Seasons help us to realize we’re not alone. We might still feel alone but we can see things differently and then change our thinking, and even our responses. We know everyone goes through “stuff” but sometimes we need to recognize it just happens to be our turn. The harder part is that we still have someone we are caring for full time, 24/7 added to the new hard stuff!
For families like mine, with an autistic child and my own ADHD and anxiety, Christmas is rarely “calm” or “bright.” In fact, it is often loud, noisy, and overwhelming. Our children get overwhelmed by the lights and the new items. We, as parents, get overwhelmed by all the mess and noise. There are so many sensory inputs flowing through that you feel like you are in a never-ending vacuum of noise. And, that doesn’t even take into account that I’m operating on just a few hours of sleep after leading multiple Christmas services as a pastor.
Ruth saw a bright future for herself. She didn’t have an exact plan in front of her. But at 18, she vaguely knew what she wanted in the future: a master’s degree, a husband, a job she enjoyed, and children. Emma was on another path altogether. When Emma turned 18, she was already enrolled in a school for students with more significant disabilities.
Zechariah, despite being visited by an angel, doubted what he had been told, and so Gabriel told him that because of this doubt, Zechariah would not be able to speak until his son was born. So, he became unable to speak, and therefore unable to communicate through speech. What did he do? And what does his story teach us about people who cannot communicate by speech, or choose not to, today?
There were young kids, teens, young adults, even his best friend, all playing together, learning and laughing. But, there was no sign of my child. I searching the parking lot where everyone was talking and hanging out with their families; not there either. Here is where most people panic. But, deep down I knew; look with the younger kids. It was there I found him, rolling down the hill, filled with that bold childhood laughter, having the time of his life. No pressure here. No one asking him to make quick decisions he had to worry about in that football game. There was only freedom and joy. I want him to be something he isn’t sometimes, but I’m learning to start finding the thankful in disability.
Sometimes we only learn our lessons the hard way. There is truth in consequences. With autism or developmental disability, however, it can be hard to know what is reasonable to expect from our children. How much is too much? How much is too little? When do we make legitimate allowances for a disability and when do we not?
Whether at the doctor’s office, with our child’s therapy team, in the classroom for an IEP meeting, many times we are just not considered experts on our children. We are relegated to being just a bystander while the real “experts” make proclamations over our children. While they may be truthful many times, they still don’t define our children totally. It is in those moments that we must step in and be the voice in the gap between the understanding of the experts and the knowing of our hearts, and speak out the value of our kids that only we can communicate as parents.
My autistic non-verbal son has picked up some interesting habits recently. My son, who I always assumed was demonstrating illogical and repetitive behaviors due to his autism, was possibly copying what I did and trying to do the same things. He was legitimately observing my actions and trying to emulate them in the best ways he possibly could. He was watching me.
