Some girls during their younger years take ballet lessons. During that time, it seems like every lesson is the same thing, day after day....and to some it may seem repetitious and even boring. Some aspire to become ballerinas, perhaps to become the ultimate prima ballerina. To do this a girl practices to dance en pointe, or upon her toes. To dance en pointe a ballerina must have balance and use the entire body for support. A ballerina seems to dance across the stage with delicate grace and beauty, seeming to float effortlessly like a butterfly lightly touching her toes upon the surface. Truth be told, this is only accomplished after years of pain and suffering. Underneath the beautifully laced slipper reveals feet that are scarred, bruised and calloused.
When my daughter was diagnosed with her disabilities, many people would tell me that Heavenly Father sent her to me because He knew I would be the best mother for her. Now, when I envisioned these "Special" mothers, I pictured women with the patience of saints who never raised their voices. I also pictured these women to be calm, always cheerful, heads held high and their feet lightly touching the ground as they effortlessly guided these angels from God through life.
Fortunately, someone sent me the following article by one of my favorite authors, Erma Bombeck.....
The Special Mother
by Erma Bombeck
Most women become mothers by accident, some by choice, a few by social pressures and a couple by habit.
This year nearly 100,000 women will become mothers of handicapped children. Did you ever wonder how mothers of handicapped children are chosen?
Somehow I visualize God hovering over earth selecting his instruments for propagation with great care and deliberation. As He observes, He instructs His angels to make notes in a giant ledger.
"Armstrong, Beth; son. Patron saint...give her Gerard. He's used to profanity."
"Forrest, Marjorie; daughter. Patron saint, Cecelia."
"Rutledge, Carrie; twins. Patron saint, Matthew."
Finally He passes a name to an angel and smiles, "Give her a handicapped child."
The angel is curious. "Why this one God? She's so happy."
"Exactly," smiles God, "Could I give a handicapped child to a mother who does not know laughter? That would be cruel."
"But has she patience?" asks the angel.
"I don't want her to have too much patience or she will drown in a sea of self-pity and despair. Once the shock and resentment wears off, she'll handle it."
"I watched her today. She has that feeling of self and independence that is so rare and so necessary in a mother. You see, the child I'm going to give her has her own world. She has to make her live in her world and that's not going to be easy."
"But, Lord, I don't think she even believes in you." God smiles, "No matter, I can fix that. This one is perfect - she has just enough selfishness." The angel gasps - "selfishness? is that a virtue?"
God nods. "If she can't separate herself from the child occasionally, she'll never survive. Yes, here is a woman whom I will bless with a child less than perfect. She doesn't realize it yet, but she is to be envied. She will never take for granted a 'spoken word'". She will never consider a "step" ordinary. When her child says 'Momma' for the first time, she will be present at a miracle, and will know it!"
"I will permit her to see clearly the things I see...ignorance, cruelty, prejudice....and allow her to rise above them. She will never be alone. I will be at her side every minute of every day of her life, because she is doing My work as surely as if she is here by My side".
"And what about her Patron saint?" asks the angel, his pen poised in mid-air.
God smiles, "A mirror will suffice."
I have since learned that these other special mothers are also dancing en pointe and getting stronger with each step. Some days it is the same thing day in and day out. Some days we go to bed feeling bruised and blistered and a bit calloused.. Each day strengthens us, we are made stronger from the inside out as we reach out to have support and balance. As you unlace our hearts you will find a love that lifts us across the stage of life just as we feel the curtain might come down upon us. My slippers are worn, tattered and the laces are all but gone but my joy is full as I look upon my children.
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