We just came back from the beach, eating out, and playing with friends. “Okay, it’s time to go home.” I say in a calm voice breaking into all the giggles. To the kids, it’s like the breaking down noise of a record or film projector. My daughter stops, and says her usual,  “and then we wake up”. This is her way of saying – what’s next?  Today is soon to be over. What about tomorrow? She needs to know.  Her yesterday is remembered, her today is her currently on her mind, and her tomorrow is wondered about. All in one thought simultaneously.

Should everyday be therefore planned and storied out for her? Should I always have the blueprint in place for today and tomorrow so that yesterday will always be a contribution to happy, well planned out  memories? Impossible even for the high maintenance controlling type.  Life is just like that. Most people operate at the speed of light.  Sometimes you just can’t live any other way in order to survive.

  We drive, go out to dinner, … maybe even say our wedding vows- ( I am sure this has been done) while we text.  We have a conversation at the pace 55 miles an hour ( can your mouth move that fast?) each one talking about something different and your job is to follow along. We go 80 and the speed  limit is already 70!  We get our feed of news through sound bites. We tweet. We talk in abbreviations. We wear our underwear in public- a short cut to getting dressed to save time. (okay maybe that is more a complaint than a sign of faced paced but maybe not?)We are a nervous wreck when our technical gadgets break down.  The George Jetson age is looking more and more like the dinosaur age. Yesterday, today, and tomorrow are all running together. Think about it.

My grandmother lived to be 100 years old. She remembered yesterday vividly. When I asked her on of her “todays” ( meaning a day when I was around and so was she) “What did you do today?” She once said “Nothing!” The tone was a little bit frustrated but also… hinting at this… Do I have to have a laundry list of activities to make this day count?) I know many a time, she just enjoyed sitting and talking. That was her idea of “nothing”. She saw the sign of yesterday, today, and tomorrow running together. She knew how to stop it. Do nothing. Halt time. Ironically now, she knows the no stopping of life- but only  life of pure today always.

I am five years from halfway to 100.  For me even now, yesterday, today, and tomorrow run together. Each today, I deal with the immediate needs both planned and unplanned. I story through the tomorrow to prepare for what probably will be for my daughter’s sake and my son’s. I somehow record the yesterday, for fond memories of a day that counted. Each day counts and in fact is numbered. Even if I don’t do the math or the recording, Someone else is doing it for me. That  Someone is the one who authored yesterday, today, and tomorrow. They are all one in the same to Him.

Here we are remembering today which is changing to yesterday by the moment. We are thinking about tomorrow and trying to make it all count towards a well numbered life. “And when we wake up” my daughter will say when I tuck her in tonight. “Let’s just wait and see” won’t do. Maybe there is a way to hold all three in one moment. Until then we are closing in on tomorrow …. then… today, then…..

Such strange things that  my  Goldi likes to collect. There is a small flowery suitcase, I once had as a kid belonging to my daughter now with a collection of stuff. It includes a princes card,  a couple of Thumbelina like dolls, a plate that once sat on my dollhouse kitchen table, a tooth box, pennies, and countless contents keep overflowing and trickling out. Some of the clutter is so meaningless like several pieces of paper with one scribble on the side. Three broken angels that she won’t let me fix. A very small “what do you even call it” longs to be easily lost by me! Things saved for some sort of “just in case time.”

I have thrown away and rearranged to clear up the clutter and make her room more presentable. But then I get the ultimate shriek and groan. “Where is it? That’s mine!” A missing piece or a change is not acceptable. These are her treasures.  Goldidemands that I treat them as such. I am trying to clean and purge while she attempts to accumulate and clutter.

“Do not conform to this world, instead be transformed by the renewing of your mind.”  Keywords and phrases sticking out in this Cluttery World- renew your mind, and be transformed. This verse speaks volumes for me in this now of life.

