Open Letter to a Friend...

In March of 2006, I was sitting in Bible study at church. I don't remember the subject, but the person teaching the class was discussing when God doesn't seem to be answering a prayer of faith for healing and the questions we might ask. A friend came up after class and asked me if I ever question why God hasn't healed Daniel. I answered her, "Not really." and she seemed surprised. I wanted to tell her all I meant by that statement, but time just wouldn't allow it, so I left it at that.

Later, though, I knew that I needed to explain to her what I'd meant, so I wrote her a letter. I won't include the entire letter because much of it is just giving her the background of our journey - and you've already read that here. But, I'll share the part that caused me to answer her with, "Not really."

"So, I thought about your question, and knew that I needed to answer it - I didn't want you to think that I believe I'm some super Christian with hyper faith that will trust God without anger, fear, doubt, disappointment, etc. I struggle with all those things from time to time - I don't know anyone who doesn't, if they're honest. But, over the years since Daniel's diagnosis, God has taught me a few things, and so those are the things that keep me saying, "Not really" when someone asks me if I question God. I want to share those things with you, since you asked. "

"As time passed, we started getting Daniel the help he needed, and he began to progress, I began to turn my attention from focusing so much on his needs to realizing that I had needs of my own. I'd learned to speak up for Daniel with the school systems, learned some of the special education law, learned to respond instead of react when he did something (most of the time), learned to have a little compassion for the snotty clerk at the store because I didn't know what she faced at home...so many things I'd learned. But, I'd not faced what was happening inside of me. I'd not asked God the hard questions because I'd been so busy researching and working for Daniel. I'd not really allowed myself to go through a grieving process.

I went throught times where I thought autism is part of who Daniel is, and I wondered if I prayed for his healing, would I be asking God to kill some vital part of what made Daniel so uniquely Daniel. I went from wondering if it was even okay to seek a cure to wondering why there was no cure out there. I didn't dare dream of Daniel's future, because I didn't want to see that dream shatter - again.

I don't remember when it happened, I don't remember how it happened, but at some point, God began to work in me. I began to be angry from time to time and to question Him. It wasn't always there, but it popped up sometimes. I began to wonder what the future held. Sometimes I cried, especially when I faced an important meeting with the school, and I feared what they'd tell me. Or when I'd get so horribly frustrated with him & want to tear out my hair, then would be so appalled at the horrible mother I can be. But, I also began to see tiny miracles in our everyday life. And somewhere inside me, God placed a "picture"; one night just this past summer I was sitting at the computer, reading the autism message boards, a place I'd visited so many times before in the past few years, and one woman's post hit me. She was questioning her faith and how God could allow her son to have autism - he'd just been diagnosed. I sat down and began to respond to her, and as I did, I realized that I was typing down the "picture" that God had placed in my heart & He was healing me of the hurt, fear, and disappointment. I told her that God is the Kaleidoscope Maker.

We've all looked through a kaleidoscope. I don't mean the cheap, dollar store version. I mean a good quality, glass kaleidoscope. There's nothing like them. At some point, God had taken the shards of what I saw as shattered dreams for Daniel, and had created from them a kaleidoscope of beauty that I could not have imagined possible before his diagnosis. You know when you look through a kaleidoscope, you turn it, and the design created is so beautiful that you stop and look at it for a while? Then, you turn it and another design emerges, and you wonder if this one is your favorite, and how could the next one possibly be better? Then something happens, and you find yourself turning the kaleidoscope again, and yet another pattern falls into place and while you miss the old pattern, you realize it's gone forever and this one is quite beautiful, too, and maybe IT is your favorite after all?

Well, that's how autism is. And that's how God is with autism - or any shattered dream. I look through the kaleidoscope at the beautiful thing that God has created of my shattered dreams. I see progress in Daniel and growth, and a beautiful hope fills my heart. Then, I see a new behavior, some not before seen symptom of autism begin to manifest in Daniel, and I know that as he grows, he'll progress and regress until in early adulthood he'll settle into the level of functioning he'll carry his lifetime. The pattern in the kaleidoscope changes - no less beautiful, but different. Oh, maybe I like a little more green or yellow in the pattern than this one has, but I can't deny that the colors are spectacular as they are, and the pattern is exquisite and intricate. Without God's Hand in it, though, it would just be broken glass in a tube. Do you understand what I'm saying? It's God's Hand that makes it beautiful. Because I trust His Heart for Daniel, I trust that however the pattern turns, He will make it into something beautiful."

To be continued.....