Autism and the Church: What I Want You to Know

The church that our family attends publishes a monthly outreach magazine, New Covenant, and they invited me to write a piece for Autism Awareness Day on what I would like the church to know about autism. Below is the article that will be in the April edition.

If you'd like to show your support for Autism Awareness day, start by reading the article and consider one of the steps listed at the end. Additionally, you could wear blue tomorrow, April 2, take a picture of yourself and post it on social media with the hashtag #TheStoryofJamesandLiam.

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April 2 is World Autism Awareness Day. Recognized by the UN, this day has been officially designated to bring awareness to autism and was established less than ten years ago. According to the most recent statistic released by the CDC, 1 in 68 children have been diagnosed with autism spectrum disorder, which is approximately 1% of the general population.

Autism is a neurological disorder that requires an individual to meet two main criteria: deficits in social communication and interaction and restricted or repetitive interests or behaviors. There is an incredible amount of misunderstanding, misinformation, and miscommunication that surrounds autism. So let me start by addressing a few things I, as the mother of two children on the spectrum, frequently hear.

·      Autism does not affect a person’s intelligence. In fact, the restricted interests that are a hallmark of autism sometimes allow a person with autism to develop an expertise in their area of interest.

·      People with autism look normal. There are no physical markers of autism.

·      Autism is a spectrum. Think of it like a sphere, for every axis of autistic-like behavior, a person could range from mild to severe with very little influence on the ways the other symptoms present.

·      Autism diagnoses are not flippant. Usually a team of specialists evaluates a child and uses a standardized and thorough diagnostic tool to arrive at their conclusions. The parents have most likely wrestled with a range of emotions that extends from grief and anger to relief and guilt. Please don’t take their disclosure lightly.

My husband and I have three children:  James is 6, Liam is 4, and Annia is 1. James was diagnosed with autism just before his fourth birthday and Liam was later diagnosed with autism just before his third birthday.

Autism for our family means big, squishing hugs. Wrestling in the living room. Star Wars trivia. So many school meetings. Endless paperwork. At least a dozen copies of the Handbook of Parental Rights from the public school. Worry. Release. So much joy. So much laughter. Public meltdowns. Avoiding birthday parties. Ultra-literal conversations. Teaching play skills to the boys. Teaching adult friends about autism. Rocking sobs and confusion. Walking the line of advocating for my children and giving teachers grace, recognizing that I am my children’s voice but that they are people, too, who are overworked and underpaid.

Above all, if there is one thing we want you to know about our kids it is this:

They bear the image of God and are loved fiercely by their heavenly Father.

This journey as the parents of kids with autism is amazing and exhausting. Sometimes it is lonely. Sometimes when we share about what our lives are like people respond by saying that they could never do what we do. I’ll be honest with you, lots of times this feels like people just don’t want anything to do with our brand of crazy. Hands up, walk away.

In Mark 1:40-42, Jesus heals a man with leprosy. Leprosy was a contagious skin disease that was considered religiously unclean. Touching a person with leprosy contaminated you according to religious law, which added social pressure to distance yourself from the problems of a person with this disease. Hands up, walk away.

In some circles a quirky person who doesn’t read social situations well, who blurts out with off-topic comments about their favorite subjects is considered socially unclean. Hands up, walk away.

But Jesus isn’t like the religious elite.  He didn’t recoil at the sight of this man who came to him to be healed. He didn’t walk away. For Jesus, the narrative was different. He moved toward this man with gut-wrenching compassion and he reached out to touch the leper. Hand out, pressing in.

Jesus could’ve healed this man and refrained from touching him in order to remain ceremonially clean. No one would’ve blamed him for that. In fact, people would probably still have been surprised if he had been willing to do that. But that’s not the example he left us with. It wasn’t enough to heal this man’s physical need; he also treated him like a person, restoring his dignity.

So if you’re wondering what to do, how to care for a family who is navigating autism, follow the example of Jesus:

1)   Pray about whether there are physical needs the family is facing that you can help with. Many children with autism struggle to toilet train and need diapers for well beyond a typical child. Many parents desperately need respite and have few people they trust to watch their children. Some families are overwhelmed by the practical and financial needs of multiple weekly therapies.