If I drew a picture of her mind needing renewal it would be as overloaded as that flowery suitcase. All the sighs, sounds, textures, and smells bombard her in one moment. She is trying to make sense of all the clutter in this world she comes into contact. It’s a constant struggle. There are useless coping attempts of broken up jargon, flitting around,  and repeated speech. All of which lead to frustration. Her therapy sessions help her to Motor Plan her way to a renewed mind. Her Therapeutic Listening at home is also somehow a pathway to a kind of peace.

We went to a local farm where everybody seems to go to pick strawberries. Prior to the trip, I showed pictures and told some information. This was a new experience for us as a family. We arrived and my daughter began to take things in:
“Where are the kids?” she questions first. “Are we going to pick the strawberries?”

We walk along in the tall scratchy grass. A rooster crows and the hayride tractor revs up. Kids floating around and moms are shouting out this and that. She took all in. We ride on the hayride and she is calling out “To the strawberry patch!” She is wound up. Everyone notices and stares. She is striving to make sense of it all as best she can.

We climb down from the wagon and find ourselves in the middle of a HUGE patch of strawberries. “Let’s see what is under here.” I say guiding her to lift up the rough green leaves. “Oh it’s a strawberry!” I show her how to pick it. She tries with reservation.
” Pull gently.” I say  “There, see a red berry! ”
She tries a few times more.
“Mom! Look the hayride is ready to go!” she cries out several times as I speedily try to fill up my container and hers.
She holds her strawberries with pride. Amazed at the fullness.
“Try one” I say hoping to add a new fruit to her diet.
She is not willing.

We return to the main buildings which include a barn of petting animals. The stink is strong and the animals though penned up, are as close to her as the nose on her face. I hold her and while squeezing me she says “Oh they are so cute.” After a small cup of ice cream, she is ready to go home. Poor dad and brother are still interested in feeding one more goat. But sister has experienced an overload of senses and her mind needs a rest.

Be transformed by the renewal of your mind. So much to make sense of this world. Each experience brings new stimuli. How I wish she were transformed so that her mind was capable of organizing and making sense of things. Then she would pet the animals, pick more strawberries, feed the animals, mingle with the kids, and eat the delicious sweet berries I just know she would love. But her mind is in process of being renewed. She is not yet transformed. So what she experienced at the strawberry farm was all that she needed to experience for her own perfect renewal. She knows now about some things to expect and she will expect them again sometime.

Until then, then she receives therapies that aide in the transformation. She is making gains. More so, God works in her mysteriously in ways I can’t comprehend. Through His ways, she is being renewed day by day through His grace. We too are being renewed day by day and hopefully freeing us as she from the “clutter” of this world.  She will one day as we all will be- transformed. Transformation through the renewal of your mind- more yet to come.

Nineteen months after my daughter was born, our son arrived. He was and still is the short, stubby, little Greek boy with sideburns and hair down his back. He babbled, rolled over, and crawled all in one day, (It seemed.) He was our youngest who began to show us he strived to be oldest. In other words, he will be 69 tomorrow. He was advanced.

Here we are with two kids. In some ways, they are totally opposite. One is delayed and making gains at catching up. One is running for Congress at age four. Sister and Brother are both one of a kind. One looks more like Goldilocks. The other looks a little like Jungle Boy- at least in the summertime. Different are they in so many ways. But yet, the bloodline unites them.

We love them both. They love each other. They share something rare and powerful. It is for the better that they are who they are. Not only for themselves. But also for each other as well.

Sure they fight and tease each other. They do things that any siblings do. Goodness knows I am ready to pull my hair out at times because of it. Just try looking for a bathing suit with these two in tow!Brother is a true boy. Sister is a girly girl. The two can drive each other batty and into screaming fits. Yet, something else more enduring and encouraging exists in this relationship.

If my daughter is ever in a sour mood,  there is a questionable time frame as to when it will turn sweet again. My son catches on and instead of fueling the fire, he says “apple”. My daughter immediately replies with “peach”. My son continues with “pear”. My daughter replies with “strawberry.” This is a back and forth banter that relieves and cheers her soul.

