My Poor Lucky Dog

Many of you know Benny from Facebook. He's getting to be an old dog. Alas, he is having to learn a new trick. And I for one, have faith he can do it!

Our newly landscaped, drought tolerant yard has come to symbolize many things this winter. In the natural realm, it represents countless things the Lord is doing in the spiritual. Last weekend, I was pointing out another parallel to my husband. I couldn't help but notice the tri-trunked sapling draping our hammock reminding me that our marriage is a cord made stronger with God (Ecclesiastes 4:11-13) and I swear the runners of the strawberry plants are being sent out 2 by 2 just like the disciples to spread the gospel (Luke 10:1-3). Lest he miss my train of thought, I prefaced my revelation to Jim, "I am talking about a spiritual reference now in the symbolic." His loving retort, "When are you not?!"

Honestly, I may need to write a museum gallery guide to the yard. There are that many references to scripture, the Tabernacle, and Biblical truth that have become obvious to me as we watch God on the move in our lives this season. I think mounting placards would be too much, don't you?

Anywho, one of the more mundane examples has to do with Benny. Along with the rest of us, his habits are in flux. As a result of the drip irrigation, removal of grass, and new traffic pattern, his previous patch of dead brown crabgrass (ie. toilet) is no longer recognizable to the human eye. Of course, being a dog, he can still sniff it out somehow and returns to exactly the same spot even though it has been completely transformed. This simply won't do as far as I'm concerned. With the clean, new designI have a renewed standard for this beach grass and intend to keep it green and hygienic.

As responsible loving owners, we factored his needs into the plan and actually had better things in mind for him too. Namely, a custom patch of astroturf around the side yard. It's an upgrade: deodorized, and private--whether he knows it or not.

The prophetic parallel from God showed itself in the interim before the turf was complete. Ben was so confused and tentative. I'd "auckk" at him in gutteral canine correction for so much as stepping on the pristine mulch. I think it was clear to him what not to do, but he was clueless what I wanted instead. What were his alternatives?

For several days, he'd hang by the back door looking back at me with each individual step of his four paws, as if to say, "Is this ok? How 'bout here?" It was a game of "hot and cold" where he checked in with me to see if he was on the right track.

It was so cute in a pathetic sort of way. Here he is beseechingly wondering whether he'd found a suitable compromise. It was off the mulch, away from the grass seedlings. Okay, that worked as a stop gap and demonstrated to me his adaptability and nimble mind. All the while, Jim was skeptical, "Let him go on the mulch. He's a dog. You really think you can retrain him?" He forgot how much behavior mod I had under my belt.

My poor dog had to struggle a bit to figure out what I was after. But I am here to tell you that he did! My lucky dog, I had his best interests at heart. It's official folks: you can, in fact, without a doubt, teach an old dog new tricks! Benny loves this spot and visits it happily every morning for all his toileting needs. Master and best friend are happy:)

The good news is, we are all retrainable too. What is the Lord my Master asking of me today? Can I watch and listen for His feedback closely enough to figure it out? Do I crave His good pleasure? Am I attentive to His directions to go right and turn left? Do I live to hear His praise?

Whether you turn to the right or to the left, your ears will hear a voice behind you, saying, “This is the way; walk in it.” Isaiah 30:20-22

You were taught, with regard to your former way of life, to put off your old self, to be made new in the attitude of your minds; and to put on the new self, created to be like God in true righteousness and holiness. Ephesians 4:21-23

See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland. Isaiah 43:18-20

Let the Good Times Roll

Reid is acing his move to the Adolescent Program at his school. Yesterday marked his first full day upstairs with a new Case Manager and several new teachers. This very intentional, gradual transition has been orchestrated over the past 6 months. With his Student of the Week certificate from downstairs still in the backpack, he was ready!

The inaugural call from my new liaison reported some towering high points: Reid is peer-tutoring another student in reading. They were impressed to witness his fast facts on planets and continents. "All the teachers really enjoy him," she confided. And, on his way out of her class he heralded, "Thank you for the great class, Miss L!"

