Casting Your Net

Casting Your Net

Ann Cooper McCauley

The child in the video stumbled with every step, head lagging, shoulder’s drooping.  The South Korean nurses prodded him to perform for the camera, but every action spoke of discouragement. This boy, an orphan in mismatched, too-small clothes, clinging to a skimpy, cellophane envelope of crackers, would be mine.  Yet, the video could not prepare me for the boy who staggered from the plane, wailing.  

Within three months, his uncooperative muscles grew stronger, but his head bounced off walls when he ran.  I thought he might have cerebral palsy, but malnutrition, poor health care, and a ruptured eardrum were his primary problems.  And though undetected, Joshua at age eight was deaf with no language, except a crude form of gesturing.

Mine.  He was mine to love and educate, while I homeschooled siblings--ages seven, five, and two.  The first year I waded through, shuttling Joshua to private speech therapy and a church kindergarten program.

            

Three years later, Joshua flourished.  He learned simple language, his motor control improved, and he was happy.  I felt great about the job my husband and I were doing homeschooling my special kids.  I loved our life.

            

Joshua's fourth school year in our home approached, and doubts began to whisper in my ear.  Day after day of working with him was like picking sand from the beach one grain at a time and the slow progress seemed like precious little for a boy who had so far to go.  I was juggling my marriage, a large house, three other active children with their unique needs, four grade levels, church responsibilities, and this slow learner.  I was exhausted and primed to buy a lie.

           

The enemy told me I was failing everyone in my household that year.  

           

I remember the day I collapsed, shouting into my tear-soaked pillow, “It wasn't supposed to be this way, God!” My heart whispered truth, my Father wouldn’t leave me, but my emotions told me otherwise.

The voice told me I was having a nervous breakdown.  Who was I to home educate my children?  And then a thought crept through my soul, sending chills down my spine—to save my other children, Joshua’s education at home might have to be sacrificed.  What kind of terrible, hateful mother would think such thoughts, three children at home and one in school?  Around and around the thoughts whirled.  So this is what it feels like to have a nervous breakdown. 

           

Another Voice came to my defense.  “Ann, cast your net on the other side of the boat.” I knew it was scripture, but it didn’t seem the balm I needed.  What does that mean?  I have no idea.

“Exactly,” the Voice whispered. “You don’t have answers.” 

           

I lay still, listening to my tattered breaths, hoping for more—like maybe an answer.  Nothing.  Completely frustrated, I snatched the yellow pages from the nightstand.  Who do I think I’m going to call?  Who could or would be willing to help a crazed homeschooling mom?  And, with whom would I be safe to admit my weakness?  

           

Then this clear thought spiraled through my mind, I need someone who knows sign language.  Perhaps if someone fluent in sign language worked with my son, he could learn.  I need a Christian—someone who won't turn me in to the state for doing such a pitiful job.  Illogical hope rose in my heart as I flipped to church listings.  Miracle of miracles, the First Baptist Church supported a deaf mission.  

          

Emotions of tsunami proportions seized me as I dialed the number. Frustration challenged hope, and fear battled against faith.  The phone rang, and a gentle female voice answered.  

          

I froze with the phone to my ear.  I opened my mouth, but I could not speak.  I held my breath as long as I could, biting my tongue; but sobs broke the silence.  The lifeline on the other end of the phone soothed, “It's all right… Speak when you’re able.”

            

Finally, I gasped, “I need help!”  Such a long story to tell and this was all that would come out of my mouth?

            

The voice on the other end introduced herself as the pastor's wife, and before the conversation was over, after I was emptied and calm, help was on the way.  Her husband, fluent in sign language, would be at my house by early evening. 

            

The pastor sat on our sofa that night and said, “Of course I will pray for you, but that’s not why I’m here.  I want to know what I can do for you.” 

           

I hated to impose, but here was the answer to all my prayers sitting in front of me.  Faltering I said, “Do you really mean this?”

            

At the pastor's genuine nod, the words tumbled from me with lightning-like desperation, “I need someone to teach Joshua to read using sign language.  I have the instructional tools designed for the deaf, but my signing is too slow.” I paused for breath, “Would you be Joshua’s tutor?"

            

The pastor agreed without hesitation.  Every week this kind, energetic man worked with Joshua for hours.  But as the school days progressed from autumn to spring, we noticed Joshua losing ground.  He could learn ten new words, only to forget twenty he’d mastered the weeks before.  By summertime the truth was clear: the delightful boy who had the expressive language of a three-year-old was not capable of reading.   I didn’t do this to him!  It’s not my fault.  He’s doing the best he can.

            

And then that quiet, small Voice spoke to my heart, “This time will you cast your net on the other side of the boat?”

             

And this time I understood.  When we’ve fished our side of the boat with no catch, when our intents of heart seem too lofty, and best efforts not enough, we can cast the net of our expectations, our hopes, and our cares to the God side of the boat. We don’t have to have all the answers. We just need to take the hand of the one who is THE WAY.  This doesn’t mean, I stopped trying to teach Joshua, but I certainly relaxed to enjoy my journey with him more. 

Joshua’s potential was a mystery in those days.  He is now thirty-one.  Looking back, I now know what he was capable of doing and what he was not, based on his limitations. Wouldn’t faith have been simple if I could have known the end from the beginning?  Unseen challenges press us forward so we reach the greatest potential in others and in ourselves.  The secret is in how we press on.

            

Our choices don't look so plain while we are in the depths.  We can fish the side of the boat representing our own works or lack of them, our despondency.  Or, we can cast our net on the other side--the God side--knowing His rewards will manifest whether we envision them or not.

The disciple, Peter, tells us, “CAST all your care upon Him, for He cares for you.”(NKJ 1Peter 5:17).  God loved and cared for your kids before you knew they existed.  He ever holds your hand. Can you trust Him today to handle your child's future, knowing He has the best possible outcome planned?

Author's note: 1) Each time you read the word "I" in this post, please keep in mind that my husband and I have worked together as a team to lovingly birth and educate our children.  I write this story from my point of view, but my sweet husband walked alongside, ever leading, ever encouraging. 2) Joshua today is one of the happiest individuals on the planet.  He works in electronics  at a local sheltered workshop.  He is a favorite among people all over town and at work.  The police chief recently told my husband at a community coffee, "Joshua McCauley is MY electronics man."