Dancing with Mal

I just finished Emily Colson's book, Dancing with Max. It is a terrific read disclosing her journey getting to know both her dad and her son all at once. Her faith and immense love--themselves gifts from God--are central themes enabling her to appreciate that her son with autism is a gift. Her masterful writing and disarming humor refresh the familiar story line of diagnosis to acceptance. I could particularly relate (as in, laugh outloud) to this excerpt:

Max had an appointment with a doctor who specialized in integrative medicine. He wasn't one of those crystal-worshiping, incense-burning practitioners, but a rather sophisticated doctor utilizing both alternative and conventional practices... He needed Max's treatment history, and of course, in the process, he would realize I was not neglectful crackhead parent, but a serious overachiever-type mom. The cross hanging around my neck would speak of my faith, my commitment, my clean lifestyle. I even found a way to tell him that I'd spoken at several area conferences, just in case he might need such a service. All those years as a graphic designer creating corporate identities taught me the power of communicating the right image. I pictured this doctor eventually inviting us into his home, telling me secret cures for autism, while he stood at his kitchen counter mixing Chinese mushroom powder into wheat grass. And he would realize that helping Max, the innocent child of a loving Christian and by-no-possible-fault-of-her-own single mother, was his life's mission.

"Does he have any language?" the doctor asked as Max sat silently outside the door.

"Oh, yes. It doesn't come easily, but he uses full sentences now," I answered.

He fired off a list of questions about sleep habits, diet, digestion, but kept coming back to the issue of language. "You said he does speak, is that correct? He's right outside my office door, and . . . I don't think I've heard him say anything."

"Yes, he's just very anxious here," I explained as if we were colleagues.

Our appointment was nearing an end, and I was pleased at the doctor's willingness to order numerous laboratory tests. "Could your son come in so that I could talk with him a bit? Would

he do that?" he asked.

"Maybe," I answered. "Max," I called as I looked into the hall. "Can you come sit with Mommy for a minute? Then we'll be all done and do something fun." Max stood up as if he always followed my requests and entered the examination room. The doctor greeted him, but Max brushed past his desk and stood silently at the window gazing out over the Cambridge neighborhood. "Good job Max," I proudly commended. "We're going to do something fun next."

And then it happened. My son must have a locator device implanted in his brain, because it only took him two seconds to see into a storefront window on the street below that obviously had commercial refrigerators. And with that motivation, my son spoke his first, and what would be his only, words for the doctor to hear.

"Mom, after this we can go to the liquor store."

Delighted at the prospect, Max walked out and sat beside my mother, who looks as much like an alcoholic as Mary Poppins.

The doctor's eyes shone on me like headlights. I was so busy being perfect that I forgot to laugh. The more I tried to explain, the worse it looked; he wasn't buying the whole refrigerator-obsession thing.

She has been there! I have been there. She has been where I have been! Thank you Lord that you do whatever it takes to free us from a spirit of pride.

It happens bit by bit--like becoming real. Reid, like Max, has taught his mom many things, not the least of which is to recognize embarrassment as the indicator light of pride. Having a son with absolutely no social inhibition continues to set me free from a fear of man.

Allie too. Just last week, she recalled sitting in a theater dying a thousand deaths because her brother was "so embarrassing." "What was he doing?" I'd forgotten. "Being overly happy," was her description. Is that such a crime? It's exactly what he does though. He expresses uncontainable joy so much so that it's socially unacceptable.

Even when he was a toddler, I found it hard to correct him for being too gleeful during library storytime, too excited to meet Mary Poppins at Disneyland, or euphoric when Souplantation had Barney bean salad (our term, not theirs) in the buffet smorgasbord. Gradually (unable to control or contain it), I've come to realize that it is more my problem than his. He embodies joy. That is a gift to those who receive it. And if it bothers someone on the way, that is their problem.

Now only a vestige of my pride remains. I recognize it in this clip of Reid cutting loose at a recent Banding Together coffeehouse concert. He's the one--the only one--on the dance floor doing aerial 360's. I am one feigning nonchalance in the black and white raincoat. Who's the woman dancing with him unabashedly? That is Malvina. Thank you Lord for friends who have more love than pride . . . who dole it out liberally all over everybody . . . who don't squelch his exuberance. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em.

