This weekend was great! My mom approached me about throwing my sister a baby shower, even though this is her sixth child. She argued that it is nice to have something new for your baby whether you already have hand-me-downs for them or not. My part was to set up the date and extend the invitation on Facebook. It turned out that not only could all of us sisters come, but Cosette as well. Toni is still too far away and too poor for something like this. She was working at the salon where she is learning to become a nail technician, which is pretty popular down in Cedar City. I hope she and Danny can increase their earning power so they can begin to afford more of these activities in the future.

We had the party and it was really fun. We kicked all the “Y-chromosomes” out the door, at least we tried. Christian and Ben got together to take the Gibbs boys to fly kites and see some foxes that have a den in a local park. I don’t know where Robert took his boys, but they were gone too. We opened the presents and played a couple of games, and visited and had fun. Cosette brought Bennett, whom I hadn’t seen since Christmas and whom I hadn’t been sure I would see because of family problems. Later, Cosette approached me about sitting, saying that she and Austen wanted to have a date night. I ended up getting to keep Bennett overnight and take him to church with me today. Cosette has given me permission to take Bennett to volunteer up at the Park this summer. When I told Taryn about it she was excited. Along with all this, I felt a tug of guilt that I didn’t go get Christopher for church this week. I am going to try to take both him and Bennett as often as I can, even if it means both at the same time. I plan to have Jesse help with that.

Yesterday was a Face to Face event with President Henry B Eyring and Elder Jeffrey R Holland. This evening, Jesse and I tried to watch it. Lately Jesse seems to be very tired all the time. I don’t check on him during the night to see if he goes to bed when he’s supposed to, so it could be that he isn’t being honest about how much he’s sleeping. Either way, when we tried to watch the Face to Face for our Sunday devotional, he couldn’t seem to stay awake. I finally turned it off and told him we’d break it up and watch it in segments because I want him to get the messages. They really are fabulous and so relevant for today’s youth and the challenges they face.

I was also really inspired by the latest blog written by the Author Jason Hague. He’s a pastor from Oregon that has a son with pretty severe autism and he writes beautiful poems and compositions about his experiences. This time it was about how his son has something he keeps at home that helps ground him. When out and about, the boys mind is always on the beloved toys at home waiting for him. When he feels the desire to return to home and to his happy place, he asks for this toy, which he refuses to risk taking out of the house. The point where his father whispered in his ear, that after they finished what they had to do first, they then would go home was poignant. The son was comforted with the promise that he could return to the safety and comfort of his beloved home soon. He simply needed to be patient a little while longer. The completion of this post can’t be paraphrased and still done justice, I have to share it here:

Jack wiped his eyes and turned back toward the couch where his laminated pictures sat. That was all he needed the rest of the night. All the kids in that room have their coping mechanisms. Jack’s are actually quite simple. He just needs a reassurance that we haven’t forgotten about him, and that things won’t be that way forever.

Indeed, that is a truth we can all settle into. Life can make us anxious and angsty. Irritants can masquerade as emergencies. And soon, everything turns frantic.

At such times, we need to a good reminder of the temporariness of things. Life might seem acutely exhausting right now, but it won’t be like that forever. There will be better days when peace returns, joy comes roaring back, and the air around us smells like home again. First, the hard stuff, then the break. First pain, then home.

All it takes is a whisper from our Father.

This hit me powerfully as I often think about how hard life is, and how sometimes life feels long. There have been times I felt weary of life and I wished I could go home too. Home to my Father above and the peace that is all too hard to find in this world with its turmoil. Often in the past I have felt I wasn’t good enough, I wondered if I were destined to be forever lost from my heavenly home. As I learn more about my father in Heaven I have learned to trust in his plan for me and the Atonement for a hope to return home. In his talk He Will Place You on His Shoulders and Carry You Home, President Dieter F Uchtdorf said:

It matters not how completely ruined our lives may seem. It matters not how scarlet our sins, how deep our bitterness, how lonely, abandoned, or broken our hearts may be. Even those who are without hope, who live in despair, who have betrayed trust, surrendered their integrity, or turned away from God can be rebuilt. Save those rare sons of perdition, there is no life so shattered that it cannot be restored.

I have this belief in my heart that before I came to earth, I was promised that He would place in my life those experiences that would help me turn to Him, come to know Him, and return to Him. Every experience is an opportunity to see His hand in our lives. Each trial is a chance to turn to Him for comfort and guidance. I feel that Christopher’s life is a visual example of how this process can work. Major milestones in his life have been marked by Priesthood blessings.

When he first became ill, Christopher was promised a slow recovery. The word that jumped out at me at the time was “recovery.” With that blessing I knew he would not die. He was to live, and he did. Sometimes his prognosis looked grim. Often he amazed the staff at Primary Children’s Medical Center with his progress. His life is a test. For him, for you, and for me, it stands as a testimony of the Hand of God in our lives.

