Nothing to do with Christmas

 

At 6 am one Saturday morning, Goldi, soon to be “Star of stage and Screen,” announced her favorite words- “Let’s do a play.”

I sat in the kitchen with my tea at hand making out my Saturday list: wash, clean, groceries….all about the practice of being organized and running the house-  battles with her need to create and express.

“Well, we have lots of things to do today,”  I said working my way OUT of doing a play at 6 am with darkness all around and promises of the sun’s rays still not yet realized.

“Put down Baby Jesus Play ” Goldi said pointing to my list.

“B- Baby J-Jesus Play!” she sounds out to awaken my sleepy ears.

I concede and write it down. At the last written letter, she springs into a plan.

“Who will be Mary?” I asked with a new fresh paper titled  “Baby Jesus Play Characters.”

Goldi rummaged around her Barbie box  and found Belle. She draped one of my good, (probably handmade in Cyprus- handed down from my grandmother)  napkins over her to make her look more the part. She does the same for Prince Charming.

“He’s Joesph,” she said seating them both side by side. She  the two off the list and proceeds.

“Now what about Baby Jesus?” she asks.

Her eyes wander around in thought and she suddenly runs in her bedroom. Out she comes with a soft teddy bear wrapped in her baby blanket . The one she still sleeps with and caresses each night.

“Mom, I need help wrapping this baby up!” she cries.

I couldn’t even do the swaddle wrap very well when Goldi was a baby.But she wants me to wrap her teddy bear up as tightly and snuggly as Mary did.

“Never mind. ” she says laying a bundle of pink on the floor next to Princess Belle – ( I mean Mary) and Prince Charming ( I mean Joseph) .

” We still need animals.” she demands.

“You could ask your brother if you could borrow some  of his. ”

Immediately she inquires and with a silent nod from her brother , she hauls a blue box full of mostly forest and jungle animals. “We’ll need this deer, pig, and of course this  tiger. ”

Surely there must be at least one sheep or donkey in that collection? I sigh.

Goldi has chosen Pinocchio as one of the wise men – in fact there’s only 1  wiseman and an angel off her Christmas tree. No shepherds.

“There. Now, it’s all set. ” she says with deep satisfaction.

I ‘ve seen many creches.  Fisher Price, Peanuts Characters. Veggie tales,- cute but not the kind you would put on your fireplace mantel in my opinion. The one Goldi has made the  base of our very fancy Christmas tree , has got to be the most far fetched one ever. It’s not the Willow Tree beauty it is almost like the Herdman invasion of the Nativity.

“Once upon a time,” Goldi begins in an English accent,  there was a woman named Mary who married Joseph and she was going to have a baby.  So when the baby was born, he had a good favorite sleep.  Mary put him in the manger. The angel ( which at the time was laying on the floor face down)  said “Don’t be afraid. This baby is the Best one in the World.”

I nod at the truth told.

“Yes, He was the best in the world wasn’t He. I confirm.

“Then the kings wanted to see baby Jesus.” Goldi continues.

She brings Pinocchio I mean the wise man)  and some animals up to the baby and says ” Oh, isn’t he so cute?”

And that was the Best Christmas ever. THE END

“Okay, now, I would like to watch Frosty the Snowman?”

I am frozen with disappointment. The play critic in me wants to cry out ” inaccurate, brief, unrealistic, and performed by a real novice in Biblical knowledge.”

What have we  done to give her this mixed up notion that a tiger,  Prince Charming, and Bell were present while Pinocchio the Wise man gave the baby nothing but a compliment while the angel just lays face down saying little and singing nothing?

“Isn’t there someone who can tell Goldi what Christmas is all about?”  I  shout in my brain with my  Charlie Brown voice.  The true meaning of Christmas lost in a bunch of meaningless , “nothing to do with it” toys.

