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

Puzzle No More

The puzzle piece icon has become an almost universal symbol for autism. Generally speaking, I steer away from it. I don't sport the ribbon pin, keychain, bumper sticker, or mindset--though these clogs did catch my eye.

Nevertheless, today is the day--April is the month--to get on the Autism Awareness band wagon. While I am changing my profile pic, screwing blue bulbs into my porch lights, and printing out my Turning the Tide prayer calendar today, I figured I would also search BibleGateway for what the God has to say about "puzzles."

"The heart is hopelessly dark and deceitful, a puzzle that no one can figure out. But I, God, search the heart and examine the mind. I get to the heart of the human. I get to the root of things." Jeremiah 17:8-10 The Message

Read that verse again! The puzzles no one can figure out, are not secrets of darkness to Him. He has a strategy; He's not stumped; He's ordained our days.

He is not puzzled over this epidemic. He is up to something. Further, it is just not His way to hide things from us. He's just waiting like a desperate mom, for each of his children to make eye contact and call out His name.

The Light it Up Blue campaign is easy to scripturalize. As we seek to Shine a Light on Autism, let's call upon the God of Genesis who brought light itself into being with His words, "Let there be light." His Son, the light of the world, came from heaven to earth with a mission to cancel our sin, heal the blind, seek and save the lost. His Spirit communicates those secrets of darkness to us when we ask. According to both the book of Revelation and little Colton's account in Heaven is For Real, there is no darkness in heaven. God and Jesus literally light it up.

I am celebrating dramatic deliverance and freedom this month that we've experienced since last April, which was very dark. From that hellhole of pharmaceuticals, panic, and power failure, we have been rescued. It sounds like I'm preaching but really I am astonished--like Colton's parents--or the Israelites looking back at the Red Sea--that it is all real! Everything He says He does, when we do it His way: remove the idols, pray without ceasing, and submit to our husbands. He shines a light on autism, cancer, AIDS, and every other disease that puzzles us.

Are you getting on the band wagon this April? Ask the Lord what He would have you do. He is faithful to reveal it one piece at a time.

"Blessed be the name of God, forever and ever. He knows all, does all: He changes the seasons and guides history, He raises up kings and also brings them down, he provides both intelligence and discernment, He opens up the depths, tells secrets, sees in the dark--light spills out of him! Daniel 2:22 The Message

Suddenly, God, your light floods my path, God drives out the darkness. I smash the bands of marauders, I vault the high fences. What a God! His road stretches straight and smooth. Every God-direction is road-tested. Everyone who runs toward him Makes it. 2 Samuel 22:28-30 The Message

Sing a New Song

I am the LORD, the God of all mankind. Is anything too hard for me? Jeremiah 32:26-28

He put a new song in my mouth, a hymn of praise to our God. Many will see and fear the LORD and put their trust in him. Psalm 40:2-4

Almost every Sunday morning as we coast the 2 miles downhill to church (coffee or smoothie in hand), Reid breaks spontaneously into a praise song. (His memory for lyrics is astounding, not to mention the artist who's recorded it and what track it is on which of their albums.)

Eight times out of 10, the song Reid picks en route ends up being on the church bulletin that very Sunday! It's uncanny. This didn't dawn on me at first but, it has happened enough now that I am quite sure of the correlation. (All of us learn through repetition.)

Last week, he and I drove alone so instead of the usual foursome belting out the prophetic pre-worship selection, I was able to ask him, "Reid, how do you think of what song to sing in the car?"

After the usual pregnant pause I offered, "Does the Lord tell you which song?"

Immediately, "Yes the Lord gives it to me."

Is anything too hard for the Lord? Even if we struggle to communicate with ones profoundly language delayed, the God who made us all in His image, has a way.

As Hans Christian Andersen said, when words fail, music speaks. Music is the language of the soul, as another blogger points out.

Karen Kingsbury's fictional book, Unlocked, gave me much food for thought. She portrays Holden, a teenager with autism, with a close friends who unlocks his potential as well as the meaning behind some of his self stims. When he rocks, he is interceding for classmates.