If my son is crying and having a fit because his shirt is inside out, ( his “highness” is learning to fix it himself) my daughter comes along, gives him a smooch, and says “It’s alright, now here’s your shirt,” This gives him a burst of laughter or a calm.

There are moments when we have gone different paths for a few hours. Moments when a divide and conquer plan is more effective for errand completion. When the reunion takes place back at home base, there is a calling out of names in sheer joy. There is a running towards each other. There are exclamations of ” It’s you! I’m so glad you are here!” There is embracing.

There are dramatizations of Max and Ruby or Little Bear and Cub. They break into character in a blink. “Max!” shouts my daughter “You have to put your shoes on before you go outside”  My son points to the door with his bare feet and says “Outside!” In the bathtub, there’s a huge splash ( among many) . My son says “Hey you scared away my breakfast!” My daughter says “Your breakfast?” The continue into the script of Little Bear meeting Cub.

There’s even something more powerful about this brother and sister relationship. They are good for each other. They are teach each other. My Congressman can hold my daughter’s hand and show her the handshakes and mingle tricks of socialization. He can encourage and nudge her to expand her vocabulary and strengthen her sentence. He will explain and comfort when things are not making sense. He will accept and love despite the “weirdness” displayed that draws a look. My daughter can show my son the wonders of the water. The splashes, the smooth slippery feeling is to be enjoyed. She can nudge and encourage him to climb high even if it is scary. She can wrap him up cozy and tight so that he can feel loved and safe when worried or scared. She can feed his imagination by dragging him in to pretend time.

Sister and Brother. Older and younger. Congressman and Ballerina. Two peas in our pod. Our kin has a sweet kinship.

 One Wednesday morning, I stood in my Old Mother Hubbard Kitchen and made a decision to head to the grocery store so that my “little doggies” would have some “bones”. I decided Aldis would be the perfect destination. I like Aldis and my kids do as well.

Upon parking, I realized I had to get organized. Did I have my quarter for the cart? Did I have cash or debit card? Did I have bags? I had two out of three. The last item, I could either do without or buy the 10 cent bags. In we went reciting Old Mother Hubbard.  I am just joking. Though I did think my kids should learn that one for grocery store trips.

Soon after being in the store, I noticed three Mennonites. One was an older woman and the other two were young girls that were perhaps in their teens. All had the dress of a Mennonite female. The white bonnet like covering, plain colored dress ,and white apron were sure signs. They were graceful moving about the store. There were no bonks and slams or clunks. They were quiet. They almost seemed to mouth words as they spoke to one another. They cooperated with each other. One was the list checker. One fetched needed items. One minded the cart. All of this while they moved about the business of grocery getting.

Then there was our little threesome. We used our loud voices: “Hey look there’s Graham Crackers!”
“Mommy, I want to ride on the cart!” insists my daughter. There were plenty of bonks, clunks, and slams.  I am not necessarily referring to just my kids either. There was fair cooperation. We did have a little of the usual bantering –
“I’ll get the cheese- No I want to get the cheese! Mom, it’s my turn to get the cheese!”

Despite the obvious differences between us and the Mennonite family, there is some real common ground. Shocking and surprising, yes, it is true. It all dawned on me as we rode home. There is some fascinating common ground. Aldis was the  place for my children and the Mennonite family to get groceries. Aldis is just the kind of store fit for both.

Aldis offers no whistles and bells. The Mennonites spend their lives away from the “whistles and bells” of this world.  They don’t go the extreme of the Amish, but like them they appreciate and live out simplicity. No buzzes, beeps, and loud music at Aldis. No pop recycling machine roaring and clattering. No helpers punching and stocking items. Just the store is what you get. My children, one being autistic, don’t need the whistles and bells either. Every sound and sight is recorded in my daughter’s mind and may bombard her. She can go about the business of grocery shopping by working with me and not against me. The simplicity is a relief to her. It helps her function and feel confident. My daughter can put this and that in the cart because there’s no flickering or buzzing or beeping to distract or disturb her. The Autistic child and a Mennonite  can be in fine form at Aldis.

