Can your faith withstand exile?

The other day I met a lady and when she found out that my husband is a pastor, she ran down a litany of questions. "Have you seen 'God's Not Dead'?  So you listen to Toby Mac? Oh, you home school too?  What curriculum do you use?  Have you used (favorite 'Christian' curriculum here)?  Have you read (current favorite book at Christian bookstore)?"

I have been subjected to this line of questioning quite a bit since moving to Oregon.  Very good, well-meaning people asking me the same questions.  I think I finally understand why.

There seems to be, within people who if asked would identify themselves as "Christians", a popular culture.  There are preachers we "should" all be listening to (Voddy Bauchmann, Paul Washer, and around here, Matt Fox), authors we "should" all be reading (Lysa Teurkhurst, James Dobson, Gary Chapman), and music we "should" all be dancing with (Casting Crowns, Selah, MercyMe). 

Please know that I do or have listened, read, or feebly danced with, many of the above.

But the line of question is asked not because of a desire to get to know me or genuinely learn about me.  It is asked to judge if I am a "Christian".  If I preform well on the Quiz on "Christian" Culture, then I am judged as a Christian.  I am one of the group, a true follower of Jesus.  There are smiles and nods and secret inside "high-fives".

If I don't, which my husband usually doesn't, because beyond the music he doesn't really care to keep up with the books and the preachers (more on that later), he receives puzzled, quizzical looks of bewilderment.  "Is this guy for REAL?!? He's a pastor and he doesn't know (current Christian icon)?!?  What kind of church/pastor is this?!?"  (He probably hasn't noticed, but I have noticed.)

Hmmmm. . . .  .

Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. ----Hebrews 11:1
 A wicked and adulterous generation seeketh after a sign; and there shall no sign be given unto it, but the sign of the prophet Jonas. And he left them, and departed.----Matthew 16:4

Faith cometh by hearing, and hearing by the word of God.-----Romans 10:17

The just shall live by faith.------Hebrews 10:38

What I figured out is that there are a lot of people identifying with the culture of Christianity that very likely aren't Christians at all.

Although only God can judge the heart of a man, He did leave us with a means of inspecting someone's Christian walk:  judging the fruits of their lives.

But the most important thing we can judge is our own lives. (Actually the books of 1, 2, and 3 John are great at helping us judge ourselves).

The verse in Romans 10:17 says that faith comes by hearing the word of God.  What is the word of God? Jesus is called the "the Word", and Jesus told us in John that when He left earth that the "Comforter would come unto you, and he will speak those things that testify of me." The Bible isn't Jesus.  Jesus is Jesus.

I hear a lot of the time, "God really spoke to me in that song/book/preacher", and while God can certainly use those things. . . .He doesn't have to HAVE those things.  He is God, and He is big enough to communicate to His children through, as Elijah and so many have discovered, the "still small voice" of the Spirit.

Which brings me back to the point on exile.

The apostle John was not martyred for the cause of Christ unlike the other disciples, but was rather sent to exile on the Isle of Patmos. "Patmos" means "my killing" in the Greek. This was not a place where a person would want to be.  And although he was exiled from his own people, he wasn't exiled from all people, as Patmos had temples erected to false gods.

There were quite possibly no other Christian people on Patmos.  Maybe there were, maybe there weren't, but it is pretty easy to see that Patmos was not an island set up on Christian principles.

And yet------this is where God gave him THE REVELATION.  As in, THE book of Revelation.

In fact, John writes in the very beginning, "I was in the Spirit on the Lord's Day . . . "

John was in the Spirit, in the presence of God. . .. in the absence of a Bible to read, or the works of other Christian authors, musicians, and movie producers.

John was certainly a blessed man with a special job from God.  He wrote the book of Revelation and the books of John, and is someone I KNOW I need to be more like.

But the Spirit of God is given to all who are truly known of God.  John himself tells us that in 1 John 2:27:  But the anointing which ye have received of him abideth in you, and ye need not that any man teach you: but as the same anointing teacheth you of all things, and is truth, and is no lie, and even as it hath taught you, ye shall abide in him.

Do you have real faith in Jesus?  If you were suddenly unplugged from Christian culture, would you find comfort in just being in the presence of God?  Have you ever really been in the presence of God?  Being with the Lord is incredibly humbling-----those in the Bible who found  themselves in God's presence, even someone like Joshua, fell on their faces before the Lord in fear and humility.  If you haven't had an experience where you felt like that in prayer, where you felt humbled and lowly and unworthy, you need to talk to God about it.  Salvation is that kind of experience.  If your salvation experience didn't include humility and repentance and then a peace from God, you need to make sure that you really have salvation.

If you have had that experience and are like me, do you run too quickly to Christian culture to meet your spiritual needs?  I know for me, when I have a problem with my relationships or something else and I need answers, it is very tempting to open a book or turn on the radio rather than humbly pray and seek God for what HE wants me to do.  

Why?  Because it is easier! There is no waiting on the Lord.  It is instant, fast. . . and not specifically accurate to me.  Why would I not go to God, when He made me and knows exactly what I need?  Because I may have some repenting to do for my sins to Him before I can really start to pray and seek God for what I need. Oh, and the biggest one of all:

He may want me to sacrifice some things in my life if I start asking Him to help me.

