Whenever I look into his big blue eyes, I feel lost. He is such a beautiful boy. Especially now, since the days of snuggles and helpless cries have gone. He is so independent. He has always spoken well. He enunciates. In his high pitch voice, he very seriously says, "Actually mommie..." and I cannot help but belly laugh. That of course frustrates him and causes him to be even more articulate. He's small for his age so his outspokenness catches strangers off guard. His 34-lb body barely stands over 3 feet tall, which often causes people to call into question his age. But he is in fact 4 years old, plus a month. Most individuals make it clear how blessed we are to have a healthy child.

We are blessed. He is an amazingly vibrant boy. He is smart... and that is what others say about him (You can only imagine how brilliant I think he is). He is kind. He is generous. He is caring. He exudes good qualities. He is amazing. He is vibrant. He is not healthy.

I rarely speak about that aspect of our lives. It hurts too badly. He has never known any differently and a complaint never leaves his mouth. Instead, he will occasionally tell me in private about the pain. After seeing a specialist for the first year of his life relating to his sleep disorder, we felt a well-deserved reprieve. Until he turned 2 years old and this began. He has an autoimmune disorder which has only ever been unofficially diagnosed. He has seen dozens of doctors (one visit, he saw 5 at one time!) in several hospitals and practices. This one says it is beyond her area of expertise, this one says, "I'm a dermatologist, I can only treat what I see", this one says that the method of diagnosis is too invasive. All the while, I treat him at home, calling specialists when things gets too complicated, and wishing that Mary Poppins will find her way to our home with "a spoonful of sugar" and some medicine.

Leaving yet another specialist's office this afternoon leaves me feeling depleted. My little boy hurts and, even though he never speaks of it, he shouldn't hurt. He should be carefree. Instead I tote him to doctors who pass on the responsibility to another practitioner, requesting that we check back in a few months.

Somehow this dead end leaves me with hope. Even though we have no new information, we've checked one more name off the list.

This past weekend, we attended a 2-day circuit assembly. (As Jehovah's Witnesses we attend a few special events throughout the year which focus on a Scripture based theme. For resources with similar Scripture based topics, visit www.watchtower.org) Attending such an occasion is a big deal in our home. I look forward to visiting with old friends not often seen during the lunch break and after the sessions. I feel spiritually filled up. With a 3-year-old however, I have learned the true definition of a new word; on that I thought that I knew well in past years. Each year since his birth, it has taken on a new meaning. This year, "exhausted" has reached an entirely new level.

I say this, not to complain. I love my boy more than myself. He is not a demanding child (the threes are exhibiting a bit more of this behavior, but I attribute that to our chaotic lifestyle). [Excuse me for a moment, "J, what are you doing? Don't dump your cereal out of the bowl please. Stop driving your trains through your spilled cereal please." Clean up, clean up everybody do your part. Clean up, clean up....] Sorry about that. I am back now. I say this because I keep hearing the same message. It is one that is directed at those parenting, but really resonates with me on a deeper level.

The theme this weekend was "Let your name be sanctified" based on the model prayer (aka: Our Father or the Lord's Prayer) by Jesus Christ at Matthew 6:9. One part was directed at parents and how Jehovah's name can be sanctified (made holy) through the methods we use to rear our children. One overseer, whose speaking ability really inspires me, spoke about the need to maintain an open line of communication with our children. In doing so, he said to prepare ourselves as parents to be shocked. If we are prepared to be shocked, we won't spazz out. And if we don't want to hear what our children have to say because it will freak us out (his words, not mine... Lol.) to overreact the first time they confide in us or ask questions about sex or friends or their bodies. I have always believed this to be true. As a FT working mom, I struggle with this, but I think that I do a good job. My boy often runs to me saying, "I'm frustrated", "I'm tired", "I'm happy." I stop whatever important to me thing I am doing and try to help him resolve the important to him problem. It usually relates to toys or sharing, but it is the most important thing in the world to him.

Now for the lesson that I learned. I, like most people I know, struggle with feelings of worthlessness. I have a difficult time feeling that I deserve a personal relationship with my Father in heaven. I feel that my problems are so unimportant in relation to what he deals with on a daily basis. But he never asks us to treat other individuals differently from how he treats us. And while it is sometimes frustrating to drop what I am doing to respond to J's problem, it is deeply satisfying when I find a way to help him work through it and equip him with the skills to overcome the same obstacle in the future. Our God doesn't get frustrated when we interrupt him. How much joy it must bring our God when we ask for his help! All these years, I've been looking at my relationship with Him as a child. I never realized that becoming a parent would equip me to finally work towards overcoming this major obstacle. Thank you for that "food at the proper time"! (Matthew 24:45-47)

Long story short... It was a very long two days and I was only able to sit through a few discourses, but I think that I learned something that will forever impact my relationship with my heavenly Father. :)

Things I thought I'd never say as a parent...

Daddy to little boy J: "No, you don't have to eat the banana bread if you don't like it. But you cannot run over it with your tricycle."

Survivor: The Fishbowl

Sometimes I feel like my fish are stars in Fishie Survivor. The only issue is that "Boat" (as named by a 2 year old), is a year old and always seems to win. He doesn't play a fair fight either. He usually starts eating whatever fish remains before it has even lost the game. Now we are off to replace "George" before little guy J realizes that they aren't just playing hide-n-seek with each other.