They are more than that to us.

I've been opening my door to therapists for 9 years.  9 years  means I've got a lot of stories to tell, it means I've learned a lot and am a piece of paper away from being a real therapist, it means growing in my feelings towards these people who lug bags of toys into my home each day.  And because I know these women well, I know they'd go nuts if pictures of them were snuck onto this screen...so I'll just use my words.

Ms. Sarah, Ms. Michelle, Ms. Connie, Ms. Lyndsey, Ms. Lexie, and Ms. Deborah are names spoken in our home almost each hour of the day.  My kids know nothing else.  McKenzie wanted to invite her 4 therapists to her 3rd birthday because they were her only friends.  I love these ladies.  They are so much more than professionals to me, to us.  We hear each name spoke at the dinner table almost every evening.  Some have prayed intensely for our family, some have celebrated new life with us, showered our kids with gifts, watched birthday candles be blown out.  Some have cried tears with me, some have tears of joy just sit on their cheeks when they get what a miracle a milestone is and that God has been so incredibly gracious with us.  I've seen goosebumps appear when my son does something he just isn't suppose to be able to do yet...they rejoice and get chills over God's goodness.  God speaks to me through them, uses some to encourage me when I feel so very alone on the journey.  Some remind me I can do it when I feel so useless and confused.  These women aren't just therapists to us, they are aunties, encouragers, and my friends.  On therapy days I feel like making coffee and begging them to stay and chit chat, they stay for an hour not knowing they've given me enough encouragement for the rest of the day's hours.

It's taken me a lot of years to get here.  With Zac's therapies, I was all about taking notes, changing his outcome.  With McKenzie I was in denial, wanting the diagnosis to be wrong, seeing therapists as threats, wanting to prove to them that she was just fine.  Living in isolation with her, the therapists became my only contact with humans each day, and I craved their fellowship and sometimes begged them to stay.  With Carter, they are my friend.  They love my son more than just another client, and they are invested in my other kids because they know our story, they've seen my tears, they've begged God for us too.  Some of them read here, therefore they've read my heart and know me well, and some don't know these words exist and have fallen in love with a red head, they've marveled over his story and they've brainstormed for my other children, they know how my heart aches for the hurting in my family, and they've sympathized and encouraged when I needed both.

I cannot imagine a life of playdates, cruising the mall with other moms, and having my baby on my lap for story time at the book store.  But I know this life, the one where I get 6 women doting over my children, racking their textbooks and their brilliant brains on how to change their forevers.  There may not be coffee, but I am so thankful for their investment in my family.  It is so much more than therapy.