Greater love for caregiving parents is often born of the sorrow and grief inherent to those raising children with disabilities and special needs. Today guest blogger Karen Wright recounts an episode of Christmas season grief that God used to remind her of his great love.

It was a typical day of work for me during the damp fall weeks leading up to the holidays in Seattle. High schoolers were abuzz with finals preparations, college applications, and sport championships, and the energy was electric. Conducting my mid-morning administrative walkabout, I headed toward the choir room and stumbled upon a kindergarten Christmas play rehearsal in the main auditorium. An irresistible tug pulled me in, as the scene was so peaceful and pure. As the little ones recited scripture and song, I smiled, my shoulders softened, and I whispered, “Thank you, Lord, for this unexpected gift.” But this sweet moment did not linger, for next my eyes caught the sight of a handful of kindergarten mothers standing stage left.

Like a wave, grief struck, and I almost collapsed to the ground. I knew each of those mothers personally. We had been pregnant at the same time six years ago, and while their children were rehearsing for this year’s kindergarten Christmas play, my son, Austin was not. While they stood stage left holding costume changes and curtain pulleys, I did not. Austin’s special needs were better addressed across town in a different academic setting, and most days I kept myself busy and tried not to dwell on this reality. But this moment triggered such a physical reaction, there was no way to distract myself. I rushed out of the auditorium, headed to the restroom, all the way crying like Peter in the storm, “Lord, help me!”

Grief can present like this, especially during holidays. You think it is at bay, but an unexpected memory, reminder, or disappointment triggers it without warning. But the Lord is most tender with me during these times, gently guiding me toward gospel love, “Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends” (John 15:13; BSB). After a while, I gained my composure. I had been here before, and I knew what to do. Standing in front of the restroom mirror, I wiped away mascara streaks, smoothed my hair, and refocused my attention on the one who assigned me to be Austin’s mother.

In times like these, the Lord reminds me of three things:

1. Being Austin’s mother keeps me closer to the Lord, for the Lord is close to the brokenhearted (Psalm 34:18). I recall how he’s held me in the past, and therefore trust him to meet me in this moment.

For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.
Romans 8:38-39 NIV

2. Being Austin’s mother places me in relationships with amazing people—caregivers, doctors, therapists, and other parents of children with special needs. I am thankful for these people, for they have given me wisdom and bravery. I remember what they’ve taught me, and I thank the Lord for them.

(Be) watchful and thankful.
Colossians 4:2b NIV

3. Being Austin’s mother cultivates a deep sense of empathy for people who are suffering, and this better equips me to comfort them. And when we comfort others, we find comfort in Christ. I remember this truth, and I trust he will use my tenderness to comfort someone else.

Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God.
 Corinthians 1:3-4 NIV

The world tells us to seek happiness, to distract or numb our pain, and that we deserve a problem-free life. I’m sure it crossed my mind to run out of school that morning, head to a coffee shop for an overpriced indulgence, and then to a department store for an aggressive retail therapy session.

While I deeply regret the pangs of jealousy I felt toward the mothers holding tinseled halos stage left, I recognize my response as a sorrow I will always carry. But I rest in this reality, for unexpected moments of grief are often when the Lord clearly instructs, reminds, and comforts me. Greater love has no one than this.

Do you like what you see at DifferentDream.com? You can receive more great content by subscribing to the monthly Different Dream newsletter and signing up for the daily RSS feed delivered to your email.

Photo by Francesco Liotti on Unsplash