And there’s been so much nothing to do with Christmas. First is was talking again about Mrs. Claus needing to come and not Santa.  He can stop and have a cheeseburger for the second year in a row. Then it was singing Jingle Bells at the first snowfall Thanksgiving Eve. We’ve been “booed” and now  “elfed” so we needed to elf someone back. Sigh. I wonder if Cupid is warming up as well for his big day in February.

But then… there was soft singing.  At the closing down the set of the Baby Jesus Play 2015  Goldi was singing : “O come Let us Adore Him.”  The one we  sang  that morning before Thanksgiving when we saw the first snow. The one we made Goldi sing over the phone to her Grandma who lives an hour away.  The one that we all sing hopefully not just on The Day but all year long.  Goldi was singing it.

In sudden amazement I found God with us. My faith was so fixed on the should be and not on the amazing possibility that Goldi knew in faith God with us.   It is in many moments of journeying with an autistic child, that I in faith need to believe that things deemed impossible might someday be reality- all because of Immanuel – God with us.

Goldi was adoring her Savior through her very own Baby Jesus Play- Barbies Pinocchio, tiger, and fine linen napkins from Cyprus.  Immanuel – God with us- wrapped up in her baby blanket that she’s treasured all her life, surrounded by  jungle animals lovingly shared by her brother.  This was her adoring- to show Jesus dwelling with us. Dwelling with us on this journey of autism , this Christmas and forever.   It was the Best Everything to Do with Christmas Pageant Play ever.

Matthew 1:23 BEHOLD, THE VIRGIN SHALL BE WITH CHILD AND SHALL BEAR A SON, AND THEY SHALL CALL HIS NAME IMMANUEL,” which translated means, “GOD WITH US.”

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Homeprints

Cleaning and polishing  swallowed up many hours of our life  in the selling of our house.  We  erased  13 years of memories in a few weeks of time.

“What did  you do?” I shrieked one day when I found several princess stickers stuck to the bedroom closet door.

” It’s pretty! Goldi proclaimed.

A little Goo gone and  endless hours of nail biting- gone.

Kicking filled the room room. Goldi was having one of her “moments.” Her thunder could compete with a real storm.  Magic eraser time, soap and water blew it away.

Between bites of food, Goldi paced back and forth at dinner. While watching the part when Cinderella sings with the birds, or Wilbur runs after Fern, she jumped, leaving continuous footprints on our hardwood floor.  Several floor polishings later, it was print free.

You’d have to squint to see what once made our home sweet. No one would ever know that an autistic girl lived there.  A new family has hung their hat and begun to print up the house. Our life exists now in a “sparkling new” home.  According to all the visitors thus far, it even smells new.  The walls are freshly painted all smooth and clean. ( But alas, you breath or pass by and a handprint falls on them)  It will take our own prints to make this empty canvas of a house sweet. So let the housebreaking begin.

Leaving a print comes natural for Goldi. There are  marks on the wall and floor from her feet and hands. (Many exciting new experiences equals  many jumps. )  There are play dough smears and crumbs on the garage floor because of summer afternoon creation. There are finger smudges on the large living window when she’s pressed herself against it to see the best view. There is the inevitable sticker residue on her closet and bedroom door.  I want to keep that wonderment of all the possibilities of memories in our new home fresh.  But after three  months of living here, our print is spreading around and penetrating the house with  everyday smudges,  wrinkles, smells,  and holes. These are the  prints that make home sweet.

Sweet is the print making Goldi leaves. LIke when  she greets each house guest with light up eyes and jumps three feet high making the house rattle and leaving a footprint.  Sweet is when she blares out her Broadway voice and her song echoes and travels to every corner of the house. Sweet is the staging of many dolls and  trinkets that  clutter her room and await for her to tell their story. This house as fresh and handsome as it is,- is now sweet because of the  print of a creative,  vivacious gal, and she continues to be limitless in the pursuit of home sweet making.

