Moving Mountains One Stone at a Time

“The man who moves a mountain begins by carrying away small stones.” — Confucius

There is so much hard happening right now all around us…in our world, in our politics, in our schools. It seems impossible to detangle the threads of hate and suffering that permeate our news feeds. As a parent of a child with special needs, I ache for the loss of dignity and services and supports, disappearing all around us. And as a Christ follower, I ache for the way our most sacred text has been weaponized against the very people God has created and called good, which is to say everyone.

The thing is, I’m not sure how to proceed in it all. I know some are led to protest and others to hide under the covers until the storm passes. I feel a tug to each, but when I listen for where God is leading me, I find that the best thing I can do now and always is to love deeply and tell only the truth as I know it. I don’t know how to change policies or reverse the course of our country’s political divide, but I can love my husband and our girls every single day. I can show up to the meetings and advocate for supports that our neurodivergent population needs and deserves. I can share my story and hope that it lands in the hands of another mother who just desperately wants to know that she is not alone.

I want you to know that most parents raising children with special needs are afraid. We are afraid of further stigma, of unfair blame, of social exclusion, of the loss of funding for support staffs that make school and home and community care safe and possible and inclusive. We are afraid of what further attacks will be made on the things we hold so dear – diversity, equity, inclusion, and kindness. Somehow, even the words have become villainized. How in the world did we get here?

It takes a lot to stand up for oneself, and often, we are the ones doing so on behalf of our children, who often can’t do it for themselves. We hope and trust that they will be caught in a safety net of standards and systems that are now crumbling around us, and we stay up at night wondering what will happen when we are no longer there to provide that level of protection and advocacy.

If I’m being honest, it’s becoming harder to stay in community with those who support this abrupt change of course. It feels like a direct attack on my daughter, and that brings a level of grief and rage that threatens to break the ties of deep friendship and long-standing community I hold so dear. I’m still trying to figure that one out, but I know that such breaks will only deepen the divide and affirm the “us versus them” narrative I want so badly to see repaired. If I’m seeking to follow in the footsteps of Jesus and his teachings, then I am called to be a truth teller, a peace seeker, and a gentle listener. I am called to fold others in and not shut them out. I am called to forgive.

I don’t have a tidy ending or even an optimistic belief that the worst is behind us. The mountain seems impenetrable. But I hope that sharing my truth may move a single stone or, at the very least, release this bottled up need to do something, say something. Because at the end of the day, I really do believe that these three remain: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love. Oh Lord, may it be so.