It's been a long time since I've
written anything new on our blog. It's not that there aren't
exciting things going on, there are. Tons, actually. I see God
working in so many ways that my mind can't even begin to figure out
where He might be going with all of them…I do know this, however;
the journey may have its ups and downs, but the destination will be
something more amazing than my mind can conceive.
The lessons I've been learning that I
want to share with you today were born the evening of Chloe's 4th
birthday. That was exactly one week ago today, but it's taken me
awhile to get my thoughts organized. Those of you who know me know
my mind doesn't work in a linear fashion - from "a" to "b"
to "c" to "d"…; it works more like a cluster
diagram with various thought bubbles scattered around the paper and
lines going from one thought to other thoughts they trigger almost
simultaneously. Together, then, they merge to form a main
idea or a conclusion. But instead of working in an "if this,
then this" kind of manner, my thoughts are more like a plate of
tangled spaghetti; it takes me a little while to unravel each string
and put them together in a "logical" manner that someone
else can follow. That's how my brain works. Yeah, I know. Crazy.
But, that's me. So bear with me and get a cup of coffee. This is a
long blog post.
As many of you know, Chloe was
"unofficially" diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder this
summer. The doctor who diagnosed her is professionally qualified to
do so, but it's "unofficial" because he would actually have
to spend several more hours with her for the "official"
diagnosis. At the end of the day, it's the same thing. Chloe has
Autism Spectrum Disorder and Sensory Integration Disorder - fancy
names that mean she's wired uniquely and experiences the world
differently than most people. One of the things that comes along
with both of these "disorders" is something called
"emotional dysregulation."
Think of it this way. Imagine
experiencing all your emotions - love, happiness, compassion, anger,
malice, bitterness, a sense of justice or injustice - at an extreme
or hyper level. Now imagine having a diminished ability to hide them
or "regulate" them. This is Chloe's experience of life
(and the norm for many kids on the autism spectrum).
On top of that, imagine that
everything you experience through your senses is extreme: sights,
sounds, the feel of water on your skin, the feel of wind, smells,
tastes, even your internal sense that tells you how your body is
feeling. Imagine if the volume of these things and your sensitivity
to them were dialed up to extra high. This is Chloe's form of
Sensory Integration Disorder. How do you think you would cope with
that? Well, put these things together in a 4 year old, and you've got one
anxious, unstable, and volatile child.
Unstable and volatile were exactly how
I would have described Chloe on her birthday. She was "wired"
from the time she woke up, but I could see it escalating even more
throughout the day. She was kind of keeping a lid on it until I made
the mistake of telling her about her birthday cake - which I had yet
to make. Somehow, she couldn't quite grasp the - "I still have
to make it" part. All she knew was she wanted her cake and she
wanted it right then. I know - sounds like a spoiled little brat,
doesn't it. And believe me - that's exactly how she was acting. But
with Chloe, things can quickly escalate to a whole different level.
Still, she really made an effort to be
okay with waiting. She came into the kitchen with me to watch me mix
the cake ingredients, but it was a little more than her already
overloaded nervous system could handle. "Too loud, Mommy! "Too
loud!" So, I got her headphones. That helped, and she was fascinated by the way they blocked out the sound; but she couldn't
handle the feel of them over her ears. In only seconds, her poor
little nervous system just whigged-out. Things went flying across
the room, screams rent the air (and my eardrums). I've learned it's
best if I stay calm in these situations because if I don't, it just
adds to her overload and makes things exponentially worse. Still,
she was uncontrollable. As terrible as this sounds, I ended up
having to literally - but gently - drag her to her room; it was the
only way to keep us both safe. As it was, I ended up with multiple
scratches, bite marks, and bruises from being pinched. The whole day
went like this, with only brief interludes of peace (in which she was
extremely happy). It wasn't exactly the birthday I'd hoped for.
At one point when I had to drag her to
her room yet again, my heart just broke for her. Tears were leaking
out of my eyes (I was trying to hide them from Chloe because my
emotions on top of her emotions often contribute to her sensory
overload). I did, however, find myself praying softly. "Oh,
God. Please help me! I don't know what to do. I don't know what
she needs! How do I do this?" Chloe's emotions flipped like a
light switch. Her babbling (which she does when she's in distress)
became words. "Oh, Mama," she said. "I know…I
know…," she gently rubbed my arm to comfort me. "It's
okay…The Mouse Mobile will save you." This is a quote from
her favorite TV show - If you Give a Mouse a Cookie. It's her
equivalent of saying, "It'll be okay, Mama."
It won't surprise you when I tell you
I was physically, emotionally, and spiritually exhausted by the time
I put her to bed that night. But God wasn't done with me; He had some
things He wanted me to think about.
It started as just one thought. "The
way Chloe is acting with you - her emotions out in the open all raw
and exposed without the ability to hide them…that's how I see your
heart, my dear daughter." Hebrew 4:12 and 13 tell us that all
things are open and exposed for God to see - right down to the
thoughts and intents of our hearts.
I began to make connections. How
often would I scream at God the way Chloe screams at me if I weren't
an adult and able to control myself? How many times have I actually
done the whole screaming thing? How often do I grumble? Grumbling
is kind of the adult version of screaming - it means the same thing.
