Last November my husband and I were called to an emergency meeting at the center where Lucky lived and we sat together, sided by side in the office, and listened, shedding buckets of sweat and a few tears as the staff openly admitted our autistic daughter may have to leave the facility because of her increasingly violent behavior and bullying. We talked about possible solutions and discussed what was next for her. Needless to say, it was one of those times when we knew we were in way over our heads. What was next for her, and for us?
After the meeting I stopped at a grocery store to pick up a few things. Although I was making an attempt at normality, my head was still in the meeting and the cortisol surge released in my body from the panic I felt earlier was undoubtedly affecting my thought processes. I drove the cart around, trying to make sense of what it was I was doing there and remember what food we needed. I looked at the shelf for clues. Bread. Okay. I placed my hand on a loaf and put it in the basket. There was an unfamiliar paper tag on the outside of the wrapper and as I examined it, I read the words, “You’re not Alone, You’re Loved.” Where did that come from?? I felt a little surge of hope and wondered at the timing of the message. My head took over and pushed the thoughts of my heart aside. There was someone in the store putting notes on things, and I got one.
I tracked down a group of girls who were congregating in the produce section, and let them know what they were doing was nice, thank you, it was sweet, and so on, offering my gratitude in return. I smiled at myself and my ability to figure out what was happening, and for taking the chance to say thank you for a much needed gift of hope.
I turned away and continued pushing the cart, going over some of the words in my head that I had just shared with this group of young women. At that point I noticed something on the cart handle–it was another note! When did that get there? Those girls! They got me again when I wasn’t looking. The note said, “You totally got this.” I stopped moving and let it sink in. The experience I was having in the store wasn’t provided for me so I could find out who did it and offer thanks. 
I had just come from a potentially life changing and devastating meeting and through tender mercies of the Lord, I was receiving encouragement and literal love notes from heaven, delivered by God’s angels. At the risk of again feeling the pain in there, it was okay to open up and let my heart feel the love offered to me, patching up some of the broken parts inside and slowly move forward again, with hope, knowing that I was “not alone” and with a lot of help and a little time, I would “get this.”
Ten days ago I decided, “Today’s the day.” I have a room in my house that serves as my office right now, and the last time it was used as a bedroom, I had hurriedly put up some wallpaper on one of the walls that was damaged, with no time to fix it, so I covered it well. My daughter-in-law has been living with me and in the daily process of talking to her about how they are working to make their “new” house livable, I have been gathering the steam needed to do some work on mine. So, she and I tore off the wallpaper in my office. There were several layers, right down to the wall board, which is problematic in my home. When the interior was originally painted, a strange type of acrylic paint was used that has a tendency to peel off, exposing the layers used to create the drywall, and the inside of the wallboard has the same qualities as cardboard. Think about trying to put anything with moisture on cardboard–dry wall mud, wallpaper, paint, etc—it becomes a ripply mess!
When it was off, I breathed a sigh of resolution, grateful that I had help, and that the process was behind me. I began the repair work. Dry wall mud, smoothed and sanded, holes patched, enough coats of mud to adequately sand the ripples “out” and then a light coat of mud to slightly texture the wall. It took days for it to dry and successfully cure to my satisfaction. Next was paint, a placid green, slightly tinged with blue, the color of some of the desert plants I had grown up with and come to love, peaceful and speaking of home. A second coat convinced me it was the right color. Then the thought-out, well planned yet bold experiment. I stenciled a mandala on a portion of the wall to make the place interesting and beautiful.
Mom's Tender Mercies 