Tales of TMEA... Day 4

We are safely home!  We made it in last night about 9:00 after a stop at the outlet mall in San Marcos.  There are a few stores we frequent when we go there, mostly to stock up on basics, like tights for Maelynn, shoes for the boys, and this time, a sale on Thomas underwear.  Suh-WEET!  You know you're a mommy when, right?  I used to get excited when purses went on sale.  Now it's Thomas underoos.  Ah, such is life!  

Shortly after my last post, I was making a ball of yarn (yes, my life is that exciting, folks) and the kids were watching Cars 2 on the laptop while we waited on Eric to return.  We'd had a nice dinner at the Mexican restaurant we like on the Riverwalk, and I can't for the life of me remember the name.  The kids like it because it gives a great view of the tourist boats and the ducks.  While they watched, I kept hearing a shutter sound, but kinda didn't worry, thinking it was part of the movie.  Eric came back after eight, I think, and we donned our warm stuff and went out to the Hardin-Simmons reunion.  It was in the same smallish "salon" room it's usually in, and was an ice cream social.  Thought surely this would hook my Ryan man.  

Nothing doing.  

I'd love to say he strolled in the room, speaking to everyone I asked him to speak to.  I'd love to say, also, that he sat in a corner, huddled with his headphones and VSmile, playing in his own little world, which is what I had really envisioned for the evening.  In reality, the poor baby froze solid.  I talked him off the wall and into the safety of my lap, with Eric entertaining the two littles, who were being great.  To be perfectly honest, I have to confess that I HATE crowds, I do not know how to small talk, and the idea of such a situation is not terribly fun.  I was the wallflower... always have been.  Would much rather be in charge, cleaning the kitchen, cooking, or refilling drinks than talking about the weather.  And I'm not into bragging and pretending to be who I'm not.  Not into pretense, and I'm growing to be comfortable with that.  So on the rare occasion I go to these things, I plop at the Cowboy Band corner of the world and park.  Round about the time someone remarked in amazement that we're now the old folks at the reunion, as I laughed and agreed, I looked over the scared, stiff little boy in my lap and saw it.  The source of a lot of the fear and anxiety, and it was so darn simple and in my face... and I missed it.  I know better, and I missed it.  

The stupid candle in the stupid middle of the stupid table.  

I quickly interrupted, and not so smoothly, and one of the guys blew it out.  No biggie.  

His shoulders relaxed, ever so gradually, as he realized his tormentor's defeat.  He slowly began to sit up, turn around, and finally decided he'd like to sit in the stroller.  Richie made friends with a tiny little baby boy who was just crawling, sharing his toys and delighting in making his little friend smile.  Maelynn was happy in her part of the "bus" as we lovingly call it.  So there was my Ryan, my big boy, happily in the stroller.  He eventually decided he'd like some ice cream after all.  

As Ryan enjoyed his ice cream, I enjoyed visiting with old friends and professors, and even relaxed a bit and just had fun for a while.  Turns out one of my favorite people in the school of music, whose classes I wish I'd been able to take (he taught church music, I love all things church music) is now the dean of the school of music, and he remembered me!  I was amazed.  And Ryan survived.  He made it.  And so did I!  None of my friends, none of the professors, not even the dean, was at all ruffled by the kids' presence or behavior.  No one cared that we had one less candle.  

Once Maelynn decided that running around like crazy was a great idea, it was time to say goodbye and head back to the hotel.  I stuck Ryan on my shoulders to keep him calm, and we made it back without incident or meltdown. The kids went to bed rather smoothly, with the only bump being that they were loopy-tired.  

Saturday morning, we got to have a nice lunch with a student of ours and now friend/colleague.  Such a treat!  After one more ride on the blue elevator (and making quite a mess with milk while waiting... thanks for being sweet about that, lady who helped me, and guy who worked at the Hyatt), we loaded the kids in the van and took a rather nice trip to the outlet mall, then headed on home.  

People ask if we had a nice trip.  Nice?  Yes, at times.  Frustrating beyond compare at times too.  It was a ton of work and we came back exhausted.  There were several things that were cemented in my mind.  But somewhere in the middle of the reminiscing, visiting, catching up, and the day-to-day of little ones, marriage, and friend and family life, the biggest thing I came back with... the most important thing I took from the week... is that I can't do it.  