Wow, do I relish these moments as shreds of evidence that I have done something right. My latest mantra is that "manners matter." Lo and behold, he is using them right there at school. Small wonder, he got off the bus last week saying, "Thank you Curt" to the driver. That's my boy.

It's been said, "when Mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy." Around here the reality is, if Reid ain't having a good week, ain't nobody having a good week. The degree and frequency of his symptoms are such that, as much as we try to correct the imbalance, the household can still seem to revolve around his behavior. I know my mood does.

When old behaviors recur, there is the temptation for Jim and I to live on pins and needles communicating anxiously at the end of each day with the precarious question, "how was Reid's day?" Remember the Admiral Boom on his widow's walk in Mary Poppins, "Banks, shouldn't wonder if you weren't steering into a nasty piece of weather..." Suffice it to say, we make up for the lack of weather to report in San Diego.

In the homeschooling days I had this verse stenciled on the wall of our "classroom" to remind me not to base my moods on anything but God's goodness; not to assess the day on anything except how close I was to the Living Water.

He will be like a tree planted by the water that sends out its roots by the stream. It does not fear when heat comes; its leaves are always green. It has no worries in a year of drought and never fails to bear fruit."

Jeremiah 17:7-9

When I ask myself if fear takes over in the times of drought (like last month or the time before), I am surely convicted by the answer? Did I bear any fruit? (cringe) Most often, I shrivel up, hibernate, and wait for the "chancy bit of weather to blow over." My friends know when I don't call or answer; you can probably guess when there are no posts. The heat came and I was toast!

Happy times are here again and I am praising God for the evidence of joy and peace and victory in Reid's day (and the rest of ours.) So it is I also realize again the distinction between being thanking for the gifts rather than the Giver. An authentic Christian, doesn't forget in the dark what she knew in the light.

Eyes on the Shepherd

I am not very athletic. I am however, competitive.

One Sunday last spring Allie and I made our way to her Certificate of Merit music test on San Diego State's campus. Not sure of our actual destination, we followed printed directions through a maze of parking complexes. The sight of other parent/child groupings with black music cases assured us we were on the right track.

We parked feeling like tourists in a small town who'd found the locals' only breakfast haunt. It may as well have been Chinatown as we joined the throng, who appeared to know where they were going. It was then that my quiet, prophetic little Allie, uttered another of her truths and birthed the now familial phrase, "Mom, we're "keepin' up with the Asians!"

We guffawed as we realized the truth of it and the multiple meanings. She attends an academically rigorous high school which is ethnically diverse. Their class trip is to China which heightens our awareness and discussions of shifts in world power.

The reality resonates as flute is her primary extracurricular pursuit. Every Saturday in order to participate in both Youth Symphony and a chamber quartet, we must hightail it across town in 15 minutes flat. We aren't the only ones. A classmate of Allie's and her sweet dad, Yubo, do the same.

He is genuinely kind, having offered to carpool, get lunch or anything to be helpful. I don't think he is competitive but as mentioned, I am. I also crave efficiency. (I have a crush on the motion engineer, father of 12, Frank Gilbreth, from Cheaper by the Dozen, the book). And I'm motivated by challenge. Tell me I can't do something and I surely will.

So a tight transition like this thrills me all the more because it coincides with meal time and requires navigational prowess. There lies a freeway between the symphony rehearsal space and the quartet location. First time I drove it, without googlemaps or a GPS, I got all turned around trying to find a surface street that crossed over the 805. We were several minutes late owing to my lack of preparation.

The next week, after discussion with Yubo, I played it safe and took a straight shot to University Avenue then a right on 36th which dead ends into this woman's rental studio. We were on time. What befuddled me is how Yubo is always there before me parked on the shady side of the street, practically with his feet up on the dash, smokin' a stogie, while I am breaking out in a full sweat secretly racing to keep up with him.

