Tag: christian mom

We Prayed for This Season

by Julianna, posted in Our Journey

I’ve found myself pausing more.

Something is happening right in front of our eyes.

The things we have been praying for.

The things we have been crying out to God for.

The things we have been waiting on for so long.

They’re happening.

And I don’t want to rush past this season without acknowledging it.

From the Hard Season to the Harvest

There was a time when everything felt heavy.

When progress felt slow.

When days felt long.

When it felt like we were pouring out everything we had—emotionally, mentally, spiritually—and wondering when we would see breakthrough.

But in that season, something else was happening too.

We were growing closer to God.

In the uncertainty.

In the exhaustion.

In the moments where we didn’t have answers.

We learned how to lean on Him in a way we never had before.

And now?

It feels like we are stepping into a season where we are reaping the harvest of everything we walked through.

A Year of Waiting, and So Much Grace

Recently, August had to undergo a dental procedure at Children’s Hospital.

He was placed under general anesthesia, and if I’m being honest, I had been carrying the weight of that for a long time.

We waited an entire year on a waitlist just to get an OR date.

A whole year of praying.

Preparing.

Wondering how he would handle it.

And when the day finally came…

He did so, so well.

The procedure was completed successfully, and his recovery has been nothing short of amazing.

No meltdowns.

No major dysregulation.

Just peace.

It felt like God met us there in such a tangible way.

Prayers Being Answered in Real Time

We’ve been witnessing something that’s hard to fully explain unless you’ve lived it.

We are seeing prayers answered in real time.

August has started using new phrases like:

“I did it.”

And it’s not just that he’s talking.

It’s that he’s using his words with intention—at the right time, in the right way.

We’ve prayed for this.

We’ve hoped for this.

And now we’re watching it happen.

New Growth We’ve Never Seen Before

Another milestone that has felt incredibly special…

August has started forming attachments to toys—and even more than that, he’s engaging in pretend play.

This is something we had never really seen before.

And now?

We’re watching him imagine, engage, and interact in ways that are completely new.

It’s one of those moments where you just stop and think,

This is what we’ve been praying for.

The Kind of Wins That Change Everything

And then today…

August let us brush his teeth with zero tears.

No meltdown.

No struggle.

No stress.

And even more than that—he transitioned right back to playing afterward like it was nothing.

If you know, you know.

This isn’t small.

This is something that used to feel impossible.

It Was Worth It

And I don’t say that lightly.

The hard days.

The meltdowns.

The waiting.

The prayers that felt unanswered for so long.

All of it.

It was worth it to stand here now and watch this kind of growth unfold.

Not because everything is perfect.

But because we can see God’s hand in it.

So clearly.

God Was Working the Whole Time

This season has reminded me of something I don’t want to forget:

God wasn’t absent in the hard season.

He was preparing us.

Strengthening us.

Growing us.

Drawing us closer to Him.

And now, we’re seeing the fruit of that.

Not all at once.

Not in a flashy way.

But in steady, meaningful, undeniable growth.

Holding Gratitude and Awe

We’re still learning.

Still growing.

Still walking this journey day by day.

But right now, I just feel a deep sense of gratitude.

And honestly… awe.

Because watching your prayers unfold in front of you?

That changes you. That changes everything.

If You’re Still Waiting

If you’re in a season where you’re still praying…m

Still waiting…

Still hoping for breakthrough…

I just want to gently remind you:

God is still working.

Even when you don’t see it yet.

Even when it feels slow.

Even when it feels hard.

Because I was there too.

And now I’m watching things unfold that I once only prayed for.

The Childhood We Didn’t Expect (But Learned to Love)

by Julianna, posted in Fun & Family

There are a lot of things people associate with autism.

Therapy appointments.

Evaluations.

Meltdowns.

Sensory needs.

And yes — those things are part of our life.

But so is laughter.

A lot of it.

When August was first diagnosed, I quietly grieved the picture of childhood I had always imagined. The one where everything looked typical and predictable.

But over time, something changed.

Instead of focusing on what we thought childhood would look like, we started paying attention to what actually makes August happy.

And it turns out, the little things are where the joy lives.

August loves music. When one of his favorite songs comes on, he lights up. He’ll bounce back and forth and sway side to side like the music is moving through him.

Sometimes he claps along to the rhythm. Other times he snaps his fingers and makes silly sounds while he dances.

It’s impossible not to smile when you see it.

He also loves light-up toys and anything that makes sound. One of his favorite things right now is the Bluey keytar he got for Christmas. If music starts playing in our house, there’s a very good chance August is nearby, happily pressing the keys and dancing along.

