Recently a clergy colleague asked this question: "How do we let people know we are not judging them?" 

 I have been thinking about it ever since. How do we let anyone know we are not judging them, when the popular image of Christianity promoted by sensational news stories is of a religion that both judges and condemns at the drop of a hat? How do we preach and teach non-judgment when whole churches turn out to hold signs telling the world that "God Hates ____ (fill in the blank)" ? How do we signal non-judgment in our actions when our words might be missing or ignored?

Its a tough one. First-timers at Rhythms of Grace are often nervous about their child's behavior. If their child begins to melt down, they search the faces of the volunteers trying to gauge our reaction. Often they rush in to try to manage the child, nervously watching us to make sure we are not judging. Rest assured parents! I can pretty much tell you what is going through the head of every volunteer there:

"It's ok. We understand your child is overwhelmed or having a bad day/hour/minute. We think very highly of your parenting -- you brought your child here because you ARE a good parent. We don't think they're a bad kid. Please don't stress about it. How can we help?"

For many of us, a child melting down at Rhythms of Grace is a moment of recognition, as well as wry exchange of memories: "Remember when my child threw the Legos across the room? Remember when my grandson started screaming and wouldn't stop? Remember when we started out in the car for Rhythms of Grace and the meltdowns got so bad we just turned around and went home?" WE HAVE BEEN THERE.

Rhythms of Grace is intended to help build community among a group of families who don't have easy access to a nurturing and supportive community. 

Some of our highest high points this first year have been simple. The tears in a parent's eyes when they share communion with their child. The look on a parent's face when their child and another share a social exchange. The amazing glimpses into our children's personalities and thoughts and talents. And the first times we were able to tell a parent -- "It's ok. We want you to be here, screams and all. We're happy to have you."

When families can't make it to a Rhythms of Grace service, we miss them. But we never want them to feel that there is any condemnation that they didn't make it. Beyond all other things, WE UNDERSTAND. And we will be so very happy to see you when next you come.

It's OK.

 

Recently, my Aspie son and I watched all the X-Men movies in order. We frequently do this--take a series of movies, watch them in order, then critique the nuances. As an aspiring filmmaker, my son likes to look for hidden themes and "memes" the director may have included.

In case you don't know the story of X-Men, it involves mutated humans who, through their mutation, possess supernatural abilities. The X-men are leery of "normal" humans, don't understand their motivations, but find themselves in a position of saving the world for all from the bad/evil/misguided folks who seek world domination. X-Men is particular in its portrayal of "normal" humanity's reaction to the X-Men -- Fear, Mistrust, and even Hatred.

The parallels to our autistic children are unmistakable.

As an Aspie, my child has abilities I clearly do not, especially considering that I have ADHD. His powers of concentration and attention to detail are phenomenal. He notices (and expects everyone else to notice as well!) details that most of us miss entirely. 
Like an X-Man, my son can be misunderstood. Like an X-Man, he really is altruistic, although he may not always seem warm and fuzzy in his approach.

The last movie we watched was a story of a possible antidote to the mutation that produced the X-Men. Some X-Men wanted to take the antidote and live a "normal" life. Some X-Men were FORCED to take the antidote (this is the hinge of the drama in the plot.) It raised the question -- "If there were a cure for autism, would you want it?"

This question was also raised this past week at a Diocesan Resource Day in a workshop I offered. I'll write more about the workshop, but I wanted to share my answer: "First, my son needs to know all the things he values in himself, so he can truly know his own worth. Then he needs to know all that others value in him, so he can understand his place in the world. Then he will have to decide for himself."

Would he be the same child without autism? No. Would his life be easier without autism? Probably. The question is really, would his life be better without autism?

I want to share with you a poem he wrote in 2nd grade. It speaks to me of the wonder of a child whose brain operates so very differently than mine (Praise God!)

WHATIFS

As soon as I start to watch TV,
Many whatifs whisper to me:
Whatif the Earth freezes?
Whatif the Earth sneezes?
Whatif a bunny bites me?
Whatif I can’t drink my tea?
Whatif they run out of Lunch?
Whatif I don’t have anything to munch?
Whatif my desk comes alive?
Whatif the door counts to five?
Whatif there weren’t any video games?
Whatif a tree says his name is James?

As soon as I start to watch TV,
All these Whatifs whisper to me.

Your answer might be completely different. Please send your thoughts and ideas to ASpecialGrace@gmail.com or use the form on the home page of the website. --Rev. Rebecca Black

Just a quick note on a small revelation I had this week. I started on twitter (never thought I'd like it, but I REALLY do) and discovered what a great place it is to network for the Rhythms of Grace ministry. It really is wonderfully comforting to endure a major meltdown from my Aspie son, only to see someone else tweeting that the same thing is going on in their life at that very moment! Real time communications are amazing.