Sweet is  when dinner grace is said,  and there’s a thousand things to be thankful for and just one “please give me”.  Sweet is her noticing the sky around our house and the way the sun makes it glow over the treetops.  Sweet is the way she knows just the right cupboard for the band aides when someone she loves sheds tears . Sweet is the way she retells the stories of God’s print on this world on our downstairs stage, and says with all her might “I am the Lord your God.!”

A home sweet home print is left by all who chose to take to heart as Goldi does, the job of leaving this sorry world a better place. Smudges, fingerprints, holes in the wall, yes, our autistic Goldi-  is making the world a better place.  Only the Lord of this Earthly Home has made her prints sweet  through His glorious power just as he does for each of us if we so let Him.  The Lord of it all chose Goldi to show this to me and anyone else who chooses to pay attention.   It’s a homeprint that is being treasured up in heaven- our Sweetest of Homes.

2 Chronicles 7:15-16 “Now my eyes will be open and my ears attentive to the prayer that is made in this place. For now I have chosen and consecrated this house that my name may be there forever. My eyes and my heart will be there for all time.”

Pretend Soup

It was a typical question for the time of day- “What are we having for dinner?” asked Goldi.

“Chicken and potatoes.” I answer.

” I would like to make my Pretend Soup. ” she announced.

Before an “OK” is on my tongue, Goldi has pots and spoons at her fingertips in minutes. Impressive, considering the HUGE change we have undergone in moving to a new house. I still wonder about a pot’s whereabouts before opening a cupboard.

Goldi pours water into a medium sized pot and asks for the stove to be turned on. I turn it on LOW  and make dinner along side her.  She tops the pot with its lid and says “It needs to cook for about 20 minutes. It is going to be delicious.”

” …no one is born a great cook, one learns by doing ” – Julia Child 

Goldi is now exploring the ways of play. This is her rehearsals for what may take place during that grown up later time. She shows she just could be a real Julia Child in the making.

She leaves the Pretend Soup to work it’s magic and wanders into her room.

Suddenly she appears to check the pot,

“It’s getting hot. That’s good because it tastes best that way. ”  she says.

Her dad arrives home from work and takes a sniff.

‘Smells good.” he says.

“It’s my Pretend Soup, Dad. I cooked it myself.” she says with spoon in hand.

“Pretend Soup?” he says with a raised eyebrow.

“Yes,” says Goldi with her “what’s so strange about that?’ voice.

I wink at my husband. He smiles.

“Well, when’s that soup gonna be ready”I am as hungry as a bear!”

Goldi giggles. The soup bubbles and lets off a healthy steam. This brings a smile of deep satisfaction to her . She gathers up four small plastic bowls,  lines them up in a row, and gently she ladles a portion each bowl.

It’s so beautifully arranged on the plate – you know someone’s fingers have been all over it.”  Julia Child

How exciting it is to see this unique individual at play.  Pretend Soup by Chef Goldi Child. Her very own recipe- made with her own hands.

“I’m not having any, it’s only a bowl of hot water anyway. ”  says our voice of reality. AKA her younger brother.

Our old soul son tests the purpose of this pretending session with his matter of fact statements.

I sigh and think through my laundry list of laments: If only she’d done this when she was three or four . Then maybe she and people her age would be equally matched at play. Then maybe she’d be more practical , more realistic, …maybe she’d even be cooking up a batch of Chicken Noodle – or maybe even French Onion by now. 

“Just say No thank you, ” ‘ I instruct our son firmly.

Why can’t kids just be kids and not push for grown up status before it’s time? Why does it seem at times that  Goldi  is the only child  at play among all the children these days? Why can’t kids  hold tight to their childhood for all it’s worth? 

Yet, we are thrilled . Play was once strange and mysterious. All toys stood lifeless. No singing the dolly to sleep. No beauty parlor with her barbies. Only stillness and nothingness and blank stares. She squinted to see anything imaginary and couldn’t muster up the magic to put forth any pretending.  Now, it’s her  pleasure that comes as natural to her as breathing.  Progress! Glorious and amazing and wonderful progress!

