Shock, Sadness, Devastation, and a Purpose

I had braced myself for the reality that awaited me, knowing that children's homes in Mexico would be vastly different from those in the US. But nothing could have prepared me for the overwhelming shock and heartache I felt upon arriving. We passed the concrete wall that barricaded the home and the 15 foot gate slammed behind us as we drove through. We emptied our car and children trickled out slowly, one at a time. The trauma and sadness etched into the children's faces spoke volumes, far beyond what words could convey. One of the teenagers, sat in the corner, never looked up as could barely even say her name, when asked. Their meek voices faltering under the weight of their past experiences.

 

The physical conditions were stark. With no air conditioning and only a few working fans, the heat was stifling. When I asked some of the kids what they wanted us to bring back, three of them said, "new pillows." Here in America, children would ask for the latest gadgets, air pods, or new TVs. Yet, these children, in their simplicity and need, asked for something as basic as pillows. My heart sank. The disparity in our worlds was laid bare in that moment.

Speaking with Irma, the director, through our translator, Melissa, my preconceived notions were shattered. Like many who come from fortunate backgrounds, I had assumed that toys, candy, and treats would top their wish list. I couldn't have been more wrong. She explained that what they really needed were lice shampoo, good deodorant, antifungal cream, Ziploc bags, and even loaves of bread. We went through their Amazon wish list, removing the unnecessary items and adding what was truly needed.

In our discussions, I suggested keeping bracelet kits for an activity for us to do during the Viaje Uno. Irma thought it was a great idea because the teenagers could make and sell them, earning their own money and learning how to budget and prepare for adulthood. She explained that when the children turn 18, they are released into the world to fend for themselves. Unlike in the US, where many high schools teach trades and skills, children in Mexico do not have such privileges. 

These children come from backgrounds of child abuse, abandonment, and environments rife with prostitution, rape, human trafficking, and drugs. The trauma they’ve endured necessitates that the girls and boys be separated most of the day, except during meal times and require constant supervision. I can't go into detail about their stories because they are not mine to tell, but believe me when I say they are far worse than any stories I've heard here, even after 12 years of fostering for Child Protective Services. From the moment we left until the moment we returned, I felt God’s protection and blessings on this planning trip. But after several hours at the home, I felt so defeated. How could we possibly make a difference with the few thousand dollars we had? The need was just so immense.

On my way home, I couldn't stop thinking about the dire needs Irma had discussed and how these teenagers would be sent into the world with nothing. The word "sustainability" kept echoing in my mind. How can we create something sustainable for the home? I don’t want to be part of a mission team that swoops in, brings toys and candy, and then leaves, only to return the next year. We need to make a lasting difference.

I'm still brainstorming and discussing possible ideas, but I'm thinking about building raised garden beds, bringing sewing machines to make pillowcases or curtains, or providing beads to make bracelets. My vision is to create something that lasts, something that will help these children and teenagers not just for a few days, but for years to come.

Please pray with me as we figure out how best to help these children and teenagers who have endured so much before finding Irma, and Casa Hogar Vision de Amor. Together, we can find ways to make a long-term impact and provide them with the stability and hope they so desperately need.

Navigating Fear and Finding Hope: My Journey as a Special Needs Parent at Awards Assemblies (Particularly at Electra ISD)

As a special needs parent, there's a unique blend of pride and anxiety that accompanies each milestone in my child's educational journey. Awards assemblies, in particular, stir a cocktail of emotions that few outside our community might fully understand. The experiences of the past linger in my mind, especially those painful instances when teachers seemed to intentionally exclude my child. These moments have left scars, making each new assembly a battleground for my nerves.

Today was no different. As I sat in the unfamiliar auditorium of Electra Elementary, my heart pounded as the general education teacher approached the podium. Memories of previous assemblies flashed before me—moments when my child was overlooked, despite their hard work and progress. I steeled myself for disappointment, fearing that history might repeat itself.

As the names were called in alphabetical order, my anxiety grew. With every "J" name announced, I inched closer to the edge of my seat. Our last name starts with "K," and as the last "J" was called, I braced myself. What if, yet again, my child was forgotten?

But then, the teacher announced my child's name. The rush of relief was overwhelming. I watched with tears in my eyes as my child, beaming with pride, walked confidently across the stage to receive their award. In that moment, every previous heartache seemed to fade into the background. The applause from the staff and students resonated deeply, a testament to the inclusive environment fostered at Electra Elementary.  

A few hours later, I attended the high school awards assembly, where Michael, my oldest attended. Though he’s not the most athletic kid, he played football for the first time this year at TLCA. Unfortunately, due to our school switch midway through the year, his athletic achievements went unnoticed. I braced myself for another potential disappointment, never expecting what happened next. Not one, not two, but three awards were given to Michael, including the Outdoor Education award, recognizing his dedication and hard work. As his name was called, a group of senior boys leapt up and started cheering for him. Soon, a chorus of over 100 students chanted "Big Mike, Big Mike, Big Mike." In that moment, a profound peace washed over me. The pain of his unrecognized athletic efforts melted away. I realized that recognition for one achievement does not measure his value. The enthusiastic cheers from his peers, his proud walk across the stage, and the acknowledgment from teachers and staff affirmed that others see and appreciate his quirks, his disabilities, and his friendship. His teachers recognized his dedication and perseverance.

Today was more than just awards assemblies. It was validation. It was a reminder that my children’s efforts are recognized and valued. I felt immense gratitude for the teachers and administrators who went above and beyond to ensure that all children, regardless of their needs, are celebrated.

Recently, I had been feeling particularly discouraged after Maddie's first ARD (Admission, Review, and Dismissal) meeting. The challenges discussed and the road ahead seemed daunting. I worried about her future and whether she would receive the support she needs to thrive. But today, watching my children being celebrated, my perspective shifted.

Today, I realized that my children will be just fine. The dedication of the Electra ISD staff and the kindness of their peers have rekindled my hope. Each assembly, each small victory, reminds me that we are not alone on this journey. My children are surrounded by a community that cares and champions their success.

As I look forward, I know there will be more challenges and more moments of doubt. But there will also be triumphs, like today, that will light our way. To every teacher, student, and staff member at Electra ISD, thank you. Your commitment to inclusion and recognition makes a world of difference. 

And to every special needs parent out there, hold on to these moments of pride—they are the beacons that will guide us through the toughest times. I know there are so many parents that don’t have this experience and that is not lost on me. If you are struggling with your school’s special ed program, I’ve been there, I know how hard it is. I know the pain and the heartache and times you’ve cried yourself to sleep. Don’t give up. Don’t lose hope. Keep praying for the right people to be placed in your child’s path. I pray for us too, often. 

We made it another year. 

Celebrate, celebrate your child AND you!