Rising and the Red Button Incident

I almost didn't get out of bed this morning.  Really.  But this time, it was because I had an indescribably beautiful baby girl snuggled up to me in her pink doggie pj's.  As the morning light seeped in through the window sheers and graced her round, porcelain face and made her golden brown hair shine, I watched her rest completely still except for the gentle rise and fall with each breath and the nod of her pink binky every now and then. What an amazing blessing... a gift... our children are.  Can there be a more fabulous sound than the slaps of tiny bare feet on the kitchen floor?  How awe-inspiring and humbling to think that we are chosen to give them a home; to make sure they feel loved and learn to feel and share the love of Christ!  Then I thought about the stark contrast between our two younger and our oldest. 

When Ryan was a baby, he was the only one, and we would sleep all snuggled to each other after Daddy left for school.  The older I get, the more I cherish the things that were normal baby things he did.  Back in the days when we just loved being parents and couldn't wait to see all he'd do!  I had decided our kids would learn to read before they went to pre-k and would learn to read music at the same time.  They'd start piano at an early age, and would basically walk into the school the first day of pre-k with everyone telling them how amazing they were... and of course, everyone would talk about how smart and well-adjusted the Senzig kids were!  Oh, and I was going to be the Martha Stewart of room moms.  Look out.  Equipped with more Tupperware than is ever neccessary, I was gonna rock their little Elmo socks off with my baking skills.  Yep, I'd been waiting my whole life for this!  Ever since I was a little girl "raising" my Cabbage Patch Kid (Annabelle, and yes she DOES live in Mae's room now) I couldn't wait.  It's not a popular thing to say in this day and age, but I wanted to be Betty Crocker, Donna Reed, and June Cleaver all rolled into one and stuck in jeans and a t-shirt. 

But what I didn't know was that the t-shirt would have a giant puzzle piece on it for Autism Awareness.  All that effort I was going to pour into having our children be exceptionally gifted and super-overachieverly prepared was going to go into just getting Ryan to do the basics.  I didn't know I was going to beg him at nearly six years old to just please go to the bathroom without screaming and crying.  Just walk, please.  I expected to train him to sit in church at an early age just like I did my sister Bree, and be able to keep him quiet with the evil eye from the choir loft just like Bree.  And yes, that really did work... she was awesome!  Instead, I'm doing good to keep him semi-quiet and confined to the pew-area we're occupying.  I also had no idea that the job I had done professionally would turn out to be exponentially easier for me than figuring out how to be an autistic child's mother.  Yes, folks... I am far more comfortable with my ability to handle 150 sixth graders with musical instruments than I am in my ability to take my son to the grocery store.  There, I said it.  It's inexplicably difficult to admit it.  I LOVE my son, don't get me wrong.  It's just that walking through the grocery store with a nearly six year old slapping his ears, beating his chest, and now hitting me (that's new, by the way) and screaming like some kind of tribal man off to war hits this people-pleaser where it hurts.

The contrast is amazing.  Richie is now beginning to help his brother.  He leads Ryan back into the house when it's time to come in from the backyard, pleading in his sweet Richie voice, "Come inna howse, Yyan!"  He reminds Ryan of the rules, especially with the piano.  "Fingahs onwey, no feets, Yyan," Richie reminds as he hears (even from the other room) Ryan holding the sustain pedal as he experiments with intervals.  Richie's sweet heart is such an encouragement to me.  Ryan is his hero.  Richie has no precluded ideas about behavior or culture.  He just loves his big brother.  Richie even used to try to stim, or handflap, like Ryan.  So precious, that unadultered love and trust.  We are getting to the point where, when Richie copies some of Ryan's autistic behaviors, we have to explain that brother does that because he doesn't know better, but Richie does.  This is true, and that's just one of the parts that is hard to swallow.

Other than the diagnosis itself, and really more than that, is the death to my preconceived ideas about all of life.  How my house would be kept, how I'd teach my children everything, how we keep our marriage healthy all has to be relearned in a way that fits us. Yes, that sounds familiar to most couples, I bet.  The hardest part for me is realizing that I do have to draw lines, and more often than I wanted, the lines will be drawn in a way that the answer is "no, I can't do that."  

Can't. 

Ugh. 

Now, yes, I physically CAN walk out this door every day and do whatever.  I can force my will and do whatever I think is right... to a point.  I could do a lot of things, but the hard part is listening and hearing the difference in "good" and "best".  Last week I got a lesson in that.  I had been thinking after a few weeks of these sweet neighbor boys watching Richie for me while I take Ryan to therapy with Mae in tow that I really could do this on my own.  They were out on vacation for a while, and I found myself carting all three kids by myself to Baylor.  Everyone got out of the van just fine; we made it into the building just fine.  Richie and Mae let me sit and read books to them the whole time, and we spoke with Miss Stacy, then left.  On the way out, I learned my lesson.  See, there are all these emergency call boxes all over college campuses.  They're equipped with these big, round, bright red, irresistibly pushable buttons- just at Ryan-eye-level.  Usually, I can keep a hand on Ryan and a hand on the stroller.  This time, Ryan led Richie away and as I was getting Richie, he bolted straight for that button and before I knew it, that blue light on the top was flashing and I was telling (while half-running away and trying to not say any unsavory words) the campus cop who calls out loud so loud that half of McClennan county can hear that yes, all is well. As I walked away, once the embarrassment subsided and everyone was safely buckled into the van, it hit me how much I do need those boys, and what a God-send they truly are.