"God this isn't fair! I don't like this! I don't want this!
You're not being nice to me! I don't like you! I want
________________ , and I want it right now - not in 5 years!"
Sounds like what Chloe was doing concerning her birthday cake, only
more sophisticated. Oh, and here's my favorite Chloe-ism that she
likes to throw at me when she's angry: "I don't need you," My response is always, "Oh? Good luck with that."
Ouch. Can't you just hear God say that?
Here's another connection. Chloe often wants me to "play" with her. What that really means to her is this: Come sit by me while I play. Don't mess with my toys. Don't interfere with what I am doing. Just sit here at my beck and call. Pay attention to me…see me…but let me do my thing uninterrupted - unless I want you to participate, of course, and then I'll tell you exactly what I want you to do. And you better do it exactly like I've said. Another ouch. How often do I implicitly (or explicitly) communicate that attitude to God? "I want you here, but don't mess with what I'm doing with my life. Don't mess with my plans. Don't mess with my desires. Don't mess with my toys…unless I tell you to, and then You better do it exactly like I tell you or I won't be happy with you. After all, this is my little kingdom. I know what's best, and I'm the boss."
Here's another connection. Chloe often wants me to "play" with her. What that really means to her is this: Come sit by me while I play. Don't mess with my toys. Don't interfere with what I am doing. Just sit here at my beck and call. Pay attention to me…see me…but let me do my thing uninterrupted - unless I want you to participate, of course, and then I'll tell you exactly what I want you to do. And you better do it exactly like I've said. Another ouch. How often do I implicitly (or explicitly) communicate that attitude to God? "I want you here, but don't mess with what I'm doing with my life. Don't mess with my plans. Don't mess with my desires. Don't mess with my toys…unless I tell you to, and then You better do it exactly like I tell you or I won't be happy with you. After all, this is my little kingdom. I know what's best, and I'm the boss."
I began to see my daughter as a living
visual aid being used by God to show me myself from His parental
viewpoint; it wasn't a flattering picture. I thought, "Okay,
how does my Heavenly Parent respond to me when I'm like this?"
A series of biblical truths came to my
mind followed by specific Bible verses. The first truth concerned
the kindness of our God. Romans 2:4 says, "Or
do you despise the riches of His goodness, forbearance,
and longsuffering, not knowing that the goodness of God
leads you to repentance?" The Greek word used for "goodness"
here is chrestos;
it
always means benevolence and kindness. So, it is the kindness of God
that leads us to repentance. Sometimes kindness has to be tough, but
the heart of God toward His children is kindness. This is possible
because His just wrath over our sin has been absorbed by Jesus!
Tough and wrath aren't the same thing - and they shouldn't be the
same thing coming from me to my child, either. Kindness sometimes
needs to be tough - and sinful behavior (whether or not it is
exacerbated by autism spectrum disorder or sensory integration
disorder or emotional dysregulation) needs to be disciplined and
corrected. But if I am to be the image of Christ (her living visual
aid, if you will) to my child, I need to deal with her in kindness.
My desire for her good and my kindness toward her will speak volumes
to her - as would my wrath, anger, and frustration driven correction.
Which "heart-song" do I want her to hear from me?
The next truth God brought to mind was that we image the love of Jesus to others when we suffer willingly for their sake. In Colossians 1:24, the Apostle Paul told the believers in Colosse: "I now rejoice in my sufferings for you, and fill up in my flesh what is lacking in the afflictions of Christ, for the sake of His body, which is the church." This used to be a tricky verse for me. What could possibly be lacking in the suffering of Christ for us? What a strange thought! Nothing, of course. But Paul seems to say otherwise. What could he mean? Keeping with the context of Colossians chapter one, I believe Paul is referring to the fact that the believers in Colosse were missing one thing in connection with the suffering of Christ - seeing it and experiencing it first-hand. Paul couldn't add to their salvation experience - the sacrifice of Christ was totally sufficient to purchase their redemption - and mine. But Paul could be a living testimony both to the mercy he received from God during his own suffering and to the love of Christ that would be willing to sacrifice on their behalf. Paul was their "visual-aid" so they could see and experience this love first-hand.
How
does that connect with Chloe? First of all, because she learns from
the way I go through suffering. Do I trust the grace and mercy of my
Heavenly Father during suffering? Does she see me crying out to Him
for help? For deliverance? For forbearance? For patience? For
more trust? Or does she watch me try to rely on myself... and
eventually implode on myself? Do I trust God with her or do I
totally freak out as if there were no hope? Which ever one of those
I do is the one she will learn from me. Second, but just as
important, am I being a visual-aid for her of the love of God that is
willing to sacrifice on her behalf? Am I willing to lovingly suffer
for her sake despite the way she treats me? Isn't that what Christ
did for me? He died for the redemption of the very people who were
crucifying Him.
This
may seem strange, and I've read a lot of blogs by autistic adults who
say parents should stop talking about the "sacrifices" and
"how difficult it is" to raise a child on the spectrum
because it hurts their self-esteem. I take issue with that on a
number of levels. Every parent sacrifices for their child, and
sacrifices deeply. Children are difficult to raise. Deal with it.