This past Saturday, with a tuna sandwich and Snapple to go, I got the Eurovan and pulled into the loading zone a leisurely 15 minutes ahead of dismissal time, and waited. I was relaxed, surveyed a used book sale on the lawn, and got back behind the wheel way before Allie emerged. On her heels, I recognized Yubo and his daughter. We waved a friendly hello. And within seconds, it struck me. He was on foot.

We could beat him today! He wasn't even in a vehicle. He'd neglected the advice he'd given me about pulling into the loading area in advance then circling out of the unloading fray. He was trekking across the great lawn, through full lots at the Museum of Natural History and beyond to some distant parking spot.

"Allie, get in quick! Keeping up with the Asians! Let's go, look alive, hustle, girlfriend."

"Ok. I'm in. Go ahead, GO, mom, go."

"Yubo, IT is on!"

We smoothly but swiftly made the 360 and were out on the open road headed into thru traffic. Allie had them in sight, still walking. Maybe he forgot where he'd parked? (doubtful) My adrenaline was pumping; we had to be a full 5 minutes ahead of him.

This was the day! I smugly cruised through the green lights, rights on red, mindful of not gunning it or otherwise setting a bad example for my near-driving-age daughter. Simultaneously, I was aware of modeling for her that assertiveness and ambition are every bit as much her claim as anyone's and that being first was within reach! We can do this thing. You can do anything you set your mind to...(check that theology before you repeat it)

I confidently turned the last corner preparing to park in front of Dr. K's studio and greet the rest of the quartet when they arrived. What to my wondering eyes did appear...YUBO!

Parked. In the shady spot. Cool, calm, collected. Talk about smug?!* How did he do that?!?

Impossible! The man has a short cut he's not sharing, or batwings on the Highlander, or something. I'm sure he didn't pass me. Allie and I had a good laugh as I feigned the disdain of a poor loser. She suggested it was blog material because of its hilarity. Yeah, but it's a little off topic, I thought. Until the spiritual significance and a pattern dawned on me this morning.

My 25 year old niece, who we all love, has moved in with us and is athletic (but not competitive). She is a team player par excellence and maximizer of others. So it is, that I am getting what I consider an extreme amount of exercise by virtue of spending quality time with her. Today we headed for our ocean front exercise loop which includes 8 flights of stairs. She runs. I walk.

Walking by myself has its benefits. I can sort through my thoughts rather than chatter and usually end up hearing something from the Lord especially when in eyeshot of His glorious ocean. The majesty of its expanse gives me pause and triggers a rush of verses and songs. Since I was alone, I could softly sing the Hallelujah... refrain that the Spirit brought to mind...your love makes me sing...your love is amazing...

Timing it so we'd end up at the car around the same time, I cut into the stairs a couple flights short of the entire loop. Descending, I caught myself scoping where Kathryn was from the top of each flight not just to synchronize, but to see if she was gaining on me!

I was not doing too bad for a 45 year old, non-athlete. Wait! What's wrong with me. You don't have to be first at everything. Then the tie-in came to me. A lesson from years back that I obviously haven't fully internalized. Am I so busy watching the other sheep that I've taken my eyes off the Shepherd?

Sadly, even within the disability world, there is competition and comparison that deters us from seeing who Jesus is and what God has just for us. We compare skills, deficits, levels of functioning, meds, therapies, and effectiveness. We compare siblings, expectations, and outcomes. To a degree this is discernment but much of it is distracting and even idolatrous.

I am going back to re-read Phillip Keller's classic, A Shepherd Looks at Psalm 23.

"To whom will you compare me? Or who is my equal?" says the Holy One. Isaiah 40:24-26

Each one should test his own actions. Then he can take pride in himself, without comparing himself to somebody else, Galatians 6:3-5

As long as Moses held up his hands, the Israelites were winning, but whenever he lowered his hands, the Amalekites were winning. Exodus 17:10-12

I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus. Philippians 3:13-15

Am I now trying to win the approval of men, or of God? Or am I trying to please men? If I were still trying to please men, I would not be a servant of Christ. Galatians 1:9-11

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

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

Rescued!