My husband gives a big slurp at the table with a spoonful of Pretend Soup and Goldi giggles.

“What’s your secret ingredient?” I ask.

“Well it has a lot of things that are really good for you like- vegetables.  Would you like some more?” she asks.

“Yes, please!” her dad and I both say in unison.

Goldi dishes out one more bowl for each of us and is delighted to present us with another helping.  She jumps and flaps at the sight of us rubbing our tummies and giving hearty MMMMMS.

It IS  just hot water!  She should be playing Sorry or coloring beautifully in the lines of some nature scene picture, or sewing,  ( Okay maybe not that – I pretty much failed at that myself at age 8) or decorating a dollhouse …. or reading a chapter book  or taking ballet lessons or spending hours at a 1000 piece puzzle or….?

Goldi might be mocked one day for offering her specialty to someone else beyond the safe and loving walls of her family.  Those thoughts of reality hit and Pretend Soup goes down the wrong pipe. I let out a few coughs.

‘What’s wrong Mom? Did it burn your tongue?” Goldi says in her concerned voice.

So much reality and matter of fact and sensibleness and “supposed to bes”  taint  my ideal picture of Goldi’s childhood.

This child is eight years old. And on the day, of her eight year birthday party, she insisted on making  Pretend Soup. This time Goldi added dish soap  and food coloring and danced her way around the kitchen singing in her operatic voice.

Soon, there was green water all over the counter.

“Sorry, mom, it was an accident. ” Goldi says silently.

“Nothing is too much trouble if it turns out the way it should.” Julia Child 

Eight Year old Goldi is making Pretend Soup. It is as it should be. It is her hold on tight joy during these crucial growing up moments.

“It’s okay Goldi” I say. “We can wipe it up.”

“Don’t worry mom! I can make some more tomorrow. I sure am a good cook you know.” Julia,( I mean Goldi,) says with her head held high.

“This is my invariable advice to people: Learn how to cook- try new recipes, learn from your mistakes, be fearless, and above all have fun!” Julia Child

Goldi plopped everything in the sink and plopped herself down on her bed. Our young  Julia Child needed to take a load off. Playing and pretending is hard work. But she knows that it’s worth it. Her childhood is here to stay awhile for Goldi. Maybe even longer than most childhoods. But she will relish in it. I imagine this is the time all her best recipes will be conjured up.

See that you do not despise one of these little ones. For I tell you that in heaven their angels always see the face of my Father who is in heaven. Matthew 18:10

Truly I say to you, unless you turn and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Whoever humbles himself like a child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. ” Matthew 18: 2-4

Brother has an autistic sister

We finally spoiled the secret.  It was one Sunday afternoon. We prayed for the right words. We sat at the kitchen table and spilled the beans… “Goldi has autism,” we said to our kids.

I was teary.  My husband  sighed,  and gave a “it is done” nod.

“Can I have a snack now please?” said Goldi’s  brother.

Didn’t you just hear me?  I thought.  Your sister has autism! Don’t you know what this means? It’s our forever thorn in our side!  I longed to let loose a silent scream.

“Do you have any questions?” asked my husband.

“Please, may I have a bowl of cereal?” my son asked.

No further comments.  As he crunched along, a floating speech bubble floated from his head- So my sister has autism. Let’s just carry on with life. Crunch Crunch.

I had pictured a long heart to heart talk. I had pictured  some “It’s not fair screams from Goldi”  Some tears and prayers and hugging. Nothing.

Our son ponders. He questions. He remembers.   And after sleeping on it for some time, he asked,”So how come I don’t have autism?”

“You weren’t born with it.  Goldi was. ” I answered.

He goes deeper and gets theological – he is after all going to be a pastor. (or maybe your next congressman- these days,  I choose the first one.)

