Scumscream

We are not big on sunscreen in this family. Although we are avid beach goers, and live in sunny San Diego, we forego conventional prevention strategies in favor of deferred maintenance. Scumscream, as we prefer to call it, is just too sticky, too greasy, too pore-blocking, too messy, and too get-in-your-eyes. We can't be bothered.

Hats, the same. Sunglasses too. Beach umbrellas? No. Only on occasion (like a baptism party or everyday-beach-week) do we lug out our pop-up shade tent. Fact is, we prefer to travel light for our brief stays at the beach. Chairs? Leave 'em at Longs. Towels, maybe one to share. A book, get real! We wear our suits, drive down, take a dip, dry off and swing back up the hill.

We spend most of our time actually waiting for a parallel parking spot to open up along our favorite strip of isolated beach. These coveted spots grant access to a crowd-free section of beach between two more popular public parking lots (ok, maybe I am anti-social). They also accommodate Reid's propensity to "wait in the car" until he's ready for the sandy transition across rocks to water or if he needs to escape the wind. It's a coastal variation on car camping one could dub, car beachgoing.

This presents a problem on vacations in Nantucket where Natty and Papa Jim move at a different pace. They take chairs which strap onto your backs, coolers of food, books, last month's periodicals, today's paper, ipods, cutlery and linens.

Literally, by the time they got their cups situated in the cup holders of the folding director's chairs, Reid was charging out of the surf announcing, "I'm done now, let's go home!"

Our compromising solution to gradually change his habit, build flexibility, and meet divergent expectations, was to designate a specific time that we'd leave. Jim let him hold his waterproof watch which he studied like a pixelated Disney trailer. Each day we inched the time up from 10 to 30 minutes of imposed reclining in the sun ("chill-axing" in the family vernacular), after his ritual dip in the waves.

Making it concrete like this worked...in part. That's not to say he played frisbee, relaxed, or read the paper. Picture him instead buried under a towel so the digital LED numbers were visible in the bright daylight. He burrowed there clock-watching like I used to do in gym class until dismissal time.

On the minute, he shot up erect with the announcement, "It's 4:30, let's go! Pack up everyone." Handing them paraphernalia and scooping up his towel, he beat feet back to the car. Always first and undeniably decisive, the kid has "therious leaderthkip thkills, as Kip would lisp. (Napoleon Dynamite being the flavor of the month last summer.)

But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently. Romans 8:24-26

The wolf will live with the lamb, the leopard will lie down with the goat, the calf and the lion and the yearling together; and a little child will lead them. Isaiah 11:5-7

Keeping an Ear Open

I love Sundays!

Mine began with worship--two choirs singing to the rafters-- continued with fellowship--great friends who follow us from the patio to the parking lot--and ended with kinship--time with the newly dubbed "core four" on a beach walk and talk time at the table.

Although we were bummed at having to send my niece, Kathryn off on her next chapter, the blessing of the day came as Allie shared her desires for the future with me. Ironically, (because we'd let her sleep in and skip church) her sentiments echoed the very sermon we'd heard and she'd missed.

Not only did I get to recap it for her but, I also got a reminder of how God speaks to us. To the authentic Christian, "coincidences" are more than what meets the eye. When I am listening for direction or praying for wisdom, the simple timing of a comment and a point in a sermon can indicate God's voice in answer to me.

I am being intentionally cryptic to keep Allie's confidence. But suffice it to say that when we listen with ears to hear, God speaks. Praise Him for that!

Then Jesus said, "He who has ears to hear, let him hear." Mark 4:8-10

If any of you lacks wisdom, he should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to him. James 1:4-6

Draw near to God and He will draw near to you. James 4:7-9

We Did It!

What a day! What an hour! What a group! Six mothers in the San Diego area, acquainted through their children's autism, congregated at the beach. Inspired by Autism File magazine's example and challenge, we each grabbed a friend in order to stage a photo shoot in our city.

Along with hundreds of moms around the world, we were psyched to celebrate and document our camaraderie, triumph over adversity, strength in numbers, love that moves mountains, and our kids abilities and accomplishments.