We are at a crossroads (thanks, Kay Arthur) in our lives right now... and really, several times a day.  We can whine, be sad, be angry and resentful and let that grow into bitterness, or we can ask the question God asked Jonah. 

"Do you do well to be angry?" 

Well, do you?  How's that workin' for ya?  For me, not so good.  I'm not denying that there is a grieving process for every hard thing that happens in life.  But I am saying that at some point, we have to realize that the time we're spending bemoaning our trials is time SPENT.  Time we could have been stroking those golden-brown curls.  Time spent letting Richie kiss-hug-kiss-hug all over my face till he giggles.  Time spent laughing when Ryan passes the emergency box and says "you LOVE to push buttons" every time since the red button incident.  Yes, I get angry.  At least once a day I look at God and say, "Are You SERIOUS?!"  Yep, I have plenty of fodder for those, as I'm sure you do.  Just last weekend we spent part of a gift to give back and participate in the Waco Walk for Autism.  After walking one lap around the Fountain Mall, we found Ryan's beloved Miss Stacy, who had her iphone out, and yep, that was it for Ryan.  Twenty minutes to get the phone away from him plus forty-five in a meltdown equals the whole of our walk experience.  Ah, well.  Just today, we had to have a new tire on the van.  No one in town had one, so I bit the bullet and took Ryan with me to the Goodyear store in Waco.  Yep, meltdown city.  First I had to keep him from running out of the store and into traffic.  Then spent the rest of the time calming him down, because man, mama... you're mean not letting your child play in traffic. 

Just like anyone else, after all that, I was so tired and really wanted to crawl under a rock, even just to get some sleep.  But instead, I tried to remember in each instance... there is always a reason.  I may never know the reason or reasons behind anything that happens, but I trust that the same God who loves me enough to send His only precious Son to die a horrendous (at best) death so that I could experience His love and peace has nothing but my best interest at heart.  The same God who knew me before the foundations of the earth has a plan for my sweet children!!! 

So I am thankful not for autism, not for frustration and anger, not for tears and emarrassing situations, but for the precious, innocent smiles and snuggles I share with the special children with whom God has gifted me.  I am the most thankful for the Lord who died so that the grace and mercy and love and peace of God can flow through me, that I may glorify Him in every meltdown and every scream and hit, as well as every hug, giggle, and victory!  I am thankful for the discernment and wisdom that the Holy spirit and Word of God give me!  Without the death, burial and resurrection of Christ I would not be able to rise in the morning. 

Instead, I'm unable to rise because I don't want the sweet moment to end. 

CHRIST HAS DIED!
CHRIST HAS RISEN!
CHRIST WILL COME AGAIN! 

Elevator Hatred

Hi.  My name is Crystal, and I have an unhealthy hatred of elevators.  It's nothing personal... well, maybe it is.  Elevators nearly tanked my family's Saturday, and they frustrate attempts to enjoy church with my husband's family. 
Last weekend, the Baylor Autism Resource Center had a fundraiser to support the work they do and, by association, the learning they receive.  It was a parent's day out.  For an entire three and one-half hours these sweet graduate students showed these children and their siblings a movie, fed them lunch, and played with them outside.  We took our Ryan and Richie (who wasn't really old enough, but they just couldn't resist) and left them with these young ladies for some almost child-free time.  Eric, Maelynn and I had a great time having lunch, doing a little shopping, and walking on the Baylor campus for a while.  As we strolled (HOLDING HANDS... omigosh! How novel!) up to the building to pick up the boys, a blood curdling scream pierced our hearts. 

It was Ryan.  I didn't even have to see him.  There are some sounds you just know as a mother, and I knew this better than I know my name... he was positively beside himself.  This is not the scream of "I didn't get my way", it's the completely disturbed, frustrated, angry, unhinged wrath of a child addicted to an object or action.  Once he sees an elevator he has to watch it.  HAS to.  We can use them, but it has to be in a very matter-of-fact manner, and I have to show absolutely no excitement or negative emotion whatsoever.  We use them every Thursday to get Ryan to therapy.  There are stairs, but I'm a firm believer in not avoiding these everyday obstacles but hitting them head-on because that's how life is.  So every week as we get out of the van, Ryan nervously reaches up and says "pick you up?!" Keep in mind, I'm by myself with he and his sister, who's in a stroller.  "Okay, Mommy will pick you up when we get to the building."  The whole way to the Draper Center, I have to either hold his hand (which he hates), hold his arm, or convince him to push the stroller with me.  There's an emergency button that we have to walk by every time, and he's dying to "push the button" and will try every time to sneak away to push it, so I make sure to stay between he and the button.  When we get to the building, Ryan nearly climbs up my legs to "be my backpack", and we hit the button to wait for the elevator as he stims, flopping his hands and humming nervously.  I've had to ask him several times to ease up on my neck... he gets so nervous and clings so tightly that I can feel my throat beginning to close.  We go up one floor (thank you Jesus that it's not any more) and get off, heading straight for Miss Stacy and the BARC.  If he doesn't get to go in immediately, he will try the door, then when he realizes it's locked, will go straight for the elevator every time.  Just to watch, mind you. He stays far enough away that (in his mind) it can't hurt him, but he can still watch the doors open.  The only thing that gets his attention is the glorious fact that he loves his therapist!