Christian media doesn't generally do that.  It kinda leaves it on my terms to define what it means to me.

But the Holy Spirit gets right down where you live at.  You don't even know what you don't know about yourself.  But when you get into the presence of His light and it shines in the dark corners of your heart----then you have a problem to get solved, and it's probably going to hurt.  Because God is GOD, and wants to "Lord" over your life. He won't force Himself on you, but He does desire that we kill off our desires and live our lives the way He would want us to.

Friends and loved ones, may we all strive to follow JESUS. Actually JESUS.  Not some song or book or movie about Him.  Not a preacher who talks about Him.

But may we fall in love with Jesus.

I used to be a little dismayed that my hubby didn't follow "the culture", and when I would see someone give him the look I would scramble on the inside to find something to say to give this person evidence that he was "legit".

Not anymore.  

I don't care if he knows the culture, because I realized long ago that, although not perfectly, he actually follows Jesus. He seeks Him in prayer when he has a problem he can't solve far faster than I used to, but this journey has caused me to be a faster learner that I thought I could be.

You are all loved.  May God bless you today and always-----
Sandra

Dying like Paul

In all the despairing I do over it, homeschooling really is such a blessing.  If nothing else it affords a person like me an inordinate amount of time to learn and to ruminate, and hopefully, to grow.  

Right now we are in the Roman Empire during the reign of an increasingly unstable Nero.  I am attempting, extremely feebly, to marry Roman history with the New Testament.  It has been fascinating to me.  Learning about the Roman Empire makes the New Testament take on an even richer meaning.  For example, when you consider that it is estimated that nearly 75% of the Roman Empire was in slavery----sort of a secret slavery, in that there were no special uniforms or regulations for slaves----those verses about "servants and masters" seem a great deal softened when seen through the lens of historical context.  You can see God's care for those in such circumstances.  

This week what humbled me greatly was learning about the Apostle Paul.

I "know" Paul.  I can factually teach about the simple highlights of Paul with relative ease----he was Saul, he consented to Stephen's death, he persecuted Jesus but thought he was persecuting radical religious blasphemers for the sake of God, he had his "road to Damascus" moment, literally; he had to escape capture of the Jews forever, he traveled a lot, he made tents for a living although he was a Roman citizen and a very well-educated Jew.  He wrote a TON, he was bold, he was in and out of prison, beaten and stoned, he preached all over, he healed people, he was shipwrecked, bit by a venomous snake without harm, and he met his demise in Rome.

Not only have I taught Sunday school kids about Paul, but I have taught my own kids, and have listened to my own husband and many others lead Bible studies and preach about Paul, all over the space of nearly 25 years.

But I think sometimes I am so close to the fire I don't see the flames.  I lose the marvel of the fire dancing, leaping, sparking up in the air, licking up whatever is in its path, crackling and lifelike in the darkness. I forget to inhale that deep woodsy scent of the campfire.  I just know it is fire, it is hot, and I move on. 

Thankfully, His word is a living Word.  His Spirit opens up the word, and shows in real time what we specifically need to see.  What a blessing!

When Paul was assured by Jesus that he must go to Rome, Paul knew that meant his death.  That revelation came several years before his death.  He knew that Jesus was deliberately leading him in a slow death march before the head of Rome, so that Jesus would be witnessed in the testimony of Paul before the most powerful man in all the earth.    

What did he do in this march?  He appeared in court several times.  He testified to governing men (in the presence of his enemies) about Jesus, to some of them many times, and implored them to repent.  He neglected to secure his own release, although he could have.  He was cheerful, he was kind, he was concerned with the needs of all around him. He was mostly concerned with the state of their souls.  He wrote letters admonishing, encouraging, and loving the churches.  He wrote personal letters to those behind him, younger men who needed teaching and encouragement.  He healed the sick and dying.  He wrote to the owner of the runaway slave Onesimus, beseeching mercy for him.  He loved the Roman guards over him, the base and crude prisoners beside him, the sinner before him.  

What he never did was look in the mirror of self-pity.

I think that is because he didn't look in the mirror at all.  Was he in need of comfort?  Surely.  It speaks in Acts of him "taking courage" when in the presence of other brothers in his journey to Rome.  But Paul was busy.  Busy in the work of Jesus. Busy loving, busy working, busy writing.  

When he could preach, he preached.  When he could serve, he served.  When he couldn't do those things. . . .he wrote. Beautiful, well-written, spirit-inspired letters that were focused on Jesus and the recipient. He was dying----dying a beautiful, thriving, productive, joy-filled death.  

So here is where "fire" meets "flame":  I am dying.  So are you.  We are all dying.  Our marches may be long or short; we don't know.  Paul didn't know either.  He was essentially, waiting to die.  And so are we.  Only God knows the time for us.  

Only God knows the breaths left.  Only God knows the hours left in our sometimes confusing circumstances.  Perhaps you are in a waiting room of sorts----not sure where you are headed, not sure how long you are where you are, but still. . . waiting. . . . 

How will I wait?  Will I continue to wait, gazing into the mirror of self?  Self-pity, self-justification, self-service, self-will?

Or will I hang the black drape of death over my mirror to self? Will I instead gaze OUT-----out at those around me, those before me, and use my testimony as a witness to both small and great?  Will I use my hands to serve where needed, my words to encourage, admonish, and exhort, my money to show kindness and hospitality and to "receive all that came in unto him" (Acts 28:30)?  

