Invisible

I want to tell my kids that they are not invisible.

I want to tell them that they are seen and loved.  I want them to know that the other high schoolers sitting in their classes who are choosing to not see my sons are missing out. They are missing out on a friendship with a loyal, caring, compassionate and fun boy (or two, or three, or four).

I want them to know that my heart breaks every morning they head out the door for school. My mother's heart would do anything to protect them and provide everything they need.  But the fact is, I feel powerless to change it and them and those others who choose to not see the goodness and depth that exists within my boys. I just feel angry that it is still hard, that it is still not wanted, that it is not what it used to be.

I grieve all that was lost and I cry. I cry a deep cry that acknowledges, perhaps for the first time, the hole that exists within me because of what no longer is. I feel my heart crying, "Oh God, what have we done?"...knowing full well we did exactly what He asked us to do.

It was a transition of obedience.  But it was hard.  Honestly, it is hard.  Three months in, and I am tired and just wish it was all easier - the whole thing: life, work, school, friends, family, sports...

Moving has been the hardest thing we have ever done. It brings comparisons between what was and what is, and between who was and who is. It is a chance to grow and depend on each other and on God. But it is also a daily struggle of hoping each day is better than the one before.  Often it is two steps forward, and one step backward. I am very thankful for those who have helped us take the two steps forward each time, because there have been many! And I am also thankful for our church youth groups who have welcomed our boys with open arms.

Transitioning is a process and it requires courage and grace, strength and compassion, determination and perseverance. All are necessary in life; good things to learn; great things to become awesome at. My boys are becoming awesome at these things.  I see them change and try and dig deeper and learn to be more than they were, more than they could have been had we stayed put. And for that I am thankful, even if they don't see it that way.

But as I watch my son watch everyone around him I think, "Can you see him?  Can you just turn around and notice the boy standing alone behind you?"  I'm scared because I know that my boy is hurting; he is lonely but he is trying; he puts one foot in front of the other each morning and for that I am so proud of him.  He joins new groups and teams in an attempt to find a friend, someone who likes him for who he is, someone who laughs at his jokes and acknowledges all he is.

Someone who sees him.
Because he is not invisible.

He is loved and known. They are all loved and known.
I know that, and I pray that they know it too.