2)   Press in. Know that children with autism grow up to be adults with autism and that people with autism want to make friends they just are not sure how.  As these children age they will be in youth groups with your children and possibly adults in your small groups. Educate yourselves and your children on autism and make space in your groups and your hearts for people on the spectrum who may need a little more grace in social situations than you’re used to.

3)   Pray for peace. Pray that the parent and child will find some form of effective communication. Pray that the parents would have wisdom and the child will know and trust their parents’ love. Pray for unity between mom and dad.

4)   If you’re still unsure, ask the family, “How can I help support you? How can I pray for your family?”

When Jesus says, “Go into all the world to make disciples,” note that he said “all” the world; he didn’t offer exceptions for people with disabilities or the places you might be uncomfortable. Press in. Make disciples of those who have autism. Make disciples of their families. Most likely, these families are aching for your presence. Press in.

My Third Year Story

Scripture is full of third day stories. Third day stories are the ones where something really significant happens on the third day. In the story of Jonah, he is in the belly of a whale and on the third day he is coughed up onto dry land. In the story of Esther, she prays and fasts and on the third day she approaches her husband, the king, to ask for deliverance of her people.

Easter is the ultimate third day story. The other stories foreshadow the incomparable importance of Easter and the victory Jesus wrought over sin. Most of us are familiar with the basics of the story, but they are always worth repeating.

On Friday Jesus endured a gruesome execution. He knew what was coming and he went willingly, fulfilling all manner of prophecies about him. Of course the religious elite, who misunderstood the prophecies and were more interested in protecting their own power than in knowing God and ushering in his kingdom, were under the impression that they defeated Jesus on the cross. In fact, most people who were aware of Jesus' death assumed they had seen the last of him which is why Saturday was so bleak.

John Ortberg, in his book, Who is this Man?, says, "Saturday is the day your dream died. You wake up and you're still alive. You have to go on, but you don't know how. Worse, you don't know why... The problem with third-day stories is, you don't know it's a third-day story until the third day. When it's Friday, when it's Saturday, as far as you know, deliverance is never going to come." Saturday felt hopeless.

Then came Sunday. In each of the four gospels it is recorded that a small group of women arrive at Jesus' tomb first. They found his grave empty. That day, everything about the world and what they thought they knew changed. The prophecies about Jesus came into focus and our hope was restored. He conquered sin and death.

Ortberg also suggests that we live in a third-day world. We are still waiting for the ultimate deliverance when Jesus returns and the world is put back into good working order. We are still waiting for the end of pain and death and sorrow. While we wait we have three choices: we can engage in false triumphalism and ignore the pain that still persists. We can settle into despair, focusing only on the pain that remains. Or, we can acknowledge the pain and suffering while still trusting that deliverance is coming.

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Three years ago our lives were turned upside down. Our year from hell (written about here) started March 27, 2013, over Easter weekend. We lost a baby that weekend in miscarriage. That was only the beginning and the next twelve months only got worse.

That year I began to question God's goodness and why on earth I was still following him if he could let the events of that year, blow after blow, pile on without doing anything about it. God was so patient with my questions and demanding and I wrote here about his response.

In essence though, I died a little that year. I experienced death in my body. I experienced the death of some of my dreams. I experienced the death of the idea of the mother I always thought I would be. And in some ways, my faith died that year.

My faith in a God who rewards me for obedience died. My faith in a God who manages my circumstances because I've done my best died. My faith in my own ability to keep everything together died. My faith in my knowledge to raise my kids to be quiet obedient children died.

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This past year has been a pretty difficult one for our family. I've been in one-on-one counseling and my husband and I have been in counseling together. We have been working through some hard stuff. But I recently realized something...

For years I have been aware of the ways that wounds from my childhood affect the ways I interact with people but I haven't been able to do anything about it. I've felt helpless to do anything but explain to my close friends the source of my brokenness. Recently, however, I have found myself in different situations and realized in the midst of them that I was trying to control every variable so that I could determine the outcome. And in those situations I've felt an invitation from the Lord to lay down my burden of control and trust him to be who he says he is. (I wrote about one of those situations here.)

Why is it that all of a sudden I can choose to do something different when faced with the brokenness of my childhood? For what I think might be the first time, my sense of self is firmly rooted in what God says about me. I know who I am and, more importantly, the depth of God's love for me.

That knowledge, sunk deep down into my soul, has given me freedom.

It's given me life.

