The Stranger in the Lobby Who Saw Me

Because even on the hardest days, God sends reminders that we’re not alone

Today was one of those days that left my heart heavy before we even made it home from school.

My daughter walked through the door with a note from her teacher — the kind that tells you things didn’t go well, the behaviors were “unacceptable,” and that big conversations need to happen. As a mom, especially a mom raising a child with autism, those notes hit differently. They carry weight… because I know how hard she tries, and I also know how challenging her days can be.

I told her calmly that all technology was going away for the rest of the day.

And that’s when the world tipped.

The tantrum in the car on the way to therapy felt like a tidal wave. She unbuckled her seatbelt, tried reaching for my phone, screamed, cried — all the things her nervous system does when it feels overwhelmed and out of control. I stayed as calm as I could, reminding her that it wasn’t safe. When she finally sat back down, I pulled the car over, got out, and buckled her back into her booster seat myself.

We made it to therapy — and for a few minutes, peace existed.

But waiting in the lobby, everything came back to the surface. She remembered the tablet. She remembered timers. She remembered what she wanted, and the meltdown restarted. She climbed on top of me trying to reach my Apple Watch to set a timer herself. I gently held her hands and reminded her what happened at school.

She looked at me and said, “I spit at friends.”

And my heart broke a little.

Not because of the behavior, but because of how hard this is for her — emotionally, socially, neurologically.

I told her again that there would be no technology today, that she needed to earn it with good choices. Ten to fifteen minutes went by — but honestly? It felt like an eternity. We were in front of other parents, other kids, teachers, staff… and all I could think was, please, Lord, help me stay calm, help me guide her, help me parent her gently even when I’m exhausted.

Then — when she finally settled — something happened that changed everything.

A mom from across the lobby caught my eye.

She looked right at me and simply said:

“You’re doing a great job.”

And I almost cried.

Because I didn’t feel like I was doing a great job.

I felt overwhelmed… embarrassed… defeated… tired… and honestly, a little heartbroken.

But her words — small and unexpected — felt like God dropping a little crumb of grace right into my lap. A reminder that even when parenting feels impossible, even when I feel like I’m failing, I am still mothering with love, with intention, with patience, and with so much prayer in my heart.

Parenting a child with autism is beautiful.

But it is also HARD.

It requires patience I don’t always feel like I have.

It demands strength I don’t always recognize in myself.

And some days, like today, it brings me to my knees.

But I’m learning that even in the chaos, even in the meltdowns, even when the world feels like it’s watching — God places people in our path to remind us:

You are not alone.

You are not failing.

You are doing the best you can with what you have.

And that is enough.

I hope we all become that stranger in the lobby sometimes — the one who offers kindness, encouragement, or even just a knowing smile. Because parents of children with special needs are out here fighting battles that no one else sees.

And sometimes, all it takes is one sentence to lift someone’s entire spirit.

A Small Prayer for the Hard Parenting Days

Lord,

On the days when my patience feels thin,

when my heart feels tired,

and when the challenges feel too heavy to hold,

remind me that You are with me.

Give me grace for my child, grace for myself, and strength that grows even in the struggle.

Help me guide her with love, consistency, and compassion.

And thank You for the strangers You send at just the right moment

to remind me that I am seen.

Amen.