The house that love built.

One day, when Henry and his hundreds of trains are in a home of their own, we will sell this place we cherish. We’ll buy a little brick house in town, within walking distance of church and biking distance of the farmers market. Or maybe we’ll move to a little cottage tucked beyond the curve of a tree-lined driveway. Or maybe we’ll settle in a townhouse with a tiny fenced backyard, just big enough for tomatoes and hydrangea.

I’ll wash fewer clothes and have less floor to mop. I’ll stop stocking the fridge with shredded cheese and sliced pepperoni. I’ll drive more to pilates and less to technology clubs. I’ll host more Bible studies and less playdates.

Until that day, I will thank God for the gift of tripping over trains.

I will smile as I pack the lunchbox.

I will whisper gratitude as I fold his blanket and drape it over the bed.

I will listen with joy as he plays alone.

I will gladly accept when he asks for my company.

I will play endless games.

I will read books until I’m hoarse.

Because this is a house that prayer built.

This is a house that tears built.

This is a house that love built.

 

New here? Glad you made it! I write about my unique joys and challenges as Mom to Henry, a smart, tender, quick­-witted, train-loving, autistic 8-­year­-old with an infectious smile. I long to encourage autism parents and empower all to see inclusivity doesn’t have to be difficult - it can be beautiful. Like what you see? Sign up here to receive news and occasional freebies just for insiders.

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