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

Grateful for Surround Sound

Every single morning these ladies bless me: Elvira and Nancy, bus drivers extraordinaire. Long time readers will remember God's grace and provision in the first bus drivers I ever trusted. Same Nancy, new sidekick. She has circulated back to our route and brought Elvira along to harmonize.

What is it about these two? They may not win any awards for the song writing jingle, but they make my day! Everyday. Full of love, they spill it all over Reid with this customized cheer when he boards the bus. It began as a reward for being ready and waiting "on the step" at 6:55am. Honestly, now I think they do it whether he's late or not. What is it about Reid? He brings out the best in people.

These ladies go above and beyond driving safely. They drive sweetly. Now that the ready-on-time goal has been 90% accomplished, they are onto a wave-to-mom maneuver. She actually honked at me last week when I missed my cue. (It takes two, ya' know.) After my end of the waving ritual is complete with my blessing spoken outloud, I shut the door to peace and quiet knowing my guy is in good hands. I breathe easy knowing they genuinely care. Daily, they give me that gift of peace of mind.

Love my son, love me. Is it not true for all parents? The quickest way to our hearts is to show authentic, pure, agape love toward our offspring. Don't give me a thing; you don't even have to give me the time of day. Just invest in my kid and you've won me for life.

Churches know this; thriving children's ministry is the key to growing a congregation. A ministry I admire, Southeast Asia Prayer Center takes it to the mountains and disciples whole villages in Tibet after giving heart surgery to kids.

Afterall, it's the heart of God the Father. He says, love my one and only Son, Jesus, and you love me. He wants nothing more.

Jesus answered, “I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. John 14:5-7

Jesus replied, “Anyone who loves me will obey my teaching. My Father will love them, and we will come to them and make our home with them. John 14:22-24

Whoever has my commands and keeps them is the one who loves me. The one who loves me will be loved by my Father, and I too will love them and show myself to them.” John 14:20-22

Oh the Places You'll GO!

This family has gone over the hills and far away, to love their son and come to a place of accepting who he is even if it means embracing autism. Many phrases come to mind, "Whatever it takes," "what we'll do for love," and the one I hear recurrently from well-meaning friends, "I don't know how you do it." There were days, many moons ago, that honestly, I didn't quite know how I was doing it either. But what the Bible says is true, God's grace is sufficient, and we do.

So go with me here, if the strength to do what God calls each of us to do--be it autism or any other life circumstance--is not our own but His, then it doesn't matter who we are, but whose we are. If we are drawing from the same source, then any one of us could do it if we had to. Which is now my standard reply to that comment, "You'd be surprised what you can if God calls you to it." God's immeasurable grace and riches are of infinite supply. Many of us parenting autism, find new reserves of energy, creativity, stamina, and patience because God has allowed autism in our lives. What's so bad about that?

I do not wish to perpetuate the myth that these far flung adventures have any credence or magic power in and of themselves. Whether swimming with dolphins, racing with horses, or listening ad infinitum with headphones, I think the true value is in the journey not the destination. The journey for the parents is one of learning to relate differently and to accept (not change) their child. The parallel journey for the child is to discover who they are and where they fit in the world and how to trust. Having to go to greater lengths to do this with children on the spectrum, many parents demonstrate over and over again that love is the greatest motivator.

Is there a more powerful example than the cross? For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him would have eternal life. The Easter message is one of sacrificial love. Jesus, who is love, was motivated to go where no man has gone--literally to hell and back--to save you and me from a fate worse than autism.

When we do anything resembling that, whether by affording some outrageous therapy, homeshooling 'til we don't recognize ourself in the mirror, or driving illogical distances to a qualified therapist, we are following Christ, sharing in his suffering, and becoming more like Him. Go ahead and spill yourself out for someone you love; you're in good company even if the world doesn't understand.

The book, The Horse Boy was released April 14th. The British family is described here in an article in the Telegraph and the trailer of the subsequent movie as well as the movie website here. Their journey makes a fascinating story. Admirably, the family has taken the proceeds of the book and started The Horse Boy Foundation and ranch outside of Austin. If you go there, know that you take your own therapists, your own child, and do your own thing with their horses and premises. They don't have a magic bullet or even much staff; you must come to your own terms with God's own will for your own life and family. No one can do that for you.