So on Saturday, as the sweet graduate students brought the kids back from watching the movie, they passed (unwittingly, poor things) an elevator.  My sweet boy tried the rest of the time to get back to the elevator.  It's not unlike the strongest magnet you can imagine.  Magnets don't forget they're supposed to be attracted to something, they just keep pulling and pulling... and so does Ryan.  When we arrived to pick him up, Ryan was sweaty, shaking and screaming, and the moment when someone relaxed, he took off to find the elevator again.  So picking up the boys turned into Miss Stacy keeping Ryan safe as he desperately tried to get back to the elevator (and I am impressed with her, I must add) while I changed Richie's diaper, then other students played with Richie while I calmed Ryan for about twenty minutes before I could even begin to talk him into going to the van.  He eventually calmed, but after one store with him stimming on everything and trying to keep up with his wiry level of sheer, unbridled energy and interest in everything spinny, shiny, and illuminated, by the time we found my husband some shoes I was ready for a nap.  Or something stronger.

Saturday was not our first encounter with love/hate things for Ryan.  In fact, many of those things color everything we do, right down to when I run certain appliances.  It used to be cute, his love of elevators.  But while we blinked Ryan turned into a nearly six year old boy instead of a baby.  Babies can be corralled in strollers, and they're tiny and cute and chubby and expected to "misbehave" and have a tantrum every now and again.  Six year old boys?  Not so much. 

When we first began learning that Ryan was different than his peers, people (even medical folk) said things like "get him in the right programs and he could grow out of this!"  All-righty!  I can do that!  Sign me up!  Let's get this under control, because I don't like seeing my boy so rocked to his core by something as simple as a fly buzzing around the house.  And yes, it happens.  Just last night Ryan sat at the table at dinner holding his ears and shout/scream/growl/yelling while hitting his elbows together, then he said, in a shaky voice, "it's a shoo-fly!" His poor little face was twisted in fear and annoyance... he really can't stand the buzz and unpredictability of a fly.  My dear husband, righter of wrongs, slayer of shoo-flies, slayed the beast and we thought he might eat.  Nope.  Washer and dryer were running... dangit, I forgot.  They usually run when he's gone.  "Ryan, would you like Mommy to turn off the dryer?" "Mommy turn off the dryer!" he says, and it's off.  Still so upset he can't eat.  The washer happened to be in a spin cycle, so I put him on top of it, and you'd have thought I bought him the coolest toy ever.  Calmed from the motion of the washer, Ryan got right down, went to his place, and finally began to eat.

Whew.

This spring is scaring us.  The more I look back, the more I realize that the reason for that shock and awe that Ryan is so big and still isn't "normal" is due to the fact that we rested in the wrong things.  In the times when he was melting down, I rested in the words of men.  The well meaning words that were meant to encourage us to get him help, I used as false peace.  We did get him help, and so much I have asked God that if it were in His will, please take this cup from Ryan.  Please.  I've begged.  I've pleaded.  And Ryan has improved leaps and bounds!  God has blessed little Ryan and has used him in my life, for certain. 

But the cup... the diagnosis... the challenge... remains. 

As we're learning in "Anointed, Transformed, Redeemed: As Study of David", it is at this point that I can become angry and stay that way.  I can choose to grow in frustration, not understanding why children are born with challenges, illnesses, and issues, or why they die until the frustration grows to bitterness.  The alternative is to cling to Him, to His hope and the knowledge that His ways are higher than ours.  I can choose to rest in "because He said so".  I believe with all my heart that it's best to believe He is in charge... I'm not.  Does this mean it will never hurt again?  No.  Does it mean that if I have faith enough this will all go away?  No.  God is not a vending machine. 

So why? 

Through my life, He's never failed me.  Even when others left, He didn't.   At 2:00 in the morning, when slogging through the daily activities of mothering, housekeeping, serving... even in the pick up line at school... He is there.  His presence gives me peace and strength at those times when no one else's words could touch the pain.  He's also there to tell me to "suck it up, cupcake" and keep moving, even when I don't feel like it.  He has given me and gives me ways to have fun, to serve others, to use my talents, all in ways that I can still put first His responsibilities for me to carry... my loving husband and beautiful family.  Through His word, His spirit, my experiences and others, He's consistently cared for me like no one else could.  He's carried me through times when friends were scarce or non-existent, through times when people who had been friends chose not to be, when I lost those dear to me to heaven, when the calculator and the checkbook were not friends, when I was at my most scared and lonely.  He proved Himself true, and He continues to prove Himself true every day, through every meltdown (Ryan's AND mine).  He forgives, he corrects, he disciplines... but always out of love.

