by lj egbers

Created on: May 21, 2007

It's funny when I think about my Christain up brining. We went to church, church functions and attended Sunday school. It was manditory attendance according to my parents. My brother and sister and I joked that if you aren't dead, you're going to church. As I grew older I left home and I left the church.

It was hard to return to the church after so much disappointment in my life. I had been divorced. I had my ups and downs with alcohol. I had my in's and out's with my family. I thought my life was calming down when I found my husband. He took me down a different path. He brought me back to who I am. Then, it hits again.

One January 26, 1999 and February 2, 2000. I experienced a magic. Just as I had felt reborn in my union to my husband, I felt the joy of giving birth to two more children. My life was getting better everyday. As our children were growing we noticed something wasn't right. It was hard to explain, but it was the look in their eyes or the way they tried or didn't try to speak. We knew something wasn't right.

We had our children tested by the local school district. We where thinking they needed early intervention something as simple as specialized speech teacher or tutor. That would have been easy. Instead our children were diagnosed as autistic. This wasn't a new word, but there wasn't a lot of information available to use either. We experienced great ups and downs, public ridicule and total lack of understanding from friends and family. As they grew we went through everything. The head banging and self mutilation, hours of crying and continous visits from social services. The injuries producted from their fits of frustration were many. The hours I spend just holding them so they would bang their head on the floor, the number of times my glasses were broke during these struggles or I was injuried too. My heart was broken.

I took my children out of daycare. I had picked them up too many times with fresh marks only to have the daycare report me as the abuser. They didn't understand our children and would not work with us for appropriate care. I had to make a choice. It had to be them.

As the years progressed, we made some headway. I introduced them to sign language with great success. Their frustration subsided and so they were more acceptable to others around them. More information was available on their disability so we were receiving more community support, but I couldn't let it go. I wasn't going to open that door for society to hurt my family again. During this seclusion time, I turned back to my Christianity. I prayed to be strong. I prayed to be patient. I prayed for my children. Most importantly, I cried. I cried for all the years of being lied about. All the years of cruel gossip. All the years of public rejection.

And then something remarkable happened. I was able to forgive. I forgave myself. No, this disability didn't having anything to do with how well I cared for myself when I was pregnant. It didn't have anything to do with how I cared for them as babies, but I didn't know that and always blamed myself. I felt fresh and alive for the first time in a long time. I felt at peace.

Then I was able to forgive all those people that had hurt me over the years. God's light was shinning in me again. It is reflected in everything I do and in everything I touch. I was able to comfront conflict with more confidence and reassurance. God's strength was in me.

Sometimes I think of all the time I wasted walking out of his light. There are trails everyone faces in their life. The grace of knowing the hard times with him by my side is over powering. My life is so much better. I fell lifted and loved. Sometimes it's not all bad to make that journey back home.

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