Will I love with abandoning considerations of repayment?  Will I completely and utterly let JESUS, and the best He has to offer, be my all in all?  Will I "run the race with patience"?  Will I truly be able to say, "I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith?"

Can you even imagine the joy that Jesus had when looking down on Paul?  Will I ever bring that joy to my sweet Savior?

"Oh, don't be so hard on yourself. . . .. there are no more Nero's."

There doesn't have to be.

There is plenty of work to do.

But the first task. . . .. . . . .

      is to drape that mirror.

May we each aspire to SEE the work around us.

Love to you all this fine day,

Sandra 

The Eye of my Little Storm

I have realized in the past several years that I have no real problems in life.  

Really.  The story I am about to tell you is one of those things that first world people "endure".  

But I love and try to serve, and far more importantly, am valued and loved by a God who cares about my circumstances.  My little, everyday, fairly ordinary circumstances, and for that I will be grateful for all of eternity.  When He knows that I really, really need my Daddy, He shows up in utter and absolute perfection, leaving me bewildered, breathless, and immensely humbled; starstruck at the enormous love He pours over me.

I think of all the times that my children run to me with some "problem" that is so very big to them, and an annoyance to me, and they generally know exactly what I think of it.  I am not a great sympathizer of  non-logical things.  I am a work in progress.

Not so my Jesus. He is infinitely patient with me.  So, so patient, and good, and kind.

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 This past July 4th we gorged ourselves at a barbeque fit for a king, prepared by friends, and my oldest shoveled it in.  Going back for more and more, he was finally satisfied, and we left.  The next morning he was sick and I suspected food poisoning.  He was a lot of what it said he should be on WebMD, and since that makes it so, I figured that was the problem. Except no one else was sick.  A quick inventory of ingestibles revealed that he had not eaten anything special, so I thought perhaps he picked up a virus.

I was busy that day helping a dear friend with something that really was a very important thing.  As I helped her my son sat in the waiting room and quickly developed a fever.

I got him home and I began to suspect. . . . appendicitis.  I didn't know why.  I just did.  So I called the doctor.  His doctor wasn't there, so I got the On Call One.  I don't like the On Call One.  At all. I have my reasons.

I talked to the nurse, who left a message for the On Call One, who was supposed to contact me, "soon".

Nearly three hours later, I called back.

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My biggest fear when moving from my comfort zone in the Midwest to the Pacific Northwest in a tiny town on the coast was not tsunami's, wildfires, or endless rain.

My biggest fear was that one of my very bestest favorite beloveds would get emergency ill, and I would be stranded with a very small hospital and no trauma center, unless you want to take a helicopter far, far away.

No one knew this that I know of.  But that's what it was.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~I call On Call Guy.  Something has happened in the past three hours.  We have other things going on.

I am CONVINCED it is appendicitis.

How?

I just knew.   

And I know it needs to come OUT.  

As in, I knew like I knew when I was in labor with my kids. It is an unshakable knowledge.  And I am fooling around with On Call Guy, the gatekeeper for my healthcare.

On Call Guy finally relays, "It is probably a virus.  He will be OK."

"Ok, thanks", I placate.  I am done, and we are going to the E.R.

Ah, the E.R.  The E.R. has a reputation here for, shall I say, "extremely long wait times and questionable judgement."  

My fear is becoming reality.

Out of respect, I call the hubby. "Well, how do you 'know'?  Really??  I mean, what if you run clear over there, and it is nothing?"  I feel like I am going to jump out of my skin.  But I say, clearly and somewhat definitively,  "OK.  I will wait for you to get here. Then you can see what you think." He would be home in about 40 minutes.  

In the meantime, I am pacing my house. I am restless and irritated and unable to relax, so tightly wound and on edge.

And then it hits me:  this-----this wildcat inside me---- is a GIFT.  I'm not supposed to relax because if I relax, this will get missed. This is my job, to get this kid to the hospital and make sure this thing gets OUT.  And that is OK.  

This realization makes things so much better.  Hubby comes home, assesses (he is in health care) and too, is convinced.  So I am off.

The long E.R. wait?  Less than 3 minutes.

First doctor I see?  "The appendix needs to come out."

One time this child was under anesthesia.  He had to be given medicine to bring his heart rate up.  I was told then to make sure I told every surgeon ever to be very careful.  

He got the best surgeon.

No problems with anesthesia.

From check in until the last stitch was a grand total of something like 6 hours.  In less than 18 hours we were home.

And the whole time, I KNEW it had to come out.

But more than that, I KNEW that God was right there.  Oh, the peace! Never was a mama so peaceful, so serene when they told me that they would take him to surgery and have it out! I am less peaceful at the fabric counter at Jo-Ann's!  I was so thankful, and just, so so peaceful. 

God taught me that day: in the eye of your storm, even if it is not a big one, I love you enough to be right there with you, guiding you, loving you, comforting you, caring for you.

All I need to do is listen.

To trust and obey my sweet Lord.

My faith isn't in the good healthcare we received, but I am so thankful for it.  

My faith is in the One whose palm I rest in, whether that is here or there.

He knows your secret storm, and He will put you right there so that you can learn of Him and experience His goodness.

