I had a two-hour meeting at school last week going over the results of the full evaluation that various psychologists, therapists, doctors, and educators had done on Travis.
You know what’s fun?
Sitting in a room listening to fifteen other people tell you everything that’s wrong with your child.
It’s not that these evaluations aren’t helpful. I completely understand and support his teachers who need to know his weaknesses and strengths in order to best support him through his educational program. I think it’s important to know that he has good receptive skills and that his expressive skills could use a little work. It’s just that when I’m on hour two of being on the receiving end of that pitiable look, it gets to be a bit much.
I have been known to cry at these meetings.
I learned a few years ago that biting the inside of my cheek until it really hurt keeps the tears from falling and helps maintain an outer semblance of composure.
Last week as I listened to more and more words like “extremely low functioning” and “borderline intellectual disability” and “multiply handicapped” I felt the familiar sensation that indicates that my emotions are about to spiral. Not wanting to appear like I was the one in need of a psychological evaluation, I grabbed a pen and started taking notes on what they were saying, not because I thought it was information worth keeping, but as a mental distraction more than anything.
And then my pen took on a life of its own, and a thought found its way through the ink, and this is what I wrote.
For those of you not proficient in reading serial killer chicken scratch, I wrote “I don’t see it – I see Him”.
When I wrote those words, I was trying to inject a little encouragement by reminding myself that I didn’t see the disability, the damage, weakness and struggle. I just see Travis, my beautiful son whose laughter opens my soul to joy and whose love has profoundly changed me. But as I was hurriedly writing the thought on the sheet, God was writing a different word on my heart. You see, I didn’t mean to capitalize “him” because I was thinking about my son.
But God was thinking of His daughter.
I see Him.
Where the world sees lack, I see His abundance.
Where the world sees he can’t, I see He can.
Where the world sees disability, I see His great ability to radiate grace and love and compassion and mercy and strength through the countenance of His children.
I don’t know what brokenness you have in front of you today but I can tell you that God is found there in a beautiful way. Sometimes it takes opening our eyes a little wider or waiting patiently, or changing the angle of our view to get a brand new perspective on His redemptive work. He is there and all we have to do is look and see and and know that He is majestic and loving and powerful and sovereign and good.
Oh, so good.
Others see Travis.
I see Him.
Have a nice day.