Gladness and joy will overtake them, and sorrow and sighing will flee away. Isaiah 35:9-10

The LORD is my strength and my shield; my heart trusts in him, and he helps me. My heart leaps for joy, and with my song I praise him. Psalm 28:6-8

Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins. 1 Peter 4:7-9

Finisher

Reid holds onto two photos of his baptism--really of the crowd who attended his baptism. They were in a frame on his desk that has long since folded, literally. Now they are loose leaf and so much easier to cherish. They float around the house and turn up wherever he leaves them.

When he holds them, he lovingly drawls out the names of the people he sees with legato musical phrasing, "Caaarla," Joshhhhhhhhh!" It's sweet.

Yesterday, it was more than just sweet. With new eyes to see what is happening in the unseen spiritual world, I grasped the symbolism and promise he holds in those photos.

They don't come out by accident when the cleaning lady organizes his dresser; they come out when he is searching for meaning in life or feeling weary, neglected, discouraged. They came out last Saturday.

There are 379 photos from that day, but the one that does it for him is of the throng of people applauding as he returned to the beach shivering with glee. They were present for a profound moment of belonging. Certainly now if not before, they belong to him and he to them. They love him and he loves them.

At breakfast, I was able to articulate, "Reid, I love remembering your baptism. God made a covenant with you that day. He began a new thing when you were baptized. You died and rose again out of the water with Christ , like Jesus did on the cross."

He was totally attentive with 8 hash browns left, so I went on, "And you know what, God is a finisher. He is the author and finisher of our faith. Jesus said on the cross, "It is finished." His Word says He will finish the good work He began in you." Those are promises and He is a God who always keeps His promises."

What's a momento that strengthens your spirit for the journey?

“My food,” said Jesus, “is to do the will of him who sent me and to finish his work. John 4:33-35

When I walk into the thick of trouble, keep me alive in the angry turmoil. With one hand strike my foes, With your other hand save me. Finish what you started in me, God. Your love is eternal—don't quit on me now. Psalm 138:6-8

...we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses [who have borne testimony to the Truth], let us strip off and throw aside every encumbrance (unnecessary weight) and that sin which so readily (deftly and cleverly) clings to and entangles us, and let us run with patient endurance and steady and active persistence the appointed course of the race that is set before us, Looking away [from all that will distract] to Jesus, Who is the Leader and the Source of our faith [giving the first incentive for our belief] and is also its Finisher [bringing it to maturity and perfection]. Hebrews 12:1-3 Amplified

Photo credit and thanks to Doug Miller.

Stronghold

Do you have theme words in your life? Like a recurrent dream, the word "stronghold" shows up often for me.

First time, I really didn't know what it meant. However, when someone uses that kinda word in prayer over your infant children, you look it up.

Definition of STRONGHOLD

1

: a fortified place

2

a : a place of security or survival b : a place dominated by a particular group or marked by a particular characteristic

Initially, it seemed like some construct the enemy built to bog you down. A stronghold that enemy troops might have over an area.

Over the years through various Bible studies, I have learned that the Lord has strongholds of His own. Way more than the enemy.

Lately, I am learning that the Lord is a stronghold to whom we'd be wise to run to at lightning pace when we want protection. It is a safe refuge where we can be still and watch Him fight for us.

Currently, I am reading The Stronghold of God by Francis Frangipane and we completed this puzzle over Christmas. Oh how I love a good Unit Study with kinesthetic teaching!

Just today as I was walking with my Chris Rice, Peace Like a River cd, this stanza of grabbed me by the ears perhaps since I have tried so long in vain to save my son in my own strength:

Did we in our own strength confide,   

our striving would be losing,   

were not the right man on our side,   

the man of God's own choosing.  

Dost ask who that may be?    

Christ Jesus, it is he;   

Lord Sabaoth, his name,   

from age to age the same,   

and he must win the battle.

Sure enough, as I checked the title...it's "A Mighty Fortress is Our God!" Synonym for stronghold.... "fortress." I love that God loves words.

Although we pridefully refer to autism as a new diagnosis and ourselves as pioneering crusaders in the fight against it, autism is not puzzling to God. Jesus is our Savior and Deliverer from every foe and has been since Martin Luther wrote this in the 1528. He describes the same outcome we seek today when we feel socked in by defeat, fatigue, insurmountable opposition, and unlikely odds. I am enjoying the truth this song proclaims and the instructions of all four stanzas of the lyrics. They deserve a modern rewrite by Eugene Petersen.