This is where I'm spoiled rotten... advantaged, if you will...

I can't deny His sovreignty.  I need Him every hour.  When answering yet another set of questions, getting another call to pick Ryan up because he's inconsolable, waking up to stick another binky in Mae's sweet face at 3:00 AM, I need Him.  I'm not thankful for autism, don't get me wrong, but I am thankful for how close it keeps me to the Father's side.  I AM thankful for Ryan, Richie, and Maelynn... and for all they teach me every day.  And I am honored to be a mother... and the mother of a special-needs child. 

Yep, I still hate elevators... but I love the God who made my back strong enough to hold my boy and face them... and I love what the frustration they bring is teaching me.

Autism Awareness Day... April 2

Tomorrow morning, as you get up to go about your day, please take a moment to remember those of us who deal every day with an Autism Spectrum Disorder.  April 2 is Autism Awareness Day!

If you will, remember dear ASD people and their parents and/or caregivers:

As your child answers a question you ask, or as you answer any question you've been asked.

As your child looks you in the eye.

Every time your child tells you how they feel about anything, or as you express feeling.

Every time you give your child a hug and he hugs back.

As you shop, and your child stays beside you... and if she gets out of line, she can be corrected.  If she did lose you, she can tell who found her her name, your name, etc. 

When you stand in line for anything, waiting your turn. 

If you have the chance, play a game and notice how you understand you have to wait your turn... and how watching others play the game is half the fun!

As you hear your child complain about the weekend being too short, or sigh as you realize they're going to the next grade, remember those of us who are praying that our child may advance... or that they simply can handle staying in school.

Remember kids like Ryan every time you say hello and someone immediately understands what you're saying and says "hello" back.

If your kids are begging to have someone over, take a second to be thankful they can make friends.

As you go to bed, remember that some kids on the ASD spectrum (not Ryan, thankfully) are barely able to sleep at night. (this one's for a dear friend and a dear relative... I pray that God blesses the rest you do get, ladies!)

If you go to a family or friend get-together, remember that for some of us, although we desperately want to, going to these things can be a life-threatening thing for our child, who wanders and does not communicate.

Remember- please- the therapists who have spent their lives to help these children learn to live in this world that is, at times, so alien to them. 

Remember that we who have ASD children adore our children and know how amazingly special they are, and how blessed we are to have them. 

Remember that Psalm 139:14 tells us that we are all "fearfully and wonderfully made"... not just the ones of us who are perfectly normal.

If you've made it this far in this post, thank you for caring enough to read this far. Thank you also to all the wonderful people in our church who are aware of Ryan's challenges and overlook the extra auditory color (*ahem*) he brings to our services.  Thank you to everyone who works with him on a regular basis, at church and school.  Thank you to everyone who pats him (and us) on the back... your words are often stored and remembered later as a shot in the arm to get us through a rough spot.  There are times when we wonder if we're doing any good, or if we've completely failed him... but then we remember your encouragement and that His mercies are new every morning, and that since we are to love each other as we love ourselves, we have to first love ourselves... and you can't love without mercy.

If you've ever made a comment to me on the blog... thank you.  I share my truest heart in these writings in hopes that someone somewhere will benefit from our struggles and triumphs, and your comments prop up the hope that someone will find encouragement here. I believe with all my heart that our experiences are given to us as gifts from the Lord himself to learn from and to share... so in a way, this blog is but a tiny part of my paying it forward, if you will.   Because I have been given much, I too must give... and holy cow have I been given much.  I really love our life, where we live, and who we live around, and continue to be grateful for the amazing blessings the Lord bestowes!!!

So for now, nothing profound, just a few thanks and a reminder to remember the ASD people in your life tomorrow, April 2.  If you want, you could even wear blue in support.  I'm not sure why blue... I've heard of places "lighting it up blue" for Autism Awareness with blue lights outside, but let's just say I'm not quite that ambitious.  Doing things in the front yard without three people to keep Ryan from stimming on cars... even changing the porch light... is asking for him to be run over. 

Thanks again... and I know if Ryan could, he'd thank you too.

Because Why?

One of my favorite things about our house is kidspeak.  Ask Richie if he wants a "boh-bee" and he'll say "huh!"  Ask Ryan if he wants to watch "baker train" and he'll say "ok!"  Mae-mae's are different so far... mostly she answers questions, but "doggie", "ducky" and "daddy" are all amazingly similar, so be careful.  Throw in the fact that she usually calls me "daddy" and it's nice and confusing around here!  But we know that Richie wanted a strawberry, and Ryan wanted to watch "Wallace and Gromit: The Wrong Trousers".  We're their parents, so we've learned their language... we actually watch them develop it.  Okay, we laugh too but that's beside the point! 