“So if God made us, why did he make Goldi with autism? I thought God made all the good things and all the bad things the bad people made? ”

When I was ready and waiting, he says nothing. When I am least expecting it, ( like when I am trying to figure out how to scrape the burned gravy off my good cooking pan. ) he socks it to me. 

“Sin made people bad. Even though there are bad people and bad things, God made everything good first. Sin tried to mess it all up. But God is making it all good again. ”

“I am going to ride my bike. ” he said.   The door slams and I see him whiz up and down the neighbors driveways.  Carry on with life.

A month later, he stomps into the house.

“Mom!” It’s not fair. I want to have autism too!”

“You mean, you want it to be hard  for you to do things like play with your friends, read, write, go the zoo, and eat at a restaurant?

” I  don’t mean that.  She doesn’t  get the same  consequences  I do.”

“We have to do things different for her so that she understands. Her brain is different than yours.  She can’t understand some things as quickly as you sometimes. You are both learning to be the best you can be. ”

All of the sudden, I see him racing cars on the kitchen floor. Carry on with life.

Since spilling the beans, I’ve carried on with life while still  being stretched and challenged. I’ve worked to ready the right words for those just in case moments. Lord help us. Throughout all our carrying on with life, I know he’s thinking, concluding, and questioning. And all along he races his cars, rides his bike, reads his books, draws pictures,  – and carries on with life. He does what he knows to do. He does what he does best.

One morning, I find them snuggling in the same bed.

“He’s so cute!” Goldi says. “He’s the cutest little kitty.” she says as she gently pats his head.

“Meow” says my son snuggling and squeezing Goldi until she giggles.

His sister has autism. Carry on with life – with love.

Verses from 1 Corinthians 13:  If I have faith that can move mountains but have not loved. I am nothing. Love is patient and kind. I have faith, hope, and love. The greatest of these is love.

Matthew 12:50

For whoever does the will of my Father in heaven is my brother and sister and mother.”



 

Hanging our hats and laying down our heads

Two storage pods plunked down on the driveway causing a serious wondering from Goldi. “What is that?” she asked.

“Two big boxes. We’re saying  “Goodbye” to some things for awhile so that our house looks ready for someone else to live here.”

Goldi looked into the distance .  The sound of the words “Someone else will live here” seemed to create shadows of what might be. I saw them in the distance too.

Gradually things vanished from the house and Goldi  made inquiries.   “Where’s my stuffed dog?” she asked. “Where’s that purple chair?  “Is my doll in that big box?” Home looked empty as our fingerprints of living were removed all around.

Goldi kept home by pretending  and storytelling in her room. She rode her bike around the neighborhood.  She jumped when she saw someone come up the front walk. She made spill over splashes in the bathtub. She hung her backpack on a hanger in the closet.  She nestled down in her pink flower bed and slept.  She threw her sock and shoes in the hallway and ran around  barefoot.

She spent time in a home more permanent- her grandparents house.  There she could make music with her grandpa in the big room of great acoustics. She explored the ponds. She lay her head on the comfy couch and rested.  She threw off her socks and shoes in the mudroom and ran around barefoot.

As we readied our home for someone else’s life, we began to “live” in a home that was still in the making. The first several visits to our house under construction,  came with protest.

“This is not my home!”  Goldi  screamed each time we went the “wrong way” home.  My images of  life in our “dream house” had spots of worry and fret.

“Look , this is where we’ll eat as a family.” I announced one day as we walked into our skeletal like kitchen.

The well thought over  island was just newly constructed. Dust  and builder slop decorated everything.  Despite protest, promises of picnic, play, and props ( toys to bring along)  finally coaxed her to cooperate.

“Let’s eat like we live here. ” I said unpacking the fast food picnic. But with no chairs,  lighting  or attractive surface, our family dinner table looked more like a tool shed.