The Lord has been Mighty in battle since long before Luther, in the days of Moses, Aaron, and Joshua. Our God is the same, the Holy Spirit the same, our victory comes in Jesus. Only the name of the enemy seems to have changed. Why reinvent the wheel?

I'll include this video too since Chris Rice's is not on YouTube. Here is Christy Nockels of Watermark singing, "You are My Stronghold."

I told you it was a theme. Do you have one?

The LORD is my rock, my fortress and my deliverer; my God is my rock, in whom I take refuge, my shield and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold. Psalm 18:1-3

God is a safe place to hide, ready to help when we need him. We stand fearless at the cliff-edge of doom, courageous in seastorm and earthquake...Jacob-wrestling God fights for us, God-of-Angel-Armies protects us. Psalm 46:1-3 The Message

The weapons we fight with are not the weapons of the world. On the contrary, they have divine power to demolish strongholds. 2 Corinthians 10:3-5

Somebody's Watching...Who's Listening?

When I was a new mom I often imagined being watched. The adoption process requires jumping through a lot of hoops, proving you're worthy, and otherwise impressing everyone from lawyers, to pregnant teens, to county employees with your perfect parent potential. Not necessarily a foolproof system; not the way God does it; just the way it is. Perhaps the fact that we were forcibly put under this microscope made me more self-conscious than most new moms.

My imagination was not so far fetched to conjure up a birthmother stalking us from behind the bushes at a local park eyeing my way with her offspring or peeping in our condo windows confirming her choice as she saw my affectionately winning ways with twins. (I've never told anyone this; November must be true confession month.) Being scrutinized and having to earn my stripes, probably made me a better mom.

My niece just moved in with us to embrace the California lifestyle. In short order, she has improved our quality of life substantially. I will be bummed when she makes enough friends to get her own apartment. She must be exhausted playing as many roles as she does to each member of our family. Being 25 years old puts her smack in the middle of the proverbial generation gap. She is a motivational novelty like none other for Reid. Her cheerful, empathetic interest in his day livens up our dinner conversation more than candlelight. She has become the namesake for his new favorite trampoline maneuver: dance dance revolution Kat-style!

Kat and Allie are like sisters neither one of them has had. She drives a convertible Beetle (way cooler than mom) and shares her hip wardrobe as readily as a personal shopper at Nordstrom's. Her memory of high school and college are still vivid enough to shed light. Her life choices are happening in real time for Allie to witness.

Actually, she is old enough, wise enough and foodie enough to be a lot like the sister I never had too! Having Kathryn here means that I am no longer alone with my thoughts. We were constant companions during the first weeks when she was unemployed and without wheels. Wanting to be sociable, apparently I began to say things out loud to her that had previously been left unsaid (or at least unheard). She would compliment, ""Your internal monologue is hilarious. You're cracking me up, I can't stand it, stop...." Who knew? I never thought of myself as that funny. She is at once a mirror, a sounding board, and an audience. Oh my goodness, she just told me she loves to iron! Jackpot, I tell you. Having a confidante and adoring fan is (in my humble opinion), making me a better writer.

Arguably, we all have an internal monologue of some sort; a conversation that goes on inside our head that others (usually) do not hear. In Reid's extroverted case, it is there for all to hear. Allow me to introduce another character in his repertoire of all-time favorites. Drum roll please......Allie-in-the-tummy. Although she has not been immortalized on the silver screen or merchandised to the hilt, she is precious to us and critical to his well being.

When she first arrived, it seemed Reid was talking to himself. Jim would correct, "Allie is upstairs, Reid. Go up there so she can hear you." He rebuffed, "No, not the real Allie, Allie-in-the-tummy." Or more directly, "Quiet! I'm talking to Allie," as if we had no manners at all.

At second glance, this talking to an imaginary person was slightly disturbing, especially given that he holds both sides of the conversation.

R: "No, Allie I don't want to do homework....it's hard. I can't" (with real tears)

A-i-t-T: "Well, you have to Reid. Mom said. I know you can do it. You're a smart boy. I'll help you...come on..."

R: "Ok Allie. You're right."

Another time during the flow of homework, we overheard this adoring dialogue:

A-i-t-T:"Reid, you look so cute in that picture."

