Tuesday, January 15, 2013


Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering, for he who promised is faithful. ~Hebrews 10:23

We are definitely cranking the routine up again.  The break has brought into the sharpest of relief a true picture of how much we do.  How scheduled our family really lives.  We're back on the rollercoaster of life and quite honestly, even before we add driving forty-five minutes one way to ABA twice a week, I'm already holding on for dear life.  And I'm already exhausted.

There are the things that make it so much fun, like yesterday's "did you have a good break?" And we can't forget the pretending he's done lately!  He's playing with his brother and sister more, granted on his terms and in his own way, and someone else may not recognize it.

Over the break, he got more into the Toy Story trilogy than ever.  He wanted to watch the trilogy every day, and while I was sick, that happened a lot more.  The more he watched, the more he tried to copy.  The more of the stories he became familiar with, the more he played out situations with his own toys.

He ran around the house, propping his Woody doll up on the dog's back, repeating "he's going to the yard sale" to the point we thought our nine year old Australian shepherd would surely go to the back room and never come out.  I guess ol' Jedi understood on some level what Ryan was accomplishing, because he allowed it.

He made up his own situations, too.  He stood beside the kitchen table making his Toy Story robot and Zurg (I guess that's Evil Emperor Zurg to me)... get this... HOLD HANDS.  He even said, "Robot and Zurg holding hands!"  Now, I'm not sure how that plays into the whole Toy Story world, but he's pretending, and I will take that!

But then there are the same old things.  We go through them over and over.  I repeat them here ad nauseum.  There are days I sit down to write and think that I can't possibly say the same thing again or you'll all decide there's no point in reading, seeing as I keep repeating the same stuff over and over.

The thing is, that's why I do this.

It hit me tonight as I fought a fussing, yelling, hitting Ryan to do his homework.  It hit me as I fought to get the same child who probably has entire movies memorized to tell his speech therapist what the girl is doing in the picture.  It hit me as I told him for the thousandth time to ask me nicely.  As I asked yet again, when he yelled "*grunt, fuss* MILK!" the same question.  "How do we ask for what we want?"  To which he immediately, quite politely answers, "May I have some milk please?"  

He never gets what he wants when he asks in a rude, ugly, nasty manner.  He really doesn't.  But for some reason he continues to try.

Although I know this is an incredibly small offering to the world, I feel compelled to give it.  There are times I think it's crazy.  There are times I think it's an exercise in vanity, and maybe there are better uses of my time.

Seemingly in the same instant, I remember that spring.  That spring when things were so dark, and I sat here combing cyberspace for a little light.  A little help.  Someone to tell me they'd been there.  Or are there.  Or that I'm not crazy, it really is this hard and it really is this different.  Or maybe that someone would have an answer.

I did find a few helps.  Although these moms and dads didn't have identical situations, just the knowledge that I wasn't the only one helped me through that time.  But I also found a lot more darkness.  I found a lot more pain.  A lot more anger and frustration, and somewhat deeper and more hopeless than I ever thought our situation.

So I tell our story.  Over and over.  In the telling, I process.  I take a deep breath and see that it's all here, tied up in a post.  It's not the same as experiencing what we go through, but it is something.  And the posts and the telling don't at all solve the problems, or I could quit blogging altogether.  There would be no need to tell the same thing over and over. But there's something about it that helps.

Every now and again, someone comes along who gets it.

And every now and again, I'm the one who needed to get it.

So the story of the workings out of our everyday struggles as we work through the everyday things is told again, and again I come back to the One that grants and authors every shred of hope that you see in every one of these posts... God is good.  He is providential, he is sovereign, and he is GOOD.

Just as Ryan continues to do some of the same things over and over and over again, compelled by something intangible to me, I come here with nothing to offer but what has been offered me and is offered me again this very minute.  Something I cannot give myself but can testify to.

The love of Christ.  The hope of God.

To me, that's more than compelling enough to come here again and again.  Both the sharing and the finding the hope... and you know what else?  Maybe you should do the same.  Tell your story.  Maybe it's nothing to do with autism, parenting, or anything remotely related to this blog itself.

If you possibly can, share your story.

Thanks be to God for ours.

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