Have you seen Walter and Christopher Marino in the news by now? This unbelievable story of a father and son drifting out to sea for some 12 hours and surviving to tell about it brings many things to mind for me: Reid's love of water; the therapeutic value of water; the false sensation of comfort that floating offers; the benefits of knowing what motivates your kids; the power of staying engaged with them through thick and thin; the absolute might of the ocean; the uncertainty of life; the redeeming value of movie scripts; the universal will to live; and of course above all, God's sovereignty.

It to me seems that our kids have swarms of guardian angels hovering around them. I know Reid has darted through some gnarly encounters unscathed. Thus far, the Lord has honored my regular prayer that Reid would have a hedge of protection around him. Since they were babies, both my kids have had a small, plaster angel cherub hanging over their bedroom door from a ribbon. On the ribbon is handwritten the "911" code verse, "For He will command his angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways." Psalm 91:11

Enough harrowing experiences have brought me coronary distress, that people now quizzically wonder how I appear so calm. "Practice," I say without eye contact, for I have not the luxury. My eyes are always on the make for my flitting butterfly who has not yet been stung by near misses either crossing a street or riding a bike( in the center lane up to our pool in stubborn refusal to ride single file along the curb). Lost at Target; lost in the neighborhood; lost in the local county park; lost at the Tate Museum in London, Reid is found every time but, not always in short order. My knee jerk reaction now is to pray and to enlist Allie. She or I always find him. Even when we alert the authorities, it is usually her sixth sense that reveals his mystery location. And usually there is a logical explanation which we decipher after the fact when my blood pressure returns to its normal low.

The most frightening situation to date was this summer in Cape Hatteras when Reid opened a moving car door and bolted across Hwy 12, an infamous single lane freeway, in an irrational tirade. How he did not get creamed into the concrete I will never be able to explain outside of God's grace.

Watching the Marino family interviewed brings tears to my eyes, tears of recognition and empathy for the complexity of their emotions and their daily reality. Siblings rock. Good for his sister, Angela, for knowing when to call the earthly 911. Good for the insightful anchorman for crediting her and using people-first language addressing Christopher by name.

Living near the ocean makes me acutely aware of its beauty and its danger. The ocean is so like its Creator. I love the ocean. And I fear the ocean. I am in awe of the ocean. Those are concrete realities. In a similar way, I love and "fear of the Lord." Just this past summer, I was momentarily caught in a riptide and surprised by how quickly I panicked. A week later, an avid boogie boarding friend of mine had to be rescued by a lifeguard in front of her 2 teenage daughters. In addition to being embarrassed, she was really frightened. Afterward, we commiserated over all that flashes before your eyes in a moment "at sea." I cannot begin to imagine the hours at sea that the Marino's endured.

I am also touched by the dad's flood of gratitude. Do we express equivalent joy and exuberance on Easter morning (or daily, for that matter) at the promise of being rescued from eternal death? One day we will know exactly how he felt. Jesus, not the Coast Guard, saves us all from the clutch of death.



That if you confess with your mouth, "Jesus is Lord," and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved. Romans 10:8-10

"Because he loves me," says the LORD, "I will rescue him; I will protect him, for he acknowledges my name. Psalm 91:13-15

Reach down your hand from on high; deliver me and rescue me from the mighty waters, from the hands of foreigners. Psalm 144:6-8

From six calamities he will rescue you; in seven no harm will befall you. Job 5:19

The angel of the LORD encamps around those who fear him, and he delivers them. Psalm 34:6-8

photo credit: www.scienceimage.csiro.au/mediarelease/images/open_sea_sm.jpg, wwwcache.wral.com