I can't remember every little thing.  I can't blow out every "candle" in his life... or in Richie's or Maelynn's, or my own!  I can't respond in peace, humility and respect every time I'm angry with my husband or my kids.  I will continue to do my best.  But more than ever I find myself drawn to... tied to... my faith.  The idea that my inability to just be good is covered, spoken for, forgiven, and that I am made whole through Jesus is more real in me than ever.  The gratitude that I am not in charge of all these things, but the sovereign God is... brings me to my knees today more than ever.  So grateful for my family, friends, church, and especially the opportunity for forgiveness and the renewing of myself every day, every moment, that I sat in our usual place this morning on the back wall, Ryan huddled close, still in his coat and the mohawk fleece ear-flap hat, my heart overflowing with joy and thanks as we worshipped together:

The joy can ne'er be spoken,
Above all joys beside,
When in Thy body broken
I thus with safety hide.
O Lord of life, desiring
Thy glory now to see,
Beside Thy cross expiring,
I'd breathe my soul to Thee.

What language shall I borrow
To thank Thee, dearest Friend,
For this, Thy dying sorrow,
Thy pity without end?
Oh, make me thine forever!
And should I fainting be,
Lord, let me never, never,
Outlive my love for Thee.

O Sacred Head, Now Wounded
Paul Gerhardt
V. 7-8

  

Forecast...

It's supposed to rain today.  And tomorrow.  Then Thursday, it's supposed to be sunny.  Yesterday, the weather website said it was a 60% chance.  This morning, it was 80%.  Now, it's 80% today, 100% tomorrow.  They do their best, The Weather Channel, and I'm convinced that if anyone knows they do.

Thing is, right now it's pretty sunny out with just a few stray clouds.  Guess that 20% chance of sun is working its magic.

Yeah, that's right.  If there's a chance it could rain, there's also a chance it could be sunny.  The experts work to tell us what's going to happen... or might happen... so that we may prepare accordingly.  How we react to that forecast is up to us.  We can pretend it doesn't exist, they don't know what they're talking about.  But if you're planning an outdoor event, the "lalala, I can't hear you" approach to weather prediction is more than foolish.

Say you're planning an outdoor birthday party.  They say it'll rain... oh... a good 80% chance on Monday.  Then every day the prediction changes a bit here and there.  What do you do?  Plan for rain? Plan for no rain?  Or maybe no rain but with a back up plan?

This is somewhat how I see our Ryan's diagnosis.  It would be foolish to suggest that the experts are completely misinformed and there is no reason to do anything differently than we do with our other kids.    I could just hire a baby sitter and go out for a date and let the chips fall where they may.  I could take him out of therapy, because those trips are pretty tiring.  They wear on the budget, the other kids, the van, and to a degree on Ryan.  I could give up on our church attendance.  It's hard to make that part of routine too.  God is in charge, right?  And if He's bigger than Autism, bigger than it all... even church... I should be able to do what's easy and it'll all fall in our laps, if He really loves us.

Or we could go the other way, allowing the statistics of children with severe classic autism as adults to frighten us to the point where our faith is paralyzed.  We could meditate on the issues, the struggles, the things he can't do.  We could, out of concern for his potential disappointment, just start telling him about how the likelihood of him participating in band, social things, excelling academically is terribly low.  We could start preparing him that statistics show he'll not live on his own, that he'll have a hard time in college if he goes at all. We could wake up every day reminding ourselves of these things, too.

But you see, the forecast is just that.  It's an expert's educated prediction of what will happen.  To take this as gospel... as the decided end to the chapters and books of our lives... would be tragic.  On the other hand, to ignore them and not prepare and work toward goals set by ourselves and people such as these would be worse than foolish.  In this circumstance, I believe it's neglect.

So what do we do?

We wake up every day and do the things we can do.  Parenting is interesting, and a ton of work- no matter what their challenges.  We focus on their strengths, encourage, correct, hug, and train.  We tell them how great they are, how handsome, beautiful, amazing, precious they are.  We pray for them, we dream for them.  We celebrate the wonderful times, the times their sheer presence in our lives takes our breath away and brings a lump to our throats.  When things get rough, when our hearts are heavy for their behavior, fears, anxiety, choices, or when that lump in our throats is brought by the fact that we wish we could take away the unfairness of it all, we keep loving.  We hang onto them and cry with them.  We correct them, taking a mommy time out when needed.  

I wish I could promise that the hard things will end, and that sunshine will be all you see after this one thing passes.  I wish there was a cure for all the illnesses, disorders, syndromes, and disabilities.  But more than that, I pray that we all... no matter what we face... will grasp hold of God's promises for us and our kids.  That we will keep rising, working, fighting the beautiful fight, whatever yours is, with grace and integrity.  That we will remember that, since we cannot see one another's struggles, we must choose to offer mercy and love, especially in the moment-to-moment of life, especially when no one is looking.  And know that God sees, hears, and will do the things we cannot to the completion of his plan.

I pray not that the rain would end, or the rain would come... but that we will all learn to bask in the sun and dance in the rain.