Lately I’ve been peppered with questions I can’t answer.
From a friend: “Will she walk on her own?”
From a fellow parent at our school: “Will she be able to come here too?”
From a leader at our church: “How will this next therapy or surgery help?”
From myself: “Will we be able to afford everything she needs?”
From our babysitter: “Will she be able to talk more soon?”
I hate the answer to them all.
I. don’t. know.
I rarely lack for words, but my childhood stutter returns at questions like the ones above. As a pleaser, I want to be able to give the response they want to hear. As a mother, I want to know what the long-term will be. As an advocate for her, I would feel more confident armed with answers.
I’ve never liked “I don’t know.”
But the longer I walk this road as a special needs parent, the more I realize that this is a life lived in uncertainty. I don’t know the answers to any of the questions above about my daughter with cerebral palsy, nor do I know when the next seizure will come for my son with epilepsy, what medical advances will be made by the time my child with HIV is an adult, or where our children’s trauma from the past will trickle out (or explode forth) in the future.
I’m thankful to be able to trust the One who does hold the future – my future and her future and their future – in complete control, but? I still trip on this walk of uncertainty some days.
Okay, most days.
I’m not ashamed of my skinned knees and stubbed toes because every time I trip, He is faithful.
He drew me up from the pit of destruction, out of the miry bog, and set my feet upon a rock, making my steps secure. {Psalm 40:2, ESV}
So walk on, my friend. Trip along the way like me, if you must. Together, we can trust a God who is more than able to draw us up and make our steps secure once more.
Even in the midst of our “I don’t know”s.
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