My story has not been a third-day story, but a third-year story. What started with death, pain, and suffering has now received a new beginning marked by life, and life that is full.

Even the Wind and the Waves

A few weeks ago our family piled into our van and made the drive to Sunday morning church. The process of getting all three kids, a diaper bag for Annia, backpack with diapers for Liam, my purse, and Nathan's iPad into church, through the kids' check-in kiosk and to their respective classrooms can be hectic to say the least.

This particular morning came after a hard week for Liam. The best I could piece together Liam was wrestling with anxiety and anger he didn't know how to deal with. He has always wrestled with meltdowns (that is, episodes of crying which may be triggered by an unmet desire but which progress far beyond a standard tantrum and into a place of fear and distress) but in that past week the meltdowns had increased in frequency and seemed angrier. That morning was not an exception to our tumultuous week and he had a difficult time entering into his classroom.

It grieves me to leave him when he is in such distress and our communication is still so frustrated that explaining to him how we are leaving him for just over an hour and will be back afterward is almost pointless. My heart was heavy as we took our seats in the sanctuary.

For a long time I have struggled to know how to pray for Liam. The thought of praying for a "cure" rubs me so wrong. I love him fiercely and autism is so much a part of who he is that praying for the autism to be gone doesn't sit well in me. My nose wrinkles and my stomach turns to imagine scrolling through my Facebook feed to see a viral HuffPost article that ends with me feeling like autism is demonic and it would be gone if I only had enough faith. But I do long for our communication to be better, I wish that I could explain more to him about our days and why I do things. That morning I felt the Lord inviting me to pray for Liam, to pray that he would speak "Peace!" over Liam's mind and heart just like he spoke peace over the storm in Mark 4. I spent much of the service praying for Liam and at the end I asked Nathan to go get Liam and bring him into the sanctuary so that we could pray for him.

During the next week, I was reading The Bible Study Handbook by Lindsey Olesberg (great book, highly recommend!), and at the end of each chapter was a chance to practice the skills of inductive Bible study on our own. I was surprised and intrigued when I realized that the passage she used to teach the audience how to implement the skills was none other than Mark 4:35-41, where Jesus calms the storm. I took it as an invitation from the Lord to sit deep in the passage and really study it.

That day when evening came, he said to his disciples, “Let us go over to the other side.”  Leaving the crowd behind, they took him along, just as he was, in the boat. There were also other boats with him. A furious squall came up, and the waves broke over the boat, so that it was nearly swamped. Jesus was in the stern, sleeping on a cushion. The disciples woke him and said to him, “Teacher, don’t you care if we drown?” He got up, rebuked the wind and said to the waves, “Quiet! Be still!” Then the wind died down and it was completely calm. He said to his disciples, “Why are you so afraid? Do you still have no faith?” They were terrified and asked each other, “Who is this? Even the wind and the waves obey him!”

I've always really sympathized with the disciples here. I imagine that they waited as long as they could before waking Jesus up and by the time they did they were seriously worried. What if they hadn't woken him up? At a certain point they probably would've gone overboard, right? I really can't blame them for being a little panicked. But Jesus does seem to rebuke them; why would that be?

In the chapters leading up to this passage Jesus has been moving around Galilee, teaching, healing, and casting out demons. He has been touching leapers, healing on the Sabbath, and basically turning every preconception of Jewish religiosity on its head. The people are asking each other, "Who is this man?" and, "What authority does he have?" Their preconceptions are being challenged but he has authority, a power that can only come from God.

After Jesus and the disciples make it across the Sea of Galilee Jesus meets a man who is possessed by a legion of demons. He casts the legion out into a herd of pigs. In Jewish culture pigs were considered unclean so if the people in the area were Jewish they weren't devout.

One of the important things to consider when you're studying the New Testament is whether the original audience would have been reminded of any Old Testament stories when they heard about what Jesus did. So I pulled out my Bible Background Commentary and it mentioned that Jewish audiences may have thought about Jonah.

• A prophet was asleep in a boat.
• God had called him to a people who were either not Jewish or not devout.
• People in the boat woke up prophet in a panic.

So in Jonah's story they call on God to calm the storm and it doesn't happen. In fact, the very thing the disciples feared most happened to Jonah, he was thrown into the sea! But not all hope is lost. God, the creator of the land and the sea, provided a fish. He provided a fish. This fish swallows Jonah and carries him to dry land where Jonah is vomitted onto the shore. Not glamorous at all. Blech. But it did get the job done. At the very moment when all hope seemed lost and the worst thing they could imagine actually happened, God was there and still in control.