Aldis has all the staples you need and just enough extras. If milk, eggs, cheese, and bread are on your list. They are available. You might find fruit snacks, granola bars, and marshmallows. Just enough extras to satisfy and not too many to spoil. For the Mennonite they are only looking for the staples. They able aren’t into spice, luxury, and food presentation. They are into good food to eat and nourishment. This is exactly my plan for my daughter. I need her comfortable with the staples. She needs to develop a taste for turkey and not necessarily tofu. Aldis can set the table for both the Mennonite family and the autistic child.

The design of the store is perfect. There is one way in and one way out. There are a few check outs. . The aisles are not terribly long. It is easy to see everything at once so that you can find things quickly.  I can encourage cooperation because of this design. I can manage children in this small size store and allow them to participate a little more freely than in another local Store of stores. I am not as afraid of losing my child at Aldis. I left my leash at home. I am joking again. You know as well as I that a kid on a leash in any Store of stores is not a bad idea sometimes. For my autistic child, the design is a comfort to her as well. She is familiar because of the easy to learn lay out. She can move confidently because her way is organized in this small and manageable store. The Mennonite can feel the same. The store is built just like their homes. Organized, clean, and just the right size help to with ease of movement. Did I not mention how gracefully they moved through the store? It was almost like they were ….dare I say it…. dancing! Both the Mennonite and Autistic child can make themselves at home at Aldis.

Aldis also requires you do to some work. The Mennonite is all about working. You need to bag your own groceries, have your own bags, load up your own car, and return your own cart. This is where they strut there stuff. They are the true model of cooperation. So they thrive when work is to be done. This too is a “hands on learning about work” place for my children. There is a cart to empty and groceries to bag. There is a heavy cart to push to the car. There is a load to load up and a cart to return. Both the Mennonite and the autistic child can benefit from this work.

An Autistic Child and a Mennonite have some real common ground. I didn’t even mention the fact that my daughter is actually related to some Mennonites. Her great grandfather was born into a Mennonite family and raised so. Though when my grandfather reached adulthood he no longer “accepted the faith”, we still had relatives, brothers and sisters of my grandpa’s, who remained in the Mennonite faith. . Growing up, I remember plenty of experiences where  I wondered and pondered the great differences that separated us. Yet, at the this one particular moment in time at Aldis, I realized we had much more in common that I ever thought before.

My husband began to suspect before I did that our daughter may have it. I, being such the experienced teacher that I was ( ha!) thought that all kids acted that way sometimes. Furthermore all kids develop at their own place. Then came the talking issue. She had a vocabulary at age 2 of about 20 or so words.  I guess that was not enough. I still did not see my daughter as different from the rest. I was still excusing and going with the “wait and see” approach. Finally we had her “officially evaluated” by a linguistic.  She gave us results and stated that she most probably has autism.

Again, I was in denial. I remember the follow up meeting with the language lady. “That’s a pretty strong conclusion after just meeting with my daughter for just one hours time.” I said.
“I think I am more right than I am wrong.” she said.  I walked away wanting to prove her wrong. Awhile later we had her evaluated officially by the guru of autism in these parts. This doctor was impressive, knowledgeable, personable, -pretty much the only doctor that could tell me the heartbreaking news  “Your daughter has autism.”
“Okay, okay,” I said with tears “So we’ll aim for the Temple Grandin kind”
“Oh,” he said “I think her social ceiling could be higher than that – sky is the limit.”
I hear these words from him over and over again. In a way, I am encouraged and then there a setbacks and I am reminded- she has autism.

I understand she has autism. But I fight it at times. I observe kids all day long. Considering the humongous size of the spectrum, I am probably on it and you too.  When I consider the symptoms which were indicative of my daughter  being diagnosed autistic, I often think of the number of times of I have seen the same symptoms in the typical child. Consider :

Eye contact- I know that a principal I had for many years, once told me to make better eye contact with my classroom parents. I notice my students look off into the distance whenever they are speaking to me. And how many times did your mother say to you- Please look at them and say “hello”.