A few years later Christopher became ill again. One morning he didn’t wake up. He was breathing, his temperature was normal. Everything appeared normal except for the fact that we couldn’t wake him up. We took him to the emergency room and they began investigating his symptoms. Over the next several hours we were able to arouse him briefly, and get some half-asleep type responses, but he wouldn’t fully awaken. Over the next few days, and a couple of aggressive procedures involving his shunts and intracranial pressure later, he was still very much the same. We didn’t understand what was causing his symptoms. The family held a fast for him, and soon a question occurred to me. The question, which I don’t even remember now, had to do with how his brain was affected by his Sturge-Weber syndrome and it appeared to be unrelated. I asked it purely out of curiosity. The neurologist I asked was nice enough to investigate the answer for me by taking another look at Christopher’s scans to see if he could see whatever it was I asked about. A few hours later he returned with the discovery that Christopher had had a stroke. It had not been detected because of its position in his brain. With this answer came the understanding of how to proceed with his treatment. Once again, prayer was the answer to our question.

Only recently, Christopher was once again ill with a life threatening disease He was given a blessing before a surgery, promising that he was going to live a while longer. This statement in the blessing was something unexpected, because we were expecting this to be a ‘routine’ procedure. Since he’d been promised life, when he developed the infection I didn’t worry over whether he would live. I know he is in our Heavenly Father’s hands. The blessing went on to state that his time was not yet, BECAUSE THERE IS STILL SOMETHING HE IS HERE TO TEACH OTHERS, and they have more to learn. I think, maybe, that means me.

I believe that before I was sent away here to earth to learn and be tested, I was given a promise. He promised me that He would send the exact trials that would draw me back to Him. He wouldn’t let me wander and become lost. My trials have been hard sometimes, but they have been good for me. I have become so much more because of the Atonement which allows me to be tried, fail, repent,  be forgiven, learn, and try again. My trials are specific to me, and what I need to experience, to become more like Him. President Uchtdorf also said:

Our Savior, the Good Shepherd, knows and loves us. He knows and loves you.

He knows when you are lost, and He knows where you are. He knows your grief. Your silent pleadings. Your fears. Your tears.

It matters not how you became lost—whether because of your own poor choices or because of circumstances beyond your control.

What matters is that you are His child. And He loves you. He loves His children.

Because He loves you, He will find you. He will place you upon His shoulders, rejoicing. And when He brings you home, He will say to one and all, “Rejoice with me; for I have found my sheep which was lost.”

I’m not good enough. That doesn’t change. But I have faith in Him and His plan for me. As long as I continue to try and follow Him, I still have a chance to return to Him, and to return to peace and joy. It is because it is HIS plan, and it is perfect. I have something at ‘Home’ that grounds me too. It is my Father in Heaven, He who gave His perfect son, so I am not forgotten, and I can return home again. When I need that reassurance, I need only ask in prayer, “Are you there?” I feel the sweet spirit whisper that I, too, can return home soon.

I highly recommend this writer to any parent who is going through a struggle, developmental or medical, with their child. http://www.jasonhague.com His son and his struggles are so different than mine, but his perspective truly inspires me.

I always draw strength knowing how many of us are out there. I still remember names from the rehab unit where Christopher lived for a few months during his fifth year. Dan was so quiet and frail, but incredibly sweet. Justin was amusing as his compulsions resulted in tripped fire alarms and other fun surprises. Friendly Jessica or eloquent Cameron. They were in the same boat as Christopher, fighting their way back to life after a traumatic brain injury. Every child is different, unique. As we were told about Christopher’s brain injury, we were also told “We won’t tell you what Christopher will or won’t be able to do, because he will only make a liar our of us anyway.” The first weeks were the worst. Christopher made no progress, and they sent us home with an unconvinced-sounding rationale, “sometimes being home helps trigger something.” We feared Christopher would be like little Kyle, who never truly regained full alertness, at least not that I ever knew about. But I learned what I have to know and we headed for home, holding on to hope all the same. His Priesthood blessing had said it would be slow, after all.

About ten years ago, after many rough years, and my own decline into somebody I really don’t want to be, I concluded that I needed to forget the previous twenty years and focus on building a future that was better. Over the years, to overcome the pain, and the shame, I purposely avoided thinking about anything that had occurred between my 18^th and my 38^th year. After all, I was leaving behind a lot of rubbish by doing so.

I am happy with the person I am becoming as I continue to work and build my skills as a teacher, church member and family member. I can do things I never believed that I could and I seem to be making a positive difference in the world, one day, one effort and one student at a time. Even though I was drawing on my life experiences, I worked on not thinking about them too much. It was better that way. That is what I believed.

But then recently, my attention was drawn to a group of young adults that are the same age as my own child. I was very impressed with what they are doing with their lives, and excited for them. Of course, that made me turn to my own sons life and journey, and why I was so surprised with all these young people are accomplishing. You see, my son isn’t like that. He doesn’t have a great job or career, he works at Life Skills. He doesn’t have a family he cares for, he has caregivers who take care of him. And in spite of this, he inspires people. It is amazing.