I wonder if we gave our guys more credit for having spiritual gifts and disciplines, if they would grow into maturity?

Might we too, as they teach us in the process?

Lending and Borrowing

"Good Morning Andrea. This is Kay down at the Solana Beach Library."

They open early the day before Thanksgiving I thought, expecting it to be my mom gobble gobbling on the other line.

"Oh hi Kay, how are you?" I'm on a first name basis with many of our local librarians, as previously mentioned.

"I'm fine, but I should be asking, 'how are you?' Well, listen, we're having kind of a slow day down here...going through some lost and found...and we have a darling photo album with pictures of your family from Christmas 2009...I have no idea how it got here but you know...sometimes things have a way of getting shoved back behind on the shelves....." (gobble gobble)

"I know exactly how it got there...and yes, I'll be right down to get it. Thank you!" Those glossy coffee table albums cost me some time and coin to make.

Grateful for Reid's share and share alike attitude. Grateful they didn't catalogue it for general circulation among my neighbors. Grateful they know us and took the time to call. Grateful to have it back.

P.S. Which Dewey decimal classification do you suppose it would fall under? Social Science...Biography...Arts & Recreation...History

Do Tell....got stims?

Our beloved home program case manager, Danielle, taught me many things. She listened to the ponderings of my heart for many hours, "played guys" (Playmobil and Winnie the Pooh) with Reid several mornings a week, and trained more tutors than I can recount. Our front door was a turnstile of professionals and paraprofessionals who all delivered: early intervention.

Very early in my education, Danielle shared from her researchers' point of view that if all of us could be plotted somewhere along the autism spectrum (which ranges from normal to severely autistic), then we must all have at least one defining tendency or trait or ritual or stim. If we were honest. Once she confided hers, I was quickly able to identify mine. Over time this enables my empathy with others.

Danielle had a thing for counting the joints on door hinges in her mind as a diversion during meetings or in homes or whenever. I have the anxious, oddly pleasurable habit of running my fingers through my hair and pulling out individual strands like farm girls in Ohio used to do with blades of grass before whistling through them in their thumbs.

I will also confess to a word game of my own creation that I've played with myself since school days. Seeing signage or titles, I get sucked into sorting the words into symmetrical patterns of vowels and consonants. The invisible, consuming game continues until the entire word or phrase comes out even like a division equation. It's akin to diagramming a sentence only by individual letter rather than parts of speech. Hyperlexic much? Danielle's response when I described it was, "Yeah, that's one!"

Reid watches Disney, Pixar, and Dreamworks logo trailers backwards and forwards as if memorizing them in his head. He stops and starts the DVD action in order to get a still shot in his brain of each frame. Then in bed or in the car, he rocks his head back and forth which seems to aids in the playback of those memorized scenes. If anyone knows of a paying job for which this skill is useful, please do tell. Here's an all time favorite. Oh the thrill of watching that white glowy trail encircle the castle!

After reading A Slant of Sun by Beth Kephart in those same early years, my mom went out and bought a dozen copies for the extended family. Then she commented, "as I read about her son's fixations, I have to admit I do that too. It made me realize how much I am like Reid." Bear in mind we are a family by adoption so this is more than evidence of the genetic predisposition.

If you care to take this a bit more seriously, here is an online Autism Quotient test which indicates traits that constitute the autism diagnosis and also gives some idea of where you might fall along the spectrum.

Elvis Sightings gives an excellent explanation of the repetitive movements associated with autism. It may be "unproductive, obsessive, obstructive, annoying, consuming" but I know and you know that it is also"pleasurable, centering, meditative, regulating, communing."

Go ahead, do tell us in a comment one of yours...

Alleluias after Easter!

Are there memories etched in your mind that would be establishing shots in a movie of your life? Have you ever wandered aimlessly alone through a bookstore and found a book that was written just for you?

