Summer

We’ve entered summer when caregiving feels hot and heavy. We plead for a miracle because the treatments have stopped working, or perhaps our child is experiencing new medical problems, or our loved one has relapsed, or maybe our son or daughter has entered puberty. Their aggression and destructive behaviors have grown intense.

We’ve grown weary of the never-ending duties, and our lives begin to feel overwhelmingly difficult. We find ourselves trapped in a loop of distress, lacking any sort of rhythm or routine.

One beautiful summer day, I took my children to the park. The kids excitedly ran off to play, and I encouraged Lucas to join. “Come on, Lucas!” I coaxed. But he screamed and reached to pull my hair. “Lucas, let’s play!” I tried again.

Lucas continued to scream and started to circle the van, pacing around it like a tiger trapped inside a cage, except Lucas wanted to go back inside the van. He tried each window before yanking on the door handles, the windshield wipers, and then my body.

A nearby father grabbed his young son’s hand and walked away from the disturbance. “Lucas Aaron,” I hissed, “do not ruin this for everyone!”

Instead, Lucas pulled me down onto the hot asphalt with him. We sat there together while he screamed and stimmed, only wanting what made sense to him: to return home to his favorite brown chair and his favorite iPad with its blue case. He wanted only that and nothing else.

I sat beside him, fighting back tears. I remembered my once sweet little boy who was now an aggressive teenager and not so sweet, if truth be told. I contemplated his future, our future, and then I rose.

“Alright, you win,” I whispered and opened the van door, admitting defeat only ten minutes after arriving at the park. I hollered to my other children, “Sorry, kids, Lucas is done. Time to go home. We’ll try again tomorrow.”

Tomorrow, we will rise again and face a new day. We hope for a better outcome. We pray for answers and maybe one tiny win because God’s mercies are new every morning.

Though summer is a season of exhaustion and deep grief, I encourage you, dear caregiver, to hold on to he who is greater than he who is in the world (1 John 4:4). It is in Christ where we find our solace and strength to push through the heat and, with sweat dripping down our brows, continue to care for his flock.