Another thing August loves is connection.

He gives the best hugs and is always ready with a high five. And if you try to tickle him, be prepared — he will absolutely dissolve into laughter.

But if you asked August what his favorite activity is, the answer would still be easy.

Jumping.

More specifically, jumping and crashing onto his crash pad.

He will jump, crash, bounce back up, and do it all over again with the biggest grin on his face.

And when summer comes around, the trampoline has some competition.

August loves water play. The sprinkler, the hose, splashing in puddles — if water is involved, he’s all in. Watching him run through the sprinkler and laugh is one of those simple childhood moments that never gets old.

One thing autism has taught us is to never take small milestones for granted.

Things that once felt ordinary suddenly feel worth celebrating. Progress is noticed more carefully. Little victories matter more.

And because of that, the joyful moments feel even bigger.

Not every part of an autism diagnosis is easy or fun. There are hard days. There are challenges we didn’t expect— and still don’t know how to handle.

But we’ve learned something important along the way:

We still get to have fun.

Sometimes it just looks different than we once imagined.

Sometimes fun looks like dancing in the living room.

Sometimes it looks like silly sounds and belly laughs.

Sometimes it looks like a boy jumping full force onto a crash pad over and over again.

And sometimes it looks like a mom sitting on the couch watching all of it unfold… while silently wondering how one small human has this much energy.

We don’t spend our time mourning what we once thought August’s childhood would look like.

Instead, we’ve learned to celebrate the childhood he’s actually living.

And in many ways, this journey has shaped us as parents in ways we didn’t expect.

It’s taught us to slow down.

To notice the little things.

To celebrate progress, no matter how small.

And that perspective is something we now carry into raising Sawyer too.

Whether his path includes a diagnosis or not, we want to approach his childhood the same way — with gratitude, patience, and a deep appreciation for the moments that make him who he is.

Because at the end of the day, joy doesn’t have to look typical to be real.

And August brings a lot of it into our home.

(Along with an impressive amount of trampoline bouncing and full speed crashing.)

This Is Our Testimony in Motion

by Julianna, posted in Our Journey

I want to share something clearly — and from a place of deep peace.

As a family, we believe that God has already healed August.

Not “maybe someday.”

Not “if everything lines up perfectly.”

Not “if therapy works hard enough.”

We believe it is done.

And right now, we are walking patiently and faithfully as we wait for that healing to manifest physically.

That doesn’t mean the journey isn’t real.

We still sit in evaluations.

We still attend therapy.

We still navigate meltdowns.

We still have hard days.

We feel them.

But we walk through them anchored in something steady.

August’s diagnosis did not surprise God.

Autism is not stronger than the name of Jesus.

And this story is not over.

There are days when our faith feels bold and immovable.

There are days when it feels quiet and whispered.

Both count.

We are not pretending the road is easy.

We are choosing to trust the One who walks it with us.

We believe August will be fully restored to health.

We believe God is going to use him in a mighty, powerful way.

We believe his life will point people to the Lord.

We know not everyone will understand this kind of faith, and that’s okay — this is simply where the Lord has anchored our hearts.

And while we wait, we praise.

We praise God for:

• The progress we’ve already seen

• The growth that is happening

• The strength in our marriage

• The compassion growing in our family

• The faith that has deepened in the waiting

This blog is not just about autism parenting.

It is a record of what God is doing — in August, and in us.

Every therapy session.

Every breakthrough.

Every hard moment.

Every answered prayer.

This is our testimony unfolding in real time.

We don’t know the timeline.

We don’t know the method.

But we know the Healer.

And until the fullness of that healing is visible, we will keep showing up.

We will keep advocating.

We will keep praying.

We will keep praising.

To God be the glory — in the waiting, and in the restoration.

Navigating Meltdowns

by Julianna, posted in Parenting

Let’s just say it plainly.

Meltdowns are freakin’ hard.

Not the “wrong color cup” kind. I mean the full-body, nervous-system-overloaded kind.

For a long time, I thought meltdowns meant I was doing something wrong. That if I had prepared better or transitioned smoother or explained more clearly, we could avoid them.

Sometimes prevention helps.

Sometimes it absolutely does not.

And that was a hard lesson for me.

First: You Cannot Reason During a Meltdown

You cannot logic someone out of a nervous system that’s completely overwhelmed.

Trying to reason in the middle of it only makes things worse. It’s not the time for life lessons. It’s not the time for “use your words.” It’s definitely not the time for consequences.

When August is melting down, we don’t lecture.

