😭😭😭 This is ruthlessly, generously, gut-wrenchingly honest and more powerful a testimony of faith than I’ve ever heard in a church. I love you. I love Cannon. Praying again and again and again and begging God for a miracle.
That was incredibly moving. I hate that you and Cannon have to endure painful things and honestly, that your enduring creates such moving and profound writing, but I’m also grateful that your ability to write causes me, and I’m sure so many others, to have immense empathy for the disability moms all around us. Reminding me to look up from my own mess to reach out to others who are walking tough roads - with hope.
Thank you for sharing your story. Every one feels like a mini therapy session for my soul. I walked the road of divorce/abandonment 13 years ago with 5 kids, and it always surprises me how freshly the pain rises to the surface in the most unexpected moments. The miracle of faith in the midst of everything falling apart, in the unhappy endings, the unanswered prayers, that is a true miracle indeed. And it is SUCH a beautiful testimony.
It’s amazing how, as someone with a “this prayer was not answered the way I hoped” story, my impulse is still to want to offer a solution. It’s so ingrained — this need to do something to feel a little more in control, and yet, I think some of the truest and most faithful moments have been in screaming at God (internally or otherwise). I always think about the fact that God doesn’t answer Job’s questions, he just confounds them by telling Job who he is. That’s frustrating and comforting, because I want my questions answered but it seems he only needs me to trust who he is. I am grateful that God also tells Job’s friends to be quiet, and then I find myself trying to act like them anyway. I don’t know, and maybe I’ll never know, what the balance of constantly seeking to improve a situation and also using what my counselor calls “radical acceptance” is. But I will pray for you and for Cannon and for your family today. You are so generous to share this, and we need more of the “even if he doesn’t” stories shared.
“And if not, he is still good.” Daniel 3:18—I hate that the fiery furnace of autism is your continued reality, I’m praying right now for a miracle—-but your honesty, your enduring faith, your cracked-open hope, washed of all pretense—-that’ll preach to a world desperately longing for light in the darkness. Thank you for writing, Katie
I’m blown away by your vulnerability and by all of the warm and insightful comments to this post. When you think of the seven of you, secretly and not so secretly think of it as 12 - because the Gadd’s just want to be with you all. In spirit but hopefully in person soon. Love you Katie and still praying for your peace in this season. Keep writing!!!
Thank you for making this available to free subscribers. Your words minister to my heart. God is working in your words. You are an amazing writer, mother, and believer.
From another disability mom - I hear you and I see you. It's getting harder as my son gets older....and my life gets more limits, as does his.
That last paragraph is so beautiful Katie. Wish I could give you a hug and buy you a decaf iced coffee (yes, I just listened to the latest coffee and crumbs episode).
Oh Katie. How to share my heart with you with just a few words? First, I so appreciate your raw honesty. I too came to a time that the happy ending, miracle stories didn't really speak to my heart but you know what did? The stories like you just told, the ones of struggle and searching and endless waiting, somehow those were the stories that connected me to God. I do think that those are the stories for testimony night. Rumi tells us it's in the longing that we know love (Love Dogs). It's in the dark night of the soul that we REALLY get to decide if we choose Him and in choosing Him I believe there is a LOT of questions and crying and begging for help. But like you said, even (maybe especially) the searching is worth noticing and calling miraculous. Please keep doing that and sharing your beautiful heart and words with us. Love you friend.
This is a beautiful lament which brought me to tears. I also grapple with the thought of God’s care of alllll of us…we have the example of God caring for the sparrows, but dammit, even they die. Thanks for writing and sharing. My sister is also on the Autism spectrum, so I feel you in a similar, but limited, extent. Sending big hearts and hugs.
"The gusto is gone. Optimism is elusive. And the hope, well, that’s hard to qualify right now." Katie, if we were together, I would look you in the eyes, place my hands on your shoulders, and say: Your testimony is for such a time as this. Keep writing.
I had a similar conversation about this kind of sadness around our “hard” children / lost opportunities and tantrums in public even after I thought I covered all the bases last night. This essay’s timing is a gift. I wish we were friends. I would tell you all about my deepest fears about what might happen to my kids when they are older and we’d laugh and cry and then go back to seeking cover in our foxholes. 🖤
Beautiful. I so appreciate your raw honesty, and while my circumstances are different the last two paragraphs hit me square in the face. I too thought my “good girl” status would protect me and, my oh my how wrong I was. Thank you thank you for the gift of this essay.
This is so beautiful. The most vulnerable things are. I needed to hear this reframing of “the miracle”. May I long for whatever miracle God may have store for me. I pray the same for you. Thank you
Thank you, thank you, thank you for writing this. Our stories are different (I’m dealing with mental illness and not disability) but the unanswered prayer and not-yet-miracle is something I’m achingly familiar with.
😭😭😭 This is ruthlessly, generously, gut-wrenchingly honest and more powerful a testimony of faith than I’ve ever heard in a church. I love you. I love Cannon. Praying again and again and again and begging God for a miracle.