This past week, if you keep up with the Senzig times, you know that we had an important meeting on Tuesday.  Actually, it wasn't as important as I thought it was going to be. It was the "here's your paperwork so we can HAVE the next meeting" meeting.  So I got my paperwork for Ryan to be reevaluated this May by a school psychologist to make sure everything aligns with what we're trying to do for him in school and at home.  I put on Elmo, then Thomas, then Elmo again... we take turns at our house, thank you... and eventually between DVD's, trains, dollies, naps, and the occasional goldfish cracker (colored of course... thanks Granny!) about three or four hours later the paperwork was complete.  Oh, those questions.  They ask your native language about fourteen times... okay, maybe not that many.  But I was sorely tempted to put "Klingon" as my husband's second language. I didn't... but it would have been fun. 

Then you get to the meat of the information.  After you've written your address twelve times, and checked "male" about the same, the real questions come out.  Since the tests are made to cover a range of ages, there are some that make you look up and say to the empty room, "Really?"  One of the questions this time was about Ryan's friends... do his friends participate in smoking, illegal drugs, alcohol, or getting high in just about any other way?  I'm thinking "well, he is invited to keggers a lot, we just don't let him go."  HE'S FIVE!  His "friends" are other kids in Sunday school and I'm sure they're not huffing paint in between coloring pictures of the disciples.  In between the monotonous and the absurd, however, we're smacked with questions that hurt.  Not just our hearts, but our heads!  Holy cow, I've slept since so many of these things happened.  It's hard, though, to remember some of the milestones he missed, and how far off he missed them.  Then there are the ones we still haven't met, and I wind up writing in tiny print so I can cram as much information about how much he's improved and the ins and outs of the problem in the short space given.  Then there are the ones like "does he complain about so-and-so?"  No, he doesn't communicate anything about most things verbally.  If we hear of how school or anything goes, it's from the adult in charge.  Yes, he's improved vastly from the time he entered the program with maybe three words, and for that improvement we are more than grateful!  But to put him up against other five and six-year-olds? 

And my heart sinks into my chair.

Then I look up and remember Who made Ryan.  The One who made Ryan knows him better than I do.  He doesn't have to think about when Ryan rolled over, or crawled, or walked, or even the first time he noticed a flower.  He knows how Ryan's day at school went, even though I and even the people who watched may never know.  When Ryan is visibly upset and screaming and shaking and beating his chest or head or legs and we're scrambling to figure out what the problem is while on the outside remaining as calm and matter-of-fact as possible, He knows.

So how do I find out?  WHY won't he just tell me or make it STOP?! 

That isn't my concern.  I find peace in the fact that God made Ryan, me, you, Richie, Maelynn, and everyone to be who He wanted.  I also find peace in the fact that His mind is not like mine; I am not able to grasp the fullness of His thoughts.  So then, I rest in what?  The changing of one word... why. 

My father-in-law taught me to change "why" to "to what end?"  What do you want me to get from this?  What should I be learning in this challenge set before me, be it a screaming, sick, or lost child, a loved one who's gone on, a heartbreak of any kind, a stress of any kind... to what end has He, the Creator of all, allowed this in our and our son's life?

Now the real, over-arching answer is always to glorify Him.  But at times there are smaller things that are for our good that we can see if we ask the Holy Spirit to show them to us.  Lately, God has shown me that He does, indeed, have a sense of humor... he gave a child in dire need of routine to a woman who is about as organized and scheduled and disciplined as a herd of cats.  REALLY!  I'm awful!  I know dogs who are more organized and disciplined.  Actually, MY DOG is more organized and disciplined than I am!  But in order to love Ryan the way I should, the way Christ loves me, I must learn.  I will learn.  No matter how many books, websites, trips to therapy, techniques... I want to know my son, and love him as Christ loves me.  I want to learn how he thinks, moves, feels, hears, loves, hurts, everything! 

Why?  (oh, wait...) To what end?

That I may teach him to bask in the love of Christ, because His love is the best.  That I may stand one day next to him and worship side-by-side with all my children, as my brothers and sisters.  For now, I love having my lanky five-year old wrapped around me, playing with my earrings, head on my shoulder or wiggling and humming, messing up my hair in church as I lift him up in song and prayer, asking for God's joy and peace to infiltrate every corner of his being, making him the man God wants him to be.  And that's not a burden, or stressful, or embarrasing.  It's a sweet time of unfiltered, unhinged, unmasked worship... and I love it. 

SWING!

Have you ever watched a baseball game?  Notice the players as they go up to bat.  When they leave the dugout, are they considering what the crowd thinks?  His team?   Of course not!  He's completely focused on smacking that ball to kingdom come.  What would happen if, just as the ball left the pitcher's hand, he turned around to explain why he was there to the crowd, manager, coach or whoever?  Doesn't matter who he's talking to... he just got a trip to la-la land and a voucher for a free shiner.  Instead of knocking the ball to kingdom come, it knocked him. 

What happened?  Did he forget how to swing? Nope.  His focus wasn't truly in the right place at that moment.  If it had been, his eye would have been on the ball before the ball was on his eye.  what if the thing he said was really important?  A valid question?  Not the time or the place... his job at that moment was to be focused, not to question himself or anything else. 

This hits me in the softest place.  Others' words and opinions of me matter way too much.  Maybe not to the degree that they knock my life off course or even change my mind about a decision, but that nagging, stinging feeling is still there.  That look back to see what someone else thought catches me off guard way too often. 