Have you ever met a new friend who was not a stranger? Among the six of us, many were meeting for the first (or second) time. No matter. Our invisible tattoos matched! All of us had made similar choices, seen beauty in the same light, endured related pangs, been patient for healing, and bear the same badge with pride. Without much explicit sharing or rolling up of any sleeves, we knew each other's life stories--in large part. Amazingly, as the photos illustrate, we left the beach having formed a sisterhood. Women are amazing creatures. And adversity is an amazing bonding agent. Autism is like Krazy Glue.


Look with me through the 3-D super sonic, invisible, tattoo-seeing, infrared glasses to appreciate that one of these women has been widowed for more than a decade, one lives in chronic pain, two have two boys on the spectrum, one has a son in a group home, three have homeschooled, one currently homeschools, one has a daughter on the spectrum, one is in the military, and one adopted twins (ok that one's easy). What I love about the video is the joy that shines through it all like the sun through our San Diego marine layer in the morning along the coast. It's as if the friction of life has caused the glow of each soul to burn brighter.

Autism mums can be a diverse lot. Some are angry, some are militant, some are bitter, some are divorced, some depressed. And yet, some glow. This group of women amazed me as, unbeknownst to even us, we sounded a common chord last Sunday: we don't want pity; we are so blessed; we want to stand up and be counted. As if after a good stair work-out (I've heard), we are pumped with endorphins saying, Feel the burn!



A friend loves at all times, and a (sister) is born for adversity. Proverbs 17:16-18


So the women hurried away from the tomb, afraid yet filled with joy, and ran to tell his disciples. Matthew 28:7-9


They will enter Zion with singing; everlasting joy will crown their heads. Gladness and joy will overtake them, and sorrow and sighing will flee away. Isaiah 35:9-10

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

www.ubergizmo.com

Starfish, Starfish wonder what you are...

This little ditty on Sara Groves' Station Wagon CD spun through my head as I spotted something on the surface of the sand and lunged for it like treasure.

starfish starfish wonder what you are fish
time and tide go washing by and
you don't even care

peaceful creature come and be my teacher
flotsam, jetsam swish and swirl.

I'm not saying I remembered all those lines at the time and obviously I got my sea creatures mixed up. Not until I sit to write this, did it dawn on me that I found a sand dollar not a starfish....pshchw details! Treasure is treasure and I don't happen to know a sand dollar song! Do you? The tune put me in mind of the book, One Small Starfish by Anne Addison which is excellent resource...which led me to...the mind races so fast from one thought to the next, you know how it goes. Soon the the ideas turn into ones that you know aren't your own. They take on a symbolic, metaphoric, distinctly divine quality.

The thoughts flooded so fast I could identify them as from God. I can't fabricate ideas that quickly let alone spell them out in words. I have learned to run my thoughts through two filters in order to prove them of God. First, do they correlate with Scripture? Second, do they agree with His nature? If yes on both counts, then I take it as from God to me. If no, then the voice could be my own or that of the enemy. Indeed, these sounded like His voice.

What a glorious, sunny, low tide shore! No question, I'd found a whole sand dollar. Stoked, I turned it over in my hand to see the underside. Despite it's unquestionable wholeness, it had a definite dent. Not broken or cracked, just pushed in...wow...almost as if it were an organic 3-dimensional model of the top down SPECT scan view of Reid's brain I had just reviewed with a third psychiatrist. Smack dab in the right front quadrant was this considerable impression. Hmuh?...an uncanny representation of the white hot, overactive spot that makes his scan resemble a stop action photo of fireworks lighting up a July sky. The hot spots, otherwise referred to as a "ring of fire," were top priority to treat. This little gem of a sand dollar reminded me of my fearfully and wonderfully made boy in a split second. He is an incomparable find...placed in my path...specifically for me...unique, beautiful and whole...impressive and impressionable...that, like the sand dollar, arrived smaller than average.

