The Least of my Brothers (and Sisters)

It all starts and stops here.

Whether or not exactly true,  details matter not. The crux of this story is how people who call themselves Christians treat the very ones that Christ himself had no problem hanging and breaking bread with.

For me, this is personal.

I've been thinking lately of a family; the older son I taught in Sunday school a number of years ago. His mom, I was told at the time, had volunteered to teach, but was turned away because a number of families threatened to withdraw from the religious program if she did.

I remember thinking at the time how appalling it was that some one willing and able to volunteer to teach (especially given the dearth of volunteers and none of these people threatening were willing to step into the gap) would be turned down because of her differences. I won't lie; she marches to a different drummer. So do I, so I can certainly appreciate what that looks like.

I didn't say anything, though; I just nodded, the conversation continued, and that was the end of it.

But the family was always kind of there on my radar, since ours is a small community. And I watched the kids grow up at a distance.  I was told at the end of that year teaching that my student had an IEP. I hadn't realized it until it was pointed out to me.  I had treated him as I treated all the rest of my students, and he did a great job of learning what he needed to learn.

I saw him again about a month ago at a community function while I was manning a food stand. He approached me, and I remember, inwardly, my jaw dropping. Food on his face, ketchup smeared on his shirt, he asked me for something. I smiled at him, answered, gave it to him. And inwardly I wondered what happened to the small, bright-eyed boy who had been my student years ago.

And of course I couldn't help comparing him to my older boy, who is nearly the same age.

Which leads me to wonder what happened in the intervening years, and led me to appreciate how my family looks, and how we are treated in the same context.

After all, it wasn't lost on me that some people opted for their child to skip PREP K when they found out I taught it. I never really cared, frankly. My students always had a good time.

But, getting back to my original thought. I've spent a lot of time thinking and praying on the least of my brothers and sisters, and what I can do to help.

The answer is always "Look in the mirror."

Before you change the world, you need to change your heart.

Forget Christian. Be Christ-like.

That's what He wants.

For the least of your brothers.

On the Verge of Summer

So as I dropped the kids off at summer holiday camp this am, I was amazed at how 'normal' we look.  Mom, dropping off kids for the day, heads off to work.

Normal.

Or, at any rate, just like anyone else. And by hubby's reckoning, we are as crazed as everyone else, and something needs to give.

It's been an eventful year. Nic wrestled, played basketball, ran track (not very well or cooperatively, but there's always next year) and Gabriel played piano and violin and sold more popcorn than any other scout in his den.  And we've gotten both of them extra help in the form of social skills groups and even found friends for them both to hang out with.

But the ends are fraying. It's been a tough but triumphant year. And we are all ready to hit re-set.

I'm struggling with what's next. I gave a keynote speech at a luncheon last month, and the president of the school asked me "so what's next for you? You should be lobbying in DC." I sent him a follow up email inquiring what that looked like and have yet to get an answer. Sweet talker.

I don't know. For the first time in a long time, I can't see what's next, only what's now. And what's now is that I need a break, to unwire, to disconnect for a little while to see what I really want.

But as near as I can tell, what I want is what I have. It's crazy, it's busy, it's maddening, but it's all mine.

I just want some quiet to hear myself think. I wonder what I have to say.

Blink. Breathe.

Yesterday, I returned as the keynote speaker for the annual supervisor appreciation luncheon at a local school. Last year, I was called in as a last-minute replacement. This year, first string.

The organizer tasked me with Social Skills as my topic.

Social skills?  This called to mind an image of a rough hewn box made up of hammered together, sawed down 2 x 4s.  I could even see a streak of red in one of the walls--an imperfection.  And it was completely nailed shut, really no more useful than a yoga block.

I have no idea why this is the visual that came to mind, at least at first. Over the ensuing month, as the day approached, I understood that the nailed-shut box represented what I thought was social skills--the half-hour blocks of time both my boys get a few times a week. Once I understood that, I knew it was time to break open the box.

Social skills, it's often joked, need to be taught to everyone. And that's where I went with my talk. My call to action was to be kinder, gentler to one another, to pay attention to what we sound like when we speak to other people; to speak as we wish to be spoken to.

I recounted my younger son's bullying episode last Friday; it was he against four. He quietly told them to stop, and quietly sought help when they didn't.

And the adults acted swiftly.

And my little man admonished that "Sorry is not good enough!' And he is right--in our moment of pain, we don't want to hear it.

But, it's the beginning of healing. And he graciously accepted the apologies when he was ready.

We are here but a short time. We can take an extra moment for a smile and a kind word.

Because sometimes, there's no time for anything else.

Where are you going? Where have you been?

In all that's happened to us in the last two months, it's necessary for me to take stock of all the wins and losses if I am going to figure out this ongoing maze of raising kids with autism.

It's a testimony to my faith that I've been able to see the wins and victories in the spaces between the heartbreak and losses. Hubby has been the level-headed one lately, and thank God one of us has his head on straight. I've been so busy tailspinning that it's been hard for me to do much between crying and trying not to cry.

