A Fine Jumbled Mess

My child is single-handedly shredding my heart into a million pieces. Its something I didn't think I would experience until his teenage years. I certainly didn't expect a five year-old to wield this sort of power. My husband once told me that I shouldn't let the boys run my life. They are my life, I angrily retorted. In reality though, I get his point. Its the same as letting my life be controlled by my emotions.

This week held the challenge of his first time at Vacation Bible School at our church. (He was old enough last year, but that was pre-diagnosis and I was scared out of my mind about what would happen. I'd like to say I'm braver/wiser now, but honestly I think I've just concluded that we don't have anything to lose.) He wasn't the slightest bit excited by the idea -- a little intrigued, perhaps -- but mostly indifferent.

Indifferent is an excellent term to describe his attitude about all things spiritual right now. And that's okay. He is only five, after all. The difference is that he's not the slightest bit moved by entreaties to behave one way or the other based on pleasing an authority figure, even God Himself. I would venture to guess that even the most hardened of very young children, when given a steady diet of Sunday School, Wednesday night Bible club, Children's Church, etc would at least be persuaded to behave in a certain manner when in that environment -- if for no other reason than to please the adults that are present and reap whatever positive response may result. To my son, and I assume to most other children who fall in the same location on the autism spectrum, pleasing someone is just not important. But I digress...as usual.

I wasn't sure what to expect. I mostly hoped that he would at least be immersed enough in the environment to understand the love of Jesus a little bit more. On a more basic level, I just wanted him to experience something "normal." The irony with my son is that he always has all the answers -- his teachers are impressed by his wisdom -- but its only ever facts to him. Its like the classic Christian joke about the children who answer "Jesus" to any question they are given. He knows his Bible stories through and through. He knows the gospel and that Christ is the only One who can make us clean. The tough part is that he doesn't really care. And the really tough part is that, given his mode of processing, he may never care.

From what I've read, most believers with high-functioning autism have reached a believing state only through years of rational thinking -- ironic because Christianity hardly seems rational, on the surface. As with everything else in life, this is something which I am going to have to leave to the Lord. In gatherings like Vacation Bible School, however, I am bombarded with thoughts about the hopelessness of it all -- my powerlessness as a mom. I am also reminded, however, that I have as much power as any other mom, with any other "normal" child. I just do my best to teach him, by word and deed, and then pray my heart out.

This week he came home spouting spiritual rhetoric, all of it truth. He had all the answers, he knew every detail. When I tried to use these same pieces of wisdom as an application in real-time circumstances, he was unfazed. On more than one occasion -- several occasions, in fact --his cruel, defiant behavior instead came close to tearing my heart out. (Oh-so-often I have foolishly longed for a "lower-functioning" autistic child, if only to be spared his violent anger.) Again, I feel powerless.

Our pastor has graciously supplied me with a foot-high pile of wisdom, in the form of about six books! Little by little, I am piecing together a fragile web of truths to which I'll cling. My husband was right. (!!) Letting the ironies of life, the unraveling of my expectations dictate my ability to cope is simply going to destroy me. I DO mourn the events that transpire in my life, as far as the loss of dreams go. But I am learning to no longer see them as cruel punishments with the ability to shatter me. As far as my son goes, unfortunately he still has the power to drive me to tears -- of joy and of sorrow. To a certain degree, that's what it means to be a mom. The rest is a work in progress.

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Please pray for all of us as we go our separate ways tomorrow evening, the boys to grandma and grandpa's and hubby and I to Florida. Speaking of an emotional wreck, I really hate leaving the boys and I hate flying even more. It is, however, a much-needed break and with very good reason. My wonderful and talented and all-around good guy husband will be signing books (Not always as glamorous as it sounds! Last year they -- hubby and his brother -- stood for nearly three hours, signing three-hundred books. That's a lot of people to schmooze with! And this year they'll be doing it twice!) and meeting with different publishers to find someone to take on their newest projects...which also happens to be our livelihood. If I'm lucky, sometime during the three days I'll be with him I might actually get to see him!

And now that I've spent way too long hashing out my feelings in an incoherant mess for all to read, I should probably go pack!