Heart of stone

I spent some time this week, like many other weeks, with a mom of an adult with special needs. I'm often puzzled by my encounters with parents of older kids with disabilities because of how common it seems to be so cold, even calloused. In my efforts to critique these parents and actually pity them for the state the're in, I found myself looking within.

Self examination revealed something I don't particularily care to advertise or admit out loud, yet transparency beckons me onward. I seem to have lost or given up my tender heart. Not the innocence of a child necessarily, but the softness and compassion for the world in general. A love that isn't put on, fake or forced, but genuinely flows from the heart. Sure, some of it was ignorance and maybe a bit of over protection (which isn't at all bad), but most of it was a heart that was burdened for the struggles of others.

I've seemed to have replaced my good natured heart with one that more resembles one of stone. I will seeminly boast that I don't like most people. I tolerate well, but really care? Far from it. My synicism has put me down the path of those I most distain. It would be easy to blame my state on the cards I've been dealt, but if I'm honest I'll listen to one of my mantras and be left without excuse. "How you do life isn't an accident that's happened to you, you have a choice." (Charlie Boyd)

I can become one of those angry parents or I can choose to make a difference in my world. I can deliberately find the good and admit my inadequacy to deal with the bad alone. I can choose to do life differently, because I have a choice. As Zig Ziglar says, "If you keep doing what your doing, you'll keep getting what you're getting."