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Behind Closed Doors

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Yesterday, at the doctor’s office, I was asked by a person, “…but he’s gotta be high-functioning?!”

By the way, this person uttered the question as they were presently witnessing my son be an anxiety-derived, socially-inappropriate mess in the room. Even that should have given enough evidence that there are no fewer difficulties with a high-functioning autistic kiddo than there are with a low-functioning.

Whether intentional or not, the above question implies that somehow our job as a parent of a high-functioning autistic child must be somehow easier. Frankly, the term is deceptive.

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Cut to the Core

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I say enough. I’ve spent enough time floating through life. I look good on the outside. I appear to be living for God. But what I don’t want to admit is how little effort I put into my relationship with God. To disclose how complacent I’ve become would be shameful.

I don’t think I ever get this way deliberately. Initially, it may be an event or season that caused my spiritual walk to suffer. Busyness is always an easy excuse. I may not even be aware that I enjoyed the time it freed up. But what started out as unintentional can quickly evolve into intentional if not caught. Soon it abandons unintended and becomes a conscious choice. More appealing activities occupy my time when I should be reading God’s Word, rejuvenating my spirit and growing in my faith. As my view of God slowly grows dimmer, the temporal joys take over. They become my preferred interest. They become my idol.

It’s not always easy to see amidst it but over time and especially looking back I realize I easily traded freedom and life in Christ for a wearisome existence of self-contentment. Instead of joy, depression, sadness and loneliness developed. Extremely burdened by the heaviness of daily life. Nothing was going my way. Nothing was fulfilling. There was no joy. I’m selfish, irritable, discontented. And the further from God I got, the blinder I was to my position of wretchedness.

And then snip.

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I was that Girl

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We were enjoying my son’s first school Christmas concert. For one of the songs, a girl got up to sing in accompaniment with the jazz band. The two adults sitting directly in front of us began laughing at this girl who was singing on stage. They didn’t chuckle at one bad note—though that’s not acceptable either, but they snickered and carried on like elementary students during her entire performance!! What a disheartening sight!!! It was a difficult song, and the girl had an amazingly strong voice, but you could hear the nervousness in her voice! These two old-enoughs-to-know-better were embarrassingly distracting.

Their behavior was shameful, and I almost spoke up to them.

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This Arrogant Heart of Mine

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Two days ago marked 5 years since my dad’s death. I felt pressured to write a blog as I’ve done so many times in the past or paint an inspired work of art in memory of my dad. But no inspiration came that day…just a sad cloud looming over me. I mentioned the pressure to my husband whose reply was so on-point:

“You know [your dad] wouldn’t have wanted anything that points to him anyway. He would’ve rather had you do something that points to Christ.”

And so, there is no 5-year blog (at least not yet) and there is no 5-year painting. Instead, here’s a blog about this arrogant, sinful heart of mine.

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The Secret to Marriage

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11 years. My husband and I will be married 11 years tomorrow. Nowadays that is quite an accomplishment. But seems even more so for us.

When I was younger, I wanted nothing more than to be married and have a family. A beautiful long flowy gown with a beautiful, dreamy atmosphere in a cathedral-like church. My dad walking me down the aisle. Flowers and fairy lights everywhere. Even though I knew fairytales were not real, I still hoped for mine. It’s called naivety. It never happens. I was not a realist; I still thought everything would be perfect once I was married and had children. What could be better than being with the one you love for the rest of your life? I found the man I loved, and now life would be exactly how I wanted.  

My dreams and expectations were about to be shattered.  

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Those Embarrassing Moments

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It was bus time. Of course, raining. It rained all day long. So, I drove the van to the other side of our block to the bus stop. I normally stand on the sidewalk, so I was worried neither the bus driver nor the boys would see me waiting in the van.

The bus pulled into the road. The driver seemed to hesitate where the bus would normally stop, but slowly approached to where I was parked. He waved to me sitting in the van but didn’t stop. As soon as he passed me, I quickly climbed out in the rain to flag him down. He didn’t stop. I’m pretty sure my voice now matched the intensity of my flailing arms until I realized it wasn’t my boys’ bus but another one in the district. I’m flagging down the wrong bus!!!!

Oops! Talk about embarrassing! Wonder what the driver was thinking? I climbed back into the van mortified. I laughed with my son’s TSS, but it wasn’t a genuine laugh.  

I hated it. I hate doing something embarrassing. I hate making a fool of myself. I hate messing up in front of people.

It’s very important to me that I am liked and thought well of. It’s actually a fault. I have worked so hard to portray this certain image that I can’t even allow myself to mess up. I can’t allow myself to be embarrassed or wrong. Because when I do it just wrecks me. It just kills me that I was flagging down the wrong bus!

I have embarrassed myself worse than this, but I think the foundational issue remains.  

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Burdened Beyond My Strength

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Sometimes you just need someone to ask the question, “When you look back on where you were a year or so ago—physically, emotionally, mentally, spiritually, where are you now? How are you now compared to then?” This was my son’s therapist. (Yes, she’s amazing!)

The difficult season for me extended beyond twelve months, but when look back at only the past year, it held the deepest trials and the greatest wins. I had plummeted into the deepest, most desperate, hopeless place. Just so mentally and emotionally and spiritually deep in despair. Having physical difficulty to even carry on daily. I felt so intensely the verse that Paul wrote in 2 Corinthians 1:8-10, “For we were so utterly burdened beyond our strength that we despaired of life itself. Indeed, we felt that we had received the sentence of death. But that was to make us rely not on ourselves but on God who raises the dead. He delivered us from such a deadly peril, and He will deliver us. On Him we have set our hope that He will deliver us again.”

Where was I a year ago? If you’ve followed my blogs, you probably already know. Continue reading “Burdened Beyond My Strength” →

Four Years

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Tomorrow is the day. It marks four years since I lost one of the most precious people in my life. Days ago, I felt myself digging my heels into the ground, desperately trying to slow the approaching tomorrow. I’d rather not be in that day. Let’s just skip over it.

In the show Gilmore girls, there was an episode about Luke’s dark day. It was the day he mourned the loss of his father. Years ago, it didn’t mean much but I get it now. Sunny or not, there’s a shadow that falls on the day. All the other days of the year come and go, easy or difficult. 364 days you can usually choose to remember vividly or vaguely or completely push it out of mind but on the anniversary of the death you’re forced to face it. The difficult memories unwelcomingly push their way into your mind, flashing images like a projector screen. All you can do is face it.

I remember when I first lost my dad. My thoughts were so raw and painful and completely consumed by the grief. The world had stopped. Nothing Continue reading “Four Years” →

What, No School?

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What I feel today is radically different than what I felt on March 13th when the announcement was made to close schools for two weeks. God has been working tremendously in my heart. So, any good in me is only through the work of the Spirit and the grace of God in my heart.

March 13th: I couldn’t believe it. Schools closed?! How is this possible? Immediately I panicked. I cannot do this. I cannot handle my son every single day all day and maintain my sanity—I did it before and it was the most difficult 5 years of my life. Summers scare me. How will I do it now when they are supposed to be in school? This routine change will mess him up. He’ll be a mess. I can’t do it. I need that break while he goes to school. I need to recover from the morning so that I can be ready and renewed and fresh-minded when he comes home from school in the afternoon. I need that break! I need him to stay in school! Please, God, no! Don’t do this! Continue reading “What, No School?” →