Sensory needs- In this day in age there is so much at us. Lights, action, noises, all at speed faster than light. It’s no wonder we need our nature music – you know the kind you might hear in a massage parlor. I see kids each day needing to touch, move, and needing step by step visual direction in order or concentrate and relax.

Socialization and play-these things did not and still do not come naturally for my daughter and with her brother acting as Congressman want to be – it is sometimes a real stick out for her. Yet, is is the complaint of many teachers and parents, that kids need to play and need play practice. Because it does not come naturally anymore. They know the ropes of the video game but they can’t invent their own kick the can. Socially, the young child needs to do the same things – say hello using a person’s name, take turns, follow through with a sequence of play, and carry on an actual conversation related to the play scheme.

But the reality is my daughter is not typical. She is out of the box. More so than others I guess. Because there is no normal out there is there? If there is than what is normal? For me as a mom of a not so typical child, life goes from “pretty smooth and count my blessings” to “couldn’t I just go  the zoo and have a good time without a child crawling up my legs or see the Nutcracker all the way through without a girl on my lap plugging her ears or walk into Lowes without dragging a heavy weight into the store or be able to go to the car wash with her in the car because I just need to get it done… ?

For me we go to therapy to learn how to process and control sensory input, carry on a relevant conversation, use connected language, play, and move safely and meaningfully in this world. For me, I story all the time- about things I would care NOT to story about. For me I coach on the sidelines of play all the time. For me my food bible is Jessica Seinfeld. ( and that is a huge surprise for me- I wanted my kids eating Armenian and Greek food by now)

The acceptance and understanding is that with God all things will work out for good and all things are possible.  (A little paraphrase from Romans and Matthew) She has autism. With that come all the predictions and what ifs. Accepting is not easy because I am still learning to understand. Life of three steps forward and one step back. A lesson learned. A challenge before me. Autism. A life of understanding it and accepting it all in one day.

My memory recalls this day at  Elementary school as a sunny day. It was early spring and we were picking dandelions at recess. A bunch of us girls were pretending we were at a wedding and each one of us was a flower girl. Along came a boy who I will call Bobby. He walked funny, talked funny, and pretty much was the social outcast. I don’t remember that he had a friend in the world. We as girls were afraid of him. He was unpredictable. This day was the day we decided to conquer our fear I guess. Bobby approached us making kissing noises and said “What do we have here- lovely little girls.” He came closer making kissing noises and we screamed. Then one threw dandelions at him. Others joined in. He fell to the ground. One even smooshed the yellow from the dandelion on his face. He was helpless. It was a memory that haunts me because it was one of the times (and there were others too I, being a sinner, ) where I was in on treating someone with cruelty. After some time of this, his dad, who lived in the school’s backyard,  came up and shouted at us. “Stop that you girls”. He picked Bobby up from the ground. Bobby hugged his dad and they walked away. The girls and I stood in silence. I don’t know what others were thinking. But I knew that he just wanted friends like the rest of us.

Bobby had struggles making friends. He was the first quirky boy that no one knew what do to with. The teachers sometimes took his quirkiness for misbehavior. He had no social graces that we all just happened to know. He was a puzzle to many.

Fast forward and I am teaching a first grade class. There is a girl in my class similar to Bobby from way back. She is also very dramatic, energetic, and crushed when something wasn’t like it routinely should be. I will call her Rose. Rose was new to our school. She loved learning and was essentially very smart. Her mother was kind and nurturing. Her dad was stern and cold on the outside but underneath the prickles he was very loving and nurturing as well. No one really labeled or diagnosed her – at least I was not aware. I remember feeling impatient with her and even struggling to “like” her at times. My inexperience was not helping her situation. I did make her Goldilocks in our class play and she enjoyed it. I did read books with her one on one. I did reward her for accomplishments. But that seems like small potatoes now.

I have a teacher friend who was close enough to me to sing at my wedding and be with me in the ER to see the heart beat and first ultrasound of my first child because my husband was away. She has a son with autism. For years, when we taught together, she told me stories of struggle and trial and joy and success and starting all over with that again as her son grew up. I listened and did my best to encourage.

