Acceptance Doesn't Happen Once

Reflections from a retreat talk on being called, chosen, and sent as daughters of the Holy Spirit.

I used to think acceptance was something that happened once. That eventually you reached a place where you made peace with the hard thing and then moved forward.

I’m a wife and a mom of six. And five of my children have some level of disability—autism or Down syndrome. One of my daughters has both. My life has been full and beautiful, but also very different than what I imagined. And it didn’t all happen at once.

In 2003, I was already well into navigating life with my twin boys’ autism diagnosis, while also raising their older brother. We were just figuring things out as we went and letting go of what I thought life would look like. I really thought I had found my footing and was handling things pretty well. But I’ve come to see that acceptance doesn’t happen once.

It comes in layers. 

And over the years, there have been other layers too: Infertility… adoption… other unexpected heartaches… serious medical challenges… even walking through my mom’s Alzheimer’s.

Different seasons, different struggles, and each one carried the same invitation—to trust Him in places I didn’t choose. And sometimes, just when you think you’ve reached a place where things feel okay, something new comes and you’re invited into it all over again. That’s something we don’t always talk about. That we can be strong in one season and still struggle in the next. For me, one of those moments came in 2003 after my daughter was born with Down syndrome.

We had some indication during the pregnancy she might have it, but we chose not to do further testing because of the risks and because we knew we would still have her.

When she was born and we received confirmation, I was reeling. It wasn’t what I’d hoped to hear and I didn’t know what to do with all that I was feeling.

I remember not wanting to hold her those first several hours and I wouldn’t look at her. I just couldn’t. I was devastated, scared, and I just shut down. I was angry too. Everything felt like too much.

At one point, my husband came around to the side of the bed I was facing because I had turned away from her and he held her in front of me. And he said: 

“Look at her… look how beautiful she is.

I already love her so much.”

Then he placed her on the bed right in front of me and I finally looked at her. She looked right at me with her big blue eyes and blinked twice. In that moment, something changed. I felt this overwhelming sense of peace wash over me and I fell completely in love with her. 

That wasn’t me.

That was the Holy Spirit.

In that moment, He met me right where I was—still scared, still hurting, still trying to turn away. And I’ve come to see that this is how the Holy Spirit so often works with us. He doesn’t wait until we’ve accepted everything or feel strong. He calls us, He chooses us and He sends us even in the middle of our weakness and unfinished stories.

That’s why these words from St. Paul have come to mean so 

much to me… Romans 8:26.

‘Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know 

how to pray as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us 

with sighs too deep for words.’ 

He prayed in me when I had no words. When all I could do was shut down and turn away, the Holy Spirit was already interceding, bringing peace, love, and acceptance that I couldn’t find on my own.

Over time I’ve come to understand that moment wasn’t the end of the struggle with acceptance. It was an invitation into something deeper. Because acceptance isn’t a one-time moment, it’s something we’re invited into again and again. And I began to notice that the obstacles to acceptance weren’t always the situations themselves. It was what was going on inside of me.

Sometimes the obstacle was fear—wondering what the future held. Not knowing how everything would work out—for my children, for our family. 

Worrying about their health—knowing some of what they would face was serious. Finances. How independent they might be. Whether they would be able to communicate their needs. How people would treat them. Whether they would be understood. If they would be accepted.

I felt this intense need to protect them, but knew I couldn’t protect them from everything. And then there were the bigger questions:

What happens when we’re no longer here?

Who will care for them?

Who will love them the way we do?

There were so many unknowns and I didn’t have answers for most of them. What made it even harder was coming to terms with how little control I actually had. I couldn’t change it. I couldn’t plan my way through it. I couldn’t shield them. And that’s not a place I wanted to be, especially as someone used to trying to take care of everything.

But slowly, I started to see that even in that fear, God was still there. He wasn’t removing all the unknowns, but He was meeting me right in the middle of them, giving me just enough peace to keep going.

Sometimes the obstacle was comparison—looking at other families… other lives… seeing what their days looked like and how much lighter things felt for them, and all the things they didn’t have to worry about.

And noticing how different my life felt from the picture I’d had in my mind and the reality I was actually living. Those quiet questions came all too easily—

Why does their life look like that and mine doesn’t?

Why does this feel so hard?

Why us?

Comparison can be really subtle. Sometimes it’s that nagging feeling that something just feels off. And if I stayed there too long, it pulled my focus away from what God had actually given me and kept me staring at what I thought I was missing.

But I started to see that comparison doesn’t lead to peace. It just keeps you stuck. And little by little, God started to change how I was seeing things. Away from what I thought my life would be and toward the life He had actually given me.

Sometimes the obstacle was the desire for control— wanting things to be less complicated and more predictable or just… different. I kept trying to fix things, hold everything together, make it better, make it all okay. And I kept thinking—if I could just do more, plan better or try harder maybe I could lessen the challenges they would go through.

