Category: My Life

I had never believed in an attention disorder diagnosis for little boys Idan’s age. I always called it “Five-year-old boy syndrome” instead. All little boys get antsy and would rather jump off of a desk five-million times rather than color inside the lines, right? I thought this, and then I found myself researching it. ADHD was the first mental disconnect that came to my mind, because it’s tossed around so often. I thought that maybe that was the deal with Idan. Maybe a little pill, once a day, was all he needed. As I read through the symptoms, none of them matched with my son. He wasn’t hyper at all, and he actually didn’t like to talk to people. I clicked around through some other links, which eventually brought me to an article about autism. I almost X’d out of that window, until I saw the bold letters that read “outbursts in inappropriate situations”. As I scrolled through one article after another, I saw more and more information that seemed to match my son exactly. Disruptive physically aggressive behavior, the tendency to “lose control”, repetitive phrases and motions, difficulty taking turns in conversation, difficulty forming friendships, especially with their own age group, robot-like voice, flapping of hands, arms, and/or legs…I read on and on, and then I just stopped abruptly, cupping my hand over my mouth. It hit me hard, and I felt like I was going to vomit. The tears filled my eyes, and my face felt hot. I didn’t have an official diagnosis, but I knew it to be true, nonetheless. Could my son really be autistic? I talked it over with my husband, made an appointment with the Pediatrician, and began reading every type of literature I could get my hands on. It was time to find out for sure.

I had a habit of going into both my sons’ rooms, after they had fallen asleep, and praying over them as well as their future wives. I had done that for as long as I had been gifted my sweet boys. That night, I prayed a different prayer over my sleeping little Idan. I placed my hand on his head, closed my eyes, and through tears I begged God, “Please, God, please, be willing, take this cup…yet not my will, but yours be done.” I was completely distraught at the thought of raising an autistic child. I didn’t care at all that my load with him would be heavy and more difficult than I had planned. Hard work was something that I sought after. It wasn’t me that I was worried about, but him. Would he be able to fall in love one day? Would anyone fall in love with him? Could he ever be the type of loving and attentive father that a little boy or girl might one day need? Would he ever want or like kids? Would anyone be able to look past his struggles and want to be his friend? Would anyone ever want to genuinely spend time with him? I love him so very much, and I dreaded the thought of other people not loving him too. I had to leave the room, because my tears turned into heaving sobs, and I didn’t want to wake him.

That Friday, I took Idan out for peppermint cocoa before his doctor’s appointment. I shouldn’t have gotten angry at the barista when she called it “mint cocoa”, but she didn’t understand. I told Idan we were getting peppermint cocoa, so that’s what he expected. When she said “It’s not peppermint, it’s just mint…” She had no idea that she just flipped my son’s world upside down. It seems like it would be no big deal. Any normal-minded person would shrug it off and say, “Mint-peppermint: same thing, just gimme the cocoa.” Not my Idan. It took us 15 minutes just to reset before entering the doctor’s office. I tried singing to him, but he covered his ears. I tried talking with him, and he screamed. I tried touching his hands, but he pulled them away, throwing them up and down. He began to shake his shoulders back and forth in some sort of Thriller meets the Shimmy dance move that was neither hip nor cute. People walked past the car and stared. I closed my eyes and breathed through the stress. There’s no calming him down when he gets like that. You just have to wait for it to pass, and it always passes.

Some people are meant to be in your life for a season, some for its entirety, and some for only a split-second. I truly feel that God gifted our family with the perfect pediatrician at the perfect time. Although she confirmed my dreaded thoughts, she assured me that my son’s affection was genuine, and that it was something that could not be learned. She could see the effort of thinking that had been put into his actions. She could see the random head movements and arm flapping. She heard what I was saying, and didn’t dismiss a single word. I could feel the shakiness in my voice as I tried to remain calm, assertive, objective, and clear with my concerns. Instead of taking me seriously and being just as objective, Idan’s doctor used her Pediatric wizard magic to break through the BS and embrace the suck of it all. She said to me through her thick, Indian accent, “You’re a good mom and a good person, and I like you very much. Your faith is going to get you through this,” and then she hugged me and held me close as she said, “It’s going to be okay. Okay?”

She was right. It is going to be okay, because Idan is okay. He’s just different. I watched a movie recently, called Temple Grandin. It’s about a famous autistic woman’s story of her genius abilities, and how she overcame people’s misunderstandings in order to make the world a better place. Her mother dealt with the difficulties that came along with her daughter’s autism while teaching her how to function in society. Temple’s mom shared 3 amazing words of wisdom about her daughter that echo in my heart so loudly — “Different, not less.” That’s what my Idan is, and that’s what every person should be considered, as well. My eyes have been opened to a whole new world, and it’s not what I ever imagined my life to be when I was painting my dreams in my head. Everything is changing. Everything is different now. Different, not less.

