Listen. Options were limited. You could say I was desperate — desperately frightened of the outcome had I not made the decision I did.

I was at the Dave Matthews concert with my husband, my son and his girlfriend, and my two sisters. We had just set up our chairs to sit and enjoy a bit of tailgating when a large black wasp decided to land on the edge of my shorts. I immediately jumped up to shoo it away only to watch in horror as it sought refuge up the inside of my shorts. So, yes. I did. Standing smack dab in the middle of our little tailgating circle, in full acknowledgement of the multitude of strangers gathered around us on all sides, I pulled my shorts down to my ankles. Thankfully, the unwelcomed hitchhiker swiftly made his escape and flew away once my shorts hit the ground.

Let’s pause here a sec and review what all the other characters in the story were doing. My son, seated directly in front of me, was probably calculating the amount of money he’d end up spending on his therapy. My son’s girlfriend was most likely weighing the pros of her chosen boyfriend against the ever-growing list of cons that accompany his family. Both were clearly unable to offer assistance by default of their relationship to me.

My husband and sister were directly behind me and, for reasons I have yet to understand, were frozen in place — unable to lift their chins from their chests, never mind offer me a hand. The fifth and final character in our story was thankfully operating with all her faculties and mercifully came over to pull my shorts up (although with great difficulty from laughing so hard) while I held tight to the edges of my shirt that I had stretched around my bottom half.

Humility. It’s a beautiful thing. Dignity is also, but sometimes life places us in situations where we are forced to trade one for the other. In a strange way, I’d submit that this scene is a microcosm of the challenging and oh-so-humbling world of special needs parenting — a world my husband and I joined thirteen years ago with the adoption of our daughter Mary who was born with Down syndrome.

Vulnerable and exposed. Much like standing among strangers with my pants down around my ankles, that is how I have felt since first bringing this beautiful and fragile soul home at two and a half months of age. Unlike her two brothers, Mary has significant and unique needs that we simply are not able to meet without the skilled support of many different professionals. I’ve always prided myself on having it all together and, for the most part anyway, figuring this mothering thing out one step, one moment, one child at a time. I quickly learned however that my options were limited.  While it was difficult for me to admit I couldn’t do this on my own, it was clear our daughter’s success rested on the welcoming in of many different characters to her story. 

We recently celebrated Mary’s thirteen birthday and being that it is a milestone she has been looking forward to for quite some time, we decided to go big. We rented space, ordered way too much food, brought in a top notch band and held a prom in honor of this young woman who is all about dressing up and dancing (and having all eyes on her). Looking around the room of those gathered to celebrate this young lady, I was reminded how incredibly grateful I am for our village of support.

There are always going to be those who sit back and watch from a distance, silently narrating their opinions of how you are handling things and assuming they could do better. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve been asked “how are things at home?” when Mary’s behavior at school is tough and can’t be explained. So vulnerable. So exposed. I don’t have all the answers and that weighs heavy. Mercifully, I am not alone in figuring it out. I’ve got a team of “puller-uppers”, and I am thankful for the role each one plays in our story..

From speech, occupational and physical therapists to special educators, para-professionals and behaviorists — this girl’s world has been full of people who see her potential long before I ever dared dream she could reach certain goals. My family and friends — they each seem to be what and where I need them when I need them.  Some just listen without pretending they have the answers, others help me see the humor in all that I can’t control and laugh with me, and some are my pillow when I just need to cry. I didn’t see it before. But now I understand each character is crucial to the fulfillment of this child’s story. The lessons God has taught me on this journey are not lost on me. He is written into every page and it is He who gives me the courage and strength to wear this cloak of humility with all the dignity it affords.