Ah, there is a Friend that sticketh closer than a brother, and that Friend is Jesus.

My prayer is that you know His peace.

Love to you all-----

Sandra 

Just Two Boxes

When did we start putting people in boxes?  

We look at one behavior expressed in the entire lifetime of an individual that we have never met personally, and as a result, put them in a labeled box.  We close the lid, put it away in the basement of our mind, and feel pretty good about ourselves, as though we have done a service to all humanity and should be thanked for it.  We have simple-mindedly simplified the human condition.  How very nice and tidy it is now!  How very unchallenged we can be, in our existence that is uncluttered with dissenting opinions!

We don’t even have that many boxes to choose from.  Just a few.  

But that one person will fit, at least according to us, entirely in that box.

I wonder, if we examined our own behavior over the course of our lifetime, what box would we be in?  We can’t even remember what we have done in our lifetime.  Certainly we would pick our most shining moments?  Times when we sacrificed, excelled, succeeded, and shined above all?  

Surely we would not place ourselves in a box labeled with our own prejudices, our dirty secrets, our shame, our dysfunction, our weakness.  Surely not.  

Yet we know the truth about ourselves.  We know that we aren’t able to be presented in a gift-wrapped, bow topped box.  We know that we are many, many boxes, and if we are completely honest, we are a basement full of bad boxes before we are three tiny gift boxes.  

We are selfish takers.  We are worried about us, about our lifestyle and opinions being challenged, our comfort, about losing our right to self.  

And so we take others and place them in boxes, because then we can feel much, much better about our own boxes.  We are even willing to dig up the literal boxes of our forefathers, just to place them in a different box and bury them for good, throwing good and bad in the same box, burying it deep, and labeling it as bad, final, over.

You know, there are really only two people in history who were able to be relegated to a single box.

The first one is Jesus.  He is in one box labeled “GOOD”.  He is the only completely, perfectly good human being to ever touch this earth.  

The second one is Satan.  He is bad.  Always bad, and in the bad box.  He is against the good.  Jesus (the Good One) said that he is a thief, a liar, and a destroyer.  He is consistently so.

You and I? Other than the fact that we were made in the image of God, we don’t have any claim to the Good Box.  We are in the bad box.

Every. Single. One. Of. Us.

There are no black robes and gavels in the bad box.  We are like children, running around in imaginary play, judging one another by a different standard than the one we apply to ourselves.  We are largely unaware of our black box residence, and the wonderful work we do for its main resident.

And the Good Box?  Well, the man in the Good Box is different.  He does have a robe and a gavel.  But He looks at the bad box, and feels an overwhelming amount of love for the people stuck in it.  In fact He died for the opportunity to. . . . .

Rescue those bad people (you AND me) in the bad box, and let them be in His box.

“Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself”---- direct quote from the man in the Good Box.  

Apply the same forgiving, understanding, merciful standard to ALL OTHER HUMAN BEINGS as you do for yourself.

Can you even imagine?  

Instead of putting people in boxes,

Start thinking about which box YOU are in.

We need a better IDEA

I read the paper, and my breath halted at the weight of the sentence: agree to waive the right to a free appropriate public education (FAPE), and assume all educational responsibilities of your child. . . .

Whoa.  This was on us.  This was on ME.  I was to be the primary educator for my child with autism.  If I failed, he failed.

Steeling my resolve, I signed, and made one of the very best decisions I have ever made in my life.

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There has been much in the news lately about IDEA, with president-elect Trump’s Secretary of Education appointment, Betsy DeVos, being under fire for a perceived lack of knowledge on IDEA.  IDEA stands for the “Individuals With Disabilities Education Act”, and is the federal government’s legal assurance that all children, regardless of disability, are to be given a “free appropriate public education”, which includes as much inclusion with typical peers in a typical classroom as is possible for their ability.  It is a well-written, beautiful, 40 -page document handed to parents and educators across the nation, and no doubt was well-intentioned in its purpose. 

Much like our bill of rights, however, the scope and breadth of its application into the lives of those it was written to protect depends much upon the viewpoint of those administering the law itself. 

When I was first handed the 40 page book, I read it from cover to cover, because I am a nerd like that.  I found nothing alarming in its verbiage, and took comfort it the fact that it seemed to actually address every possible scenario my panic-stricken, scared, mother-of-a-freshly-diagnosed-child brain could come up with, which was a pretty impressive list.  I went to the IEP meeting at my local school district, which said that our son should be placed into an inclusive preschool to enhance his verbal and social skills, and after he was evaluated, was slated to have speech, occupational, and physical therapy.  We opted to forego PT as my husband is a PT, and instead were looking forward to speech and OT.

My independent research of all things autism----and I mean ALL things-----told me that our son needed “intensive therapies” for speech and OT.  Intensive. 

I lived in a very good school district, with professionals whom I believe genuinely cared about the progress of our son.  But I was rather dismayed when “intensive” meant, “group speech therapy”.  It meant 15 minutes of OT once a week.  I believe that he had a small amount of individual speech at that time, but it wasn’t very much.  Although I really enjoyed his therapists and was confident in their skill level, there was just not enough time to allocate to what our son needed----certainly not meeting the criteria of “intensive”.