I spent a lot of time mulling these things over. I prayed about what the Lord wanted to teach me through this passage.

When I am rocked by the storms of life and it feels like Jesus is not doing anything as long as I'm still talking to him I have two choices: WhereareyouJesusdon'tyoucarethatIamdrowning? or I know this man, he is Lord over earth and sea and wealth and want and HE. IS. GOOD.

And so I've been placing Liam in the Lord's hands. Praying for where we should adjust our schedules, how to communicate with him, and how much to say to his teachers and caregivers. But my crying out to the Lord for peace in Liam's heart is no longer tainted with worry and anxiety, at least not as frequently. Because now I know that even if things go sideways... Even if the worst things I could possibly imagine actually come true... I know who is in control.

And he can provide a fish.

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My job ended a few weeks ago. There were so many reasons it ended; the most important reason and the most urgent was that my body can no longer handle the physical demands of baking. My shoulder and back are causing me a good amount of pain and I'm under the care of multiple doctors to address them. In some ways I think the ending was part of the Lord's answer to our prayers for Liam because I am home so much more and his days are more predictable. But the ending was abrupt. We didn't, don't have a plan and due to my shoulder and back issues I cannot work in a restaurant or childcare setting which are my primary places of work experience.

We are waiting. We are crossing the Sea of Galilee in a small boat and waves of worry are breaking over it. Day by day, sometimes moment by moment, we waffle back and forth between calling out to Jesus, "Don't you care that we are drowning?!" and saying to him, "We know who you are and that you are in control. We trust you, show us where to row this boat."

And day by day, sometimes moment by moment, he is showing us where to go and how to row. I wish I could say that we are handling this perfectly and never experience anxiety. But that would be a lie. What I love, though, is that the Lord led me to this truth before I needed it, and now, when I most need it, it's there like a life preserver in the midst of a storm at sea.

I know this man. He is the the Lord, the God of heaven, who made the sea and the dry land. All things are within his control; even the wind and the waves obey him. He does care and he is good.

Missional Living: Our Move to West Greenville

Every month the church we attend releases a missions magazine they call, New Covenant. For their January edition they asked me to write a short piece on what it means to live missionally as they were focusing on the work being done by members of the congregation in a part of town we call "West Greenville." West Greenville is a poor, predominantly black neighborhood full of beautiful homes built in the 1920's and 30's. When urban flight hit Greenville, this section of town was mostly forgotten. Today, many people intentionally avoid this section of town, convinced by one-sided reporting that it is very dangerous. Below is the piece I wrote for New Covenant on moving into this part of town.

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When our family moved to Greenville in 2009, my husband and I focused on finding a place to live that was affordable and safe. Pregnant with our first son, being missional in our home’s location was not something we considered. We settled into a two-bedroom apartment and that cozy dwelling was the first home for our sons, James and Liam. After Liam was born I spent my days in that small apartment often alone and frequently feeling cut-off from the outside world. My husband, Nathan, is on staff with InterVarsity Christian Fellowship and his daily work in ministry involves leading college students to be missional. But where did I fit in? For most of my life responding to the Great Commission to “go and make disciples of all nations,” (Mt 28:19) has been important to me. The short-term international mission trips I’ve gone on have expanded my mind and my heart so that I burn to just go sometimes. But what could I do with young kids? Planning a trip to the grocery store felt overwhelming, how could I even think about planning a trip across the world?

Around that time I read a book by Helen Lee, titled Missional Mom, which explores what it means to live missionally during this season of life raising young children. Lee suggests that it isn’t necessary to pause the work of the Great Commission in order to focus on the four walls of our home. Instead, we need to change the ways we think about mission so that we can include our children, moving missional living from an individual endeavor to a family affair. This requires either that we re-structure our short-term mission trips to be family-friendly or that we look for ways to invite our children into mission with us in our local communities.

I still remember reading Lee’s book and coming to a certain line. It was on the left-hand page toward the bottom. She made a point about what it means to obey the Lord. When we say, I will obey you Lord, as long as my children are safe, it isn’t true obedience. We cannot put qualifiers on our willingness to follow where he leads us. “Sometimes our step of obedience as parents is to entrust our children’s safety to the Lord. Not recklessly, but prayerfully and thoughtfully.”

