Pursuit (John 14:18, 15:9, 15:15-16, 15:19)

It pounds its two syllables in time with my heart.  Great-er...Great-er...Great-er.  He loves me with the unconditional, extravagant, heart-wrenching love of a Father.  Greater than I can know or understand or, least of all, earn.  He calls me His friend and the honour and privilege of being valued in that symbiotic relationship is not lost on me.  He chooses me out of the world and for His purposes.  This love that is greater than I have ever known, this love changes me.  He pursues me and I become giddy.  My value more valuable, my worth more worthy, my heart more happy.  Not only is He greater in my eyes, but so am I.  His whispers of delight become proclamations I cannot ignore.  I will come to you, He says.  I love you.  I offer you friendship.  I choose you.

He is wooing me with His pursuit.  And I am worth it to Him.

Devotions done, prayer items listed, boxes checked.  Or not.  "Pray without ceasing," He says, and I wonder.

What if I thanked Him - out loud - in the moment I saw the rays catch the morning dew on the grass I hurry past, keys jangling?

What if I courageously prayed that big prayer, trusting His bold promises in my messy life that seems incongruent with His truth?

Effortlessly, my mind separates the spheres of my day.  I leave my time-with-God circle, stepping into work or family or me.  But "I draw you unto Myself," He says, and I wonder. 

What if I left my open Bible right there beside my computer, kitchen sink, or couch spot and thanked Him for today's truth over and over all day?

What it I looked to Him from every new and old place of weakness and believed Him to be my strength?

Quietly and privately, I go about my faith, knowing He desires a close, personal relationship with me.  Which He does, and yet "where two are three are gathered in My name," He says, "there I am in the midst of them" and I wonder.

What if I let someone see into this dark corner, let them pray with me from my place of weakness, doubt, and sin?

What if I courageously went beyond the easy phrase "I'll be praying for you" to take a hand and pray right there together?

Love to the End (John 13:1)

Papa, Your words crash likes waves.

I love you.

I love you.

I delight you.

I rejoice over you.

Over and over and I stand here on the shore.  Your ocean of love so vast, so captivating.  I admire it, gaze at its horizon, breathe in its salty goodness.  I revel in its mist on my face, all the while unsure of what it could be like to step in.  Step in and let the tide of Your unfailing love pull me out into the vastness  Draw me unto You.  Draw me into Your deep love.

Draw Me Back (John 12: 32)

Don't let this day be all about me.  Lord, draw me unto You.  Don't let my frantic hustle and bustle drown out Your daily graces.  Lord, draw me unto You.  Don't let the ups and downs of the boys drag me into that ugly cycle.  Lord, draw me unto You.

May each joy point me back to its Source.  Lord, draw me unto You.  May each challenge point me to the One who helps.  Lord, draw me unto You.  May each slow breath give me pause to remember.  Lord, draw me unto You.

Call me back, Papa.  Pursue me and woo me and whisper to me who I am in You.  Gently and lovingly draw me back unto You today.

Emerson*4

The sound of Lego being moved around on the table in the ever-ongoing hunt for just the right piece is my lullaby.  Feelings of maybe-I-shoud-start-thinking-about-supper almost bring me back to consciousness, but a long day and just the right amount of sunshine make me burrow deeper into my corner of the couch and what just might be my moment to drift off.  The rare and treasured times when all three kids are playing flawlessly together make my heart swell, even as my eyelids are too heavy to open and take it all in.

Still on duty, even as I doze, I slowly come to with the soft words of the littlest one bubbling to the surface.  Groggy, I don't react instantaneously and Emerson steps in.  "Lachie, Mommy is asleep.  You have to pee otet?"  [Otet = toilet in his little brother's 2-year-old speak]  Emerson's voice takes on the exaggerated gentle cadence of an older one knowing that he is helping a little one and I breathe deeply, halfway between sleep and rapt attention on the scene I am picturing through still-closed eyelids.

"Come with me, Lachie," he urges and takes his brother's hand, leading him from his Lego rocketship creation towards the bathroom.  "Come pee otet."

The footsteps have gotten quieter now that they have reached the carpet in the hallway, but I hear that stool move across the bathroom floor.  Narrating as he goes, Emerson informs his brother of each step of the process, inadvertently warming my drowsy and delighted soul.  Using Lachlan's language, he helps him take his pants and "unders" [underwear] off and boosts him up to the toilet.  Ever so kindly he tells him good job when he pees and encourages him to get off the otet by himself.

