I used to feel lots of pressure to be the perfect parent.
But then God gave me a gift that shattered my dreams of perfection.
Our younger son was diagnosed with autism when he was three years old. He wouldn’t potty train perfectly. He wouldn’t speak perfectly. He wouldn’t hold a pencil perfectly. He wouldn’t smile perfectly for blog and Facebook pictures. He wouldn’t sit next to me on the pew perfectly and listen to his daddy preach.
Everywhere we went, everything we did, people would know he wasn’t perfect. And if he wasn’t perfect, than neither was I.