I have. One cold, wintry night 9 years ago in a suburb of Chicago, I was encouraged by my husband to "just get out for awhile." As ever, I found myself inevitably combing the shelves of a bookstore in search of something very specific but nothing in particular. That night I found a little gem, Changed by A Child by Barbara Gill, that satisfied my craving.

If I were to go out tonight on that same hunt, I am sure I'd come home carrying Autism & Alleluias by Kathy Deyer Bolduc. This handheld, personal treasure is a godsend of hopeful, gutsy true grit that lets me know I am still not alone on this road through adolescent autism to glory.

My copy is already circled, starred, underlined and doggeared. I don't think there has ever been a book that scratched so many of my itches. Like a psalmist, Kathy tells it like it is in raw poetic honesty. In each of 39 vignettes, she captures God's intended purpose in real challenges and celebrates how her son, Joel, has shown her His grace.

She does not stifle the truth like a proverbial church lady, but writes candidly enough to have me welling up and ultimately sobbing at the beauty of almost every 2-page devotional.

She gets the daily calls from school; she knows the "anger that's been tamped down for months;" she "reads his moods like an investor watches the stock market;" "exhaustion is her constant companion." AND (not but), it has made her holy.

Her "body remains in the front pew of College Hill Presbyterian Church, but her spirit stands in the sacred presence of God." I love that line!

Thank you Kathy for being one of the saints who has gone before and written it done for our benefit. I would add you to the Hebrews 11 Hall of Fame after Enoch, Noah, Abraham, Moses and Rahab.

These were all commended for their faith, yet none of them received what had been promised. God had planned something better for us so that only together with us would they be made perfect. Hebrews 11:39-40

If you are free tomorrow at 2:00 EDT, tune into a webinar with the author. "A Place Called Acceptance" (click here to register) will also include Bill Gaventa, Editor of the Journal of Religion, Disability, and Health, and Ginny Thornbugh, program director for the Interfaith Initiative of the American Association of People with Disabilities.

Top 10 Tuesday

Top 10 Ways to Celebrate Autism Awareness Month this April

10. Post the Turning the Tide Prayer Thrust calendar on your refrigerator

9. Send it to the prayer team at your church to build their awareness

8. Rent Adam or Snow Cake

7. Tweet or post one of the verses on your Facebook

6. Light something up blue!

5. Read Rules by Cynthia Lord or The Boy Who Ate Stars by Kochka

4. Eat gluten free for a day, perhaps April 2 which is World Autism Awareness Day

3. Go on a prayer walk around a special education school in your town

2. Offer a playdate or an hour of respite to a family experiencing autism

1. Fast on April 23 with me

Gravitational Insecurity

None of these authors have it! (Though I'd wager each one could define it. They are that vicariously in tune with their kids on the spectrum.)

An anthology of perspectives on parenting, titled Gravity Pulls You In, is hot off the press. Having spent an hour on their website, I have reconnected with some bloggers I'd lost track of, gotten to know my neighbor a bit better, and met a couple new kindred spirits.

As I read the excerpts from editor, Kyra Anderson's Preface, I am flooded with camaraderie and ready to be deserted on a desert island with any of the contributors. She explains the title:

In my cartoon imaginings, I saw us sticking out sideways or hanging upside down like St. Exupery’s Little Prince...

“Gravity, Mom,” he answered for us both. And then he thought for a while. “I have an idea! Gravity doesn’t really pull you down, it pulls you in. So, if you were upside down, it wouldn’t pull you away from the earth, it would pull you in,

toward the earth, toward its center!”

Huh. Gravity pulls you in.

He’s right. It does pull you in, not just to the center of the earth but to the center of yourself, if you let it. Things that are weighty, things that demand a closer look, a new approach, a shift in perspective, those things pull you in. Even when you are spinning, even when you are moving much more quickly than you thought was possible, even when you find yourself in territory where instincts alone don’t feel like enough to complete the revolution.

The circumference of the earth at the equator is about 25,000 miles. Every twenty-four hours, the earth travels 25,000 miles around itself through space. That means we’re going more than 1,000 miles per hour. That’s fast.

