I'm actually writing this next portion of the story out of turn. What should come now is an explanation of how Rachel (our occupational therapist friend) flew out, stayed with us, evaluated Harrison, informed us regarding what she noticed, and advised us on how we should proceed. And I promise I will get to all that. But there's something you should know first.
It's a realization I had.
Thoughts come to me at night...when the house is quiet...when I am at my most peaceful. I get impressions of things. Phrases that repeat. My heart feels heavy. I feel urges to pray. Sometimes I cry. This does not happen often. But when it does I feel comfortable saying that, in these moments, I am hearing the voice of God. It's not a literal sound, of course...it's more of a feeling. But it's a feeling, I am certain, that comes from outside myself – or maybe it's from deep within? That made no sense, but what i'm trying to say is this:
It's a feeling, a thought, an impression, that would not normally occur to me.
It's an idea so far beyond my scope of understanding that I can't fathom it.
It's recognizing that there is always a bigger plan – a greater story – and that I am only one thread within a giant patchwork quilt, which God is piecing together as he sees fit.
And, usually, I'm left knowing – deeply knowing – that everything is going to be alright.
I believe, with my whole heart, that this is the way God speaks to me.
At least that's how he spoke to me that night – Friday night, September 14th - the night Rachel explained what was going on with our sweet Harrison.
I was alone in the dark pondering my son and the sensory issues he struggles with when a very specific thought came to me.
“This is why you named him Ottley.” "This is why you named him Ottley." "This is why..."
And I immediately began to weep.
You see, I've written in the past about the importance of a name. Let me tell you about Harrison's...