Quickly I grabbed a small forgotten ladder,  and turned over a big cardboard box. Immediate seats began a transformation to a home sweet home feel.  Hungrily I dove into my cheeseburger. Goldi’s brother chose the cardboard box and bit into his and Goldi, without prompt or persuasion, tore off her socks and shoes,  sat on the ladder. and nibbled on a chicken nugget.

While I wiped the picnic crumbs, Goldi stood and announced “Time to play Hide and Seek! ”

And she began to run around the house barefoot.

Months later, we’ve moved to our newly built home. We’ve packed up and brought everything in the world with us-including  memories of our first home as a family.  Goldi makes big splashes in the tub. She stories and pretends with  her dolls. She rides her bike all the way to the grocery store.  She hangs her backpack and hat on a hook in her very own locker. She nestles down on her pillow in her painted pink room.  She throws off her shoes and socks and runs around barefoot.

We plan to live here and enjoy. All the while knowing this home too is only temporary.  For there is another being prepared for us more glorious than a blue print of dreams. Our Eternal Home awaits us someday as our Eternal Family does too.  And I imagine when Goldi gets there, she will throw off her shoes and socks and run around barefoot. She won’t put on shoes or socks again.  Home Sweet Home at last.

“Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.”  Luke 9:58

Remembering the Reading

Expressive hushes awakened me when Goldi first became friends with books. I would find her sitting on her bed with many books pressing on top of her.  The  weight was like an extra blanket warming her with words she would mysteriously hear first only in her mind.

When Goldi read aloud, there were windy whispers,   deep bellows from her belly, or fluttery songs.  She knew to raise her eyebrows or brighten her eyes as she browsed the pictures. She had the storybook voice that caused me to turn up my ears. She knew herself a reader without really reading.

At times, she turned the pages as though the book lay open on a windy day.  The closing of the book said” I did it. ” She could go through the motions of real reading. But  it really wasn’t.

How to teach an autistic child to read? Same way as everyone else? A special way like no one else?  The teacher in me offered diagnosis.  “She’ll just learn to memorize sight words and put those together to make sentences. ”  But the mother in me wanted  to have her snuggled on my lap, finger hop over the words, and soak in a good story forgetting the world around us.

Goldi began to know stories by way of DVD.  ( The Weston Woods Series from Scholastic)  She couldn’t help but love those  classics all “jazzed up”.   I  continued  reading aloud- in fast forward mode because Goldi’s quick page turns forced me to cut to the chase for each story. To her, the story just breezed by.

Then Goldi , the first grader,  held Frog and Toad to my eyes and said “Read this!”

Well, I thought She’ll race through this story,  but at least I’ll get a chuckle from Frog and Toad.. I held dear the. humor and simplicity of the two fellows. We turned to the story about  the garden. Toad wanted one just like Frog. He planted some seeds then got impatient.  “Now seeds, start growing!” Toad yelled as he laid down on the dirt.

I  looked at Toad wiping his sweaty head in the last picture. “You were right Frog,  Gardening is hard work.” says Toad.

I lay the book aside laughing inside at the way Toad went about taking care of his garden.I took a look at old tired Frog and contemplated the hard work he did just to grow a few seeds. Reading with Goldi was hard work.

“Now Goldi, slow down and pay attention to the whole story! Now, Goldi, follow along as I read. Now, Goldi start reading!” I wanted to shout.  To get Goldi into really reading, it was going to take a miracle.

I was  ready to give my usual orders “Brush your Teeth”  when Goldi picked up the book. She opened back up to  The Garden Story. She smiled and giggled. She turned to the page where Toad was shouting at the newly planted seeds, read his words with her best Toad voice. and belted out her contagious belly laugh. It echoed throughout the house.

Then she  turned to the beginning of the story and began to finger walk along.

“One day Frog was working in his garden,” Goldi read. “It’s your turn mom!”

With a scratchy stunned voice, I uttered “Toad came along and said “You have a very nice garden. ”

Goldi snuggled her head into my shoulder and tip toed along with her eyes and ears soaking in the story.