As moms, we’re used to jumping in, figuring things out and taking care of what needs to be handled. But eventually I had to face the reality that I couldn’t make everything right. There were things I couldn’t change… couldn’t control… no matter how much I wanted to. And that was a difficult surrender for me. 

Because letting go of control doesn’t mean you stop caring. It means trusting God with the things you care about the most. And that didn’t come easily. Because it meant releasing things I loved deeply, into hands that I couldn’t see.

Slowly, I started to understand that God’s care for my children was not dependent on my control. He loved them even more than I did. And even when I couldn’t hold everything together, He was already there holding it all.

And sometimes, the obstacle was simply being overwhelmed—not in a big, dramatic way, just in the day-to-day kind of way. When there’s always something that needs your attention… always something that needs to be handled… and you’re just trying to keep up with it all. The appointments, the therapies, the schedules, the constant thinking ahead and never really getting a break.

There were days when I was just running on fumes… days when I didn’t have the energy to process anything deeper. Somewhere in the middle of all of that, acceptance didn’t feel possible in that moment.

Not because I didn’t love my life, but because I simply didn’t have anything left to give. From the outside it looked like I had it all together, but on the inside, I was barely holding on. 

And I think that’s another thing we don’t always say out loud—that sometimes we’re not wrestling with acceptance… we’re just exhausted.

In those moments, I’ve had to learn that God isn’t asking me to have it all together. He’s just asking me to come to Him right where I am. Even if all I have to say is—

“This is a lot…

and I’m tired.”

And over time I realized those weren’t just difficult moments, those were the places where God was inviting me to trust Him.

I used to think true acceptance meant being okay with everything or feeling peaceful all the time. But the reality has been a lot messier than that.

There have been many moments, both big and small, where I’ve had to face things I didn’t choose, didn’t expect, and honestly didn’t want. And one of the hardest parts is that we can truly love our lives and still struggle to accept parts of them.

For me, sometimes acceptance has looked like saying yes in small ways. Not big moments or dramatic breakthroughs. Just small yeses again and again… and then waking up and doing it again the next day. Sometimes it’s looked like letting go of needing everything to make sense. Sometimes it’s looked like beginning to see my children differently—not just through their disabilities, but as gifts God gave us. And sometimes it’s simply saying—

‘God… this is hard… 

I don’t understand it…

but I’m willing to stay.’

What I’ve noticed is that when I stop trying to force it and just tell God where I am, the Holy Spirit meets me there. In my weakness, He becomes the strength I don’t have, giving me patience when I’m short-tempered, peace when I’m anxious, softening my heart when it feels closed, and helping me love in ways I couldn’t on my own.

I’ve also seen this in the words of St Paul in 2nd Corinthians 12:9 Paul had his own ‘thorn in the flesh’—something painful and persistent that he begged the Lord three times to take away. But the Lord’s answer to him was this:

‘My grace is sufficient for you… for power is made perfect in weakness.’

Not when I finally get strong enough… 

not when everything finally feels manageable or the obstacles disappear. 

But right here in the middle of my weakness, my exhaustion, my fear, and the parts I still struggle to accept—that’s where Christ’s power is strongest in me.

Paul even says he learned to boast gladly of his weaknesses so that the power of Christ could rest upon him. Instead of feeling abandoned in those places, I started to see that God was especially present there. And I’ve seen that play out—not always in obvious ways, but in smaller ones.

I don’t know what each of you is carrying, but I do know this—every one of us has parts of our life that are harder to accept than others. Sometimes we think we’ll feel fully called… fully chosen… ready to be sent… once everything finally makes sense. But what I’ve learned, and am still learning, is that God doesn’t wait for that.

We are called, chosen and sent right in the middle of the parts we’re still working through.

That moment with my daughter… when I finally looked at her and felt that overwhelming peace and love… that was the Holy Spirit meeting me in a place I didn’t want to be. And He’s still doing that. Not just in those bigger moments, but in the everyday ones too… 

in the places that feel hard…

the places we didn’t choose…

the places that still hurt.

And maybe that’s the invitation for all of us—not to have everything figured out… not to feel completely at peace all the time, but to let God meet us right where we are. Even before we have all the answers. Just to stay and let Him be there with us.

“Holy Spirit… help us trust You there.”

As we sit with that invitation—to let the Holy Spirit meet us right here… in the middle of what we’re still learning to accept. Sometimes the most powerful thing isn’t that everything changes. It’s that God meets us.

I want to invite you to listen to this song I recently discovered called “Here Again” and just let this be our prayer.

I’ll be praying for each of you. That the Holy Spirit meets you right where you are and gives you the grace to trust Him there. 

Reflection Questions:

1. What is something in your life that you’re still learning to accept?

2. And what makes that hard for you… and where do you need to trust God in it?

3. Where have you seen God meet you in the middle of something hard… maybe even in a small way?