Tag: special needs

Finding Your Life

Posted on by Jessica Ronne
“Whoever finds their life will lose it, and whoever loses their life for my sake will find it.” Matthew 10:39
Dear Caregiver,
It’s so easy to scroll through social media and feel the ache of comparison. I know, I lived that life once too. Maybe it’s the family hopping on airplanes with ease, traveling the world with their typical children. Maybe it’s the influencer sharing polished moments of motherhood. Or perhaps it’s someone like me – now on the other side of 24/7 caregiving: speaking, writing, leading an organization, and appearing to have it all together. It may look like I’ve “found my life.” Found my purpose and found my freedom.
But Jesus turns our definitions upside down. He tells us that whoever finds their life will lose it, and whoever loses their life for His sake will find it.
Dear weary, faithful one, you are living in that second category.
Every therapy appointment.
Every sleepless night.
Every dream you quietly laid down.
Every decision filtered through what is best for your loved one.
You have poured out your life for the sake of another.
The world may not applaud your decision and social media may not celebrate it and it probably doesn’t look impressive or glamorous, but the Kingdom of Heaven sees it differently.
Jesus calls it loss and then He calls it life.
When you surrendered your plans, your preferences, and your timeline, you stepped into a holy space. A space of surrender and a space where dependence on God becomes daily bread.
You have not been forgotten, and you have not wasted your life, and according to our Savior, you are right in the middle of finding it.
This is a glorious promise wrapped around your daily sacrifice: those who lose their lives for His sake will find them. Not necessarily in the way the world defines “finding yourself,” but in a deeper joy and an eternal purpose.
When envy whispers that others are living while you are merely surviving, remember this, you are living in the purest version of life and with each moment of surrendered obedience, you inch closer to the only existence that truly matters, one drenched in approval from the Kingdom of Heaven.
Just keep livin.

The Lost Girls

Posted on by Jessica Ronne

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I look in the mirror
And what do I see?
A different she
Than the one who is me

A tired she
A she that’s not free
An overwhelmed she
With what used to be

A she with deep bags
Beneath vacant eyes
Who hides in the bathroom
And breaks down and cries

A worn-out she
From the caregiving life
A she with more grays
From pain and from strife

A she void of makeup
And covered in grime
A ratty T-shirt
That she wears all the time

Dirty hair piled high
Upon a tired head
Moments like these
Make her wanna crawl in bed.

She lets out a sigh
And gathers her wits
Back to the grind
Which feels like the pits

She loves him dearly
The child she bore
She’s just plumb worn out
And achy and sore

Continuous care
For her disabled son
With no expiration
For when she’ll be done

Strenuous duties
Have taken a toll
And created a space
That feels like a hole

A hole where she
Used to reside
And now has gone missing
Where lost girls abide

In missing herself
She yearns for better days
And hopes change will occur
To transform caregiver ways

With determined resolve
She wipes tears away
And gathers her strength
To lift her voice & say

We caregivers need help!
And resources too!
Stop saying no!
To all that we do!

We must notice the shes
In each isolated space
Hiding the lost girls
But I see your face

I see you dear one
Because I am you
I see all you caregivers
And all that you do.

Stay strong and stay grounded
Take a moment for yourself
For what you accomplish
Surpasses all wealth

We are holy work doers
Across all the land
The Lord sees what we do
United we stand

We will speak our truth
At times with a rhyme
We will change our world
One she at a time.

Copyright @jessronne

It Is Well With My Soul.

Posted on by Jessica Ronne

Over the past year I’ve witnessed the demise of many leaders; often pinnacles of faith who have fallen from grace, men and women who most assuredly began their careers with the noblest of intentions. Individuals who, through the passage of time, became enamored with self and blinded by fame & fortune; who lost perspective on their place within humanity because of a choice to turn from that still small voice.

I believe we each have the innate potential to fall far from grace; to perceive ourselves as better than we ought to. I know I do. Under different circumstances I could really embrace how special I think I am, hold on tightly to the perception that I’ve gotten this life thing figured out real good, lean into pride and her enticing offers & allow her to nibble away at my soul as she has with others who have climbed the ladder of success.

I think about all of this as I prepare to release a book and a documentary into the world.

Two creations that could potentially cast a pretty bright light on my life.

Perhaps.

I’m a first born, “me do it” Enneagram one who thrives on accomplishments and making a difference & these attributes are typically celebrated by society with lots of accolades and praise, & yes, this recognition is nice. I am human. It’s nice to be acknowledged for your achievements & even nicer still to have people perceive you as a good person; a person making positive strides in the steps of humanity; a respectful person with character. Of course it’s nice.

I’ve worked diligently & finished projects which might push me a little bit out of the shadows of anonymity & possibly into a world for which I am unprepared & yet –

I will continue to rise every morning
And diaper my 16 year old son
(which is as humility building as it gets some days)
And help him get dressed
And pour his juice into a sippy cup
And put socks upon his feet
And lace up his sneakers
And assist him to the car
And gently close the door but not until he says in his sweet sing song way –
“Bye! Have a good day!”
And I turn and walk away
With a smile on my face.
This is our routine
Me and my Luke
Every single day.

These monotonous actions serve as a reminder as they did with the apostle Paul – a prickly thorn that breathes humility into my swelling soul & deflates any pride that may try to sneak in; crushing it in an instant as my boy demands yet another round of –

“Paddy cake, paddy cake, bakers man, bake me a cake as fast as you can.”

And as his smile reaches for the stars, I lean into the understanding that he and I are created in the image of our Maker, one not better than the other, simply different with unique purposes & gifts, & the only attribute that makes us great is dutifully reacting in joyful obedience to the hard & holy tasks we’ve been called to accomplish.

Each staying faithful to the race we must run.

This uncomfortable road, this thorn of special needs & autism, this aching joy which serves as a gift – a gift that calls me to daily lay down my life & continuously keeps my head from ballooning & serves as a constant jab reminding me of who I am and who I am not by stripping away any pretenses. This gift which prepares a table before me in the presence of fame & fortune & pride; where Luke & I dine with the Shepherd feasting on humility & special needs & gulping down goblets of grace.

It is well with my soul.
It is well with Luke’s soul.
And that is enough.

Just keep livin

To My Son, I’m Sorry.

Posted on by Jessica Ronne

To my son with profound autism,

I’m sorry I didn’t try medication sooner.

I’m sorry that I was more concerned with side effects than possibilities.

I’m sorry you lived in an anxious mess of a mind for years because of my pride.

I’m sorry I assumed the worst and how it would affect you.

I’m sorry I hindered your abilities because of my inability to broaden my horizons.

I’m sorry I limited your communication when medication would have clarified your needs.

I’m sorry I restricted you from your siblings because the aggression, without meds, made you dangerous.

I’m sorry I sighed in resignation and helplessness over the thought of raising you forever when all you needed was a little help.

I’m sorry it took a global pandemic and a total shut down of the world as we knew it to set aside my pride & request something, anything, out of desperation.

I’m sorry for the years of progress I may have stolen from you because I was sure that medication would do more harm than good.

Son, I’m not suggesting that medication is always the answer or even your long term solution, but it has enabled your best life right here, right now & for that, I’m thankful.

From this day forward, I vow to be more open minded. I vow to continue learning & growing & expanding my ability to consider other possibilities & I vow to assume the best. I vow to never stop fighting for you.

I love you Lucas Aaron.

Mom ❤️

This was a difficult post to write & even more difficult to put out into the world, but I know there is a caregiver somewhere who needs to read these words. They need permission to look at options.