I was difficult to raise. I'm not perfect, and I sinned against my
parents plenty. Children shielded from this reality are at a
disadvantage in life. Of course, I'm not talking about showing them
a "woe-is-me" attitude, but let's face it - parenting is
not easy. Parenting a child on the spectrum is especially not easy.
We've made sacrifices. I've had to sacrifice even simple dreams -
taking her to the pool and playing with her and her friends there;
big and boisterous birthday parties with lots of friends and
beautiful gluten and dairy-filled cake and ice cream; the ability to
take her into town on errands; vacations and get-aways, and a myriad
of other things. These are real sacrifices, and they are hard.
But
Jesus sacrificed for me things I can't even begin to conceptualize.
My loving sacrifices on Chloe's behalf place the image of Jesus
before her. They fill up what is lacking in the afflictions of
Christ for her. I am an everyday, living, breathing visual-aid.
The
last two biblical truths that came to my mind were intricately
connected with this previous one. I don't even know which came
first, they were just kind of - BOOM - there. They were these: I
should have joy in the midst of my circumstances with Chloe, but joy
doesn't equal lack of hardship or deep sadness. James 1:2-3 says
this: "My brethren, count it all joy when you fall into various
trials, knowing that the testing of your faith produces patience…."
God was basically telling me, "Julie, you need to have joy in
the midst of this, because I'm actually using this to produce
something good in you." Okay, I get that. I accept that. But
does joy mean I can't grieve? Does it mean I can't cry? Does it
mean I can't hurt? Does it mean my heart can't break? Does it mean
I'm not exhausted? Does it mean I don't ask for a break? Does it
mean I don't cry out to God for things to be different? Enter the
final verse, Hebrews 12:2. "Looking unto Jesus, the author and
finisher of our faith who for the JOY that was set before Him endured
the cross, despising the shame, and has sat down at the right hand of
the throne of God." Here was God's answer to my questions.
Jesus had joy. Jesus wept and grieved so deeply that He sweat drops
of blood. Jesus cried out for deliverance. Jesus was in such deep
agony, He asked God why He had forsaken Him - even though this was
their plan from before the beginning of time. Jesus wept over
Jerusalem: "Jerusalem, oh Jerusalem! How often I would have
gathered you together like a mother hen gathers her chicks under her
wing; but you would not!" Jesus grieved when His people would
not accept his comfort. The Holy Spirit grieves when we sin. When I
was growing up, I thought that meant my sin frustrated Him and made
Him angry. No. The Greek word there means to grieve or to distress.
My sin distresses the Holy Spirit, much like Chloe's sin distresses
and grieves me (and not all her melt-downs are sin; sometimes they're just her body's way of whigging-out under too much stimulus). This is related to the kindness of God and shows His
heart for His children.
This
is precious. It means I can have joy - not just in the glorious
times with Chloe - and there are glorious times. But also in the
distressing times when I'm crying out to God for direction and wisdom
and perseverance and inner peace. It means I can have joy when I'm
having to work at making a conscious decision to trust Him with me
and with Chloe and with her future. It means I don't have to walk around with a fake smile pretending everything is okay when it really isn't...I can be real because joy and grief are not mutually exclusive. And I want joy; I deeply desire the biblical
perspective that breeds joy even in the midst of a horrendous day - the perspective that says though I may grieve, it is not without hope.
What
does all this means when it is put together in my brain? It means
that just as I am a visual-aid for Chloe to see Jesus, Chloe is a
visual-aid for me to see myself stripped bear of any adult
sophistication I think I have. She is a daily reminder that I
desperately need the grace of God - not just on the level of needing
His wisdom and strength to be a mom to Chloe, but also on the level
of recognizing my sin is as open and laid bare to God as Chloe's is
to anyone who sees her throwing a total tantrum. She is a living
reminder that just as she doesn't perceive the world accurately and
needs me to help her make sense of things and learn to respond
appropriately, so I don't perceive this world properly. I need God's
perspective to help me make sense of things and His word to teach me
to respond appropriately. Chloe needs the perspective I can bring to
her. But I need the perspective she brings to me as well.
But
do you know another kind of perspective she gives me? As deeply as
she can feel anger and bitterness - she feels love and compassion and
joy just as truly and deeply. The joy of her laughter, the purity of
her compassion, the unfeigned love she lavishes on me...this is a
whole other side to the lessons Chloe has for me.
I
don't know the plans God has for Chloe and for me - but He does. I
don't know where this journey of parenting her is leading us - but He
does. I don't know the sorrows before us - but He does. And I don't
know all the joys set before me, but I know they're beyond amazing
because He tells me in Romans 8:18 that the sufferings of this
present time are not worthy to be compared to the glory that shall be
revealed in us. And if someday Chloe comes to Jesus as her Savior
(as I pray she will), then the same will be true for her. That is a
great source of comfort and joy.
Meanwhile...I
will experience joy in the blessing of being Chloe's mom and of being
given the honor and privilege of imaging Jesus to this precious,
precious child who is so dear to my heart. It's all about
perspective. Biblical perspective.