Last weekend was as bad as it's been in about 7 years. My immediate response to depression is to completely shut down; last week, with all my responsibilities, that was an impossibility. And that in it of itself was a blessing;  I

•   ran track practice and got to see, once again, the glory and wonder that is my team
•   spent an evening under the stars around a campfire among the best parents I know
•   spent a large part of a fishing afternoon with my den helping the boys with their tackle
•   was tapped by a dad whose boy was in tears 'to lend a mom's touch.' He dried his eyes--and made an awesome fire with my help
• received great feedback for Nic from his group facilitator and last, but far from least
• Nic received a 6th place ribbon for shot put--with no training. We might have found something for him. 

But I can't look at these things without acknowledging

• that his posse never came to pass. I was reminded of that this past week when Nic said he ran into a friend of his. (I use that term loosely) The friend was meeting another friend. And Nic was there alone.
• that he and his brother still don't know how to sustain peer interaction. At all.
• that some of the things I pushed Nic to do failed miserably and will have lasting consequences.
  
  I was up again in the middle of the night pondering my younger son's scout outing last night.  This picture is a pretty frank assessment of his opinion.

And asking the question: do I push too hard?

There's no simple answer. There's no all or nothing. Everything has to be tempered with moderation.  Their conversational tacks, really, are no different than mine at their ages. I consumed books with the same fire and avidity that they consume stories--books, YouTube, videos--and feel the same need to share blow-by-blow details to anyone who will listen. Peers don't. Adults feel sorry for them. I'm doing all I can do outside of school with psych, social skills groups, whatever I can think of to help them out here. I sometimes think the schools can be doing more to help me out here. I've despaired on that score; budget cuts make it a virtual impossibility. 

So hubby and I are exploring other options. And with so much of our lives up in the air, I'm planning in so far as I can plan. But I find myself more and more seeking divine guidance,  because I am finding that the more I seek, the more I am answered. And I don't always like the answer, but I am certain that the answers are what they are for a much larger reason than I can understand in the moment.

The gift of age: understanding that every piece of your life, the good, the bad, the ugly, happens for a very specific reason, for a very specific lesson.

"And I never lost one minute of sleeping 
Worrying 'bout the way things might have been ......"

The Family We Choose

Two of my favorite people appear here. 

I took this picture on Saturday, and find myself looking at it, smiling, looking some more, and wondering a little bit why I need to keep looking at it. 

And why I keep smiling. And wondering. 

And I arrive at a few different places, or perhaps one place via a few different routes. When I look at this picture, I look at something that didn't exist in my world growing up.  My father died early in my life; I never knew, really, either of my grand dads; one died when my father was 5, and the other passed early in my second year.  I vaguely remember his voice, but ultimately am not sure if it's his voice or my elder sister's recollection of it that I remember.

Fr. M arrived well into my adult life, materializing at age 35--and I remember at the time wondering at his arrival. He attended the same high school as my father, and our cultural similarities allow us a shorthand that allows us to fit in hours-long conversations in the space of minutes. 

But looking at this pic gives me another view. My younger son with this man who could easily be his grandfather, enjoying his company, sharing his book, reminds me that even though life deals us some strange cards, that we get the people we need to help us through the rough times.  I smile, thinking of the 'brothers' I now have who are not bound to me by blood but by love, how fortunate I am for my sisters who are likewise kin. 

We cannot choose family?  Not true. Those people I am closest to share my heart, not my blood. 

Although my two young ones are the exception. Not the rule. 

No accidents

I don't believe in coincidence.
I do believe that everything, on some level, is pre-ordained. It's the choice, the free will of all people, that provide the variables that make life so interesting, challenging and unpredictable.

In this latest stage of my life, I find my walk with God has taken me alongside, fortuitously, some one else of similar mind and belief who is making me ask some hard, hard questions.

Not coincidentally, my older son is struggling with a constellation of issues. My husband and I find ourselves struggling against his well-mounted coping mechanisms. We re doing saying all the right things and taking the right actions. But he's not seeing or hearing us.

I found myself asking my 9-year-old in first light this morning: "Can you help me save your brother?"

Wise little man that he is, he did not answer.

The small, still voice speaks

Where to start?

Gains? Losses?

Some things have gotten easier. I get fewer calls from school, now. Older boy successfully completed his first wrestling season with the support of his awesome teachers and staff; successfully completed his first season of CYO basketball, with the support of his fellow runners.

Younger son loves music class and piano, and is generally much happier and engaged. Not sure to what we owe it, but the fact that his classmates include him (as evidenced by his Valentine's Day party) probably has a lot to do with it. 

Nic had a new friend, but now, that line is silent, and I'm not sure why.

And then there's all my village elder commitments. I find that the small, still voice is telling me to back off. And I'm not sure if that's the voice, my own exhaustion, or some combination of both. 

The reality is this;  as both boys get older, it's just not cool for mom to be so hands on. Last night at Nic's wrestling banquet (which went better than I ever could have imagined, by the way), I was reminded repeatedly that Nic needed to be Nic--for better or for worse. His teammates did a great job of keeping him in line, just like his peers are keeping him in line for stage crew. 

Who said peer pressure can't be positive?

I am seeing an end to some of the things I am doing, though. I plan to follow through on my commitments to the end of this school year, and then refigure how best to spend my time and energy. I think I've done a lot of good, and I think I've done it all for the right reasons.  But.....

....something I can't quite put my finger on. I just know that these things are coming to an end, and I'm not sure if that's me talking or God.  

So. The next couple of months will play out and events will unfold as they will.

And the boys will be fine. It will not be easy, but when I think of what we've all already been through, I think we're up for anything.