Standing in the Toyota Carlsbad used car lot, Jim tried to track the various specs our salesman, Mo, had committed to memory. Which Prius in the row was the best value for us? They honestly need a chart (or a website like CarMax). Without it, the oral recounting was as lost on us as the details of our genealogy.
Jim started to sound like a parrot, reiterating his own clarifying questions.
"How much is the that one again?"
"What was the mileage on the white one?"
"Has the black one been discounted yet?"
Each time we moved down the line to the next car, we lost site of the sticker on the previous one. It's a larger-than-life-size game of elimination. And that was before we got to my color preferences.
Reid must have been thinking this looked a lot like a rental car lot at any airport in the country. He knew what to do. Hop in, hang on, and start scoping out the glovebox.
As we'd piled out of Jim's MiniCooper, Reid opened the back door of the silver one right next to us, "I like this one. Let's go." (Come to think of it, that's the one we drove off the lot 2 hours later. Hmm..)
I was on Reid-patrol since Jim is the premier negotiator, "Well not yet, Reid. Dad has to talk to the man here and think it through. It costs a lot of dollars so, it might take him a little while." This is when the circular Q and A ensued.
That was our cue to search for a vending machine. Before we did, Reid put a hand on Jim's shoulder and came out with a phrase I imagine he must hear frequently at school, "Dad, are you having trouble making a choice?"
The kid speaks the truth...and keeps us laughing:)
I praise you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because you have hidden these things from the wise and learned, and revealed them to little children.Matthew 11:25
Who is the man who fears the LORD? He will instruct him in the way he should choose. Psalm 25:11-13
Get wisdom—it's worth more than money; choose insight over income every time. Proverbs 16:15-17
I must report a new noise around here. Accustomed to the after school din of Nick Jr., BluesClues intro or Between the Lions, I was shocked twice this week by the sound of silence. It's a beautiful thing. And I think it really is a sacred thing too.
Peace, at last. Hurrah! The addictive trait of zoning out to television has has been broken and is staying so.
Can anyone relate to the shock and dismay of this? Without my asking, Reid turned off the set and chose to get his homework, sit in concentration to complete it, and then simply sit and be. This concept of rest is unprecedented in his repetoire of recreational activities.
Once upon a time I (or a team of therapists) would structure his every waking moment and attempt to factor in some quiet in theory. In practice, this always took more of my time and energy and talking than it was really worth. Prompting and following through; reinforcing and praising.
Somewhere in the teens, I acquiesced to the age appropriate allowance of vegging on the couch after a long day of school and bailed on the hope of productive independence. I'm ashamed to admit, it's just easier and I've run out of steam.
But praises be! It is happening spontaneously before my very eyes. Again today, there was a reasonable amount of tv, then a bath, a rest period, then engagement with dad. No tv blaring, no pleading and negotiating.
"Be still and know that I am God," is an oft-quoted verse to slow our American 21st century pace. In my past reality, living with someone whose engine runs on constant high, it seems slightly unrealistic. Hyperactivity has a contagious aspect to it. It dictates that at least one other party is launched into a synchronized orbit. Like a tag team surveillance operation, Jim and I have developed a rhythm over the years of alternating being "on." Supervising, intervening, available and alert. This has been our norm for years. The house is rarely quiet. As one friend duly noted, its like the terrible two's but you haven't outgrown them. (At the time, I did not appreciate that.)
Even if I forcibly remove myself to the hammock in the backyard, a habitual hyper-vigilance cues me to the tv's buzz, the garage door creak, the stainless fridge door flashing open. "Just in case;" "you never know;" "better safe than sorry" reminders caption every quasi-meditational thought in my head. We are not accustomed to rest or stillness.
How does one who is never still begin to know God? Or develop intimacy with Him? It's easy to see how our hyperactivity--whether chosen or imposed--serves to separate us from hearing--knowing--experiencing God. If experiencing God happens in stillness, then how will it happen for the hyperactive child or parent? It is both a discipline and a skill.
What I'm realizing this month in gratitude is that the converse of that Scripture is also true: Knowing that I am God enables you to be still. As Jim and I acknowledge God on the throne in our home, knock other idols off the high places (yes, i mean tv), and take more of His Word literally, peace arrives. We can all be still, not because we changed anything in the physical--rules, rewards, or policies--but as a result of changes in the spiritual invisible realm.
The change is inexplicable and undeniable. But don't take my word for it, take God's.
Silence is praise to you, Zion-dwelling God, and also obedience. You hear the prayer in it all. Psalm 65:1 The Message
Quiet, everyone! Shh! Silence before God. Something's afoot in his holy house. He's on the move! Zechariah 2:12-13
"But oh! God is in his holy Temple! Quiet everyone—a holy silence. Listen!" Habakkuk 2:19-20
I can explain almost everything around here--no matter how odd. How did the trash can get in the living room? Why is the mail on the curb? What's that brown smear on the towel? Where is the scotch tape? Do we have any Parmesan? What time is...?
As moms who make a vocation of studying their spirited, strong-willed, challenging, indigo, otherwise unique children, I can nearly read Reid's mind. True confession: I take pride in that. It's second nature to surmise a motivation for almost any of his behaviors. I'm not saying I can control, extinguish, or modify them but, almost always I can hazard a good guess as to the method behind the madness. Small comfort, I know.