One way I know our church family is the right one for us is understanding.  Whaa?  Yes.  Understanding.  Understanding that reality is Ryan can't control what he says during church.  He can't sit still, can't be expected to not stim and hum on anything... my purse, the pew bible, the hymnal, the screen... but he does need to be there.  I have to tell you that every Sunday all through church I'm mentally preparing myself to have to take up for my boy.  The thought of having to do this is frightening to me.  Speaking is so NOT my gift.  I think part of the reason I love blogging is because I express myself oh-so-much better in print.  Not sure why, but it's so much easier to form my thoughts this way!  And as awkward as I am in person, put me on the phone and I'm worse than awkward.  Ask me to leave a message?  Oh dear.  Pack a lunch.  But as nervous as the concept of standing up for anything makes me, I know I have to.  The fear, I think, comes from not wanting to be disrespectful, not wanting to be rude or hurt another's feelings.  I freeze completely, can't think, can't speak, and will wind up either crying or just saying "yes sir, I'm so sorry" or just standing there dumbfounded.  I must hasten to add that this hasn't happened in church at all anywhere.  The one time it did happen was at school, and I just stood there dumbfounded as she refused to speak to me because I was a special needs child's mom.  I also must hasten to add that this problem is not limited to autistic outbursts. 
Just as you can probably relate, not all the decisions I've made about my life have been met with a parade of compliments and reassurances.  The idea that after only four years of college and four years of doing something I absolutely adored (and still do) I'd stay home to raise my children and be Eric's wife sounds perfectly reasonable in most circles in which I'm involved now, but when we made the decision, no.  There were things said but just about everyone who knew how much I love band questioning in some way the decision to stay home.  My father made sure to let me know how lazy he thought I was, and his was the most hurtful comment.  Most of the other hurts have been omission, either by accident or purposefully.  No, it has not been the easiest decision, but it was and is best for us for several reasons.  For us, that is God's best.  So why do I feel the need to explain that to those around me?  I shouldn't.

Did you notice that?  I shouldn't.  Obedience to God's commands and instructions should be their own excuse.  There is nothing wrong with sharing the testimonies of how God has used me being home to grow us in our faith, or how it's allowed me to minister to students when I drag our kids to the middle school to give them my time.  See, all those hours spent in study and practice to learn to more effectively teach were given to me.  Any talent I have in anything is a gift of the Lord to be used for His glory!  Every day of those four years I spent teaching band full-time was a gift, too.  But I look at my life now and see, although the world may not readily make sense of it, how all the pieces of my talents and gifts work together to make this Senzig household run in a way that is glorifying to God.  Knowing this, why in the world would I feel the need to explain myself? 

Pride. Ouch.

How is it prideful, even sinful, to be concerned about the comfort level of those around you?  When I'm worrying about how I look to others, it takes my eye off the ball. 

Enter the "ouch."

My focus should be to make sure my boy learns to be with God's people and hearing His word, not to make sure everyone around me knows he has an excuse for his behavior.  Yes, part of learning to be in church is learning to be quiet and listen.  I'm not advocating rude behavior.  But I should be more concerned about whether or not my son is learning to love God and love others than about what the lady three rows ahead or the man three rows behind thinks of my parenting skills.  Likewise, in every area where I'm being obedient, I should be so focused on being obedient to the Lord, prayer, staying in His word and carrying out the ministries He has for me that the negative isn't noticed, or begins to just roll off.  It is then when I can fully rest in the esteem I have as a daughter in Christ... as one of His chosen... and begin to trust that when need be, the Holy Spirit will give me the words I need to defend only as needed, and always in love.

So as I go about my day, doing dishes, changing diapers, sweeping floors, answering the tons of questions in the pre-assesment surveys for Ryan, reading to my Richie, snuggling my Mae-mae, my prayer is that I will rest in the fact that I was made for this.  Even the parts I don't like or understand.  Even when I mess up, and the sheer amount of stuff to accomplish seems impossible.  Praise the Lord for the works of His hand that we are! 

And may we all learn to keep our eye on the ball. 

A Practical-ish Fairy Tale (of sorts)

Once upon a time, there was a lonely young lady (well, she tried to be a lady) who loved to teach band but wanted to live her first dream... to be a wife and a mommy.  Since you can't go to school or work toward that dream, she enjoyed her job, hung out with her friends, and did her best to be a godly young woman... okay, maybe she didn't do exactly her best all the time... *ahem*... but you get the point.

One weekend, the lonely young lady went to judge in the stead of a retired fellow band director whom she respected greatly so that he could be with his daughter as she tried out for TMEA all-region (most of our kids tried out for ATSSB.  If this alphabet soup means nothing, just go with it).  All the way to the tryouts, the retired band director joked about how the lonely young lady was going to meet her husband on this panel.  With a "haha, yeah right" the lonely young lady laughed off this notion politely, while secretly hoping he was right. 