And we’re not falling off.

It's centrifugal! Like the roller coaster on the cover art...and that I've mentioned previously here.

Funny how same reference is made in the opening of the movie, Adam.

My favorite children's book is about a little prince who came to earth from a distant asteroid.

He meets a pilot whose plane has crashed in the desert. The Little Prince teaches the pilot many things but, mainly about love.

My father always told me I was like the little prince but, after I met Adam I realized I was the pilot all along.

Here is to the continued journey of love and learning from our kids and other parents in the same boat!

the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God. And our hope for you is firm, because we know that just as you share in our sufferings, so also you share in our comfort. 2 Corinthians 1:3-8

Lost Again

My favorite-movie-of-all-time is Lost in America. Albert Brooks' cracks me up as he whines, "I can't believe it, I've lost a whole woman. How can that be?" After a fight, his wife has hitched a ride with a redneck stranger to get away from the Hoover Dam and him. ARRGHH!!!! come his non-verbal groans of exasperation and helplessness. What to do now?!??! I know the feeling.

I could, but won't, make a recurrent series of Lost and Found Reid stories, for it happens woefully often. It is not something I'm proud of but, it is emotionally trying enough that retelling seems to be a coping mechanism. Will you oblige me?

Every time it happens, that Albert Brooks line runs through my mind. "I've lost a whole child!" It helps to have someone with me, someone who knows Reid, someone who knows I'm actually ultra-responsible. Just like the sister in Ian's Walk by Laurie Lears, Allie knows how he thinks. She accurately claims to have a sixth sense about where he will be.

I generally don't involve security right away because 9 times out of 10, we're the ones who find him anyway. He returns to where we last saw him like a little doggie wagging his tail behind. Pulling the alarm, seems to attract negative attention and be unnecessary. Strangers, no matter how well intentioned, have actually confused him in the past and set him off his logical course.

However, this time I was alone after the successful Kingsmen gig at the rambling 250,000 square foot Town and Country Hotel and Convention Center facility. Jim had left, the audience had cleared, we were putting amps away. Reid was within eye shot browsing sodas at the lunch buffet...and in the blink of an eye...argghh!...a whole child...@#$%^&!...lost.

This place is a huge maze of ranch-style bungalow cottages, two high-rise towers, courtyards, multiple pools, and at least 964 televisions. After Albert Brooks flashed through my mind, I had a vision of checking all 964 rooms with a pass key in a massive shell game to discover behind which door Reid would be happily watching PBSKids.

The usual protocol is this:

1. Pray

2. Fan out

3. Stay in the spot last seen

4. Wait

5. Enlist help (after a reasonable amount of time--15 minutes?)

In this case, I prayed the standard, "Lord, you know exactly where he is. Lead me to him I pray. And keep him safe from harm in the meantime." Called Jim to do the same. Then jumped ahead to #5 on the list. I didn't want to mess around since we were due in 30 minutes at a drama rehearsal that was 30 minutes away.

Power walking through this idyllic complex without passing go, I grabbed the first uniformed concierge I saw at Registration."I have a lost child, will you call security?" please.

No frantic first timer here, I knew the line of questioning better than she did.

"Yes, right away," as she dialed. I interjected the next piece of information, "He's 15, has autism, and is wearing a bright turquoise sh....

"Wait," something clicks in her mind, "I think I just saw him."

Praise God. Smooth way to answer prayer! Look how You led me right to this particular woman. Who needs security? You are good!

"Just a minute," as she hung up the phone. "I thought that was weird," she was thinking outloud. "He was just on those computers and...let me go check. I wondered why the door was open...."

Sure enough, after tracking her through a couple of keypadlocked doors, we spied him. Shoulders drop...exhale...found.

That had to be the fastest, timeliest, serendipity-est round of lost and found yet! Off we went to the parking structure...arm in arm, Cotillion style...only 5 minutes late for drama. In my mom's famous line to endorse the power of prayer, "You don't think that just happened, do you?"

