A Special Kind of Missionary Mom

Last Sunday I was waiting for Sacrament Meeting to start and looking at the son of a dear friend who had just returned from an honorable two-year mission and would be giving his homecoming talk in our meeting. I felt emotional and grateful that he was home safely and had served such a wonderful mission. He had had severe health challenges in his teens and it was such a poignant moment to see him there, healthy and strong, with the adoring eyes of his parents on him.

Then I thought back to my own missionary's homecoming talk and what a unique and sacred opportunity it was for me to be a missionary mom. I thought how I could easily *not* have been a missionary mom if my child had made a different choice, and it is something that you can't really understand until you experience it. I felt sorry for women who don't get to be missionary moms.

Then I felt the Spirit whisper to me, "Someday you will feel sorry for women who don't get to be special needs moms."

My Son's Hands

My son is the only student on a big yellow bus that takes him to his autism school thirty minutes away. There is a driver and an aide and these teams change from time to time. My favorite team is two of the SWEETEST ladies I like to call "The Mexican Grandmas". I can hear them happily chattering to each other in Spanish as I walk with my son to the door of the bus. The bus is immaculate inside, and there is always a smiley-face fleece blanket hanging neatly on the bar behind the driver's seat. When it rains, the driver always leaves a towel on the bottom step to wipe your feet on. Both ladies squeal with delight when Sam steps onto the bus, and they talk to him as if he was their own precious baby.

This morning the driver reached out and held Sam's hand to help him climb up the bus stairs. She look sincerely into my eyes and said, "I LOVE it when he holds my hand. I feel something very special from him." I said, "Yes, he has a very special spirit, doesn't he?" She said, "Yes! That's it. Very special."

"A Voice from the Dust"

A lot of change seems to be happening in my life, including my trying to accept that my three older kids are spending most of their time away from home and even the United States. One grown child who lives a few hours drive from here talks about moving to Portland or NYC, one is in Jerusalem, and one is in Mexico. Meanwhile, my youngest has grown taller than both his parents and all but one of his siblings; even though he's progressing I feel more and more concerned (and guilty) that he is still in diapers and nonverbal and wondering how we are ever going to keep taking care of him as we age and he just grows stronger.

One way I've been coping with missing my older kids is by adopting a young mom whose own mom passed away about six months ago, helping her decorate her house, and decorating my patio and having their little family over for dinner. My friend's little girls notice everything cute I make so it's very rewarding. I call them my "practice grandchildren." (And Heavenly Father knows that decorating is key to my joy!) Another thing I've been doing is massively decluttering my house (preparing for the second half of my life) and this afternoon I was dusting off (literally!!) an old journal and found a letter from a friend who had written about being guided and protected by God even through times of great change. Reading her reassuring words was almost like uncovering a lost page in my patriarchal blessing and was so comforting to me today!

"And he answered, Fear not: for they that be with us are more than they that be with them. And Elisha prayed, and said, Lord, I pray thee, open his eyes, that he may see. And the Lord opened the eyes of the young man; and he saw: and, behold, the mountain was full of horses and chariots of fire round about Elisha." 2 Kings 6:16-17