happy being trevy

Trevy can now complete several school tasks with complete independence (after direct instruction has taken place).  As a former missionary and a woman of faith, I've been asked frequently to share stories of miracles. Mostly, people are looking for the whiz-bang stuff. The more whiz, the more bang, the more enthused they are. Most of the miracles I've observed would be more aptly classified as mundane, than whiz-bang. I am persuaded real miracles look much more like this: Faithful, consistent, little by little, inching along — often not even daring to give your "someday" hopes real form but letting them sit in your heart as a shadow — then one day you look up and that shadowy hope is sitting at a desk working out math problems while you chop up veggies.

Trevor's eyes have always been magic.   I watched some old videos this week and was once again captivated by the way his whole soul radiates from his eyes, even as a toddler. It's as if all the words his mouth will never have the skill to find come beaming through his eyes instead. Like his heart language is soul speak, not spoken words.   He's had a rough seizure week. Like, rescue med rough.   This suffering of ours. How much can one family take? How much can his body bear?   Last night, as we snuggled in bed together, there it was. The magic. He turned his head my way, and his soul was reaching out for mine. We lay on our pillows just staring into each other's eyes. No words. No barriers. No secrets. No bitterness. All eyes. All love. All trust. All soul.   And it was breathtaking. It was beautiful.   Spontaneous tears started welling, then dripping down my cheeks. I haven't stopped weeping since. This journey is so hard and heart-wrenching and bone wear...