My son’s nervous system disability is preventing him from participating in typical 7-year old things right now. Even the most basic parts of daily life are too taxing right now.

I sent our hairstylist an SOS message this week, promising to comb out the matted mess on the back of his head before we came for a “no grooming required” cut. She gave me a speedy trim while my son warmed up to the environment with headphones on

Welcome to the wonderful world of Wyatt.

You never know what you’re gonna get, but you know you’re gonna get it 100%.

Like Wyatt says, “When you turn 43, you don’t get taller. But you do get better.”

A poor subject asked Alexander the Great for a small financial gift. Alexander gave him a large city. When the poor benefactor insisted the gift too great, Alexander responded, “The business is not what thou are fit to receive, but what it becometh me to give.”

I read this account in a Biblical commentary, paralleling the extravagant gift to God’s lavish supply of wisdom for those who ask. (James 1:5.) Upon further investigation, I learned Alexander the Great most often gave for self-glorification. The large gifts were cruel burdens for those not equipped to bear the responsibility.

Welcome to Baking with Wyatt… where you just never know what’s gonna happen in the kitchen.

Have you ever sat down for “quiet time” with the Lord, but your thoughts were too loud? Or determined to “get back on track” after wandering off the narrow path but didn’t know how to find it? A relationship with God can feel intangible and hard to grasp, at the current speed of life.

Recently, after a whole lot of life left my head spinning, I sat in front of my Bible blankly. I wondered if ancient words would land on present turmoil. I turned to the Psalms, knowing the authors poured out unfiltered emotions and messy life in those pages. I found relief in Psalm 105. The first five verses actioned specific ways to turn toward God while life rocked, rolled and roared.

We met 20 years ago. I had just turned 22 and moved to LA by myself to start a graduate program at Fuller Seminary. It is a WILD understatement to say this small-town girl had no idea what she had gotten herself into.

I moved into an apartment on campus with two perfect strangers. We slid notes under the doors of the other women on our floor, inviting them over for ice cream. That was the unexpected beginning of the most authentic friendships I've ever had…

One week ago, I was boarding the last flight home from our two-month USA trip. I enlisted USA’s Transport Security Administration’s (TSA) support service for each flight because my autistic son struggled tremendously in transit. “TSA Cares” provides a Passenger Support Specialist to get you through security and to your gate.

Our last flight departed from “the world’s busiest airport”. I had been warned repeatedly that support was dependent on availability, and they were “very understaffed”.

We are HOME! I don’t think it’s ever felt so good to be home. Eight weeks of international travel. Over 30 hours to get home on the last leg. We did it! The boys did great! Happy brothers!

I called her… actually I think I just texted her… at the end of February and told her I had to come to America with the kids. She didn’t skip a beat. She just asked when she should fly in to help. She’s been ALL over the place with us over the last two months, sacrificing more than even I can understand. And she’s really seen the underbelly of special needs parenting.

But she’s never stopped being my mom first. In our worst of times on this trip, when I need the most help, the kids won’t let anyone but me near. So my mom stands back, quietly, longingly, and watches over ME. She gives her whole self, even when she feels stuck on the sidelines.

My youngest sons and I are traveling through America. The boys have loved meeting family and learning their heritage. My 7-year old son has complex special needs, and the travel has been overwhelmingly difficult for him. We have canceled flights, changed plans, and seen less people than we’d like to accommodate.

Last week, we took a long flight from Houston to Los Angeles to submit South African visa applications. The airport, flight, LA traffic, hotel stay, and waiting in a big office was more than my son could handle. My mom was with us, and we’d planned on staying with her from that point. But her home was three hours away. My son just couldn’t. We sat on the floor of a train station in LA, completely exasperated…

If you ever find yourself sitting on a train station floor, paralyzed by your child’s disability and inability to do the next thing…

Or mentally, emotionally and physically exhausted from multi-tasking rapid decision making, the admin of living abroad, and managing meltdowns on a very small amount of sleep…

Have a party. Whatever kind of party you need it to be. Just make sure you call it a party.

What we were up to last week. (And why I was so quiet in communication!)

The video says it all…

I didn’t know how I could see a lifetime of people I loved while my feet were so briefly on American soil. I was in my hometown, but my kids’ needs trumped my desires for connection, reunion and alllllll the things. A few very dear friends and my cousins helped me put together a dream God put in my heart when I began planning this trip. It only took a few text messages in transit. They orchestrated the details, created an invitation, and made the snacks. People from every chapter of my story gathered in one room, in the church that taught me about the Church, for a couple of sacred hours.

It was too short. It was just right. It was everything

Yesterday was a “get through it” day. The needs of my 7-year old autistic son, Benjamin, trumped the plans and preferences of everyone else. On those kind of days, I choke back parenting principles to let safety and regulation be the priority.

Wyatt, his 4-year old brother, tried to process the long, hard day at bedtime. With tears streaming on his pillow, he said he didn’t want his brother to have hard days. Wyatt confessed he had disobeyed because his brother was disobeying, and he wanted to have the same kind of day as his brother. Wyatt loves his brother fiercely. He does everything he can to stay in close proximity “to make sure he’s ok” and puts Benjamin’s needs above his own.

My youngest sons and I are one month into our USA trip, with at least one month to go while paperwork clears. We’re currently in my hometown, staying with a woman who’s like a second mom to me. My mom drove 24 hours from the west coast to be here in Texas with us.

Right now, my boys and I are struggling with allergies and bad coughs. My autistic son’s autoimmune condition is activated, making regulation impossible. There’s a whole lot of coughing, crying, and “body alarms going off”. Still, the admin has to get done. Passports, social security cards, drivers license renewals… lots of uncomfortable government waiting rooms.

I’m writing this 10,000 feet above ground, from an airplane somewhere between Tennessee and Texas. My youngest sons and I have been away from “home” for almost four weeks to renew necessary documents for life abroad.

When we arrived a few weeks ago, the twangy accents caught me off guard. My kids are being raised in a country with 12 national languages, so they just assumed people were speaking other languages!

Have you ever wondered why it’s called “Good Friday”?

Today we remember the Son of Man, the Word made flesh, crucified on the cross. (John 1:14) He left heaven for earth to walk with us and talk with us. On Thursday, Jesus was betrayed. On “Good Friday”, He was “pierced for our transgressions” and “crushed for our iniquities”. (Isaiah 53:5) The crowd cursed Jesus while He prayed for their forgiveness. For our forgiveness. (Luke 22:34) Nothing could have seemed good on that Friday.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer said, "The cross is not the terrible end to an otherwise godfearing and happy life, but it meets us at the beginning of our communion with Christ.”

I’ve been a little more quiet here the last couple of days because life has been very loud. Yesterday was the hardest day we’ve ever had with Benjamin - hard on everyone. It was one of those nights you go to bed begging God to override memories and cover the rest with grace. Especially for the little ones...

Last week, my youngest sons, mom and I flew from Cape Town to Atlanta. We had no idea how my autistic son would handle the long trip. The kids didn’t sleep, but we stumbled through Atlanta’s airport with joy. One last security gate to go before a deep breath and a six hour layover.

That security line was like a scene from a horror movie. Hoards of Spring Breakers flights had been cancelled at the same time as a partial government shutdown. We walked into a huge room of at least 1,000 people, almost no employees, and immeasurable chaos. People were screaming, pushing, shoving - tired travelers and unpaid employees alike. By this time, we were in a medical emergency. My son was not coping well. Disgruntled employees said no one would help me.