A Square Peg in a God Shaped Hole

Shining sun in a wooden heart frame

The sharp words that flew from my lips struck their mark with deadly accuracy. My young son looked up at me, tortured eyes looking much older than his tender years. We were working through yet another language arts program and it was not sticking any more than the myriad of others we had tried.

At 12, he exhibited all of the signs of being mildly dyslexic. We had gone through our local school district for testing four years prior. They subjected him to a variety of tests, observed him, and told me he was ‘fine’. A kid who, at 8 years old, could not spell the word ‘by’ after a week of study was fine? Harumph.

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