Everytime, I am reminded of God's control over the details in our lives. He must certainly have extra guardian angels assigned to Reid. And His grace exceeds Reid's curiosity.

Do you have a favorite version of Amazing Grace? Like Albert Brooks and Easy Rider, "I've based my whole life on that song."

If I had a mind to brag a little, I could probably do it without looking ridiculous, and I'd still be speaking plain truth all the way. But I'll spare you.

Because of the extravagance of those revelations, and so I wouldn't get a big head, I was given the gift of a handicap to keep me in constant touch with my limitations. Satan's angel did his best to get me down; what he in fact did was push me to my knees. No danger then of walking around high and mighty!

At first I didn't think of it as a gift, and begged God to remove it. Three times I did that, and then he told me, My grace is enough; it's all you need. My strength comes into its own in your weakness. Once I heard that, I was glad to let it happen. I quit focusing on the handicap and began appreciating the gift. It was a case of Christ's strength moving in on my weakness.

Now I take limitations in stride, and with good cheer, these limitations that cut me down to size—abuse, accidents, opposition, bad breaks. I just let Christ take over! And so the weaker I get, the stronger I become. 2 Corinthians 12:6-8 The Message

Miss Andrea Celebrates her 100th Post!

I am a sucker for kinesthetic edu-tainment. When we homeschooled, my daughter's friends affectionately called me "Miss Frizzle." (Could it be, the hair?) I implored them to paint circus posters a la Mirette on the High Wire, parade down the street like the Ox-Cart Man, boastfully sell their "Best in the 5 cent World Salsa" cum Slappy Hooper and countless other activities from my favorite curriculum ever, Five in a Row. Mixing literature and life is a passion.


No surprise, I want to celebrate my 100th post! It marks a milestone; a critical mass of writing for what I hope will be a "blook" one day. I am half tempted to have a party with friends who would sort 100 blocks with me into batches of 10, do 100 sit-ups, drink lemonade with 100 ice cubes and 100 cherries, or some such thematic antic the likes of which Miss Bindergarten and I dream at night.

My kids are growing up though and if I expect them to ban the baby stuff, then so must I. Convinced by my old friend and new Doctor of Divinity, Kathy Dwyer, I decided to mark the occasion with a new Autism Unplugged banner! I'll thank my biggest supporter (and husband) 100 times for designing it and knowing html. And, in hopes of getting 100 responses, I'm announcing an Essay Contest tomorrow!

Celebrating serves an important function. I learned this in the educational realm at a Brain Gym conference years ago. They refer to it as "anchoring a skill;" maybe the Biblical term is "putting a marker" or an ebenezer here. Whatever you call it and however you do it, by all means celebrate! Naming the accomplishment or significant progress in any area of development has the power to reinforce and ensure that it happens again.

When Reid mastered riding a 2-wheeler bike (at age 10), we went out to dinner and cheered. When Allie wanted to be baptized, we designed invitations and engraved frames. For our 10th anniversary we went to Kauai. For our 20th, we went to Vegas (don't ask). When The Kingsmen had a successful gig, we threw a karaoke party.

Anchoring the Brain Gym way is like hitting a reset button in the brain and body. It can raise the bar on expectations and set a new threshold. Marking even minor steps in the right direction are cause for celebration: going a week without caffeine; selling 1 of the 100 rummage items in the garage; making a dreaded appointment with a doctor; speaking up in class.


Two years ago on Mother's Day's, Jim presented me with my first Apple MacBook on a wing and a prayer that I'd use it. Second only to the cross-country skis he gave me when we were newlyweds, this has been my favorite gift from him. It represented his belief in me and came with a hopeful expectation for my future. It was as much a vote of confidence as anything. By giving me a laptop, Jim was seeing in me a writer and calling out a future vocation. He was also giving me a nudge.