Now maybe this isn't a revelation for anyone else, but as I started to "follow and be followed" on twitter, I started to notice my reactions to people who communicate with me. For those I follow, the tweets are not generally directed at me personally but go out to everyone. But in an odd way, I come to feel that I *know* them in some way, that we're acquaintances.  That odd juxtaposition of *knowing* someone and yet not really knowing anything about them in a real sense is new to me...especially since my vocation is all about getting to know people in very intimate ways. You can't pray with someone through a crisis and not feel a connection!

Here's the revelation I had: I THINK that that feeling of *knowing* people who are essentially strangers is akin to my Aspie son's way of relating to others. Even those he knows most intimately--me, his sister, his family and friends--are not truly present to him. In a  very real way, we are ALL strangers to him. Not that he doesn't recognize us, of course, he's super bright. But I suspect that he has never really FELT that intimate sense of *knowing* another human being that I feel with him, or his sister, or even with friends and acquaintances.

I could be wrong, of course -- I've found that NOTHING, ABSOLUTELY NOTHING is certain in the world of Autism. My son is constantly amazing me by what he accomplishes, what he knows, what he can do. AND what he finds difficult. AND what he has done successfully before but somehow can't seem to do now, but probably will do again at some point (if you have an Aspie child, you know exactly what I mean! I roll my eyes every time I read the term "secured skill." HA HA) Never Say Never.

Anyway, I'm praying with it and hoping for more insight into the children I love so dearly. Frederica Matthewes-Green paints an image of her autistic grandson as one like an astronaut orbiting all alone in space <Earth to K, are you out there?> My prayer is that little revelations like this may one day bring my little spaceman and I into a place where we can TRULY *know* one another.

I invite you to share your thoughts and experiences...or even follow me! :)

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I recently read an old, old article by Frederica Matthewes-Green. Here is a link to it: click here.  It got me thinking and praying on the promise of being known by God, even from before we were formed.

I tell volunteers to be prepared for a different kind of joy when they work with autism spectrum children.

The payoff for most of us in children or youth ministry is seeing these young people grow in the Lord -- seeing their enjoyment of programs, an increase in knowledge, a growing awareness of God's presence in the world.

Autistic children see and experience the world so differently from "neuro-typical" children that we may never understand, know or discern that any of our efforts have any "effect."

I think Frederica eloquently and beautifully expresses the joy of knowing deeply that we are ALL KNOWN TO GOD.

I AM the proud Mom of two children --one of whom has Asperger's Syndrome. Like most parents of children on the autism-spectrum, I see daily the confusing, dismaying and sometimes shockingly wonderful effects of the way my son's brain is wired. He is argumentative, sweet, loving, angry, clingy, aloof, anxious, impulsive -- all in all, a mass of contradictions. And, too, I see daily the impact on his sister and myself -- anyone who has lived through a day-long lecture on all the characters in the Mother 3 Nintendo game, punctuated by meltdowns over loud noises, rough socks and a new mailman, knows the truth of the saying "Our Family has Autism."

I can laugh even at the aggravations and stress - laughing sometimes even through tears -- because my son is also a daily blessing.

He teaches me daily that God is present in the world, not because of some "breakthrough" that shows him in the light of what we expect from neuro-typical children; no, he teaches me that DIFFERENT really is DIFFERENT, and wonderful, and aggravating, and exalted.

For a first blog, I wanted to share this with you:

This is a poem written by my son two years ago. He was then in the 6th grade. It is his ode to Fall, a time he doesn't much enjoy--not because of the season itself, but because it brings school. He is a brilliant child, with a high IQ, who nevertheless hates and fears school. He is exceedingly fearful and anxious about many things. He is also often unexpectedly and amazingly funny.


Translated from the Original Oakese
We... we...
We are leaves..
Please, please,please,
We are leaves.
Sitting in a tree, we were green.
But now that we have come here now,
This we will not allow.

To fall, to die,
To crunch, to cry,
What has gone awry?

We, we, we are leaves,
Hoping for the best,
waiting for a test,
Expecting the worst,
What will become of us now?

Now,
We will wait,
Till next spring,
If you can imagine such a thing.

We are glad we are not turkeys.



Please feel free to use this space for your thoughts (and bragging) about our complex, mysterious, amazing children.

May God bless you with the unexpected.

Rev. Rebecca Black