The daily struggle to make things happen; to bring desires to fruition, to see my son walk again, grows more burdensome. People say, “I don’t know how you do it. How do you manage it all? Don’t you ever get tired?” They don’t know there is a secret reward for those with diligence of heart and action. People say, “I admire your dedication! Where do you get the energy?” There’s a secret reward for consistent dedication. The reward awaits its nourishment so that it might grow into the great evidence of love.

I don’t stop pushing to do better, to do more; because of him. He makes life better because of who he is and because he is still my gift. His desire to enjoy each person makes me realize the greatness of heaven and its wonders. Because of him I am thankful for each event, gift, problem, person I encounter. He keeps me strong because I want to be strong for him.

Economic globalization is everywhere and can’t be ignored by the incredible ramifications it has on everyone. No one is exempt from the influences of a global economy. As a freelance writer, I must seek out the jobs which may provide some income for my family, however, the competition is always there. Currently, as more people in the world learn English, they seek these writing opportunities because the Americans and native English countries pay more because the cost of living is different in Pakistan, India, Africa and South America. Plus, an individual who can read and write more than one language is a valuable asset to any company, and writers more so. A fluent bilingual writer can secure more jobs than an individual with only one language.
In terms of the technological advancement, freelance writers who know or have more IT experience gain more employment than others. It is worthwhile to keep learning. As a certified teacher, knowing more about technology helps me to be more employed in the movement toward more online learning, especially for the increasing number of students who are becoming home schooled in the elementary grades. Trends in education are changing to the point that unions are going to have a more difficult time unless they are able to present contracts for online teachers. With the influence of the technology in education, bigger changes are going to be made in administration as teachers learn they can easily find work that feels more respected without the emphatic hoop-jumping involved in a brick-and mortar-school. As an online teacher at the elementary level, teachers can reach their dream of balance: work and family.
As new companies are created, such as Teachers Pay Teachers, the work dynamics change in the schools and outside. Some teachers are using this company to gain respect and recognition for the hard work they do often times creating personalized curriculum for that particular group in the classroom, for with no other materials work. One teacher is said to have made $17,000 in addition to her salary with the school district where she lives. Many other teachers who take a maternity leave, use this company to help them support themselves while being at home with their family. Trends in labor are changing, not just in education. If employees or the labor force doesn’t seek to be employable by increasing job skills and jumping on the life-long, learning bus, there will be many unemployed.

The pants were thrown at me from across the room. I needed to cover myself, but the sleep held me from reaching. I hate the feeling of used emotions, repeatedly occurring only to find no resolve. Anger and distrust grows from within seeking a refuge of continuous self-pity as the demand for my attention by each individual child grows. Doing things for me grows less and less, shrinking to a minuscule remnant. I’m feeling pressure to produce; the need to prove; the challenge of making all others bow in acknowledgement of my God-given gifts.

Laboring day and night, cleaning, cooking, wiping noses, giving up my body on command, smiling, always saying what isn’t in my heart. It hurts. I hurt. As I shake the sleepiness that wants to overtake me, I watch him carry on. He hides his emotions, but when he speaks, it sounds like ridicule and disgust for not doing things as he wants them.

I asked my eldest son while I continuously care for our disabled child, “Do you know Mommy loves you?”

“Yes,” he replied.

“Do you know that Mommy puts you first?”

“Yes,” he replied.

“How do you know that Mommy puts you and your brothers first?”

He was quiet.

“No pressure,” I said, encouraged by his willingness to talk.

“Hmmm. You always serve us first and make sure we’re okay. You help us make things.”

My heart felt glad to hear such words, soothing the bumps and bruises of my confidence. I finish giving my youngest son his seizure meds through his g-tube and prepare the liquid food that nourishes him five times daily because it was medically necessary and piggy-back for his safe airway. Ever since that fateful October evening, we’ve changed. All of us have changed. Every member of our sweet family has changed. My eldest can often be heard crying to himself, “Why did he have to get hit by the truck? If only it never happened.”

I agree. I wish it never happened. My husband wishes it never happened. We fight and bicker about the presentation of the house, about my habits he never agreed to live with.

Miracles Make Progress.

As I watch my son show me what determination really is, I sit in awe of the amazing paths life’s journey leads us. On October 14, 2013, I lost all assurance in my ability as mother/protector as I raced after my five year old, screaming my lungs capacity of the foreshadowed event playing in my mind as I ran toward the road of speeding traffic. The sudden sound like a melon being imploded filled my ears. When I caught up to my son, he lay in the yield lane as speeding traffic continued driving by.

I screamed, “NO!” I cried, “Oh, God! No! This can’t be. Oh! God! NO! Not my Angel!” A man said from behind me, “Someone needs to call 911.” No one had moved. I began tearing through my purse for my phone, and called. I stood frozen and forced my voice to answer the dispatcher.

“A 5year old was hit by a car on US1 where the Fire Station is across from Corky Bells.” I knew no streets. I knew no markers. I knew no jargon or words to make the dispatcher act faster. I could only cry, “Please, come help my baby is hit. He is bleeding. He’s in the road. I need help! I don’t know street names. I only know we’re on US1 with Corky Bells across the street.”

A woman with short blonde hair arrived saying, “I’m a nurse. What happened? Did someone call 911? Let me get his pulse. We have a pulse.” In my shock, I continued to repeat what I knew to the dispatcher, crying, “My child was hit by a car. Oh God! No! Please hurry. It’s getting dark. No one is here. Where is the ambulance?”

The nurse’s voice cut through my hearing, “His pulse is weakening. I lost his pulse.” I jolted toward my little man, lying on the ground, face cut open; the nurse holding his face together trying to stop the bleeding. She tells her friend to help with CPR. I sob, screaming from my lungs, “Luis! Mommy is right here. Don’t go baby! God, please don’t take my Angel. Please let me keep him still. Don’t take him yet. Please!”

He coughed and his body choked with air. “Thank you Jesus.”

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