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Our son was in Kindergarten during this time of marriage upheaval. I mention this because I not only had my husband’s issues to deal with, but our son’s as well. He’d been diagnosed with Expressive Language Disorder a few years prior to his entering the school system and let me tell you, once your child hits the school system it’s a whole new world for you. If you have been blessed with a “normal” child, consider yourself fortunate. However, if you have a child with any disability you’re more than blessed. You’re highly favored as well regardless of the fact you might not see it as a blessing right now.

Our son needed speech therapy, and we were still in the process of seeking a psychologist to help determine what else was going on with him. He had certain autistic traits but we knew (believed) he wasn’t autistic. I’d seen kids with autism, and my son didn’t seem to mirror those I knew, although as we sought answers to this I learned the word autism is the BIG label and from there are many branches.

The school my son was attending knew of the first diagnoses, and was aware we were seeking farther answers. They, the individuals what worked with him, recognized something was going on with him and were looking forward to knowing what the test results were. In the mean time, there was a gung ho, fresh out of college counselor at the school who felt it necessary to call social services and report my son had told her I had kicked him in the stomach.

Hey, I’m all for protecting children, but I also recognize several things. First, most kids who are being abused don’t say anything. Second, the fact I weigh just over 200 lbs and my son hadn’t missed a day of school should have been a clue the counselor should have used the brains God had given her and talked to the other members of the team before calling social services to report possible child abuse.

I admit it. I was mad. Not worried, just mad. I had a meeting with social services and they themselves couldn’t believe the counselor jumped to the conclusion of child abuse.

I bring up this story because the event added more stress to my life, and I was holding on by a tread. I was dealing with a son whose diagnosis was eluding us, and a husband who needed a job. Frustration was my middle name and continuing to tie a knot in the end of my rope didn’t seem to be helping. I truly needed a break though from constant attracts. I wasn’t reading my bible anymore…who had time?—and it didn’t seem to have helped anyway. I kept telling myself God would come through, but I didn’t see anything happening to make my life easier.

Funny thing about God; nowhere in His word does He promise a rose garden on earth if we believe in Him, but there is a hope. I just have to keep tying knots in my rope until the blessings come, and there’s hope for you—keep tying those knots. The rope will be long enough. God’s word says He will never give us anymore than we can handle.