And as Nathan and I discussed this concept, the Lord moved in our hearts. Out of the box missionality converged with surrender of our family to the Lord.

We moved to West Greenville.

In many ways we weren’t sure what we were getting ourselves into or why we were doing it. We clearly felt the Lord moving us but we weren’t sure what the practical day in and day out would be like. I had grandiose visions of house parties and rapid transformation. I thought we were moving in as missionaries to “bring Jesus” to an unreached part of town. How naïve we were!

We purchased a house on West Third Street in November of 2012 after one year of renting in a different part of West Greenville. Many people in our neighborhood know Jesus and love him. Many are cultural Christians. Many are saddened by the ways that part of town feels forgotten.

If I’m honest, I still struggle with looking beyond the four walls of my home because if anything, the needs of my children have only increased in the three years since we moved here. We are the only white people on our street and living here has made us confront prejudices in our own hearts we didn’t know we had. We have turned to the Lord in the midst of those and he has given us profound love for our neighbors; in fact, the only Kingdom growth I know for certain that has come from our move has been in us.

Living missionally has been a process of humbling and surrendering ourselves to the Lord. It hasn’t been about dramatic changes or showy sacrifices but about following Jesus, step-by-step, wherever he moves us. For some, that obedience takes us across the globe. For others, it takes us across town. Still others are simply being called across the room to love an acquaintance by the grace of Jesus. This act of surrender is the same for parents as it is for professors. The same for health professionals as it is for office executives.

Where might Jesus be calling you?

Liam and me, the day we purchased this house

Liam playing at the community center down the street

On Releasing Control: my son's autism and all the feelings

I sat on the floor staring at him. Liam was crouched in a corner clutching a drink cup. My heart hurt. He wouldn’t let me close to him while there was even a sip of his precious beverage remaining but once he had finished he popped up and ran to join his brother in the back room to watch television. As music from Curious George drifted through the house my tears came. The tears grew into sobs and I sat in my living room, letting myself have the luxury of a small breakdown. When the tears passed I lay down right where I was and drifted off to sleep for just a few minutes.

There is so much “expert” advice out there warning against sharing the hard times of parenting children who have autism. The fear is that one day the child will read what you’ve written and be hurt or offended. But the thing is, I love Liam so much my heart aches when I look at him. He is so often a joy to be around. He is silly and mischievous and playful. He has come so far over the last two years. Yesterday he was running around the house with his truck but partway through his solo play he decided he wanted James to join him so he found James’s truck, asked me to help him get it, then brought the truck to James so that they could race around the house. Two years ago I couldn’t him to pay attention to me for more than about 30 seconds. He is doing so well.

The morning of my breakdown we had a well-check for Liam. Despite how far he’s come and the progress I see in him, whenever I am forced to compare him to a typically developing four year old I am reminded of how wide the gap still is. We sat in the waiting room, the three kids and myself, balancing the clipboard in my lap attempting to complete the developmental survey for Liam that for most kids is perfunctory. Yup, yup. Suzie is doing all of these things. Yea, I’m pretty sure I saw her do that last week. It went a little different for me. No, he’s not doing that yet. “Liam, can you tell me which circle is the smallest?” Liam: blank stare at the the waiting room television. I guess that one’s a, “not yet,” too. In every area of the survey—communication, problem solving, social-emotional, fine motor, gross motor—he was below typical. In some areas, like motor skills, he may have had the skills to complete the tasks but not the communication ability to understand the task. To add insult to injury we couldn’t even complete the hearing and vision screens they usually do at the four-year well-checks because he can’t reliably label his letters. Then we spent what felt like forever waiting for the doctor. I had to breastfeed the baby while trying to keep the boys from breaking a limb jumping off the exam table or destroying the expensive medical equipment.

I left completely wrung out. Liam cried off and on the whole way home, angry that he had gotten shots. By the time we pulled in to our house both the boys were crying and yelling at me. I attempted to bribe them into the house with the promise of television. No luck. I poured myself a coke and downed it. I poured myself a second coke and re-attempted to bribe them. Success. James hopped right up on my bed to watch television. Liam came in and cried for a drink. I offered him some juice. He cried harder, great big crocodile tears streaming down his face. He picked up my coke took a sip. The tears slowed. I reached to take it back and he turned away from me, crying again. He ran into the living room and wedged himself between the couch and chair, everything in his body language screaming, “Don’t touch me!”