By now Lachlan is giggling that his brother is doing this all with him and is happy to oblige as they work together to get the unders and pants back on - pausing in between as Emerson asks once the underwear is up: "Does your penis hurt?  No?  Okay, then it's on right."  That one is almost too much for me to continue the charade of sleep, as I make mental notes of the checklist Emerson presumably uses for himself as well.

A moment later they are back to join Niko at the Lego table beside me and the creative building continues.  Only now I am too giddy to go back to sleep.

Here are some pictures of this newly 4-year-old boy whose goofiness, gentleness, independence, and empathy we cherish in equal measure: https://www.flickr.com/photos/41705228@N08/albums/72157657488999075

Would you Wish Away Autism?

I have a friend with severe autism. We've been friends for 14 years (she is now 23). I have learned so much from Lindsay. She has opened my eyes to truths I would never otherwise have seen, broadened my understanding of the world around me, challenged my perceptions, exposed my assumptions, and deepened my capacity for love and friendship. The reflection and changes Lindsay has inspired in my heart manifested themselves in many ways, one of which has been a passion for working with people who have autism. Many of these other people have also influenced my understanding of autism, but none as profoundly as Lindsay.

Lindsay's cognitive skills compare to a neurotypical 5-year-old and her verbal skills compare to a neurotypical 3-year-old.  One of her perseverations is a fixation on Barney (the purple dinosaur). I recall an episode that included a young girl with a disability - I think she may have been hearing impaired. The storyline centered on this girl's struggle to fit in with the rest of the kids. Lindsay's reaction was shocking and saddening as she covered herself up with a blanket and just listened to the dialogue and cried and cried. She rewound and replayed sections over and over as she rocked beneath the blanket sobbing. She wouldn't talk to me or allow me to comfort her.

Lindsay does not have the emotional, cognitive, or verbal skills to talk about that experience, but it seemed very obvious to me that she resonated with that feeling of not fitting in, of not being like everybody else. Whether that means she has tried to wish her autism away or would try if she understood enough to try, I don't know. But there have certainly been times when autism caused her great great sorrow.

As someone who does not have autism, I know what it is like to be neurotypical and I can see what struggles someone who is not neurotypical has that I do not have. As someone who does not have autism, I do not know what that is like or whether you might look at my life and be saddened at the struggles I have that you do not. The idealist in me would like to say that the joys and struggles of each of our lives balance each other out. And I have seen plenty of joy in the lives of those with autism around me. But the moments I have seen kids with severe autism (especially those who are nonverbal) look trapped behind their own eyes against their will? Those moments make me wonder.

Have I and many others benefitted in our worldview, experience, and life because Lindsay has autism? Heck yes, we have. Would I wish autism away or cure it? When I see Lindsay sobbing alone under the blanket, heck yes, I would.

Boldly (John 7:26)

I knock on her door with my elbow as my hands are full of baby paraphernalia.  Her grandson is coming to visit for a few days and she is so excited.  But as she gets off the couch to help me bring in the toys to borrow, I see her posture and with only a fraction of a second of hesitation she is crying in my arms.  Tears uncontrollable, words unintelligible, pain undeniable, questions unanswerable, decisions unavoidable, life unbearable.

And Your incongruent truth marches into my line of vision as my eyes take in Your word.  He speaks boldly it says, claiming what I cannot see.  On my front steps, the flow of tears more like a trickle now, the story comes out in fragments overlapping.  She cries out in desperation, and I can't help but wonder along with her, why don't You answer?  Why don't You show her the way?  Why don't You heal or solve problems or give solutions?

He speaks boldly, it says in the left-hand column and I underline the words in orange.

She wants so badly for You to speak audibly.  To speak knowingly and helpfully to their needs.  To speak comfortingly and personally to her crushed spirit.

I want it too.

But You speak boldly.  You speak truths that don't look true from here.  That don't feel true right now.  And my first instinct is to doubt, or make excuses, or pray caveats to let You off the hook.

But You speak boldly and eliminate the option of playing it safe.  So the risk is high, yet all of my soul wants to try.

You speak boldly and I will choose to believe You are who You say You are, even in circumstances that beg to differ.  You speak boldly and I will praise You for who You say You are, trusting that one day here or There.

You speak boldly.  May my words reflect that.