I have found a voice, entered a discipline of writing, and am plodding toward my end goal of having a book length story to tell. The unexpected perk, which actually Jim predicted too, is connecting with a new group of blogging buddies who span the world yet know no boundaries. Friends you can look up at all hours of the night to gab on topics not often broached in my regular social circle. Worth celebrating? I say so and I say now.


What new skill can you anchor at your house? How will you celebrate?

Let me know in a comment.


So Jacob rose early in the morning, and took the stone that he had put under his head and set it up as a pillar and poured oil on its top. Genesis 28:18


Then Samuel took a stone and set it between Mizpah and Shen, and named it Ebenezer, saying, "Thus far the LORD has helped us." 1 Samuel 7:12


For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Jeremiah 29:10-12

Eagles and zebras and bees

This clever video from Raising Small Souls is telling as it uses the animal kingdom to craft an analogy of different strengths and learning styles in the natural world. Which would be you? The duck, the eagle, or the squirrel? In our competitive, standardized world, it is a needful reminder to prize our individuality. Teach to the strength; remediate the weakness. But whatever you do: don't forfeit the uniqueness.

Doesn't it blow your mind anew to see how many different species God created with each of their own adaptations to environment. Their incredible "accomplishments" come instinctively when they're allowed to be who He made them to be.

A doggeared book my kids still love offers a related metaphor. In The Treasure Tree, John Trent and Gary Smalley use personification to teach kids the four basic personality types. The lion, otter, beaver and retriever learn to work together employing each other's strengths to overcome challenges and find life's treasure. Amazingly, even as 5 year olds, both my kids immediately and accurately identified their role in the family. And pegged each of us, "Dad, you're Lance the lion!"


He watches over His nest like an eagle and hovers over His young; He spreads His wings, catches him, and lifts him up on His pinions. Deuteronomy 32:10-12


The doorkeeper opens it for him, and the sheep hear his voice. He calls his own sheep by name and leads them out. John 10:2-4


Even a sparrow finds a home,
and a swallow, a nest for herself
where she places her young—
near Your altars, LORD of Hosts,
my King and my God. How happy are those who reside in Your house,
who praise You continually. Psalm 84:3-4

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

Elf on the Spectrum

Elf is a favorite movie of ours this time of year. It's not about the real reason for Christmas--which I usually prefer--but it does tap into two of my special interests: adoption and autism.

Buddy crawls into Santa's bag at an orphanage and ends up being raised by a very fatherly elf played by Bob Newhart. His dad honorably encourages when he wants to search for his birthparents in New York City...and is there for him when he returns.

I get a kick out of Buddy, the elf, who has to learn the ways of what seems like a different planet. When he arrives in New York City, he has much to learn. Despite the warnings from his adoptive father that gum on the street is not free candy, he enjoys it all. How is he to know that waving people are hailing cabs not being friendly and the "world's best cup of coffee" is merely an overused idiom. Oh, how Carol Gray's Social Stories would help him or Michelle Garcia Winner's You are a Social Detective book or a book on idioms!

Like those articulate adults on the autism spectrum who liken their experience to being anthropologists from Mars or citizens on the Wrong Planet, Buddy will have to study hard and have many tutors before he can even pretend to be "normal" or fit in. Innately, he is not at all bad though. Actually, his honesty and sweetness are refreshing to some. His idiosyncracies makes him vulnerable though, to others and are a social obstacle to overcome.

Countless moments come to mind when Reid has done quirky and "socially inappropriate things" (that's how you get the diagnosis, after all). Depending on your prerogative the things on that list can range from being appalling to endearing. I am the first to correct him, sometimes. Other times, I like to enjoy the luxury and gift of sitting back and purely accepting, appreciating the unique creation that he is, his magnificent mind, and his own perspective on the world.

I recall once during a church service when he was giggling, flirting, and practically dancing with the woman behind us. She is now a friend who I know, trust, and love but, at the time I hadn't met her. Feeling responsible to uphold his "program goals" and maintain the decorum of the service, I kept shushing him and using those not-so-magic words like, "quiet voice," "eyes in front," and who knows what else. Their shenanigans continued. Clearly, both were enjoying the interaction. This animated woman was instigating him not to mention distracting from my effort. I was torn between the two sides of my love. The soft side wanting to encourage their soul connection and get her phone number; the hard side towing the line on behavioral reinforcement.