“Now seeds start growing! ” I shouted in my best Toad voice.

Goldi belted out her laugh again and rolled over in giggles.

To me, it was a little  miracle shown to me by the One who is working out His glory in an autistic girl named Goldi. And it began only with two simple but glorious words- “Read it again.”

Wonder and be Astounded, For I am doing a work that you would not believe even if you were told. Habakkuk 1:5

 

Autism in April

Some show off a blue strand in their hair. Some shine their outdoor house lights.  Niagara Falls displayed its majesty  in blue.  “Light it up blue” says Autism Speaks.

Before Goldi blue was the color of the sea near Grecian islands and it took my breath away.  Blue was the color of the summer sky. It was the color of the early spring forget me not.  It was the ready to eat shimmer of berries from the shoreline. Now, it is the color of Goldi’s eyes when they smile with life and this month blue means autism. 1 in 88 children have it. Most are boys- thus the stereotypical blue (and something about light particles and easier to shine this type of  bulbs )  Be aware- there are people out there with autism.

As a mom of an autistic child, I wonder,  what do I pass on to deepen awareness? There is SO much to be aware of in this complex world. From wars, poverty, pollution, and even things as astonishing as the decreasing population of bees. ( Our honey supply is in severe shortage.)  We each live in our own little world. I’m sure I can hear a “so what?” to the idea of April is Autism Awareness Month.

You might find it interesting to know the names of celebrities with autism.  Dan Akroyd, Daryl Hannah, Temple Grandin, Albert Einstein, Mozart, have it.  There’s some endearing children’s stories like- The Friendship Puzzle by Julie L Coe and My Brother Sammy is Special by Becky Edwards and David Armitage. There’s a website called Greater Good Network that sells really unique items.  ( I bought a cool top and skirt made of colorful scarves) . Proceeds can go towards autism research. There’s a place called Benjamin’s Hope, a home for adults with autism and a retreat center for families with autistic loved ones.  Some colleges including my Alma Mater have expanded their special education program so that graduates will qualify to teach autistic children.  Some snippets of awareness for you.

You don’t have to look far to meet and greet and an autistic person.  They are in the classroom, maybe jumping and flapping. Maybe being pulled out for a much needed sensory break. They are in the restaurants spoon tapping their demand for their meal. They are in the grocery store with a glazed look pacing. They may be living next door where you may hear some banging or screaming blaring from the house. Don’t call the cops- they’ll be fine.It’s only a matter of time before they are calmed down and more like “themselves” again.

They are also at the basketball game singing the National Anthem in front of thousands, winning over people like Simon from American Idol. They may not be talking out loud, but they are expressing the richest of words through the magic of an I-pad. ( see the website Josiah’s Fire) They are on talk shows tickling our funny bones as they share interesting Presidential tidbits. They are painting works of art that could easily be housed in the National Gallery of Art. They are featured in movies like Rainman and Temple.  

And there’s our autistic girl Goldi. She was diagnosed the fall of 2010, and I became aware. I googled and read and interviewed and conversed to really become aware. After nearly 5 years, I realized something I had been ignorant of since that dreary day of diagnosis. It  catches us by surprise and  reminds me to have faith.  When Goldi’s  blue eyes light up, I know it’s there. When she belly laughs,  glides like a swan on her bike, articulates a sentence as though it were a song,  welcomes a guest in our home as though they were royalty, and shows a gold star at the top of those dreaded math drill worksheets. That “Light it up Blue ” moment is God’s amazing greatness and power displayed– teaching me that He is so much greater despite this life’s permanence of something  so wrong. With this awareness,  I feel lit up in all  colors. It’s more like the feeling of seeing the glory of a rainbow.

Greater is He who is in you than he who is in the world.  1 John 4:4

“Did I not tell you that if you believe, you will see the glory of God?” John 11:40

As for you, you meant evil against me, but God meant it for good. Genesis 5:20