Drivelbane, Senior Tempter and Patient specialist, has been quietly working in the lives of exhausted special needs parents longer than any of us would like to admit. His qualifications are impressive. His references are glowing. And he’d very much prefer you never read this.
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“At least it’s not worse” is meant to bring comfort, but it often lands as dismissal. This post explores why comparison silences real grief, and how Scripture makes space for both gratitude and honest pain. You don’t have to choose between them.
The book was already in her cart. A friend had told her she had to read it. My mom’s jaw dropped.
There may be beauty for ashes — but did you ask for the fire? Consider how we can enter and honor grief, so that healing can begin.
Is it fair to search Scripture for passages about perseverance when we are experiencing “normal” life? Does our struggle have to meet a difficulty threshold before we can long for future hope?
If God only gives what we can handle, and I can’t handle this, then what is going on and what is wrong with me?
When a demon speaks tactics, spiritual vision clears. Of course that’s the lie! Why would I ever think or believe that? So much easier to acknowledge when the source is unequivocally evil.
Those who choose to walk with families impacted by medical complexity or special needs are heroes. They just might not always realize it.
The diagnosis was less than a week old when someone whispered, “God only gives special kids to special parents.” They smiled, expecting me to feel better. Inside, I was screaming. Here’s what I’m learning about platitudes that wound and biblical truths that actually heal—including the hula hoop principle that changes everything.