“If any of you lacks wisdom, let him ask of God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to him.” — James 1:5
I could probably fill a whole bookcase—maybe even a storage unit—with stories, journals, voice memos, and tear-stained prayers from the years I’ve spent raising my adopted daughter, Madison. And let me tell you: parenting a special needs child is not for the faint of heart. It’s a spiritual boot camp. You can’t coast on autopilot. You can’t fake it. You can’t parent on vibes and Pinterest pins.
You need the power of prayer.
And I don’t mean the kind of prayer you whisper after everything goes wrong. I mean before your feet even hit the floor in the morning, you’re already asking the Holy Spirit for help, wisdom, patience, humour, and the ability to make it through breakfast without crying. (No judgment if you don’t.)
The Smooth Peanut Butter Days
There were days—let’s call them “Smooth Peanut Butter Days”—when the only thing Madison wanted was a spoon and a jar of smooth (never crunchy!) peanut butter.
That was it.
No conversation. No options. No interest in structure or schedule.
Brushing her hair? Out of the question. Teeth? Don’t even suggest it. Making eye contact or getting dressed felt like asking her to perform in a Broadway musical when she didn’t even want to leave her bed.
Her whole body was dysregulated, and though I couldn’t always tell what triggered it, I could sense the shift in the air.
It wasn’t smell—because Madison can’t smell. (Which, let’s be real, is sometimes a hidden blessing.)
But even without scent-based sensitivities, she’d get overwhelmed by sounds, textures, changes in voice tone, or even an emotion she couldn’t quite name. And when that happened, everything could unravel in a matter of minutes.
So what do you do when your child is in full shutdown mode and nothing on your “good parenting checklist” is working?
You pray. Hard.
Because in those moments, logic doesn’t land. Reasoning doesn’t work. Bribes, threats, sticker charts, and Pinterest routines all fall flat. And that’s when I had to remind myself: I’m not just raising a child—I’m raising a miracle.
But I can’t do it without daily wisdom from above.
Prayer: Not Just a Nice Idea—A Lifeline
Let me be honest. Prayer wasn’t some polished ritual for me—it was survival. It was how I kept breathing through the meltdowns, how I navigated the school meetings, and how I kept showing up even when I felt completely unequipped.
Prayer was my lifeline.
I laid hands on Madison in the middle of panic attacks. I cried on the floor when I had no answers. I fasted when I didn’t know what else to do. I asked God to show me what her words couldn’t explain.
Because some days, it felt like the world was parenting on cruise control while I was navigating an obstacle course blindfolded in heels. But James 1:5 gave me hope:
“If any of you lacks wisdom, let him ask of God…”
And believe me, I asked. Over and over. And He answered—not always in fireworks, but in quiet wisdom, surprising strength, and timely breakthroughs.
The Power of a Personal Playbook
At some point, I realized I couldn’t just keep reacting—I had to build a Mommy Playbook. It was my practical and spiritual strategy for survival and success. I needed more than prayer—I needed prayed-through plans.
Here are some steps that changed the game for me:
1. Pray before the chaos hits.
Start your day in prayer—even if it’s just five minutes while brushing your teeth. Ask God for wisdom, discernment, and the strength to love well when the day doesn’t go as planned. Think of it as suiting up in spiritual armour before the battle begins.
2. Journal what works (and what doesn’t).
I kept a prayer journal and a notes section on my phone. One side was raw—my feelings, fears, and prayers. The other side was tactical: what calmed her down, what triggered her, what helped her feel safe. God spoke through both.
3. Speak life—over both of you.
When Madison struggled, I would declare scripture over her. I’d quote Jeremiah 29:11 and tell her God had good plans—even when others doubted. I’d speak life into her future, and something powerful happened: it rebuilt my faith too.
4. Let go of perfection.
You’re not a robot. You’re not a saint. And you’re not a failure for having rough days. Give yourself grace. Sometimes dinner was cereal. Sometimes I cried in the laundry room. Sometimes I just needed to be. And that’s okay.
5. Expect divine wisdom—then watch for it.
I stopped assuming wisdom had to look dramatic or super spiritual. Sometimes it came through a therapist. Sometimes it was a random quote on social media. Sometimes it was God speaking directly to my spirit at 2 a.m. But it always came.
When You Feel Alone in the Fight
I’ll never forget the times I felt completely isolated. While other parents were swapping funny soccer stories, I was prepping visual schedules, rehearsing calming scripts, and praying through the day ahead like it was a mission from Heaven.
It was lonely.
People meant well. They’d say things like, “She’ll grow out of it” or “Just be patient.” Or the classic: “Have you tried a weighted blanket?” (Yes. And also lavender, essential oils, getting rid of red dyes, and gummy vitamins shaped like dinosaurs.)
What I needed wasn’t advice, it was understanding.
So if that’s you right now, Mama, let me say this straight from the trenches: You are seen. You are not alone. And God is not distant from your exhaustion.
Your work is sacred. Every meltdown you navigate, every therapy session you attend, every spoonful of peanut butter you serve with love—it matters. And even when no one claps for you, Heaven is cheering you on.
Testimony in Progress
Some professionals told me Madison might never live independently. They painted a bleak future.
But they didn’t know the God we serve.
Because today, Madison is doing things that doctors never imagined. She’s growing, thriving, dreaming, and shining. She has a voice. She has a purpose. And the same girl who used to hide under blankets now prays bold prayers and cracks hilarious jokes on camera.
It wasn’t always pretty. But it was always holy. And that’s what prayer does—it builds testimonies out of tears.
Prayers & Declarations for Every Special Needs Mama
Let’s close with some declarations. Say them out loud. Print them. Tape them to your fridge. These are promises for your heart and your home.
- I receive God’s wisdom, freely and without shame. (James 1:5)
- I am not alone—God is parenting with me.
- My child is uniquely created with divine purpose.
- Patience is rising in me. Peace is reigning in my home.
- God is writing our story—and it’s going to be beautiful.
- I have permission to rest, cry, laugh, and try again.
- Joy is my strength. Grace is my portion.
Final Thoughts from a Fellow Warrior
You’re not failing. You’re fighting. And you don’t have to figure it all out today.
Just stay rooted in prayer. Keep asking for wisdom. And keep loving that child of yours like only you can.
God will equip you for every meltdown, every diagnosis, and every uncertain tomorrow. He doesn’t just see your child—He sees you. And He’s proud of the way you show up again and again, even when it’s hard.
You’ve got this, Mama. And even on the days you don’t—God’s got you.