Favored Status

Jacob says, “That broken hip?
An angel did me a favor.”

From The Inward Journey by Gene Edwards
In reference to Genesis 32:24-32

I stand in the midst of a “favor” sent by God. Tears course down my face as I strive to count it all joy. God promises victory, not ease; comfort, not leisure; hope, not remedy.

Living with autism has aggravated my ‘broken hip.’ Trials, tears, and toil seek to silence the music of celebration, to dim the eyes to beauty, to break the heart’s cistern of peace.

No button to push, no potion to heal . . . only prayer and supplication and endurance through this darkness.

Weeping may endure for a night,
But joy cometh in the morning.
Psalm 30:5b

And so I wrap myself in His mantle of love and ride out the storm. Though the waves crash and the thunder booms and darkness fills the air, I KNOW THE GOD OF ALL and He knows me. He knows what I endure and why . . . though I do not. He knows why and what my son endures . . . though I do not. My heart breaks for my sweet man-boy as he battles unknown, unexpressed enemies. But still I praise God because . . . I know we are not alone.

I know I am not alone for beyond the Omnipotent Embrace I sit next to loved ones right here in the boat with me, equally burdened, equally devoted in love and prayer. In addition, hands and hearts around the family, around the town, and around the globe join me in prayer and peaceful thoughts upon reading this (I know you do, and I thank you SO MUCH). Some of you know the pain of living with autism, some of you cannot imagine it, and all the rest of you fall somewhere in between. But God hears the prayers of each one of us, regardless of our experience.

If you have stepped across my little cyber threshold for the very first time I apologize for the lack of gaiety you may have been seeking. If you take a look around you’ll find that I celebrate this wonderful life (with all its ups and downs) with a joy firmly rooted in the love of my God-father-son-comforter, but just now the comforter dabs away tears, as He is wont to do on such occasions.

As I write this and drain away another pot of tea I hear the strains of Winnie-the-Pooh tunes filling the garden breeze as the girls have grabbed paintbrushes and made their way out of doors in an effort to finish painting the interior of Briar Rose Cottage (our playhouse/potting shed/tea house/reading spot) before the threatening clouds splash a few raindrops our way (or maybe snow according to some weather-tellers).

The happy tunes of friendship and love bring a smile to my face and an eagerness to run out and join them at play . . . uh . . . work wells up inside. As coats of primer prepare for coats of “Come Hither” (isn’t that a wonderful name for the petal-soft pink paint I found?), dreams slip out of summertime berrying with a respite for refreshment in the cottage or maybe a catnap on the wicker settee or simply a quiet haven for delving into the poetry of Wordsworth or a novel from way-back-when. The possibilities seem endless as each dab of paint brightens the place.

Smiles and dreams, hope and love – the thunderclouds melt in the presence of such.

Earlier this morning Rachel greeted me with a fistful of buttercups freshly gathered from the dewy meadow grasses. Those cheery flowers forced a smile and pierced the veil of sadness allowing sunlight to stream through.

Joy came in the morning . . .

Just like He promised.