Super Heroes And Scars

This last week, I had an opportunity to teach in Chase’s class. As we talked about narratives, he sat quietly, drawing his heart onto a blank sheet of paper. The story would shape into a super hero boy whose mom would not let him save the world until he cleaned his room.

“Are you saying that the world would be a safer place if you never had to clean your room again?” I asked him with a smile.

Eyebrows lifted, mischievous face in full bloom, he grinned. “Of course. It’s bad for the world when I clean.”

But then he pulled me aside and his voice was a gritty whisper of sadness as he asked me. “Do they know I have hearing loss?” This is something Chase does often. Despite it being a reality for the better part of his decade, Chase fights his hearing loss and is still tempted to treat it like a dirty secret, even when obviously wearing an aid in school. I’ve watched him feel shame about it, and frustration too. In fact, it’s one of his big three – “The H’s” – height, hair, and … hearing loss.

We remind him how brave he is. 

We remind him how hard he’s had to fight for those scars of loss and how proud we are of him.

We remind him that they are a precious part of him, but need not define all of him.

And yet, he struggles. 

Until last week.

Last week, I got to see an incredible change in Chase regarding his hearing loss. For the first time in as long as I can remember, I saw pride. 

This joy-filled confidence came about because he, as a fourth grader, got to walk into a second grade room and be physical encouragement to a new second grader who had just started wearing a hearing device and was doing a presentation on it for her class.

How brave is the precious eight year old girl who stands for such things?

And how brave is the precious ten year old boy who stands with her and says ‘You’ll be okay because I’ve done it and I’m okay too”?

After all this time, and all the affirming words and normalizing exercises, I finally saw Chase most proud when he was able to use his disadvantage to someone else’s advantage. He became most heart-full when the very scars that bother him became someone else’s encouragement.

And I hope you hear the truth underlaying this story and that you can hold it close to your own heart even today. 

Your struggles are not in vain.

Your pain is not without purpose.

Your weakness may very well be your greatest strength. 

Because, Dear Ones, when it comes to the story God has for you, the pieces that fall into place are never in error, even if we don’t see how they work together. You are in the middle of your story for a reason – “for such a time as this”

Moment by moment.

“God comes alongside us when we go through hard times, and before you know it, he brings us alongside someone else who is going through hard times so that we can be there for that person just as God was there for us.”

2 Corinthians 1:4 (Message)

For privacy purposes, I will not share the school where this was taken, the hearing teacher who took it, or the two other children in the original frame, both with hearing pieces wrapping their ears or devices around their necks. But I can tell you that the joy on their faces is beautiful, and I can share Chase’s smile with you as he stood alongside them.

Attempting To Learn

The traumatized brain is an outside-the-box thing.

The paper he brought home from school was too small and structured a practice space (so thankful for the kitchen chalkboard wall!) and he wouldn’t get even one single of the ten words right on the spelling test several days after I took this picture, but he practiced and he TRIED.

After a long day in the classroom, he was willing to come home and re-bend his brain to the shape of letters, re-work his hand muscles to hold the chalk, re-will his short-term-reticent brain to remember these new words that need to mean something to him.

These small tasks that I can do in my sleep cost Chase’s brain space dearly. These sleep action for me are coaxed into Chase’s ability only with years of practice and rounds of expert therapy teams. Even the ability to curve a letter (like the first in his own name) is a fixed and practiced thing, refined  in the fires of frustration, tears, and intense determination.

Sometimes this life isn’t about traditional success, but rather extraordinary effort – an incredible victory in and of itself. This moment; it isn’t about the memorized words or the score on his test, but about him pushing through “I can’t” to “I will” and “I did”. In an outside-the-box existence, sometimes the attempt is greater than the accomplishment.

This boy… he changes how I see life.

~MbM~

Scars and Justice

He walked into the room and sighed loud and long, his little way of reminding me that he was here and waiting to be noticed.

Turning from making the bed, I acknowledged him.

“Hey, Chasey-bear, what’s up?”

With hands at his sides and head lowered, he spoke the words, “Today on the bus.”

I waited for a second and when nothing followed, I bent into his pattern, pieces of a sentence stated, pieces of a sentence repeated. This is his way.  “Today on the bus?”

“Yes. Ian and Aden.”

“Ian and Aden?”

They said I was short and they made fun of me for being so tiny.”

I stopped still. 

How do you react when you want to be justice for your children and it’s already too late?

The words were already said and heard. “Oh sweet boy . . . what did you do? What did you say?

He hung his head, but his voice was steady. “I did not yell and I did not scream.”

“Not even a bit?” I tried to see his face.

“Nope. No screaming.” He put a hand to his chest. “But my heart.”

“Your heart?”

His dropped again. The single word burning as he spoke: “Hurts.”

Some days the truth is not spoken lovingly, but hurled like a weapon and it stings.

How do you prepare a child to stand strong when all that makes him beautiful stands out differently from the children around him? 

It will take a great deal of strength to meet these thrown words with grace.  And he will need to do it often, I’m sure.  I’ve seen how the other children look at him on the playground, and I hear them ask simple and honest “Why doesn’t he have hair like us?” They cannot know that their simplicity is painful because it’s complicated for us.

It’s funny how we want to be proud of our scars, but we’re still keenly aware of their unique quality and it bothers us. It’s too easy to compare, come up short, and sometimes even lash out as we feel our own differences.

This day, Chase succeeded.  He did not scream – a huge victory for my small boy, I know. There will be times to speak up, but this day, it was better to be quiet.  

And at the end of it, I don’t care how far off the ground his head stands; he can hold it high because he did the right thing.

Moment by moment.

FullSizeRender (28)