all things new

This started as a tiny Instagram post. I was going to tell you about what a weirdo I am that I'm super excited to be drinking this pretty bottle of wine, painting this old corkboard, and making extravagant plans to cook brussels sprouts on a Friday night. But God gave me a different story to tell. And Instagram told me my caption was too long. And then someone brought home pizza and the brussels sprouts plan flew out the window too. 

Monday was a sleepy day, because Nashville was a whir and I got home at 12:30 am. That night I went for dinner (it was free because thanks Aunt and Uncle for doing Crossfit) and was ready for about a 7:30 bedtime. But my car didn't want to start. Didn't even want to sputter to start. It was pulled in to a parking spot and even jumping it was looking hard. Aunt Dana and I were jumping ahead to what car repair would look like for my 45 minute commute the next day... trading cars? taking time off? Thankfully, when all was said and done, the car was pushed back, the hood opened and my battery had become DETACHED. What?! Not dead, just had to tighten up the connections and I was good to go. I had the song "You're a Good Good Father" in my mouth all evening as He was such a kind provider in allowing me to be with my aunt and uncle, and among other kind souls who immediately jumped in to help with jumper cables and resourcefulness and generosity. 

Another day this week I was driving home in my darling and perfectly healthy little car and listening to the song again. As I heard the lyrics "You're a good, good Father, it's who You are... And I'm loved by You, it's who I am," tears started rolling down my cheeks. That "who I am" line just cracked me wide open.

When you're a speech language pathologist in the schools, you speak in labels. My kids have a variety of label combinations - all are SI (speech impairment), and many have other tags too - LD (learning disability), ED (emotionally disturbed), AU (autism), AI (auditory impairment), OHI (other health impaired, which often ties in with ADHD), among others still. Of course, these are technically the conditions that qualify kids for services, not who they are, but for us service providers they roll off the tongue quickly and are a huge part of the conversations. Not in a derogatory way, it's just a necessary part of the paperwork we're all working together to do. It's the language we speak behind the scenes. For many of the same kids, socioeconomic status creates a huge part of their identity as well - coming from all sorts of home lives that affect who these children are as learners and students and people in our world. 

As they get older they start to figure out that they're receiving special education services, and that is humbling for any little heart. My heart broke for the battle that school is for them academically and sometimes socially. 

I was upset listening to this song because it's unfair that I was born into the home I was, with the support of educated and secure parents, and with a good mind that got me through my undergrad at Baylor and a top rated program for my Masters. That I got to sing it Monday as my nice, paid for car didn't actually have anything wrong with it. It's easy for me to claim "#blessed" and beloved. Even though I have hard days and my brain needs convincing, I know the love of Jesus in my heart and I truly believe that is "who I am." Yet my kids are just as loved, and I'm not sure how many among them know it. I was so frustrated at the brokenness of this world, and felt helpless up against it. 

I don't want to be misunderstood - I don't pity my kids. I don't make assumptions about them. They are all individual and precious and hilarious and quirky and kind in their own ways. But I know enough pieces of enough stories to feel bogged down sometimes, because I'm a feeler. I feel the weight of stories and burdens more intensely than most. 

I want to rest in knowing that my identity is simply LOVED BY GOD. No more, no less. I can't screw it up, and I cannot want for more. I want the kids I get to see at least twice a week to, at the very least, know they're loved and believed in by me - with the same kind of love even though it is coming through my flawed being. 

Because like this corkboard, originally painted by my momma as a gift to me when I was an elementary schooler myself, all things can be made new. 

And THAT is the very essence of my faith that I can live out in my job daily... new patience, new encouragement, new ways to rewrite the patterns of language in these kiddos' brains and reprogram the way their mouths produce speech sounds. Renewed belief in myself when I'm feeling so frustrated and new and dumb - that I can learn and grow and that I can do it. 

My new(ish) little soon-to-be-fully-turquoise corkboard above my desk at school can remind me of that from now on. 

Oh, and ps, just because a wine bottle is adorable doesn't mean its contents are as well. At least I have a fun new vase. I guess I'll drink the wine anyway, because it's been a long week!