This baseball, Exhibit A, is an exception to the rule. I have no idea where it came from!
When I asked Reid, "what does it say?" he answered, "Babe Ruth." Obviously. You do the math (or spell check as it were)!
It is Reid's writing for certain. But I am clueless as to who, what, when, where or why it got autographed. What brought Babe to mind? Who explained the concept of signing to him? What precipitated the burst of appropriateness and synergy of understanding?
I silence the barrage of questions running through my mind in order to revel in the independence that it marks. He's achieved something I can't explain! I didn't witness it happening and I can't decipher its arrival. Good for him! And oddly, newly, surprisingly, gratefully, there is freedom in letting that be.
In my mind, the limited edition autographed baseball immediately became a tangible symbol of Reid's increased comprehension of the world. It's also a momento of the joy that is mine (did I say joy? not despair, fear or regret) when I relinquish the need to know every minutia of his daily life. Truth be told, it's really control fueled by pride and fear. Sayonara!
I just finished studying the tabernacle of God in Beth Moore's A Woman's Heart. This tent of meeting that the Israelites carried through the wilderness for 40 years was God's dwelling place with them. A minutia of detail surround its construction and every color and composition of thread used; every position of every piece of furniture and curtain in it has meaning. One could re-do that workbook 5 times and still be discovering. There is sooo much we don't know about the symbolism of Christ, about how to pray, about how the spiritual world works. Marvel in it! And let it be...for God to know and show you if and when He decides you need to know.
Wasn't this the fatal flaw of Eve in the Garden? Her driving motivation to gain "the knowledge of good and evil" was what the enemy held out to her as reason enough to break a simple, solitary rule established for her own good.
Like a maturing child learning that I actually can wait for Christmas morning without peeking at presents, I am learning from Reid, from autism, from the ever-loving, patient teacher, Lord, to trust and not know everything. I don't have--don't want--to have all the answers.
“Who has known the mind of the Lord? Or who has been his counselor?” Romans 11:33-35
God commanded the Man, "You can eat from any tree in the garden, except from the Tree-of-Knowledge-of-Good-and-Evil. Don't eat from it. The moment you eat from that tree, you're dead." Genesis 2:15-17
And God raised us up with Christ and seated us with him in the heavenly realms in Christ Jesus, in order that in the coming ages he might show the incomparable riches of his grace... Ephesians 2:6-8
Reid has a keen eye for truth and excellent ears. As I clue into what fascinates him--be it a certain video clip or a song lyric--I find meaning. Either meaning that he has gleaned or a message he is attempting to communicate with those who will listen. Or both.
I am learning to interpret this more quickly and trust his "stims" as creative and intentional. Admittedly, it has taken me awhile. What can I say, I'm slow.
Over and over, I am reminded and convinced that "he gets it." Like yesterday in church, when he repeated the third sermon outline point to me as a command, "Stop doubting mom, and believe!"
He may appear tuned out in his own world but, in fact, he adeptly straddles two worlds as Lucy did Narnia and London. There are no coincidences. He is communicating truth in a unique way--both receiving and proclaiming it.
This day after Easter, may I present this explanation of the resurrection Reid-style?
(Click here for the video link if you're on Facebook.)
Distilling the gospel to its most elemental, it is a three part saga:
God created man to dwell with Him in Eden.
The serpent undermined His authority introducing sin.
Jesus came to be sin for us on the cross to reconcile us with God.
It wasn't until the jillionth time (I'm estimating) that this segment was rewound and replayed on our set, re-rented from the library and re-searched on Youtube, that I realized the beauty of it. Leave it to Reid to recognize truth "Between the Lions."
The celebration of Easter at its core is that we are re-people. Repentant, restored, reconciled, resurrected, rejoicing, reunited with our God. Happy Easter!!
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
Mercy me. I missed March 31st to post Miss Marcie!
Marcie Strandburg is a one of the few, the humble, the prayer warriors. She showed up when I advertised a Moms in Touch prayer circle for special needs moms several years ago. In order to appreciate how unique and faithful she is, you need to know I sent more than 100 email invitations!
She is a rare gem of a tender heart who really prays--alone, together, outloud, silently, by email, in her sleep. We have become closer friends since then and now serve together on several committees. Marcie is Prayer Captain for Young Life Capernaum San Diego. She heads up Aspirations, a monthly Asperger's support group at North Coast Calvary Chapel in Carlsbad. Her website is a great local resource. And--the Lord multiplies her time--she's been instrumental in hosting our next Concert of Prayer there too! Save the date: Saturday morning, May 21st!
You won't hear any of that on this podcast though, just her humble heart of love for the Lord and her son, Jacob. I love doing these because every time, I learn something new about one of my friends. Listen and love...
Standing in the Toyota Carlsbad used car lot, Jim tried to track the various specs our salesman, Mo, had committed to memory. Which Prius in the row was the best value for us? They honestly need a chart (or a website like CarMax). Without it, the oral recounting was as lost on us as the details of our genealogy. 