Autism was something I knew about only really through my friend. Little did everyone else know about it. Except the experts who were mostly in my mind,  parents of those with autism.  But more and more of the unusual type were becoming common. Now I hear a statistic that one in 88 have autism.

 Now, it all comes together. All those children who were not in the square that I knew of in childhood and as my own students, likely had autism. I was on the outside of that world looking in and wondering. Now, I am on the inside. where my own child has autism. My first child, a girl, and born when I was two years shy of 40. I have a child who could one day be the dandelion victim – but won’t be if I can help. I have the child who would gladly star in Goldilocks and the Three Bears. I have a child who has sensory issues, meltdowns, social quirks, and language work to do. My child is not typical.

Bobby, now I understand that you were still learning to interact socially with others in appropriate ways. You needed support and help not isolation and ridicule. Rose, now I understand that you needed the security of the same thing all the time even if it meant me feeling like a Robot. Friend, now I understand your tears when your son was struggling or hit a wall and your rejoicing at the victories he made. Now I understand, more of what I need to do to help my daughter, whom I have high hopes for despite this thing called autism which I am just beginning to now understand.

All the events leading and during the time of Christ’s birth were both exciting, troublesome, and horrific.  Heaven opened up and sent God’s son. There were angels filling the sky and appearing personally to Joseph, Mary, and the Shepherds. There was an amazing star. There were three wise men bringing very expensive gifts to the Christ Child. There were a herd of shepherds who wanted to see. The stable was crowded and stinky and animals were all around. Some say the animals may have talked that night. The bothersome journey to Bethlehem was long and hard especially with a pregnant woman.A jealous King Herod murdered all babies two years and under to eliminate the threat of the King of Kings . All a part of God’s plan of how things should be for the coming of a Savior.

Mary had her hush when she treasured up all of these things and pondered them in her heart. It says this twice in Luke. The first one is after the shepherded told people and they were in shear wonderment. Mary treasured these events up and pondered them in her heart. It doesn’t say she went and told her best girlfriend. It says she pondered and treasured. The second time it says just about the very same phrase it is after Jesus, as a boy went into the temple to teach and his parents could not find Him. This part is not easily remembered, but Mary again, treasured up these things and pondered them in her heart.

As the earthly Mother of Jesus, perhaps she was writing things down after meditating on them. Perhaps gave Luke some hints as to how to record all of these things so that others even in 2012 might believe. She took time for the hush. The pause and the time of reflection on all that had happened and what it all meant for the world was important.

My real hush comes now the day after Christmas Day. I don’t have to really get up and do something out of necessity. There is no deadline or schedule today. I did much forging and creating and just plain work over the past month all for Christmas. I enjoyed it but lost sleep. I have some few hushes and pauses here and there to help slow time down and try to get something new and meaningful out of THIS Christmas. But the activities and even sometimes the “fun” of Christmas diminishes the hush and makes time speed on until next Christmas where you start all over again. So my hush was delayed until now.

During my ponderment I realized, miracles happened this Christmas. Miracles consisting of new developments in my children that I thought would never happen.  The miracle of being in a neighborhood where kids all wanted to partake of a small celebration of the Christ child in the woods. Miracles of a realizing the Savior that was born was born to me. Miracles that this message IS slowly being passed on to my children. It IS sinking in.

During my ponderment, lessons were learned. I realize through the rush that I have no control over time. I can’t stop it or even pause it . Yet, I can use my time better so that time is more meaningful making it possibly less rushed. I have taken more time to write and hope to do more. Simply because it helps slow time for me and deepens my pondering time.

I have pondered over and over again the need for a Savior. Come Lord Jesus come! Murdering, a straying away from our faith, a country crumbling, sickness, such a laundry list of sins in this world. Come Lord Jesus come!

So in these last days of this year, I strive for more hush. It seems to me that in these times of pause and meditation on Him that He whispers to us and works in us to move forward more carefully and in a pondering state.