His teacher was a first year special needs teacher.  I was teaching her about our son as I was learning him myself.  She was very good to work with, and I appreciated very, very greatly her willingness to adapt to him, but I was a little taken aback by the fact that I was trusting his, and truly my, education about autism to someone who had not had a student like him before, and I was doing it in his formative preschool years. 

Realizing that more therapeutic intervention was needed, we turned to our medical insurance.  Our insurance would NOT provide speech therapy for the treatment of autism.  Insurance companies realize that public schools pay for speech and OT, our pediatrician told us, and therefore force it to be covered by the public school.  Praise be to God, and I mean that with all sincerity, He provided a private speech therapist at a reasonable out-of-pocket cost that we endured for 3 years.  OT was covered, and we were very thankful to have an excellent OT. 

Now------I want you to image dropping off your diabetic child at the public school and asking them to treat their erratic blood sugar.  You would never dream of that, right?  That is what countless parents of children with autism are expected to do.  We are to drop our children off and ask, beg, plead, and cajole to receive the services we so desperately need from the very entity that has to spend the money for them. 

Think about it---do you have to go directly to your insurance company to get your medical treatments?  Of course not.  You have a buffer in your primary care physician.  You usually get to pick your PCP.  And while your PCP is bound somewhat by your insurance mandates, he can write and intervene on your behalf and get things covered for you.

Parents have no buffer.  If you are in a great district with great staff and an awesome teacher and principal and lots of property taxes and/or federal grant money, this is a bearable experience.  It may even be a good experience.  They may helpfully and cheerfully help to bear your load, and you may have wonderful outcomes, and you may have extremely qualified clinicians.  I hope this is your experience, whether you are an educator or parent reading this. 

But if not?

If not, prepare to fight Goliath.  You will battle for years.  You will be told that his needs do not “interfere with his educational progress”, and therefore aren’t covered in the IEP.  You will become bitter, a Mama Grizzly Extraordinaire.  You will fight and fight and cry and grieve and fight and become angry and fight until you can’t fight anymore to get what your child needs. You will be “that mom”, when you never ever wanted to be “that mom”.  You just want your child to get the help they need and deserve.

When I was in multiple waiting rooms for multiple therapies, I would hear conversations among parents regarding what the school was providing for one child in one district, and what they weren’t in another.   It ran the gamut from equine therapy (higher end tax base zip code) to no therapy (federal poverty level zip code). There was very little consistency from district to district. 

When we moved from Ohio to Oregon, I came to our local district with papers measuring three inches thick that included evaluations from professionals, test results, and a current IEP.  Because we home school, the only service I was seeking out was individual or group speech therapy, since his neurologist recommended speech until age 15.

In spite of this evidence, my request was denied.  There would be no group speech, even if I drove him to the appointment.  Even if I pay property taxes to my district.  Even if I home school all my children, and buy all my own curriculum, and give money to the school, but take none.   Even if the now-retired special education coordinator laughed at the notion that I expected our son to go to college.

Oregon is one of only two states in the country whose Medicaid programs do not cover autism therapies.  They have received a special waiver from the federal government that allows them to do so.  Obtaining information from the Kaiser Family Foundation, I was able to determine that of the 920,000 children who reside in Oregon, a whopping 407, 899 receive Medicaid. 

When at least 50% of the pediatric clientele lack insurance coverage for therapeutic interventions, how many skilled pediatric clinicians will set up shop and practice in Oregon?

How many of those children on Medicaid have autism?  How many don’t get necessary therapies from their school districts?  How many of them have single parents that can’t pay for/find/drive to therapy outside of the school for their children?  How many make too much money to be covered under MR/DD guidelines, but not enough to afford out of pocket clinicians?

And what clinicians would be used?  In our small county I know of only two practices that provide those therapies, and they don’t accept all insurance, or are out of network.  To find further therapy is a 2 ½ hour drive one way for services. 

The school district, then, is the gatekeeper.  The federal government allocates a portion of money to those students.  Unfortunately, the federal government hasn’t ever fully funded the program that they have made law.  As a result, many compassionate districts are simply unable to pay for the services that are truly needed to give children with autism----who face a staggering 90% unemployment rate in adulthood!------the services they need to obtain a modicum of self-sufficiency.  Overpopulated classrooms, coupled with children who often teeter somewhere between being mentally challenged while simultaneously brilliant, along with understaffing and a lack of professional development and education among some of those working with the autism population (please----I said “some”, not “all”) do not yield optimal results for many children.

In unscrupulous districts, the money never makes it to some of these children.  There is no safeguard in IDEA that specifies that X dollars must go to Student X. 

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When I signed the document waiving FAPE, I was doing so to obtain the Ohio Autism Scholarship.  The Autism Scholarship is funded by the Ohio Department of Education.  It gives the control of the money directly used by those students into a more equitable partnership of the parent and the school district.  My home district was extremely supportive of the scholarship.  My son received the intensive therapy he needed in his formative years, and I believe that it has had a lasting impact on him to this day. 

The other benefit to the scholarship is that because of free enterprise, there are many, many qualified ABA and speech therapists, counselors, OT’s, PT’s, and tutors (among other things) that have started in Ohio. There is a steady stream of income to those providers, which allows for excellent care. 

