I didn't plan to go THERE!

Today, one of my former students found out that her daughter has juvenile diabetes. It's always devastating to get a difficult diagnosis for one's child, no matter what it is. I was expecting my biological daughter to be dyslexic; with my genes, it would be surprising if she were not. And we cope with it fairly easily, although it did mean homeschooling her once she hit middle school. My other daughter's diagnosis of mental health issues was more unsettling. I had no idea what I was facing. I have many friends who have received difficult diagnoses about their children, be it cancer, autism (sometimes in multiple children), learning disabilities, or any of the other diagnoses that can turn one's world upside-down. They have all dealt with it with grace and courage. After the initial shock, they have rolled up their sleeves and gotten to work. Tiger moms (and dads) and activists rise from the ashes of dreams of an untroubled future. They have a new jargon, a new routine, and as one dad of a medically fragile child said to me last night, "It's old hat now." That doesn't mean it's always fun, but there is grace.

I've thought all morning about what to say to T. in response to her daughter's diagnosis. I've always been irritated by the well-meant words that God will never give you more than you can handle. First, I don't think God makes children sick. And second, you only have to watch the news to see that people often have more than they can handle. But I know that T. is a strong person, and I'm reminded of a story I heard at a dyslexia conference.

Imagine your delight. You are being transferred to the Rivera. All your life you have wanted to live in the south of France, and now you have your chance. In the depths of winter you will be eating wonderful French food and basking on the beaches. You've studied French for a long time in preparation; you have bought clothes appropriate to the climate. You climb on the plane and off you go.

The plane lands and you look out the window. Something is wrong. The landscape is blanketed with snow and, though it's just 5:00 pm, it's pitch dark outside. As you disembark from the plane, you are hit with an icy blast. You stand there in shock and your cell phone rings. There has been a change of plans and your new assignment is Norway.

You spend the next 24 hours in tears of rage and despair. It's not fair! Why did this happen to you? You don't have the right clothes. You don't speak the language. There are only five hours of daylight a day and it's freezing. The food is strange and you don't like it. You never had the slightest desire to go to Norway!! You go through the motions of finding a place to live, buying new clothes, starting your new job. Everything is harder because of the language barrier, the deep snow, the dark and the cold. Everything is a struggle and you are consumed with rage with the unfairness of it all.

Life goes on and you notice the days are getting longer. As spring comes, you start to look around. Oslo has many beautiful buildings that you never noticed before. The people are friendly and patient with your lack of Norwegian. As you sample more of the local cuisine, it loses its strangeness, and some of it is downright good. Summer comes and you visit the breathtaking fjords and enjoy the long hours of daylight and the temperate climate. You make friends and one day you realize you're okay with being in Norway. It's not where you wanted or planned to go, and you still feel a pang for what you are missing. But it's where you are and that can't be changed. You feel the anger dissipating. You know the winter and all its difficulties will come again, but you will enjoy the summer while it's here and cope with the winter when it comes. This is where you are.

So T., all I can tell you is that I'll pray for Abbey and hope for a cure. I hope your doctors are nice and knowledgeable. I hope you have a family and community that supports you. I can promise you that grace will come.