At the tryouts, the lonely young lady found her room and got settled in a seat next to the panel chair.  Now, on these panels there are five band directors who listen to the kids one by one behind a partition.  Let's just say it's a long day. In breaks between auditionees, the other judges laughed and joked and visited with the lonely young lady (who, at that moment, wasn't feeling very lonely at all).  Well, three of the judges visited and laughed and cut-up... one didn't.  He sat at the end of the short line of desks lined up against a brick wall, immersed in a book until it was time to start listening again.  Surely the retired band director was wrong, thought the lonely young lady.  She noticed that the panel chair was very married, and kinda short.  Yeek.  The person to her right was another lady, one she knew, but double yeek... she was a lady too.  the next was another married man.  The man on the end of the line of chairs was not married, but... *sigh*... he just didn't seem interested in anything other than his book.  "Definitely not my type," thought the lonely young lady, "he doesn't laugh or joke or seem very nice at all."  Hmph. 

And so, the lonely young lady continued her search for Mr. God's Best.  She came across one who was too shy, then one who was too tall, then one who just didn't work out at all.  "I GIVE UP!" said the lonely young lady at last, and followed a job offer to another town. 

During a staff meeting at the new job, the lonely young lady enjoyed meeting the rest of the staff of five.  She knew she'd surely miss the sweet family she worked for before and all the wonderful students, but she felt God's call to this town and was sure although it was hard to tell through the heartbreak of losing those people.  In a restaurant that day, she met the head director, the assistant high school director, and the junior high director (who would turn out to be one of the best friends a girl could ever get into mischief with I MEAN have).  But where was the fifth guy?  Just as the head director said his name, in walks mr. head in his book. 

"OH NO!" said the lonely young lady.  "Not him!  Anyone but him!" 

Little did the lonely young lady know that mr. head in his book was her knight in invisible armor... Mr. God's Best. 

Within two months, the lonely young lady began to date Mr. God's Best.  A week and a half after they began dating, the lonely young lady became The Future Mrs. God's Best.  

As I'm sure you've figured out, Mr. God's Best is Mr. Eric Senzig. 

I've asked him over and over what in the world posessed him to ask me to marry him after just a week and a half of dating.  Over and over, he's said he just knew.  And on occasion, he asks me why I said yes... to which I have to smile and admit that I guess I just knew, too.  I also have to admit that agreeing to marry him may just be the best decision I ever made... I'm sure it's the best snap decision I ever made! 

So since September of 2002 (when we started to date), Eric and I have been through our share of better and worse, but it all started with that decision.  I still marvel at the ease with which we agreed to enter into such a huge commitment.  But when you know what we know about God's providence, timing, and plan, it's not nearly as crazy.  See, God not only knew what we'd been through, who we were, and how much we needed each other... He knew exactly how to time things to make it all happen. 

Yes, I was incredibly wrong about who Eric was at the beginning.  He is wonderful, sweet, caring, funny, loving, patient, and an amazing father.  Yes, he does love to read and his love of reading can at times make him tune things out.  But he had prayed for his wife, and even before that his parents had prayed for his wife.  I was prayed for before my parents were married!  Yes, a full seven years before I was born!  What a wonderful wedding present to give to your future son or daughter-in-law. 

Really, this fairy tale began forty years ago tomorrow on March 21, when the world first laid eyes on Eric Senzig. We've been through tons together and will go through tons more, and I can't imagine going through daily struggles of parenting, living, teaching, and just breathing with anyone else.  I certainly can't imagine celebrating, laughing, and sharing life with anyone else, nor would I want to!    

So tonight on the last day of my dear Eric's thirties, I would like to wish him a blessed birthday tomorrow, and many, many more years of love, tears, laughter, hugs, and joy to follow.  I'd also like to congratulate his dear parents on their fortieth anniversary of parenthood!  I'm so thankful for my amazing husband and so grateful for the Lord's providence in everything about our lives.  He who has promised us is FAITHFUL!  He has a plan for our lives, and it is to prosper and not to harm us, to give us a hope and a future! 

So happy birthday, sweetheart.  You truly are Mr. God's Best. 

News Flash!

I'm tired. That's it. 

Okay, I admit that's a bit of a disappointment.  But so is the realization that the boy pictured above, our Ryan, has a hard time doing so many things.  I do my best to focus on the positive things... he is smart!  His intelligence is well above other children his age.  He is loving, he is kind, he is a beautiful child, fearfully and wonderfully made.  After all, he brought his sister a pacifier and actually put it in her mouth last night!  he climbed in my lap as I was rocking his sister and told me I was "a really nice toy".  But sometimes I fear that people, especially his little brother and sister are just that in his mind... really nice toys. 

Now I know that's not the truth... or, at least, I know better than to speak negatively over my children.  But we're at a decision-making point with Ryan, and as I see it, I'm more and more concerned that I'm not doing so well in keeping up with his development.  Blogs, articles, books, movies... so many things that ought to encourage me and I ought to devour with the fervor my Richie devours his strawberries, do the opposite.  There are so many parents who seem to selflessly, dramatically, completely throw their entire lives into making sure their special needs children have the very best of everything.  I see that, and try to do it, and I fail.  And it hurts. 