Is the scholarship perfect? No.  Is there fraud?  I am certain there is.  The Bible states that “the love of money is the root of all evil”, and there is certainly a lot of money involved in the scholarship.  Are the schools that have popped up to provide an education to those with autism “good” schools?  Maybe some are, and I am sure that some are not.

But what I do know is this:  I, who know my son like the very back of my hand, had more control of his therapy choices.  I didn’t have to plead with the gatekeeper.  I didn’t have to turn into “that mom”.  All the fighting I would have do to get what I needed, I could channel into helping him become the best him that he could be. I am so very thankful to God for the opportunity to live there in his formative years.

So where are we now?  Well, now I literally have no IDEA.  I am a rogue homeschooler devoid of therapy. 

That was all in the plan.

See, in November of 2007, when my precious boy changed overnight in my eyes because of a diagnosis, I did the only thing that I knew to do:

I “lifted mine eyes up into the hills, from whence comest my help; my help comes from the LORD, which made heaven and earth.”----Psalms 121:1. 

I kneeled on the side of his little toddler bed made with his sports bedspread, the sports that just two days before was sure he would be the star of, and now didn’t know what he would ever be able to do----and this mama prayed.  I begged God for two things:  the best clinicians possible, and wisdom in how to raise him.  After all, I had begged God to give him to me, and I had desired a child to raise for His glory.  And He provided me a sweet, wonderful boy.  God knows him and loves him far better than I do. 

To that, God has been abundantly, unbelievably, miraculously faithful.  I can’t even begin to tell you. He had the best therapists and he has the best neurologist. At one point in time, three of his clinicians sat on the governor’s board for autism.  I didn’t pay a penny for all that therapy. 

And now?  When I was denied by the school in 2014, I had to go to our insurance. And our insurance, which I had been told covered autism services, denied us.

I had to compose myself on the phone.  I hurried off, and collapsed on the bed.

And I felt God there, nudging me to release my son. . . .to Him. 

I had been hanging on, trusting in therapists and interventions.  Not trusting GOD, that this was all part of His plan, and that the plan is way bigger than my tiny point of view.  With His help, I did just that.  I felt the sweetest peace and relief wave over me.  It would all be OK.

So there is no speech.  There is no OT.  There is PT, and there is a customized education (which includes speech curriculum) by a diligent mama who would give her last breath for him.  Even if she dies doing fractions.

But there is peace, knowing that I am free to do what I need to do with minimal interference.

I don’t know the first thing about Betsy DeVos.  But what I do know is this:

Some of us just want to be left alone, to do what needs to be done.  We aren’t asking for you to do it for us.  We want the freedom of choice to do what is right for our children, for our unique circumstance that doesn’t fit into your paradigm.  Please, let us keep our choice.  I know charter schools and programs aren’t always a good thing.  Maybe they are mostly a bad thing, even.  But what makes this country great is that we have the freedom to do what is best for us and to do what we feel is right. IDEA isn’t working for all of us. 

It is time to explore a new IDEA.

Why You Should Try Camping When You Have Kids, Even If You Haven't Done It Before

Our family of six just returned from a short camping trip.  We stayed part of a day, two nights, and part of another day in the great outdoors.    

Why bother with camping?  Our family has found that no matter how we try to simplify, downsize, and limit distractions, unfortunately, we are still very distracted.  We have WIFI at home, cell phones, house projects in an ever-multiplying abundance, and mail to read and bills to pay.  We have good distractions too, like work, homeschool, and my husband pastors a church in addition to working at his secular job.  It is really difficult for us in some seasons to feel like we are “present and accounted for” for the better part of a day, much less a week or months.  Most things that clamor for our attention are very important things. 

Several areas of our life pay the cost for this; our children are one of those things. This is especially true concerning quality time with Daddy, as I am with them the vast majority of the time.  But freeing Daddy or me up to play and engage is sometimes difficult.  We are worker-bees, my husband and I, and we are trying to raise worker-bees.  But play is needful to express our love and appreciation for one another. 

Camping is a great time-out from regular life.   However. . . . .

When I first started camping, I was very excited about campfires, starry skies, s’mores, and hikes.  But after my first time camping with kids, I was beyond exhausted.  This didn’t seem fun AT ALL. This mama cooked, cleaned, and ate, and then it was time to cook, clean and eat again.  Repeat.  I decided that camping was, to quote myself, “like taking the comforts of home, paring them down to bare bones, and moving it all outside”.  I didn’t see the point.  All I wanted was Marriott.

I made a lot of camping mistakes early in the game, and I have learned some things:

