In an open letter to parents of neurodiverse children, the author wrote this:
“To the parents still finding their way, still learning how to grieve and love in the same breath, still waking up every day to fight a battle no one else can see.”
To grieve and love in the same breath. It is a reality that Lent mirrors – the path to the cross is painful, yet love is at its essence. Lent is a season of holding this tension—the sorrow of the cross and the promise of resurrection, the weight of suffering and the depth of the love of Jesus.
The journey to the cross is filled with sorrow and the suffering of Christ —but it is also filled with love in its purest form – love that chooses again and again to endure pain for the sake of us.
In the journey of parenting a child with special needs, grief and love are not separate; they are intertwined, woven together – they are part of the same breath. The grief is not always the kind that comes with loss, but the quiet, aching kind that settles in unexpected places. It’s in the milestones that come later or not at all. It’s in the moments when the world feels too loud, too unkind, too unaware of how much courage your child carries just to exist in it. It’s in the loneliness of navigating a path that few understand, of carrying a weight that can’t be put into words.
And yet, there is love. A love so fierce and consuming that it fills every crack, every weary space. It surpasses the weariness, the fight. It fuels you to keep going, to keep leaning ins
During Lent, we journey with the knowledge that grief does not have the final word. The cross is not the end of Jesus story. It is but the beginning of a new day, and a future for us.
The thing about grief.. it only exists where love does, too…
…And love?
Love is what God does best.
Read the letter here https://www.mamamia.com.au/hugh-van-cuylenburg-autistic-child-open-letter/
Blue Skies & Lollipops 