I'm drawing on that encouragement today, as I sift through the results of a recent comprehensive assessment of my son's issues.
It wasn't pretty. And it broke my heart.
But I wasn't expecting pretty, so I am not sure why it hit me so hard. Somehow, seeing it there in black and white, confirmed and cross referenced with tests and data and observations, put to rest any vague hope that my son has not been significantly impacted by a birth mom whose substance abuse issues were substantial.
But there it was. Seven disorders/diagnoses. All of which devastates this mother's heart.
Don't get me wrong, though. . .this isn't a death knell for my son, or my family. They're just seven new mountains to climb. And we will climb them. We most certainly will.
But I can't help grieving for my poor young son who has trekked through endless mountains already. . .being forced to gaze down at the softly-grassed valleys where just about everybody else in this world (at least to him) seems to tread so easily. . .carrying no heavy burden.
I want to cry and rage and let fear grab hold, but I can't. I won't. It won't help.
So I read the report again, making notes in the margin. . .questions, points of action, numbers to call. . .preparing as best I can for what lies ahead. I feel like I'm an unwitting trail guide heading into an unknown land. But I am not that, either.
And I trust Him.
(doctor photo courtesy of www.publicdomainpictures.net and can be found here)