Many of you know our youngest son Hudson was diagnosed with Down syndrome shortly after birth nearly five years ago. (Catch up here: Can’t Buy This .) At four, he struggles to communicate. He makes lots of conversational noises and syllables. We just can’t understand it. (Yet.) His vocabulary is limited to a few handfuls of words, making each new verbal accomplishment that much sweeter.

Grace for Hudson by allie taylor

While he can’t always express himself, Hudson has a lot of rules. He lets us know those rules, words or no. Oh yes. He gets his point across loud and clear. Someday I’ll fill you in more on Hudson’s rules, which are many. But here’s an example. Each night before dinner we say a prayer, thank God for our meal, hold hands around the dinner table. Everyone usually sits in the same chair. Hudson sits at one end of the table, his big brother Jonathan at the opposite end. Jon and I sit across from each other on the sides, with Hudson between us. Every once in a while, the order gets “all shook up.” If I come in at the last minute carrying something hot, or one of us or the kids are away, etc. This really throws Hudson for a loop.

Because there are certain usual hands Hudson holds during dinner prayers every night. And those hands better be the right hands, or he’ll shake them off, look for the right ones. Make eye contact with the owner of the right ones….summon them over with little extended hands. He’s not mean about it, not mad or unkind. Just quietly shakes off the wrong ones, insistent he will hold the right ones, that we will be in the usual order at the table. Hudson’s a creature of habit, routine, doesn’t adapt well to change, has a lot of rules. And he’s stubborn about those rules.

True confession here. I do occasionally peek at Hudson during prayer. Not all the time mind you. Just every once in a while. He’s just so entertaining. Never know what he’ll be doing. His hands are eagerly clutching big hands. Sometimes his eyes are squinched tight, big toothy grin. Other times he peeks around the table, squinty eyed, wrinkled nose, going from face to face, hoping for a little attention he doesn’t get during prayers. Last night his eyes were shut tight, big smile, a happy little dance going on in that chair. Busy. Pleased about something. Swaying, smiling, shoulders rocking back and forth. You get the idea.

So yesterday morning I’m in a big hurry. Trying to get out the door to Bible study. I’m washing dishes, wiping counters, packing the diaper bag, etc. Hudson crawls up on the kitchen stool for breakfast. I put out a bowl of dry cereal (his favorite) and his sippy cup of milk. I’m moving fast, cleaning up the messy kitchen. But Hudson’s not eating. Both his little hands are extended out towards me.

“Ray, ray,” he says.

I rack my brain in the busyness of the morning, vainly try to think what he wants, what he’s trying to say.

“RAY!”  He’s really insistent now.

And thankfully, it dawns on me.

*Photo courtesy of Designs by Linda Nee

And I say “Pray?”

Hudson doesn’t miss a beat. In the early morning rush to leave for Bible study, I forget to say grace. Ironic. And he calls me on it. Hudson, he doesn’t let it slide. And he’s not going to eat until that breakfast prayer is offered. He’s so excited, smiles, clutches both my hands tightly in his small ones. I offer a simple little prayer over his breakfast, finish with “Amen.”

And Hudson squeezes my hands hard, yells a loud and excited “a-MEN!”

Related Post: Embrace the Gift

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Did you ever receive a gift you didn’t want? I mean, you really didn’t want or ask for. Did you cry, pitch a fit? Stamp your foot? Scream at deafening decibel: “I don’t want this! I wanted something different”?

Well I certainly hope not. That would be most impolite, quite rude. What the bratty little sugar-high kid does at his birthday party with too many guests, too many presents.

Embrace the Gift by allie taylor

The dictionary defines a gift as “something given willingly without payment, a present.” It’s great fun to receive a gift, even more so giving one. Gift giving is truly an art. A good gift giver doesn’t necessarily choose a gift according to his own personal taste.

A good gift giver considers the receiver’s taste, their interests, personality, hobbies, available space, life situation, etc. A good gift giver considers the recipient’s need. Not necessarily want or whim, doesn’t always give what the receiver asks for.

And a good receiver? Says thank you.

In April of 2010 I’m given a beautiful, custom-made gift. But not the one I ask for. Along with thousands of other expectant moms, I ask for a healthy baby. And I’m dismayed, shocked to discover I don’t receive what I ask for, pray for.

In time, shock recedes, anger wells as the permanence and reality of Hudson’s Down syndrome diagnosis and complications set in. And I behave like the bratty little birthday kid on the sugar-high at the party. Rude and demanding to the Giver. Stamp my foot. Ungrateful for my intricately woven, divinely chosen gift. God’s gift to me, our family.

I’m already blessed with three healthy boys, and my expectation is to receive yet another? Is this my due?

Monitors beep, blare as I pore over that perfect little profile in the NICU, tentatively reach through the isolette window, through tangled wires, feeding tube. Gently trace tiny velvety ears, count teeny toes. I wince at pitiful cries from blood draws on those precious little feet.

And I’m angry at the Giver. Angry for me. Angry that this baby gets no choice, receives an extra chromosome he never asked for.

Angry my family’s future has been forever changed in an instant.

I can’t see through the fog yet, don’t understand the Giver’s gifts are all good, beautiful. Don’t yet comprehend this gift was chosen tenderly, knit stitch by loving stitch with infinite care in the secret place, specifically for me, for us, our family.

For the Giver. To bring Him great pleasure and joy.

I don’t yet understand this gift will grow me, stretch me beyond myself, mold me into a different person. That in embracing, caring and advocating, I’ll experience intense pain but even deeper joy.

Don’t yet see how I’ll be forced to unravel a selfish corner of self I don’t know exists, learn self-sacrifice. That in receiving, unwrapping and embracing my gift, I’ll draw deep from the well, experience the true heart, kindness and goodness of a gracious Giver.

My eyes are wide open, but I’m blind. Eyes smarting, can’t see for the thick, stifling fog, the smothering, pressing in from every side, direction.

In time, I’ll see.

I’ll see in the silence, the quiet, the weeping. In the dark, baby rocking in the wee hours. In the loneliness. I’ll see in whispered prayers, perpetual medicine droppers. In prolonged snuggles, fluttered lashes.

I’ll see in pumping for an infant that can’t nurse. Counting precious fingers, toes. I’ll see in sacrifice. In years of reflux, changed sheets and clothes, towering laundry piles. I’ll see in the kindness, compassion, empathy of others. In staying home, missed ball games, recitals. In the first crawl at two, first labored steps at nearly four.

I’ll see in smiles, tiny triumphs, peeking mischievous eyes during dinner prayer. In sticky little fingers signing “I love you.” This is how I’ll see, drink in the grace, face of the Giver. How I’ll come to be thankful my family’s future has been forever changed in an instant. Changed for the better.

Maybe you’ve been given an unexpected “gift”, situation, diagnosis, pain. (Or several.) Something(s) you didn’t request, don’t want. Don’t know where you are in that process, your pathway to sight. Don’t be afraid.

Unwrap your gift, the one you didn’t ask for. Have faith. Believe it was carefully, lovingly chosen for you. Embrace it. Let your gift change and grow you, bless you. It might turn out to be your biggest blessing in disguise.

In time the fog will dissipate, the sun will rise again.

Hudson giggling with Dianne, September 2010

You’ll smile, maybe even laugh again.  In time, you’ll see.

Related post: She Picked Up Her Pen

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