These past few months have been challenging my family in a whole new way. I have been spending a lot of time thinking, worrying, praying, researching, talking, meditating, adapting, ignoring, learning, growing, trying, failing, crying, and staring…I spend a lot of time staring. When it looks like I’m just staring, it’s usually because my brain is busy doing all of those other things simultaneously. It’s taken a lot of spiritual and mental preparation in order to bring me to the point of writing all of this out. It’s amazing how much your outlook on life can change when your perspective is forced to shift.

I remember the day that started me on this new path. I remember getting angry at my 5 year old son while sitting in the driveway. I remember closing my eyes and breathing slowly through the frustration. I remember feeling the hand of my 9 year old son resting on my shoulder. He understood my anger, saw that I was trying to calm down, and knew that a soft touch was an appropriate way to help ease me out of a stressful moment. I remember opening my eyes to see his look of empathy. I recall adjusting the rear view mirror to look at my youngest son. He was laying across the seat, staring straight ahead, expressionless. He had absolutely no clue as to the degree of frustration that was obviously painted all over my face. My white knuckled grip around the steering wheel didn’t seem to spark a single emotion in him. He was simply waiting for me to open the door so he could get out of the car and go inside. I’m sure you’re probably so confused right now. Why was I so upset? Clearly, my youngest son was just laying there quietly, and my oldest was comforting me. The puzzle piece that’s missing is what happened just moments before serenity settled in.

Idan asked if he could ride his bike. I said no, because it was raining. That was it. I said no, and his world crumbled. It didn’t matter that it was pouring outside, and clearly it wasn’t bike-riding weather. He began to flail his arms and legs all over the place. He screamed and wailed, and threw himself to the seat face down. Most parents would say something like, “That kid needs a good ol’ fashioned butt whooping!” But, it just isn’t the case with my Idan. He’s always been this way too, but it wasn’t until recently that everything began to make sense. Idan is part of the one percent world population born with Autism. I remember the exact moment that the thought dawned on me and the exact moment that it was confirmed by his pediatrician. Both were equally crushing, and as a mom I can’t even begin to explain the emotional roller coaster that it has been trying to come to grips with this new life chapter.

Over the past couple of months, God has been pruning my family and me, tailoring us to the different mold that He chose to use when creating Idan. It has been and continues to be a daily challenge for all of us, but I know that it’s nothing compared to the challenges that Idan faces with finding his place in this world that doesn’t make any sense to him. He isn’t broken and unable to function. He just sees and perceives the world differently than most people do-99% of the world to be more precise. His nerves, emotions, and senses are all wired differently than an average person. Everyone has their own way of coping with feelings of anger and disappointment. My husband reacts by searching for a solution immediately. I like to talk about how the problem is making me feel. Cole likes to find and place blame. These are all socially acceptable and commonly found behaviors. Idan’s feelings are displayed through tearful meltdowns and body movements, referred to as stimming (The term “stimming” is short for self-stimulatory behavior, sometimes also called “stereotypic” behavior. In a person with autism, stimming usually refers to specific behaviors such as flapping, rocking, spinning, or repetition of words and phrases). Stims are not something that can be trained away. Trying to tell an autistic person to stop stimming is like trying to tell anyone not to blink or sneeze. It’s a crazy thought to try and force someone to do or stop doing something that comes perfectly natural to them, and I never understood that until God began to teach me through Idan.

Now that I’ve gone through all of the emotions accompanied with the realization of Idan’s workmanship, I’m prepared to do whatever it is that God has in mind for me, as Idan’s mom, Cole’s mom, other parents of Autistic children, and the population of folks who don’t understand the world that people on the spectrum live in. The biggest thing that I’ve come to grips with so far is that although our family is adjusting to suit Idan’s needs, we still each need to express ourselves in the ways that we have been individually and specifically designed. My husband makes and executes plans, Cole draws and sketches. I talk and write. It’s the way that we operate. I need to write through all of this, and I need to know that I have a community of support that is ready to listen and walk through this with me.

I have so many people who are there to offer suggestions and helpful advice, and we are going through the process (lengthy and time consuming process) of receiving medical assistance for Idan. I am the research queen! So believe me, I’m reading articles, watching videos, and educating myself and my family on how we can make Idan’s life easier to manage. We have an overload of ideas and thoughts and dietary changes and textural modifications going on in our home on a daily basis. We are slowly learning Idan’s specific place on the spectrum, and each new milestone is something that takes lots and lots of planning and executing to achieve (grateful for a husband with these gifts). So, we are in excess of ideas and information right now. What we need most is listening ears and prayers for energy and gentle patience to be displayed through our faces and actions. Idan is still a 5 year old boy, after all, and he still has a very important big brother who doesn’t need to be lost in the mix. Now that that’s all been thrown out there, I will be posting periodically on the progress of our family’s growth. I know that God has hand-picked each of us for such a time as this.

