"Bye James! Have a good day at school. I love you."
"Love you. See you morning."
"No, not 'see you in the morning.' It's school time, not bed time."
"James do you want an apple?"
"No, say 'yes' or 'no.'"
"Yes or no."
"No James, say 'yes apple' or 'no apple.'"
"Yes or no."
Some days I grow weary from the same-ness.
From teaching the same lessons. From working on the same goals. From hearing the same mistakes.
Every day feels the same. Like Habakkuk, I want to cry out "O Lord, how long ... ?" (1:2).
My son is nine-years-old and I'm still changing his diapers, still lining up trains, still watching Blue's Clues every evening after dinner. In most ways, he's just like he was when we got his autism diagnosis when he was three. I often think, "How long?"
But then God answers me as He answered Habakkuk: look and see, wonder and be astounded. "For I am doing a work in your days that you would not believe if told" (2:5).
Look and see.
Even though James goes through our bedtime routine when he's getting on the school van, he now loves going to school and isn't anxious about being away from me. Just like I'm there when he wakes up, he knows I'll be there when he gets home from school. And even though he may not be able to say "Yes, I want an apple," he can tell me if he wants "green apple" or "red apple."
Wonder and be astounded.
Because even if James never progresses beyond where he is now, God is still at work. He's at work not only in James's life, but in my life, our family, and my ministry to other special-needs families. I am in awe of how God invites me to live out His purpose for my life through my calling of motherhood. That isn't same-ness. That is sanctifying.
If today feels just like every other day, look and see. Wonder and be astounded. And like Habakkuk, rejoice and take joy.
... yet I will rejoice in the Lord;
I will take joy in the God of my salvation.
God, the Lord, is my strength;
he makes my feet like the deer's;
he makes me tread on my high places.