1.  Keep it short and sweet:  On your first outing, just go overnight, or two.  If possible go on Monday-Thursday, as you will have a lot of the campground to yourself.
2.    Keep it close:  Don’t travel to Timbuktu to camp.  Stay somewhere close enough to travel to in about an hour and a half, and try to go somewhere you haven’t done much exploring already.  We have found that we prefer to camp in places that aren’t too far from the nearest town.  That way, should rain or boredom strike, we are in a great position to explore and just get out and about with no agenda.
3. Keep it “crunchy”:  You know how all those books are coming out now about de-cluttering being the key to a happy life?  Well, de-cluttering is THE KEY to a “happy camper mom”.  Leave your hair dryer, straightener, curling iron, and most of your makeup at home.  This is a time to be outdoors, and to be with your kids. No one cares as much as you do.  If you can let down your “care”, you will have a much more enjoyable time.  You don’t need more than 2 pairs of shoes, some clean underwear and socks, and a few shirts/pants per person.  Towels, check.  In fact, if you keep your trip very short and bathe everyone before you go and as soon as you get home (we may or may not have done this), you may be able to avoid all things shower-related at the campground.  This is very, very awesome when you have four kids to shower.  You can’t imagine how much time you waste in there.
4.   Keep it in a state park:  If you are concerned with economics, state and county parks are the best.  Research the campgrounds on your state parks’ website.  It usually lists the amenities available.  You may find one with a pool, and usually there are trails and playgrounds, etc.  Private campgrounds can be extremely nice.  But private campgrounds will usually charge you a base fee, plus a fee if you go over a certain “people limit”.  We almost always exceed the base “people limit”, and then the camping fee is in hotel range.  If we are in hotel range. . . then we hotel.
5.  Bring the kids’ bikes:  It sometimes looks like it is a requirement to bike if you are a kid in a campground.  If at all possible, bring your kids’ bikes. 
6.  Keep it SIMPLE:  All of it.  When we first went, part of what exhausted me was I was attempting to “play house” like my daughter might:  every time someone went into our little camper, I would resweeps/straighten up/put away, etc.  I had a very rigid order and expected it to be like home.  Well, it isn’t home.  It is a campground!  It is dirt and sand and sticky marshmallows and ash.  And it is wonderful when you don’t let all of that stress you to the max.

Tent vs. Camper:

We have a 1992 Toyota Winnebago.  This rare gem is a dinosaur with great (comparatively speaking) gas mileage.  It sleeps 5 comfortably. ;)  It has a fridge, a stove, a toilet, kitchen sink, and bathroom sink.  We don’t use any of that except the fridge.

Why?  Because we don’t have time to dedicate days upon days of camper preparation, that’s why.  The stove isn’t working, and we don’t want to pay the $300 for a new, tiny camper stove.  And we don’t need it. 

We always pay to stay at the “full hook up” spots.  That means you will have access to an electrical outlet on a pole, and a water spigot at your spot.  Usually there is a picnic table and a fire ring also.  In a state park you will sometimes pay a little bit more for this feature, but it is well worth it.

We plug the RV into the electric hook up.  We use the water from the spigot when we need it.  And we go to the bathroom/shower in the one at the campground.

If you only had a tent, I would highly recommend the full hook-up spot. 

Organization:

Here are some simple ways to organize your trip to make it run smoothly:

1.       Well before you set out to camp, begin picking up small things that you might need for a trip.  I have a small coffee pot from my mom, and a George Foreman grill and toaster oven from the Goodwill for a total cost of about $10.  Get a Rubbermaid tote and put all of your camping appliances in it.  Add to it some aluminum foil, gallon size Ziploc bags, paper plates, cups, and plastic dinnerware, some paper towels, a small jar of dish detergent, hand sanitizer, can opener, extension cord, hand soap to set by the water spigot, salt and pepper, a dish towel and a dish rag, two pot holders, a vinyl tablecloth, and a plastic mixing bowl.  Most of this can be purchased at the Dollar Tree.  You now have a portable kitchen!

2.      You might also gather a Rubbermaid tote and fill it with bedding for your trip.  If you are tent camping you will want to sleep on an air mattress, even if you have an awesome sleeping bag.  You can find sleeping bags at the Goodwill too, very cheap.  They can be washed and dried at home prior to your trip.

3.      Get one more tote ready for “incidentals”:  flashlights, duct tape (trust me), small first aid kit, bug spray, sunscreen, matches, fire starter, etc.  You will also want chairs for around the fire, but if you don’t have room you can just use the picnic table provided. 

4.      I bring some of my own things from home, namely:  cast iron skillet/dutch oven, electric skillet, sometimes a crock pot, spatula, 2 small kitchen knives, a slotted stirring spoon, tongs, and an old fashioned black roaster pan for doing dishes in.  I usually throw this in a laundry basket.  When I get home I return all this to my kitchen.

5.      Put a laminated checklist of each tote’s contents in each tote, and bring a dry erase marker.  Makes packing it back up a breeze.

6.      You will need a decent sized cooler, or better still, borrow one.

Food:

This was the biggest hurdle to my early camping experiences.  I had NO IDEA what to make! I knew that we would go camping, and inevitably there would be That Guy who is over there, roasting a leg of lamb over his fire on a solar-powered spit he whittled out of Popsicle sticks,  and we were over here with a hot dog.  Or there were the Cabela camping divas, with their fancy-pants Coleman stove ($$), Coleman lanterns (cha-ching!), and Yeti coolers (we’re talking lotto winnings here, people). 

I didn’t want the cost of camping to rival an Alaskan cruise.  Nor did I want to eat Bar-S hot dogs for a week.  What was a mom to do?!?

Remember the end goal?  “Focus on my own family. And focus on Mom being a Happy Camper.”

I started to tap into my inner “MomGyver” (if you don’t know who MacGyver is, I question if you are old enough to have your own kids, whipper-snapper) and thought outside the camper.  I thought about what I would do at home if my stove and microwave went out.  And I thought of my electric skillet and crock pot.