We make sure he’s safe.

And then we give him space.

August needs space and a soft place to land — literally. We actually have a crash pad in our living room. Just fully committed at this point. If he needs to drop to his knees or crash forward, there’s somewhere safe for him to do it.

When he’s overwhelmed, his body needs release. So we clear the area, stay close enough to observe, and let him work it out.

Close enough to protect.

Far enough not to add more input.

Because nothing says “we’ve adjusted to autism parenting” quite like home decor that doubles as impact protection.

When It Was Really Hard

There was a season when his meltdowns were intense.

He would scratch his arms until they bled.

He would claw at his face.

He would pull at his hair.

It was heartbreaking to watch.

In those moments, space alone wasn’t enough. We had to step in physically to keep him safe. Sometimes that meant giving him a firm “bear hug” — not as punishment, but as protection. Just enough pressure to keep his body from hurting itself.

No one really prepares you for becoming a human weighted blanket, but here we are.

Those were exhausting days.

What Helps August

Over time, we learned that August benefits from proprioceptive input — basically, deep pressure that helps his body regulate.

So we adjusted.

We give him firm squeezes to his large muscle groups.

We press his hands between ours.

We use headphones when he needs pressure around his head.

At school, he sometimes benefits from a compression vest.

These aren’t magic fixes.

But they help.

And sometimes helping a little is enough to shorten the storm.

What I’ve Learned

Meltdowns are NOT manipulation.

They are overwhelm.

They are a tiny nervous system saying, “I cannot handle this right now.”

Our job isn’t to control it.

It’s to create safety within it.

Some days that looks calm and confident.

Some days that looks like me whispering, “Lord, please,” under my breath while barely holding it together in public.

But we’re learning.

We’re adjusting.

We’re finding what works for August.

If you’re walking through intense meltdowns right now — sitting on the floor while your child cries, or driving home in silence after a public one —

You’re not failing.

You’re learning your child’s language.

And that takes time.

August, always.

The Day We Got The Diagnosis

by Julianna, posted in Our Journey

April 22, 2024.

August was three.

But honestly, that day didn’t start in April. It started when he was about a year old and I began noticing he was behind. He started Early Intervention at 16 months, and from then on therapy appointments just became part of our weekly routine. Like preschool… but with more assessments and fewer goldfish.

We waited almost a year for a full evaluation.

A whole year of wondering.

A whole year of “maybe.”

A whole year of trying not to Google things at 11 p.m. and absolutely Googling them anyway.

By the time we finally had the three long days of testing — several hours at a time — Dakota and I were emotionally exhausted. We were there for every session, nodding like we fully understood everything, while internally spiraling.

We had suspected autism for a while. But suspicion still leaves room for denial. A diagnosis does not.

When the report came, I didn’t want to read it.

Reading it made it official.

Autism Spectrum Disorder.

Level 3.

Very substantial support.

Intellectual impairment.

Severe language delay.

Those words felt…clinical.

I didn’t even really know what “Level 3” meant. I just knew it didn’t sound like “oh, you’ll barely notice.”

Seeing phrases like “severe” and “very substantial support” attached to my three-year-old felt unreal. On paper, it looked terrifying. In real life, he was still the same little boy who lined up his toys and laughed at the exact same part of his favorite show every time like it was brand new.

I’ll be honest — I was having a full menty b.

Not because I didn’t love him.

But because I didn’t know what this meant.

I didn’t know anyone walking this road.

I didn’t know what the future would look like.

Ignorance had been easier. Before the report, I didn’t know how severe it was. Now I did. And that knowledge felt heavy.

The drive home was quiet. There were tears. Dakota was steady beside me — which is impressive considering I was in the passenger seat fighting for emotional stability. He carried us that day.

Reading the full evaluation later was its own experience. Seeing my baby “scored” in black and white hit differently. Clinical language has absolutely no bedside manner.

My faith felt shaken. I had questions I didn’t know how to ask and prayers I didn’t know how to pray.

But here’s what I know now:

It didn’t change his laugh.

The diagnosis didn’t change August.

It didn’t change the way he reaches for me.

It didn’t change the way God sees him.

It gave us language.

It gave us direction.

It gave us a starting point.

April 22 was heavy.

But it wasn’t the end.

It was the beginning of learning how to advocate fiercely, love intentionally, and trust God when the plan looks nothing like the Pinterest board I had in my head.

If you’re in that waiting season — or sitting in a quiet car after an appointment pretending you’re fine while absolutely not fine —

I see you.

April 22 changed our story.

But it didn’t break it.

August, always.