up his RX, and I finished feeding Coen.
The elderly man came back and, with tears in his eyes, said, “Ma’am, you’re going to be mightily blessed for what you’re doing for that child.”
I said, “Oh, we have already been blessed for having him in our lives! And I like to think that he feels blessed for having joined our family.” He said, “It can’t be easy.”
I replied, “No, it’s not always easy. When Jesus calls you to do something, it rarely is easy. But it is always worth it!”
With a fresh wave of tears in his eyes, the man nodded, smiled, and walked off. The whole conversation happened within earshot of about a dozen other people quietly waiting for their own prescriptions.
And right there, I had the answer to my question, “What is the purpose of all this?”
The purpose of all this is to have opportunities to SHOW Jesus’s love to those in my life (family, friends, neighbors), and to SHARE Jesus’s love with people who are touched by our story, like the elderly man and the other pharmacy patrons.
Friend, God never wastes our pain! He can use our pain to grow us and those around us. If we let Him.
***
Fast forward two years to today, and my boys are now both 6 years old. Coen is still in physical, occupational, speech and feeding therapies; Findlay is in speech and occupational therapies.
But these days, thankfully, I have a lot more rasa-frasa days than spirit-depleting ones (although I do still have those, too). The difference is that now I have eyes to see God working good in the midst of the hardships. Pray that God will open your eyes, too, so that you can see that your pain is never in vain when you hand it over to God.