Don't all run off to Siberia or Austin, but do lend an ear to your child's unique pulse today and tune in to how God is calling you to love.


Dear friends, let us love one another, for love comes from God. Everyone who loves has been born of God and knows God. 1 John 4:6-8


There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love. 1 John 4:17-19


As a prisoner for the Lord, then, I urge you to live a life worthy of the calling you have received. Ephesians 4:1-3


The one who calls you is faithful and he will do it. 1 Thessalonians 5:23-25

It Happens Bit by Bit

Jim and I had a pretty traditional wedding with one exception. In addition to Scripture readings, we had one of my college advisors read an excerpt--about "becoming real"--from The Velveteen Rabbit by Margery Williams. For whatever reason, I first read this book as a college student, not as a child. At that age, Jim and I prided ourselves on being transparent, vulnerable, honest, real. He liked me best without make up; I knew he was no poser.

I read the book to our kids when they were little and choked up at the new significance of this allegorical tale. It is a parable that goes way beyond the ostensibly sentimental story. It offers numerous applications on acceptance, motherhood, the power of love, and unconditional relationship. So many that another book, The Velveteen Principles, has been written by Toni Raiten-D'Antonio to analyze and put it into adult terminology.


Listen between the lines to Meryl Streep's sensitive reading of it with music by George Winston. When read with integrity, life experience, and heartfelt belief it still moves me.



The Lord has done a great deal of humbling in both Jim and I since 1986. We thought we were "real" then, let me tell you, it's all relative. Some wear and tear comes from the inevitable passage of time, relocating frequently, and becoming parents. Even more comes from being the responsible party for someone who is impulsive, inappropriate, embarrassing and at the same time, naive, well-intentioned and so precious to us. Whether you have a "spirited child," a "challenging child," a "special needs child," an "out-of-sync child," or an "indigo child," it is a high maintenance job! We are like EMT's or firemen who have acclimated to crisis mode. We become light sleepers, quick thinkers, fast actors, and smooth operators. No matter what happens we remain calm, consider all possible outcomes, and drive carefully but quickly with our sirens blaring.

I think the Biblical word for "real" would be sanctified. If the velveteen rabbit was saved by the boy from being left outside all night, we are saved by God and redeemed from the pit. Then bit by bit, loving and being loved to tatters, progressive sanctification happens. As we die to sin and live for Christ, we become more like Him. It is not about our salvation; it’s about how we live after we’ve been saved.

“Does it hurt?" “Sometimes,” said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. You bet. People laugh. People point. People blame. You get hit. You get bit. You are tired. “When you are Real you don’t mind being hurt.” “Does it happen all at once,” he asked, “or bit by bit?” He will be fine. We can do this. I know he'll get better. Why me? What do I do? I can't do this. What will the future bring?

“It doesn’t happen all at once,” said the Skin Horse. “You become. It takes a long time. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But those things don’t matter at all, because once you are real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.”

The skin horse shares, "It was the boy's uncle who made me real." For us, it is Jesus who makes us real. Real enough to run wild as march hares into eternity, liberated from sin and the sawdust of our fleshly existence here. It is He who understands when others don't and loved us enough to shed his own blood in our place. We can't be ugly anymore. We are a new creation. God sees us through the blood of Christ and in His perfection. No longer shabby sinners but beautiful, perfected, sanctified, clean as the driven snow, pure like the lamb of God. Keep it real, friends.



Your new life, which is your real life—even though invisible to spectators—is with Christ in God. He is your life. When Christ (your real life, remember) shows up again on this earth, you'll show up, too—the real you, the glorious you. Colossians 3:2-4


But we know that when he appears, we shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is. Everyone who has this hope in him purifies himself, just as he is pure. 1 John 3:2-3


God, who got you started in this spiritual adventure, shares with us the life of his Son and our Master Jesus. He will never give up on you. Never forget that.
1 Corinthians 1:9 The Message