Recently I attended Rootstech 2017. It was hosted in Salt Lake City by our church, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. It is all about family history. Research has shown that a powerful director in the life of a person is a family narrative. They thrive on a sense of who they are and how they fit into this world. Of course, there are really two narratives. We have a family on earth. Every family is different, each one unique. Every person born on this earth has a father and a mother. It’s science. Where each persons story goes after conception changes. There can be millions of families with two children, even with one boy and one girl. But you will find differences in the individuals of every family that meets that description. There is no story exactly like another, no two family narratives are ever the same.

Anyway, so research shows that when individuals know where they came from and who their family is, whether the story is triumph or tragedy, they have a stronger sense of who they are. This can enable them to try harder and achieve more than when they lack that narrative.

How does this relate to my opening about Christopher and my forgotten past? Christopher is a runner. This means that as soon as he became mobile after his brain injury, he began to try to run off to whatever adventure he thinks may be awaiting him elsewhere. He could crawl so fast, before his kindergarten teacher succeeded in getting him to walk, and he was a runner then. Last Thanksgiving weekend, the Saturday after a day full of family and feasting and fun, Christopher decided that things were too quiet in contrast. So he ran, to go find that Thanksgiving party again. I received a call from an officer in the West Jordan Police department. Christopher found them, after slipping past his care givers, out the front door, down the long drive, and up 7800 S street in West Jordan. Fortunately at 6:30 AM that rather busy street is quite deserted, because Christopher does not have a good sense of safety in traffic. He wandered another block to the police cars that were processing a drunk driving accident. The center he lived in had equipped him with a little booklet of phone numbers for family members and he had it with him. It was made so the staff didn’t have to dig into his file when he wanted to talk to somebody, and my number was labeled “Mom,” making me an obvious choice of who to call.

This incident resulted in another look at whether this care center was the best placement for Christopher, as well as a series of meetings. At one particular meeting, which took place on the day after New Years when most of the nation was taking an extra day for the holidays, his father and I mentioned his wanderlust. The director mentioned that I should write his story down. Unfortunately I am not a writer. This is what I have told myself for decades as I have purposely not written in a journal or diary. It is what I told myself when I struggled to earn B’s on required writing courses in college. There were never any but REQUIRED courses for me, since I have never sought out a writing course I didn’t have to take.

I didn’t really think I wanted to write a book, and besides, I have made a point of forgetting everything about the time span I would be writing about. It is much less painful that way. Then I stumbled on the fact that these remarkable young people I mentioned in paragraph five are about the same age as Christopher. I guess having a son who never met the milestones that his peers did changes how you perceive his age, because suddenly I was thinking about these people, and the fact that this generation my son belongs to is out shaping the world now. And I thought about what his story is and how it differs. And then I thought about writing, like had been suggested to me a few short weeks before.

Back to my mention of Rootstech. By the time I attended the event, I had already decided to write and was beginning to put things down in word documents. But I felt inspired as I sat and listened to the speakers that I was meant to write Christopher’s story, a story he cannot write for himself. But writing his story begins with writing my own. His includes digging into a past I’d decided to forget, and remembering. I found things falling into place when I found my old journal. I only wrote about ten entries in it, half of them were copies of letters I wrote my brother on his mission, but it spanned some of those forgotten years.

I discovered something in my memories. There is plenty of pain, true. But there is also tons of good stuff; times we laughed, played, worked and learned together. And as many times as I failed, I still did the job of raising that boy, with help from friends and family. It was a creation of memories  I’d forgotten existed. It is a chance to see who I am by recognizing and accepting who I was. In the same vein, it is a chance to see who we all are who have been touched by Christopher’s life and how it has made us better people.

On a final note, I don’t consider myself a particularly great person. Great people don’t feel compulsions to bury and forget their past. But by doing things I know are right, I can still inspire others with my actions.

 I recently came face to face with a friend from my youth. I was at church with Christopher and we were headed to the restroom. I had one hand gripping the back of Christopher’s belt and the other tucked around his elbow as we walked down the hall. This way if he trips or starts to fall, which he does very easily, I can break the fall for him, something he doesn’t do well for himself.

 This friend had been Student Body President at our high school. I didn’t really run in the same circles he did in High School, I wasn’t one of the ‘popular kids,’ but we’d lived in the same neighborhood and we’d known each other since we were babies. He marked his time as president by working to make every student in the entire school feel included. He always took a minute to say hello and show interest in me, even when he was impossibly busy, and I saw him do the same for everyone else, too.

When I ran into him, we were at church and it was a week I have Christopher with me. Then this man, who’d been so impressive in his own accomplishments, expressed his respect and admiration for me, just because I was Christopher’s mom taking him to church. I have to admit, in the past I hadn’t ever thought Christopher needed to go to church since he understands so little of it. But one day I realized that he would be in full possession of his faculties on Judgment Day, and I didn’t want him to turn and asked me then and there why I didn’t bother to help him learn about his Savior, Jesus Christ. I knew I didn’t want that to happen, when it would be too late to fix, so I began making sure he gets to church regularly. I wasn’t really doing anything beyond the ordinary, I was simply trying to do something I know to be right. He seemed to be impressed by this simple and ordinary act I perform for my son, and once again I saw Christopher inspiring another in this life. Once again I knew that the struggle is all worth it.