R: "I know Allie but let's get back to work."

Allie-in-the-tummy has a slightly higher intonation and is always patient, wise, loving, and encouraging. She accompanies him to school, on the bus and to bed. Like Jiminy Cricket, she helps discern right from wrong. (I just learned that Jiminy Cricket was originally a euphemistic expletive to replace taking Jesus' (J.C.) name in vain. Ironic.

At third glance, it may seem like a twin thing, a residual of twin talk that developed when they separated for a large chunk of the day at different schools. At fourth glance (and believe me I 've pondered it more than 4 times), it is healthy self-talk, way more pertinent than any counsel or cognitive behavior theory the school psychologist may give him.

Having a readily available guide helps Reid make better choices. Furthermore, hearing his thought process helps me to understand his internal struggles and the function of some of his behavior.

So it is that I have ultimately landed on the spiritual application. Allie-in-the-tummy is akin to the voice of the Holy Spirit any of us might hear whispering in our right ear--advising, convicting, spurring us on to do good. In keeping with the character of God the Father, the Spirit's nature is faithful, upright, pure, of good repute, fair, forgiving, and tender. The opposite of the enemy's voice, His is also distinct from our own sinful human nature. We would do well to follow Reid's example, quiet ourselves, "take a minute" (as defined in his Behavior Intervention Plan) and listen for that still small voice.

Having the Holy Spirit to instruct us, makes us more like Christ.

The Spirit searches all things, even the deep things of God. For who among men knows the thoughts of a man except the man's spirit within him? In the same way, no one knows the thoughts of God except the Spirit of God. 1 Corinthians 2:9-12

Your ears will hear a word behind you, "This is the way, walk in it," whenever you turn to the right or to the left. Isaiah 30:20-22

"My sheep hear My voice, and I know them, and they follow Me; John 10:26-28

A Friend Indeed

What a glorious sunny day in December! I had time to breathe while I waited for a friend. A dear, dear friend I rarely get to see anymore. We were condo neighbors, then prayer partners when I first moved to California 17 years ago. Neither of us had children, and she not a husband at the time. The combined weekly prayers of our trio (a third neighbor joined us) covered the full circle of female experience. Representing a lifespan between us, we prayed each other through some heart-wrenching transitions from single-hood to marriage and infertility to menopause. As time has rolled on, we've traded places and themes until now, lo and behold the daughters we prayed into existence are approaching the age we were when we met (almost)! Cue the Circle of Life song from Lion King.

It was Carolyn who changed my prayer for a baby from a request to an intercession. She aptly foresaw that the baby we were hoping to adopt was likely already conceived and growing in someone's belly. It was Carolyn who called me when she went into labor to cue me to my knees-- and again just an hour later to say her baby girl had arrived! Suffice it to say, walking with her stirs a lot of memories. It has been years since we've had more than 5 minutes on the church patio and as many as 6 other ears listening to all we confide.

Carolyn's the kind of friend I can (and do) call for a ride to the airport at any ungodly hour or from the dark roadside alley 40 minutes from home where AAA left me stranded with 2 kids recently or when I'm desperate to keep an invitation to a dinner dance and can't find a babysitter for my "spirited" child. I know she'd do anything for me...and vice versa.

Now that you know I love her, I must also tell you she typically runs a little late. So, I had some time by myself at the beach as I waited to relish this annual-at-best beachwalk we had managed to schedule. Twenty minutes later strolling up the serendipitously low tide, I realized I was 5 blocks north of where we'd agreed to meet! Oops. No matter, ours is a totally forgiving friendship too. By the time we recognized each other waving in the misty distance, I had found 2 sand dollars and heard the Lord speak volumes.

Like a trusty hearing aid, when Carolyn is around--or even approaching me from afar--I seem to hear better. Hearing the Lord doesn't happen a lot for me in this manner. Sure, when I am in His Word I hear principles and application. Far less common though is alone time when I feel His thoughts virtually drop into my mind. Usually when I walk with a friend, we are talking. While highly pleasurable and beneficial, our chatter makes it impossible to hear any other voices, especially that stillest, small voice of all. So, this day in addition to the extraordinary visit with Carolyn, I received the elusive gift of silence with God...and a tangible token from the sea.