Here is a list of what I do for food:

1.  Prep, prep, prep: Chop your veggies at home.  Save in ziplock bags with a paper towel thrown in to curb “wetness” (ewwwww) that ends the life of your lettuce, etc.  Cook meat beforehand in the oven and bring in ziplock bags.  Less fear of food poisoning that way, and less work for you on the trip.  Bring lots of bagged snacks, or pick them up at a store closer to the campground.
2.  Breakfast:  We eat big camping breakfasts.  I make pop-from-the-can cinnamon rolls in the toaster oven.  I make pancakes using Bisquick’s “Shake and Pour” mix, so that I can avoid using a bowl or spoon.  I can fill it with a different, cheaper pancake mix to make more.  I can also use it to scramble eggs.  I can cook those in the cast iron pan ON TOP of my electric skillet!  For bacon or sausage, I bake ALL of it at home before the trip, put it in Ziplock bags, and freeze it fully cooked.  It is very easy to throw that in the oven some night before hand while I am in the kitchen anyway.  Then I just re-heat it on the skillet.  I use butter as my primary cooking oil because it travels solidly (nyuk nyuk nyuk!).  Sometimes we pick up donuts on the way out of town for breakfast.
3.    Lunch:  My lunches are portable, in the event that we want to venture off to swim, hike, or go into town.  I usually do peanut butter and jelly, chips (I buy those bags that have lots of types of chips in them), and fruit and carrots.  That way we can go if the mood strikes us.
4. Supper:  If you have a cast-iron skillet, you can cook on the grate provided (usually, but not always) on your fire pit should you feel adventurous.  I like to use fully cooked meats. I am not trying to food poison my whole family.  So we save, mainly for camping, kielbasa as a treat!  We make kielbasa sandwiches, and fry potatoes in the skillet.  My family loves it.  We have also done:  
1.    Tacos/burritos/rice:  make meat ahead, cut up veggies ahead, cook and freeze rice
2.   Soup:  I have used my crock pot for this when we have played all day.
3.   Flatbread pizzas:  make pizzas, heat up in toaster oven.
4.   Always have s’more supplies for dessert!  Or store bought cookie dough for the toaster oven. 

   

   Pancakes and the beginnings of a "pizza breakfast skillet".  This is inside our little RV.

   
   

   

   Cinnamon roll bacon face breakfast. 

Above all, don’t sweat it.  Have fun with your kids and that is what they will remember:  the time that Mom caught a “rock fish” (on my pole!  I felt like Charlie Brown at Halloween!), when Dad rode our son’s small bike, etc.  That is what this is:  a time to recharge.  EVEN for Mom.  She needs it too.

What have you done to make your camping trips more enjoyable?

P.S.  If you have firewood restrictions in your area, you will probably have to buy it where you are camping. 

Lessons from Elijah

Today the kids and I learned about the prophet Elijah.  Elijah was a tough as nails prophet sent to talk to King Ahab.  King Ahab, bad as he was, wasn't the worst----that title was earned by his wife, Jezebel.

Jezebel hated God, and as a result, hated all representation of God.  I imagine her as a vindictive, spiteful, awful woman who was convicted over her sins and not only refused to repent, but wished to strike every memory of God from her person so that she would not be reminded of her sin.  She was not submissive; she led with an iron fist. She wanted her way.

Elijah told Ahab that Israel would have no rain until he said so.  And with that, the voice of the Lord led Elijah to a little brook that had not yet dried up so that he might drink, and fed him. . .

from ravens.

Yep.  He received, from the ravens, bread and meat two times a day.

Think about this:  why a raven?

Well. . . .a raven could fly to somewhere far away to GET meat and bread.  According to Wikipedia, a raven is a survivor because "they are extremely versatile and opportunistic in finding sources of nutrition, feeding on carrion, insects, cereal grains, berries, fruit, small animals, and food waste."  They are highly intelligent birds, able to problem solve and avoid capture.  


God used ravens because they were perfect, just the way He had already created them. They obeyed His command and never, ever wavered in their duty.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This election is really a pretty awful time.  It can cause a lot of worry and fear about the future for people who belong to Jesus.  We worry about our Christian liberties being taken away, about the laws changing into a form of legal persecution somewhere not too far down the road, about our American rights being stripped from us. We can get angry or upset about it to the point that it causes us to sin with anger or hate, or other things I am guilty of too.  

But what I saw today in my study was that, here is Elijah, simply following God in a time of terrible persecution, upheaval, and Israel not looking a thing at all like God's people in the way they were being led and in what they were doing, and in the midst of great turmoil and grief and sorrow. . . 

Elijah was fed by ravens.

Can you just imagine?  Imagine the starvation all around-----remember Katrina?  Remember how desperate people acted in a time of great calamity?  And yet God led Elijah to a quiet place of rest, and FED HIM BY RAVENS!  

Sometimes God has to get us in a hard spot so we can see the miracles that He does for us every day. 

If our country is headed for a hard spot, and you are a child of the Most High, be prepared.

Not to store boxes of ammo, not to boil water, not to get your Canadian passport ready. . . .
 
But be ready, by putting on your whole armor. . . .and simply follow God. 
 
And no doubt, He will make a miraculous provision for you.  

Psalms 37:25  "I have been young, and now am old; yet have I not seen the righteous forsaken, nor his seed begging bread."

May you have a blessed day,
Sandra