As he finished my soda the sadness and guilt pressed in on me. Sadness at the ways he is still so far behind. Guilt over letting him drink such an unhealthy beverage. Whatever you might be thinking of me for letting him have it, know that I was judging myself six ways to Sunday in that moment. I just didn’t have the heart to take it from him. I spent the morning confronting all that he can’t do. All that autism has denied him. In that moment, however illogical the rationale, I couldn’t take one more thing from him.

It’s been seventeen months since he was diagnosed with autism. The news caught me off-guard. He had been receiving services related to his speech delay for seven months and none of his therapists expected an autism diagnosis. I know that the label of “autism” doesn’t change one bit of the awesome kid that he is. He is still my sweet Liam, full of laughter and joy. But convincing my head that nothing has changed doesn’t necessarily convince my heart. I needed the chance to let myself feel sad about the delays Liam has. To feel sad and frustrated that I don’t know how to meet his needs or address his wants because our communication isn’t happening on the same wavelength.

For so long I’ve been stuffing my feelings, trying to convince my heart to feel whatever my head said it was supposed to feel. But that’s not working anymore. I want, I need, to let myself feel. Sometimes I feel angry. Sometimes I’m sad. Sometimes I’m happy or amused. So many times my feelings don’t make sense and I don’t want to apologize for that anymore. My feelings are my feelings. I know there are people out there thinking, “But! In your anger do not sin! Feelings should always be in submission to the Lord!” and those people are right… but in this moment I’m going to trust more in the power of the Lord to transform me—including my feelings and my thoughts—than I will trust in my own power to control myself. 

If that means that sometimes my feelings are a little out of control, so be it. 

That’s sort of the whole point.

What My Son's Autism Taught me About #BlackLivesMatter

I want to start by saying that having autism is not the same as being a person of color. The two experiences are apples and oranges. Quantifiably they are impossible to compare well and the point of this post is not to quantify anything but to draw some comparisons and share how my experience raising two sons with autism has opened my eyes to the reality of privilege in the US, the frustration of personal experiences being discredited or mistrusted because they aren't shared by the listener, and the emotional gut reaction to "one of our own" being a target of violence. These realities have been true of me in my journey as an autism mom and I think they are shared by many people of color. What makes these two journeys similar is that they are experienced by people on the "outside" (more on that later); what makes these two journeys different is too long a list to detail but there is one important difference that I want to highlight: autism is considered a neurological disorder. There is nothing disordered about black and brown skin.

Privilege is such a tricky thing to write or talk about. It carries an enormous weight of baggage such that the average listener can have a visceral gut reaction to the word. But it doesn't have to be that way. Acknowledging the presence of privilege is not to say that any one particular person is racist or exclusionary. For the purpose of this post I will say that it is the delineation between an event, service, or commodity being developed with or without you in mind (it is so much more than that, but this one aspect represents a way that autism families experience it). For instance, our family recently attended Vacation Bible School at our church. We reached out to the organizers to make a way for Liam, who has communication and potty training delays to be included; Nathan served in his classroom to be his personal helper. The event was not designed to accommodate an individual with Liam's needs so we had to work to find him a place. He would most likely not have been able to attend if one of his parents had been unable to volunteer, a demand which was not placed on most of the families who attended. On the first night VBS kicked off with a Family Fun Night complete with face painting, inflatables, and a shaved ice truck. Despite the work we had done to include Liam and both Nathan & I being present, that first night was a disaster for us and we had to leave early. Liam desperately wanted to go on an inflatable but the line was long and he was unable to tolerate the wait. Rest assured we are working with him to develop waiting and turn-taking skills but that was simply not the appropriate time to hammer in those still-developing skills. Afterward I suggested to one leader that in the future we provide "Special Needs Passes" for families that have kids with special needs. Such a pass would allow families to proceed to the front of lines. Such a pass would have allowed us to join the activities of that first night. Here's an example of privilege at work: the night was designed with the "typical" family in mind and since our family is not so typical it wasn't something we were able to participate in. Please know that the leader I spoke to about the special passes was very receptive to the idea. I know that some of these issues are growing pains and not the "fault" of any one person. WHICH IS WHY THIS IS A PERFECT EXAMPLE OF PRIVILEGE. No one intended to exclude our family, but without intentional effort to include our family, it was inaccessible to us.