Just yesterday, I was on my way home from taking Ryan to therapy, thinking about the experience.  I sat outside the room in the building where Ryan has ABA therapy once a week (which I know isn't enough, but it's what worked in our schedule) and listened to his screaming through the wall.  Any other mother would pop through that door and demand to know what's going on, but I know that she's working on transistion.  I'm always amazed to see Ryan bound out of the Baylor Autism Resource Center grinning, running straight to get a peek at the elevator (which was out that day, but he was enthralled anyway).  Yesterday his therapist, a sweet grad student in ABA therapy, wanted to talk about what we do at home.  "so what do you do when he starts a fit like that?" she asks.  "Well, we usually send him to time-out, where he stays until he's calm."  Then I get to admit the part that kills me.  "He's managed to stay like that for entire days at a time." 

That's one of those sentences that comes out of my mouth on automatic.  If I really thought about it, like I am now, I would hang my head and cry.  And have to immediately hold my boy, rocking him, praying for him as I have so many times.  On those days when it doesn't matter what I say, how I say it, or what I offer, he's so troubled in some way that there is no consolation.  Those days when Richie goes in to check on his hero and is screamed at or pushed down and comes to me with his little heart broken.  We won't even go into the trips to Target, Walmart, etc. where he's screamed the WHOLE time over a tiny piece of cracker that fell through the basket, or a toy he saw that looks like one he has, so in his mind it's his and he needs it... NOW.  Or the way he thrashes from side to side with his knees in the basket while he screams and cries.  Yeah, he rides in the big part of the basket.  If I have to have groceries and he needs to go, that's how I keep track of him.  He's a wanderer, meaning (to us) that he has no boundaries.  If he were a dog, he wouldn't know where his yard ends and the road begins.  And even worse, if he did get away from us, can't tell you who he is or where he lives.  He knows, but he can't tell you.  CAN'T.  Not won't.  You'd be amazed who doesn't understand the difference. We've found things like temporary tattoos that you can put your phone number on, but getting him to let us put a band-aid on is like trying to pull teeth without anesthesia. If we do manage to get a band-aid or something similar on Ryan, you can guarantee that it will be gone in a moment.  If he can't get rid of it, he will shake and cry and completely turn himself inside out until it's removed. 

Honestly, I get to the point when I just have nothing left.  You know, that end-of-the-rope, no more mental or emotional energy, if anyone asks me to so much as pass the salt I'm gonna scream or cry point.  I do.  When that happens, I'd like to say that I automatically turn upward and remember every scripture I've ever learned and all the wonderful blessings that we have, but I don't always.  I get tired and want to know WHY.  Why Ryan?  Is it so selfish to just want him to be able to share his frustration without screaming and hitting himself?  Is is so wrong to just want to plan a family trip to someplace without worrying about having to avoid elevators, candles, lines, and the fact that someplace might not have pizza or burgers? 

No, it's really not wrong to want those things... and I know so many other parents of ASD kids who want the same thing.  Actually, just special needs parents who would like to live like other people seem to live. 

But the overarching idea here is WHY ME?  What did I do to deserve this? Why HIM?  Surely Ryan has done nothing to deserve autism.  Then, if we back up just a little more in the big picture, doesn't everyone have something to ask that about at one time or another? 

Ah, reality check.  I'm not the only one with problems.  Ryan's not the only special needs child in the world, and I'm certainly not the only person who ever felt hopeless.  Or not up to the task.  Or tired.  Or like something has to give... NOW. 

What does one do in this situation?  The general population would tell me I need a spa day, a vacation, sometime away, or a break in some manner.  While there's nothing in the world wrong with any of those things (and they sounds pretty danged awesome... especially a weekend in a hotel with my husband...), they CANNOT BE MY HOPE.  As absolutely fabulous as my husband is, he cannot be my hope, my peace, my reassurance, or my happiness! 

Inevitably, at this point, since I am a Christian, God sends something to remind me.  It may be a phone call, an action, or simply a prompting of the Holy Spirit to remind me that, just as John 14:27 (ESV) says, "Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. Not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid." 

Aah.  It's like cool water on a sunburn.  So is Romans 8:28.  So is the knowledge that Ryan (and Richie, and Maelynn) is "fearfully and wonderfully made" (Psalm 139:14).  It all comes flowing back, sometimes... and sometimes it comes through friends, or my husband, or a sign, a song, or in a Facebook update. It happens, and it works. 

I cannot explain why there are problems that seemingly have no point or reason.  But I can say this, and I can say it from experience.  There is a reason.  There is a God.  He cares for us, and His ways are designed for our best and they are not for us to fully understand.  "You ask me how I know He lives?  He lives within my heart." 

So if you're tired, hopeless, lonely, exhausted, broken... don't believe that stuff about the rope.  You're on the bottom.  Look up, ask Jesus to throw you a rope.  He'll not only throw you one.  He'll come down, pick you up, dust you off, and hold you up. 

He did that for me just as I was speaking to you.  Kinda cool, huh! 

Have a blessed day, and remember that His arms are always open, and are ready to receive you and whatever issues you have.  Your fault, not your fault, socially acceptable or not. 

So look up.