I'm quite sure I began praying for a friend for Reid when he was about 2 (it's recorded in an old prayer journal). That prayer request is one I've reiterated, re-used, thrown out, and recycled in turns with great angst, acquiescence, acceptance, and assertion. Just recently, 12 years hence, I see stirrings of an affirmative answer as Reid talks about 2 boys on his bus route. It used to be, I was organizing facilitated play groups, recruiting typically developing peers from church, or negotiating the parameters of a playdate to ensure it's success. How refreshingly different to now be sitting back and merely asking, "Do you want to take an extra cookie for Billy?" Or coaching Reid on how to ask Aaron for his phone number so we can call his house. How much better to have the desire come from within rather than be imposed upon. How spontaneous and better than what I ever asked or imagined.

The Lord does answer prayer...all in His good timing. So, I continue to pray that one day Reid will have a friend like Jonathon was to David; a friend like Carolyn is to me; a friend who sticks closer than peanut butter, to quote one of our favorite Steve Green Hide 'em in Your Heart scripture memory songs! And...I continue to believe he will.

I am a sucker for children's choirs and this one does my heart good in their rendition of the irresistible old favorite, What a Friend we Have in Jesus.

"Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends. You are my friends if you do what I command. I no longer call you servants, because a servant does not know his master's business. Instead, I have called you friends, for everything that I learned from my Father I have made known to you." John 15:13-17

"Jonathan said to David, "Go in peace, for we have sworn friendship with each other in the name of the LORD, saying, 'The LORD is witness between you and me, and between your descendants and my descendants forever.' ! Samuel 20:42

"Abraham believed God, and it was credited to him as righteousness," and he was called God's friend. James 2:22-24

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All Roads Lead to Writing

When every song on my ipod, every artist I select, every sermon outline fill-in-the-blank, every instruction I am given (even my kids' devotionals) compel me with another idea to post, it must be a sign. Get back to blogging!

The summer was long. My daughter switched to a new high school giving her 3 full months and an overdose of vacation and staycation. We had a trip to the east coast that afforded great family memories afterward but, in the moment was stress-filled requiring a double dose of attitude adjustment. Reid had the month of August off with no school routine to keep us plugged in. Need I say more? Whether or not you noticed, I have unknowingly kicked the habit of daily posting.

I'm back in the saddle though, as of now! I've been stashing notes in a book stand on my kitchen counter. It is jammed with experiences to process from the summer each on their own little slip of paper or in the margin of a church program. It is motivating to think I will not run out of material but rather have a storehouse of observations to unload. In her book, Writing to Change the World, which I absolutely love (I don't think there is a page I have NOT dogeared), Mary Pipher encourages writers to go ahead and say it, "I'm a writer." Often, we are the ones with the introverted temperament who procrastinate and need a push to take the little leap of faith to dive in and commit to that as a professional title. That is me.

The longer I avoid writing, the more slips of paper accumulate. What's even more annoying, more and more mundane events beckon me back to the keyboard. Listening to instrumental music walking the dog, I can't help myself from composing illustrations about life and autism. Metaphors are cutting me off in traffic on the freeway of my mind. At my piano lesson, my substitute teacher (not even Angela) explained how I might improve my phrasing on Ecossaise in C by Beethoven. Without realizing it, her words were a metaphor for my month with Reid at home 24/7. I give him instructions in pianissimo then repeat them in a crescendo with only slight variation again until it is forte. Then I back off in resignation before the D.C. al fine as if to replay the request. I didn't have to think too long to implement her suggestion that I envision a storyline while I play. It all comes back to autism. My life has become a spiritual journey through (not to) autism. You may think, autism, schmatism. (That's another great blog name that's been taken.) I say, it's all good!



What do all your roads lead to? A new house...an obvious mate...the decision to adopt...persistent nudges to a certain project....to say "no" to something...

Could this be one of the ways God speaks to us? Like the insistent prayer of the widow in Luke 18, maybe His Holy Spirit is modeling prayer for us prodding and poking, divinely texting and twittering us with reminders to complete the plans he has for us.


"For some time he refused. But finally he said to himself, 'Even though I don't fear God or care about men, yet because this widow keeps bothering me, I will see that she gets justice, so that she won't eventually wear me out with her coming!' " Luke 18:4-5


"We write this to make our joy complete." 1 John 1:3-5


"Since you are my rock and my fortress, for the sake of your name lead and guide me." Psalm 31:2-4