These are the kind of internal dilemmas that give me neck pain. He really wasn't doing anything morally wrong. In fact, one could argue he was setting a better example than others of hospitality and worship by giving his whole self in the moment. What's a mom to do? Love unconditionally or train toward independence? Both, in turns I suppose.

Maybe this Christmas for just a day or even a hour, while school is out and no one's looking, let's let our kids be who they are without any correction. Let them refresh our perspective on the planet and the kingdom.



I tell you the truth, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it." Mark 10:14-16


Do not forget to show hospitality to strangers, for by so doing some people have shown hospitality to angels without knowing it. Hebrews 13:1-3



They are focused on earthly things, but our citizenship is in heaven, from which we also eagerly wait for a Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ. Philippians 3:20

A Clean Slate at the Library

Does your public library have a Happy Hour? Countywide, on the last Friday of every month, at every branch, ours does. Alcohol is not served; everyone's just very happy to return late materials with no fines whatsoever, no questions asked, no due dates checked, no snickering.

Thirsty one day, and not at my usual branch, I noticed the sign on their counter. Not to be believed! Could this be? I inquired. Yes, indeed, they would rather have their books back--no matter how late--than leave them missing in action. They waive all fees, even their potential profits from replacement fees. I had incurred upwards of $50 a month before this happy time. This was very good news for me!

My husband jokes that I have lost library privileges in every state in the union, which is not quite true. We haven't moved that much!
What is true, is that I am frequent library user, a horrible procrastinator and an avoider of conflict (Harmony). So, when I have books that are more than a couple days late, I go into avoidance mode feeling I can't show my face at the local branch. I bury my head shamefully in the sand while the fines steadily increase, like a taxi meter headed for the airport, finally exceeding replacement value. Of course, loving books as I do, I eventually own up and pay the exorbitant fines, considering it a good deal compared to the equivalent cost of much shipping and handling at Amazon. The library is certainly a good cause.

Until I learned about Happy Hour! Now, I mark my calendar for the last Friday of every month, anticipating another new grace period, while I search under mattresses and behind furniture for the rogue book or tape. The library has long been my favorite institution, all the moreso now! Between my over-consumption of books and Reid's penchant for stickers and de-constructivism, we have tried the patience of many a librarian.

When we were home schooling I would routinely check-out a stack of 15 or more books. Allie had her own stack; maybe she could carry 8 in those pre-backpack days; and Reid got books then too (not movies). Most of our weekly loot, I had requested online from other branches in order to keep the county employees busy pulling titles at every branch in the system, trucking them across town for my convenience, and flagging them with my name on a special shelf. (This is a commonly available service at most libraries, although not widely publicized.) I was compulsive about gathering resources that correlated with each of our unit studies or whatever curriculum-of-the-month I was using.

If that wasn't enough to rebuff the proverbial Marian Librarian, Reid was infamous for obsessively removing stickers from library property. I didn't think of it as criminal when he was young (neither did they). It just irked him to no end that they obstructed the illustration and text on the covers of books and boxes of CD's and DVD's. When forced to pay $1 a piece, one is quickly aware of the astonished array of stickers they use on one library book. There's the barcode, of course, then the color-coded juvenile tag, genre stickers, branch letters, alphabetical filing tags and sometimes a donor acknowledgement. "Why oh why oh why?" I asked myself many a time, as we'd recreate their placement on the gummed up vinyl, en route to ditch them in the return vault. (Maybe Amazon is better?) In Reid's mind, they all had to come off so he could see the information he cared most about: the production studio and ratings or the author and copyright. For both these reasons, the library was our family's version of Cheers!, a neighborhood place where "everybody knows your name."

