One Thousand Gifts

My oldest son has autism.  I'm sure I've covered it in earlier posts.  There have been times where autism has required everything from me, and there have been times where it is secondary to our family living our lives.  It has taken a lot to get to a place where it does not rule our lives as much as it used to.

I am reading through "One Thousand Gifts" by Ann Voskamp.  We have just gotten back from LJ's speech therapy and my allergy shots.  I had to drag LJ out of the doctor's office, in front of several people.  I think it's because I interrupted him when they called me for my shots, or maybe it's because I reprimanded him (gently) to not knock over the screen in the lab in front of others.  With autism, you never know and most of the time they cannot tell you.

The kids go outside to play.  It's a perfect fall day.  I'm reading about eucharisto and seeing God and running from life and running towards God.  My heart breaks for my son.  I'm broken because of my pride, which hates dragging an eight year old out of a doctor's office...will someone call CDS someday?  How much longer will these moments occur?  What do I do when he's 14 and taller than me, stronger than me, and I just need him to join the rest of us?  I'm not even requiring him to talk or perform or think...I just need him to walk with us.  I need him to be able to function as a part of this family, and what we need to do.  I'm broken for him, for how difficult his life is, for his brain which seems to just turn off like at the doctor's office, and all I have are pieces, empty eyes looking at me, a body that has collapsed to the floor and cannot walk.  I'm broken for his siblings who go into survival mode, opening doors for me, waiting by the car obediently, knowing I am holding the baby and trying to drag LJ to the car and I only have 2 arms.  I'm trying to not yell or cry, begging God to give me the grace to reach LJ and get us through this moment.  I'm on a mission, I don't see anything around me, focusing on getting my four children to the car and buckled, so I can breathe.  I don't see kind eyes or critical eyes, I just see my son and this empty body in front of me.

I'm reading about eucharisteo and thinking about how much I love these little ones in my life.  My heart bursts with joy mixed with pain, wanting healing for them, whatever healing they need...body, spirit, mind...I am so content with these whom God has given me, and yet my heart aches.   I carry God's love for them in my heart and my heart aches for them.  I can almost feel God infusing His heart with mine, showing me how much He loves them more than me, showing me His love is greater, telling me it's going to be okay.  They are going to be okay.  "Trust Me," He whispers. "Take my grace."

Dinner needs to be made.  Kids came back inside.  My heart still aches for these loves of mine.  Days like this, I am thankful for.  God comes close to me, walks with me, lends His strength to get through this difficult day.  His grace sustains me.  And yet, my heart aches, because this surreal life I live in makes it impossible to pretend.  Impossible to pretend that we are a "normal" family, that life is easy, that our biggest worries are if we will make it somewhere on time or what we're going to make for dinner.  His grace sustains me.  His grace sustains you. 

And now, my sweet daughter whispers, teasing me.  God is good.  His grace is sweet. Eucharisteo.