Also praying. Katie, you have strengthed my faith in many ways, your testimony is powerful, raw, and honest
That was incredibly moving. I hate that you and Cannon have to endure painful things and honestly, that your enduring creates such moving and profound writing, but I’m also grateful that your ability to write causes me, and I’m sure so many others, to have immense empathy for the disability moms all around us. Reminding me to look up from my own mess to reach out to others who are walking tough roads - with hope.
Thank you for your writing Katie.
Thank you for sharing your story. Every one feels like a mini therapy session for my soul. I walked the road of divorce/abandonment 13 years ago with 5 kids, and it always surprises me how freshly the pain rises to the surface in the most unexpected moments. The miracle of faith in the midst of everything falling apart, in the unhappy endings, the unanswered prayers, that is a true miracle indeed. And it is SUCH a beautiful testimony.
It’s amazing how, as someone with a “this prayer was not answered the way I hoped” story, my impulse is still to want to offer a solution. It’s so ingrained — this need to do something to feel a little more in control, and yet, I think some of the truest and most faithful moments have been in screaming at God (internally or otherwise). I always think about the fact that God doesn’t answer Job’s questions, he just confounds them by telling Job who he is. That’s frustrating and comforting, because I want my questions answered but it seems he only needs me to trust who he is. I am grateful that God also tells Job’s friends to be quiet, and then I find myself trying to act like them anyway. I don’t know, and maybe I’ll never know, what the balance of constantly seeking to improve a situation and also using what my counselor calls “radical acceptance” is. But I will pray for you and for Cannon and for your family today. You are so generous to share this, and we need more of the “even if he doesn’t” stories shared.
“And if not, he is still good.” Daniel 3:18—I hate that the fiery furnace of autism is your continued reality, I’m praying right now for a miracle—-but your honesty, your enduring faith, your cracked-open hope, washed of all pretense—-that’ll preach to a world desperately longing for light in the darkness. Thank you for writing, Katie
I’m blown away by your vulnerability and by all of the warm and insightful comments to this post. When you think of the seven of you, secretly and not so secretly think of it as 12 - because the Gadd’s just want to be with you all. In spirit but hopefully in person soon. Love you Katie and still praying for your peace in this season. Keep writing!!!
Thank you for making this available to free subscribers. Your words minister to my heart. God is working in your words. You are an amazing writer, mother, and believer.
From another disability mom - I hear you and I see you. It's getting harder as my son gets older....and my life gets more limits, as does his.
That last paragraph is so beautiful Katie. Wish I could give you a hug and buy you a decaf iced coffee (yes, I just listened to the latest coffee and crumbs episode).
Oh Katie. How to share my heart with you with just a few words? First, I so appreciate your raw honesty. I too came to a time that the happy ending, miracle stories didn't really speak to my heart but you know what did? The stories like you just told, the ones of struggle and searching and endless waiting, somehow those were the stories that connected me to God. I do think that those are the stories for testimony night. Rumi tells us it's in the longing that we know love (Love Dogs). It's in the dark night of the soul that we REALLY get to decide if we choose Him and in choosing Him I believe there is a LOT of questions and crying and begging for help. But like you said, even (maybe especially) the searching is worth noticing and calling miraculous. Please keep doing that and sharing your beautiful heart and words with us. Love you friend.
This is a beautiful lament which brought me to tears. I also grapple with the thought of God’s care of alllll of us…we have the example of God caring for the sparrows, but dammit, even they die. Thanks for writing and sharing. My sister is also on the Autism spectrum, so I feel you in a similar, but limited, extent. Sending big hearts and hugs.
"The gusto is gone. Optimism is elusive. And the hope, well, that’s hard to qualify right now." Katie, if we were together, I would look you in the eyes, place my hands on your shoulders, and say: Your testimony is for such a time as this. Keep writing.
I had a similar conversation about this kind of sadness around our “hard” children / lost opportunities and tantrums in public even after I thought I covered all the bases last night. This essay’s timing is a gift. I wish we were friends. I would tell you all about my deepest fears about what might happen to my kids when they are older and we’d laugh and cry and then go back to seeking cover in our foxholes. 🖤
Beautiful. I so appreciate your raw honesty, and while my circumstances are different the last two paragraphs hit me square in the face. I too thought my “good girl” status would protect me and, my oh my how wrong I was. Thank you thank you for the gift of this essay.
Same, Allecia!! I immediately took a screenshot and circled that paragraph.. Thank you Katie for your deep vulnerability rooted in faith.
This is so beautiful. The most vulnerable things are. I needed to hear this reframing of “the miracle”. May I long for whatever miracle God may have store for me. I pray the same for you. Thank you
Thank you, thank you, thank you for writing this. Our stories are different (I’m dealing with mental illness and not disability) but the unanswered prayer and not-yet-miracle is something I’m achingly familiar with.
I have no words to add to what everyone else has already said. Stopping to pray now for you and Cannon.