Embracing the Crazy,
Cathi

I got my start with Teen Ministry back in 2007 at a Baptist Church in central Texas. My husband was on a deployment (when isn’t he, right?) to Iraq during that time, and I had just made it though my first holiday season without him. A few Sunday mornings in a row, my eyes were drawn to a specific sentence that had been printed inside of the church bulletin. In bold letters it read: “Youth Group in Need of Host Homes for Small Groups!” After reading this several weeks in a row, I decided to raise my hand and volunteer our little 3 bedroom 2 bathroom house on Dorothy Jane. I was confused when the Youth Pastor interviewed me in his office and had me fill out an application to work with Youth. I didn’t ask any questions about it though, because I figured it was standard House Hosting protocol. When I checked the box on that bulletin insert, I thought I was saying yes to straightening the living room and setting out chips and dip once a week, but God had other plans.
It has been a little over 7 years since the first time I sat down with a few high school girls as a small group leader, and I still get the same butterflies when I get a new bunch of young ladies eager to learn about Christ. It’s funny to watch their different personalities blend together to form a camaraderie that, I know from experience, will be forever etched in their life story. I also find it quite amusing to see the comparison of one girl, from central Texas, to another in a completely different state, and again to another in a separate county. The even more entertaining correlation is that every single girl, from every different walk of life, looks like a piece of my reflection.
One thing that just comes with the territory of teen ministry is the sarcasm and wit of those spunky young mouths! I’m used to being teased and picked on for my pink hair, white girl dance moves, and post-surgical laugh. Comments about my inability to catch a frisbee or ridiculous parking jobs are usually expected. My most recent group of teenage girls caught me off guard though. Now, I pride myself of my quick wit and ability to drop any jaw with an off-the-wall comeback, but this question stumped me. One Tuesday night, I was asked, “Who is your favorite?”
I have thought about that question for months now, and I know that all of the other girls have too. If I was to even try and pick just one girl to be at the top of my list, that would be a mighty long list to choose from (You’ll see). And then, I think of when I was a teenager. Was I anyone’s favorite? Probably not. In fact, I’m sure that I wasn’t. And then, I wonder why wouldn’t I have been someone’s favorite? The things about my teenage self that I’m ashamed of or thought of as annoying…I find them charming or humbling in my girls. So, maybe I was someone’s favorite. And yet, probably not. It’s amazing how this question has haunted me and made me think. It’s amazing how God has taught me through teaching these girls.
So, after months of thinking and considering, I decided on my answer to this horrible question, and that is that YOU are my favorite. At the very moment that I am looking you in the eyes, I am seeing teenage me, in desperate need of someone to show me the love of Jesus. At the very moment that I am speaking your name in prayer, I hear someone saying my name, and lifting it up to the throne of God. At the very moment that we are sitting on my couch, staring at the pregnancy test, I see the person who stared at my test with me, judgement free and full of the forgiveness of Christ. At the very moment that you tell me you want to end your life, I see me, sitting in a puddle of tears with the very same thoughts. At the very moment that you share your stories of abuse, I see me, too afraid to tell anyone my own stories. At the very moment that you say nothing at all, I see me, unwilling to open up out of fear of rejection or a lack of trust. YOU are and always will be my favorite, because you are the teenage me that needed someone.
All of my girls – past, present, and future – this is for you. Thank you for sitting on my couch and allowing me into your hearts and lives. It is a privilege to be a part of your life story, and I look forward to watching you all grow to become the someone else’s someone with your own group of girls, year after year. No matter where you are in life or where you go, I think of you and pray for you often!

My Favorites (in chronological-ish order):

Caitlyn C.
Amanda
Mary
Christyn C.
Alyssa
Sonya
Jaime
Elizabeth
Nicole
Kelsie
Meagan
Hannah D.
Chelsea
Haley
Autumn
Kira
Madeline
Amelia
Aleigha
Colleen
Rachel
Whitney
Karley W.
Brooke
Lehren
Hannah B.
Carly C.
Lauren M.
Morgan
Abby
Erin
Shelby
Hannah C.
Kenzie
Amber
Rebecca
Emily H.
Hannah S.
Paige
Emily D.
Carley G.
Stacia
Courtney
Chloe
Hannah B(squared)
Leire
Mikayla
Sara
Lauren W.
Kendall…. Faith, Laura, Rachel, Becca, Missy, Ashley H, Sammy, Alyssa F, Hannah W, Sam S, Shelby W, Emma, Amber

“I thank my God every time I remember you. In all my prayers for all of you, I always pray with joy because of your partnership in the gospel from the first day until now, being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.”
-Philippians 1:3-6

Cathi