Just steps down the beach, I found another sand dollar. What a day! Is this one Allie? Bigger, cleaner, not perfect either, but more speckled and gray than marred, like the first. My steps quickened to instinctively "show and tell" with two little girls playing in my stride. "Look, wanna see what I found? Aren't they special?" I imagined saying these words as well as, "You can keep it." Before I could utter them, they caught in my throat with ostenstibly selfish thoughts like, "They're mine. Finders keepers. You can look but, please don't touch them." I walked quietly by instead of stopping. Now, intentionally keeping my mind open to more thoughts from the Father. "Keep them, they're for you today," He seemed to say.

Hmmm...keep them as a sign...of this push and pull dynamic that is perpetual for mothers...like letting out and reeling in the line of a kite. Relinquishment and responsibility. How many times have I revisited this parenting topic? When will I have done it sufficiently and in a healthy way without one ounce of rationalizing? In my head, I know the goal: our kids are not our own; they come from God; they are arrows in our quiver to be sent forth; ours for a time to prepare for independence. Heart knowledge is a different matter.

How many layers must there be to this teary onion? I have released my kids multiple times and in myriad ways, yet still I catch myself with hands grasped figuratively, hanging on with a comment, or controlling through an expectation. Am I hoarding my kids as treasures or sending them out for the glory of God?

I gave Reid the middle name of Samuel knowing full well the story of Hannah's infertility and her bargain with the Lord if He remembered her. Like Sarah, I named Reid Samuel because "I asked the Lord for him." But could I also "give him over to the Lord for his whole life" like she did? Not exactly. I could barely send him to school at age 13, let alone leave him to be raised by priests. I recall a relinquishment prayer exercise embedded in Catherine Marshall's book, Adventures in Prayer? More than once, it has been an issue for me.

Clearly, relinquishment is more a process than an event. At first blush, it sounds like turning someone over to the wolves. As an adoptive mom, it also smacks of the dreaded rejection curse which has deep roots we don't want to dig up (let alone reinforce in anyone's spirit). The nuances of it though, involve trusting people and powers outside myself. As a special needs mom, I have done significant mental wrestling before trusting nursery workers to love my child, Sunday school teachers to accept his quirky behaviors, an audience at Borders to receive his singing well, neighbors to figure out how he's different, playmates to perceive his ill-expressed intentions, teachers to be insightful, wise, and responsive, babysitters to be of good character, even family to expand their minds and hearts. So it is, that relinquishment and trust are inextricably linked.

For Reid to ever have hope of an independent, full life (that remotely resembles his sister's), I have to squelch my own internal control freak and let go of protecting him, speaking for him, answering for him, meeting all his needs. I need to trust numerous others to stand in those gaps. Sounds easy enough but is hard with a child who has unpredictable development and neurology.

During a season of perpetual anguish when I was exhausted and unsure how to help Reid or know what to do next, I sought healing prayer for both of us. I envisioned myself helpless on a shore and described Reid as a boat floundering at sea in high winds, adrift without a rudder at the whim of a raging storm. Truthfully, at that time he had little control over his own body or mind--the embodiment of vestibular anarchy. The answered prayer came not as a solution or reply but as a picture of Jesus with him in the boat. Much like the disciples in Mark 4, Reid was and is and actually will be fine because of that single fact alone. Jesus is with Him. Can I yield to that? Can He be trusted?

Jesus Himself was in the stern, asleep on the cushion; and they woke Him and said to Him, "Teacher, do You not care that we are perishing?" And He got up and rebuked the wind and said to the sea, "Hush, be still." And the wind died down and it became perfectly calm. And He said to them, "Why are you afraid? Do you still have no faith?" Mark 4:37-39

"...the LORD was not in the wind. And after the wind an earthquake, but the LORD was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake a fire, but the LORD was not in the fire; and after the fire a sound of a gentle blowing. 1 Kings 19

The LORD himself goes before you and will be with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged." Deuteronomy 31:7-9

www.pacificwilderness.com, www.donnan-family.org.uk/mystic_boat.jpg, www.nefsc.noaa.gov/.../violet%20starfish.jpg

Where is Balance?

I have rocks in my sink. Literally. I lifted the idea from my hairdresser who has them in her salon's restroom. They create a spa moment for me and a sensory experience. The sound of water couououssshhhing over rocks takes me momentarily to the beach at high tide. On several of the stones are written abstract concepts--life themes of which I like to be reminded: Balance, Inspire, Journey.