I was there yesterday, my slate having been freshly cleaned. A new clerk scanned our selections at the desk. I know she's new because she didn't know Reid or me. They all know us and we know all of them. "It's such a good feeling," as Fred Rogers would chant. So, when there's a new hire, it feels strangely rude not to introduce myself. Yet, to do so, seems just as oddly presumptuous. Why should she should recognize us, yet? In this case, bubbly Joanie walked over to do the honors. Wishing me a hearty, Happy Holiday!! with a two-handed handshake (it's impossible to hug across those wide counters) she intervened, "Have you met Mim?" In short order, we were introduced. I'm not sure Mim will remember my name, but she will remember the title Joanie assigned us, "She's our best customer!" Now I've heard Joanie call other people this, but I must say I swell with pride, just the same. In mock humility, I joked that I was definitely their highest paying customer. Surely, I must be underwriting a renovation or expansion or something they're drafting. At that point, the head librarian chimed in, "yes, see that whole wall over there? It's hers!" So, you see, I have not lost any privileges whatsoever.

Like a flagrant credit card user, I am all the more revered. In fact, they want to increase my credit limit. After Reid destroyed one too many DVD cases, they designed a special system for the Moriarty family. We got our own thick, plain white, vinyl 5-disk case in which to carry disks home and back. This required additional training of all the staff (much of which I did pro bono. They kept the DVD box and artwork encrusted with its priceless (to them) and annoying (to Reid) barcode and inventory stickers; we got the movie. At that juncture, I told them I'd almost rather they revoke our privileges, so Reid would experience the natural consequences of his peeling fetish. "Oh, no, no, no, no, no, we don't want that," they cried in unison. "We need the circulation numbers." Apparently, circulation numbers drive their budget. The more titles people check out, the more county money they are allotted to purchase new materials and enhance their collection. Now I see why they love over-users like us.

When I carry a debt at the library, my heart is heavy. I feel banned from my favorite place to browse and choose books. Trapped at home, unable to find my Get Out of Jail Free card (the missing book) I enter a stubborn refusal to pay for something I only intended to borrow. Grounded from a favorite activity, then a paralyzing guilt of neglect and tardiness set in. Chastising myself is depressing and being angry at Reid for his part in it, is not productive. Now, I don't want to over moralize this but, isn't sin just like that?

Happy Hour sets me free! Last time, I was visibly uplifted, walking out to the car with a fresh stack of free books! The parallel hit me with the salt air; Jesus forgives and forgets our iniquity. He gives us privileges back; the right to pray to Him and be heard without obstruction; the carefree feeling of innocence and childlike faith return; the squeaky clean shine of having unrighteousness removed as far as the east is from the west. The only difference is that His happy hour can be daily or hourly, as needed.

Yesterday and the day before, Reid and I were searching, searching, searching for the 3-disc Fraggle Rock set we'd borrowed the day my sins were washed away (November 28). Videos being 7-day rentals, it was due back this Friday, library day. Yikes. Trying to repent from my wayward ways and demonstrate real improvement after a recent reclusive hiatus, I told Reid, "we can only go if you find Fraggle Rock." I was determined to keep short accounts and stay "in the black" this month. I tucked him in saying, "let's ask God to show us where it is. He sees everything and He knows where you left it." We prayed in earnest and turned off his light. I no more than stepped into the hallway as an "aha" popped into my mind--the laundry basket! There it was, buried halfway down. Saved again! Praise God, He wipes away our sins, gives us third and fourth chances AND answers prayer. We returned it today as an even exchange and I have library privileges out the wazoo, thank you very much.


Wash away all my iniquity and cleanse me from my sin.
Psalm 51:1-3


But if we walk in the light, as he is in the light, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus, his Son, purifies us from all sin. 1 John 1:6-8


When Jesus saw their faith, he said, "Friend, your sins are forgiven."
Luke 5:19-21


"Blessed are those whose transgressions are forgiven, whose sins are covered.
Romans 4:6-8

...as far as the east is from the west, so far has he removed our transgressions from us.
Psalm 103:11-13

photo credit: www.imagecache2.allposters.com