I was just combing out my wet locks, half listening to the D.J. telling a story about a little boy with epilepsy, and his momma caught in a hard moment.
And maybe the story pierced my heart so deep because of my morning struggle of steady stopping, discussing "whys", and redirecting my three gals. So much so the scheduled lessons appeared pointless, swallowed deep under the current of negative attention seeking.
The boy and his family were sitting in a crowded restaurant, enjoying a meal when an episode attacked the boy. And in his battle, he started banging hands down hard on the table, grabbing the attention of all the other patrons.
A waitress quietly approached the table, handed the momma a note.
And if you're the momma of a special needs child, or three, you hesitantly, and anxiously open these notes. As if the stares and loud whispers aren't enough. Sometimes the written words are the hardest to breathe in, maintain a pretend smile with a bleeding lip.
The note read:
Another patron has paid for your family's meal in full with this message for you:
God only gives special needs children to special people.
And you know what I heard. I heard, "I gave you special needs children because you are my special one."
And through streaming tears, I stopped, and let His words grace kiss my broken, weary heart.
"You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you that you should go and bear fruit and that your fruit should abide, so that whatever you ask the Father in my name, he may give it to you."
John 15:16