Instead of INSPIRE-ing anyone or stimulating conversation as I had also hoped, they seem to bring on waves of ridicule and controversy. They confound my cleaning lady. She can't decide whether to wash each one or wash under them or wash around them. They are the ultimate knick-knacks I suppose--absolute clutter serving no function. Mind you she doesn't converse (even in Spanish) with me about them, but instead huffs and puffs as she moves them brashly out of her way.

The rocks (really they are pebbles) discombobulate my mother in-law. She clearly could not, would not, will not wash her hands in the out-of-doors environment that rocks in a sink simulate. Because the washroom is right off our kitchen, I heard her without trying, as she too moved them out of her way each time she washed her hands before meals. She could not fathom that the soapy water would simply filter through the rocks and on down the drain. Questions like, "don't they block the drain?" and "how can that be?" or "why did you put...?" kept us head-tilting like confused puppy dogs.

The stones intrigued our 20-

something nephews on a recent visit. Being younger, more idealistic and open minded, they actually added to the collection when we returned from the beach. And complimented my aesthetic! I take this as a good sign of what's to come with the next generation.

I digress. The BALANCE rock makes me think of many things. I need to find balance between my over-sympathetic, over- invested,  homeschooling 24/7, over-consumed role as mother and the role (which some feel I should try) of bon-bon eating, beach walking, puttering woman of leisure with no deadlines (or thoughts) other than arriving promptly to the carpool line and bus stop. Or does balance find itself?

We need to find balance when hearing reports about our children. Hearing that they have erred in school or with their peers can be devastating in the moment.  Yet, put in perspective (that's a synonym for balance), it is part of growing up and just serves to create a teachable moment. Maybe it's an opportunity to practice self-control dealing with difficult people.  Gee, let me tell you about guarding your tongue.  Hmmm, here's a good example of why modesty matters.

As a society, we need to find balance in our portrayal of autism in the media. People are critical of Autism Every Day as it portrays only the down-side, scary, gut wrenching, traumatic, unbearable reality of autism. Others criticize Autism Yesterday which oversimplifies the cause and "cure" by blaming immunizations for every incidence of autism. Both offer some truth. Neither is absolutely true. Fundraising dinners are a good place for the worst-case-scenario depictions. Family movie nights are a good place for the tolerance tales. New parent orientations are a good place for the hopeful testimonials.

Two cliches come to mind: All press is good press and Consumer Beware. If nothing else, the airtime that autism is getting in the media stimulates the nay sayers to create the "rest of the story;" the flip side then creates balance.  And dear fellow parent, don't believe everything you read, hear or see.  We need to be wary of anything that promises or strongly infers to "fix" our kids. A better pursuit is to arrive at the point of seeing that they are not broken. If it sounds too good to be true, it probably is. If it insults your child on the way, skip it!  

My husband has written about the extremist view as a rallying point for the green environmentalist movement in his blog, oceanswavesandbeaches.com. (He is my inspiration and tutor for all things technological and futurist.) Like our interest in autism, his passion for the environment has become trendy all of a sudden.  For those of us living with autism as a reality not a trend that can breed resentment sometimes.  We are like the Irishman who won't wear green because he knows he's Irish all yearlong not just on St. Patty's Day!  We know autism yesterday, everyday and tomorrow too.  Self-respect and pride are not about a green shirt and hair.

Any new passion or bandwagon requires jumping to the extreme before a leveling off occurs. The groundswell and critical mass of media about autism is good even though it's not all accurate. It is on people's radar. There is enormous fodder for discussion. It has not reached an equilibrium. Balance will find itself. That's my soapbox on the BALANCE rock...stay tuned for INSPIRE and PEACE.

There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven... a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them       Ecclesiastes 3:1-3  

Who has measured the waters in the hollow of his hand, or with the breadth of his hand marked off the heavens? Who has held the dust of the earth in a basket, or weighed the mountains on the scales and the hills in a balance?     Isaiah 40:11-13

photo credits: copleysociety.org; gilpin.wordpress.com; abcnews.com