I share pretty openly about my experience raising sons on the autism spectrum. Since ASD is so thoroughly misunderstood and misrepresented by the media people often have a hard time understanding the specific difficulties we face. In many ways the challenges of autism seem like exaggerated versions of the challenges all parents face. So when I share about the meltdown Liam had over his hair getting combed, it's not uncommon for me to hear something like, "Well, that's something all kids struggle with." On the surface, that's true. A child having a hard time getting their hair combed is not rare. But this is where a careful listening ear and some trust can go a long way. When I say, "meltdown" what I mean is that he was INCONSOLABLE. That morning we attempted to comb his hair for approximately 30 seconds. He cried the whole way to school and for at least an hour after he got there. Sometimes I feel this pressure to word things in just the right way, to share just the right stories or my experience as an autism mom and my role as their advocate will be discredited. I can't help but think that people of color must often feel similarly. We place a burden on them to educate us on what they experience then we don't really listen. We accuse them of pulling the "race card." We label them as the "angry black person." We discredit their experiences and their rights to advocate for justice and equality. It is so much easier for me to appreciate the reality that I don't have to share an experience with someone to validate it than it was before I began this journey as an autism mom.

The autism community feels pretty connected. When a child with autism goes missing we are the first to share Amber Alerts. We follow each other on social media to encourage one another and share thoughts and ideas. When tragedy strikes an autism family it reverberates through our community. So in the fall of 2014, just months after my boys had been diagnosed with autism, when there were a few particularly nasty instances of bullying against individuals with autism, I felt the fear and pain in my gut. During the slough of ice-bucket ALS videos, people went through the trouble of collecting a bucket of urine and feces just so they could dump it on someone with autism. A girl lured a fellow high schooler to a party so that her group of guy friends could gang up on him and beat him till he had a concussion. In the latter instance it seemed as though the people involved would not have charges brought against them for their hateful violence. My heart and mind cried out for justice. I felt sick to my stomach, full of fear and anger at the thought of that being my James or my Liam in 10 years. At around the same time the Eric Garner and Michael Brown cases were all over the media. And then I understood. At least in part. If people were targeting kids with autism and not being brought to justice and this was more than one isolated incidence.... I would be in the street. I might riot or tear something down. I would most definitely protest. I would make sure people knew. I'm not saying any of those reactions are the most sensible or moral things to do. I'm just saying I wouldn't stand for it. The Momma Bear in me would be wakened. I would be angry. And I hope, I really really hope that you would be angry with me. Would you stand with me? If kids with autism, kids just like my James and my Liam were being brutalized for no good reason with no legal ramifications, WOULD YOU STAND WITH ME AND CRY OUT FOR JUSTICE?

And this is why I have to speak out. This is why I have to stand up and say, "This is not okay. This is not right. I will not remain silent as this evil is perpetuated." Because for the first time in my life, I understand just a tiny part of the fear and frustration of a black mother. The #BlackLivesMatter movement is a cry for justice. I hear those words as a cry of pain and fear and anger, "We are being brutalized without justice. We can't, we won't continue like this. We are people and we matter." I speak the words as a cry of solidarity, "We won't continue on like this. You are people and you matter. This must change."

I have been hesitant to publish this post for a few reasons. 

1) I'm not a person of color so I really have no place telling you what they think or feel. 

2) I don't want my voice to keep you from listening to an actual person of color (for too long white people have adopted a savior complex that we can fix or save disenfranchised and oppressed people groups). 

I decided to go for it for a few reasons.

1) There are people who know my kids or other individuals with autism who can relate to my words but who have a hard time understanding the #BlackLivesMatter movement. This post is meant to invite those people in and share perspective.

2) What I really hope is that if you find yourself with a new understanding and wanting to know more, that you would begin to intentionally listen to the voices of people of color. Read their books, follow their twitter accounts (@austinchanning, @breenewsome, @mskathykhang are people I follow whose voices I value)

3) I have been afraid to write something as pointed and detailed as a blog post. Despite sharing articles and writing Facebook statuses I have been afraid of what the response to a blog post might be. I think that fear is based in what other people might say or think about me and not in what the Lord has to say about me or what he might be calling me to.