Dandelion Proof
I watch my daughter, Tessa Joy, blow little puffs off of a dandelion head. My heart catches a little bit when she doesn’t get the cotton off right away. But I exhale with relief when she tries again and manages to send several seeds sailing. I tell her, “Good job!” and notice my eyes pooling in the crisp autumn air. Her name literally means Fourth Child Joy, and I remember while she was yet in utero thinking of her as my fourth joy. Her older sister and two older brothers have taken to her like chocolate milk. They just can’t get enough. I’ve never seen another child with the ability to love so selflessly. Because of this ability, she gets abundant love in return. Amazingly, when Tessa has destroyed a Lego ship or drawn on a favorite doll’s shoes, the siblings laugh! They shake their heads indulgently and give Tessa a little hug or kiss and say how cute she is. For my three older children, blowing the tops off dandelions was a rite of passage. For Tessa, the childhood pastime of blowing the little seedlings off their perch is a significant milestone.
During the summer after she turned one, my husband and I sat on the floor with several intake therapists watching Tessa play with blocks. The therapists were gentle, observant, and knowledgeable. Glen and I made eye contact when they told us Tessa had multiple developmental delays. Now, Tessa has four hours of therapy a week and has seen marked improvement in many areas. I have learned more than I ever thought I would about the workings of the human body. Unbeknownst to the therapists, their hour-long sessions have frequently strengthened my testimony of God’s miraculous creation.
That autumn, Tessa, the physical therapist, and I walked down the street while leaves danced past in the wind. Tessa used her walker. I was pondering the intricacies of Tessa’s upper trunk muscles working in tandem with her lungs, when she stopped her walker so she could crawl over to the cottony dandelions and pick one. To blow it, of course. Blowing has been the crux of many a therapy session, as every single one of her therapists has worked on that ability. Blowing bubbles, blowing cotton balls, blowing through straws, blowing horns, whistles, and harmonicas. Blowing kisses. As Tessa held the dandelion in her tiny fist and pursed her lips to blow, I was overcome with the love of the Lord. He created fluffy dandelions for children to blow, because blowing is an important stage of a child’s development. It strengthens the upper muscles and helps the trunk become more stable for walking. Now maybe that was the reason, or maybe not. Or maybe that was the reason for Tessa. Perhaps some other child needs to blow dandelions to teach him faith when his wish comes true. But at that moment, I thought I comprehended a thread in the infinite tapestry that Heavenly Father weaves. I saw a connection, similar to the invisible link between thinking and taking a step, or breathing and walking. I sensed the utter interconnectedness of our human bodies, the earth, and the God who created us all and sees the interwoven pathways of our lives.
For example, early in Tessa’s therapy, the developmental therapist asked me, “Have you ever considered using sign language to communicate with her? Some parents use it for their speech-delayed children. I have some books, if you’d like to learn.” I just stared at her. I hadn’t considered it at all. And yet, I had already learned sign language when I was ten, because my mother followed a prompting to learn the language. While that skill blessed many people, it never occurred to me that it would benefit one of my own children, some twenty years later.
I love how sign language has given Tessa a way to communicate. I love how she fits so beautifully with our family. I love that she is special, and I love that we need her. It took me months to absorb and embrace the fact that my daughter has special needs. But our Heavenly Father planned for it all along. Tessa is known by a Creator who organized the universe and made time to fashion a lowly weed into hundreds of tiny white parachutes that help my daughter to walk.
Victoria Holt lives with her husband and four children in South Bend, Indiana. She loves to read, write, and scrapbook, but loves playing Mommy Monster with the kids the best. Tessa walks unaided now, and is learning to pedal a tricycle. Though hearing, she uses sign language to communicate with her family, and is also beginning to say many multi-syllable words out loud.
