how I wonder

This Advent, many have been sharing what they are waiting for on Facebook and on Twitter. Things like this: waiting for the day when food banks are no longer needed...waiting for cancer walks to become obsolete...waiting for the day that living simply doesn't require a 200 page magazine...waiting for immigrants to find room at the inn. Although I haven't contributed to this conversation, I am waiting, too. I am waiting for kindness and compassion, for integrity and peace. I also am waiting for something much more personal. I am waiting for answers and revelation. I am waiting for the unknown to be revealed. I am waiting to see what the future holds for my son.

For three and a half years we've sought answers to Elliott's developmental delays. A few weeks ago, a brain scan revealed the source and according to one specialist, "explains everything." Although our son now has a diagnosis, which is both helpful and hopeful (as it is not thought to be degenerative), we still do not - nor ever will have - the definitive answers we sought. Even the most special specialist can not predict how our son's abnormality will affect his future cognitive functioning. His growth and development will continue one day at a time for years to come. And we will continue to wait and see.

As a result, we rejoice with every learned word, phrase and ability. We tear up when he learns a song and sings it in its entirety. (Twinkle, twinkle is the latest achievement - or, as he calls it, "How I"). We seek out all the therapy he's offered, eating our words and ideas about public school special ed, and choosing instead to give him every opportunity to develop. We hope and pray. And we wait.

As he gets older, the waiting becomes more difficult. The gap widens. Two year olds overtake him in vocabulary and understanding and potty training.

Recently a child asked our six year old, "Why is Elliott still wearing diapers?" And I can't help but wonder and worry what questions Liam might be asked about his brother in the future.

Liam, however, regularly reminds us that there are far more important things we don't have to wait for.

A couple days before Christmas break, Liam brought home and proudly read to us his "Holiday Collection" of essays. Each day for a week his teacher gave them a topic to write on: Christmas, a letter to Santa, a letter to the Grinch, a special gift they received. I expected the last one would be about LEGOs - the only gift he ever wants. Instead, Liam's essay, The Gift, said this:

Dear Elliott,
Thank you for always saying "ma, are you ok?" when I get hurt. I always say "I'm alright." And sometimes you try to pick me up! But always you tug on my arm. And I say ok, ok! And we go home.
Love, Ma

("ma" is how Elliott pronounces "Liam")

As much as Advent is about waiting, it is about the waiting being over. It is about Love come to earth. Love being born - in the lowliest and most unexpected places.

We are, by no means, an exceptional family. We don't have riches or status. We have made mistakes and poor choices. We have a son whose developmental future is unknown. But we have love. And when it breaks through in beautiful, surprising ways, the importance of what we wait for dims. Because what we have outshines it in every way.

God is love. The Gospel in a word is love. Love, love, love, love. All you need is love. In this, there is no wondering or worry, and no waiting.