{Today, remembering Mary’s beginnings in motherhood, I speak to a subject that my heart’s a bit shaky on. I’m finding my footing with Jesus as we journey with our youngest son…}
Something wasn’t right.
I knew it deep down, and it shook me up. This boy of ours struggled, unable to translate words in his mind to ones we could hear from his mouth.
He tried, yes he did. His toddler lips shaping silently, that innocent voice straining to move beyond babbling to actual speech.
Each attempt met disappointment, and Mama’s heart trembled as I watched my son. Often I’d look into those eyes, sometimes teary with frustration…and the core of me ached.
He knew.
Neither one of us understood why, but he knew words escaped him. Unlike the possible fits or tantrums from a strong-hearted two-year-old, the battle within him displayed as silence.
He laughed, he played, he engaged with our family. But when it came time for words, and toddler attempts at repetition didn’t quite sound like Mama’s or big brother’s or anyone else’s…
…He sat in silence, alone with his pain. Oh, how my heart would ache for him.
Since those months, we’ve been introduced to the world of Early Intervention, speech therapy, and a host of other special needs considerations for this concern. At times overwhelming, I am mostly grateful for assistance in guiding our son.
These days, when my heart’s still shaky on the subject, I think of Mary.
{finish the rest of this post and prayerfully find encouragement over at Passionate Homemaking, where I’m a new monthly contributor. There is peace, grace and hope — come join me and we’ll ask of Christ together…}
