It's been a while. Things have changed, yet they have remained changeless and somewhat void. I have always been intrigued by the seasons of my life, and the passage of time. This time, I am not sure if it is just I who have not changed - or the people, things, and circumstances around me? In some ways I feel changed, but it doesn't feel positive to me, so I believe I should look at the things around me to find some clues.
Most people think of spring when they break things down into seasons of time, of life and death, and of victory. Newness of life, rebirth, gentle budding of qualities yet unseen, beneath the raw and waiting earth.
Some start with summer, since it could represent freedom, fullness of growth, exuberance, perhaps. A child skipping rope is an inviting thought which signals summertime fun. Who wouldn't want to skip their way through life? So we linger with thoughts of summer.
A few may think of fall - the mature among us, those who love deep rich colors, perhaps the artists reflecting on their palette, and some who have lost a loved one recently and ponder their own mortality and the meaning of life. Still a noble season upon which to reflect.
Winter is not a starting point for many. Maybe a few avid skiiers, purists, the extremely traditional, or ginger-bread cookie designers. But I can't think of anyone else who would begin with this forlorn season if given a choice. Yet it seems to be my starting point of thought at the moment.
Since I last wrote, there have been innumerable changes with Michael and his autism. He is more peaceable now, more content, more "adult." We changed his diet somewhere back in middle school, and I never really know if that was responsible for the entirety of his changed nature, or if simple maturity and time factored into it. But I'll take it! He's a wondrous, beloved masterful mix of simplicity, honesty, giggles, and satisfaction these days. He loves school. He loves church. He loves family. He loves friends. He loves life. Wouldn't it be wonderful if it were that easy for us all?
Michael sees things in one dimension of love. There may be many dimensions he's seeing through his lens of autism, many of which I may never know or understand, but his language of love is universal and it has reached its apex of perfection. He forgives completely, restores fully, gives selflessly, loves exuberantly. So amidst all this peace and joy - why is my heart deadened?
In past blogs and thoughts, I am quite sure that I may have appeared to blame Michael for things "dysfunctional" in our family - from the sibling issues and behavior, right down to my career choices, personal health, and even spiritual life. Anything which was amiss was easy to attribute to the "family with autism" which outsiders will never understand. Yet now in this lifeless moment in time, a casual observer may think, "What's the problem? He's fine! How can you blame autism for ANYTHING you're now dealing with?"
I don't know. Really. But I'm willing to try in upcoming blogs. To explain, that is. Not to blame.
Control comes to mind. And the lack of it. With autism, and in all the formative years of Michael's earlier life before he transitioned into such a fine young man, one always feels out of control. There is an onslaught of powerlessness, the fear of living it, and the insatiable quest to overtake it. There are no answers to so many things, and it is endless and horrifying. Am I being melodramatic? No. I'm not. I promise. The years and years of begging and pleading with God to help, when little recognizable help came, lead one (yes, me! and probably hubby!) to begin to despair and to hope less. Now let's talk about this thing they call hope.
I am an ardent believer in Messiah Yeshua (Jesus) and He has always given me hope in a general way, and for my overall life and eternity. But sometimes not for the pieces of my life. Sometimes I feel totally separated from His constant love, as if I am the dome over the mantel clock which is part of the clock, but has nothing at all to do with the working of the timing mechanism, nor of telling time. I'm just a dome on the passage of my own life, waiting for someone to look at me and tell me what time it is. Wipe the dust off me on occasion, will you? Or I may fail to be useful in letting others know the time.
So back to the topic at hand - hope. Hope is the evidence of things not seen. Yet somehow in this winter-ish season in which I find myself, I don't have any evidence for so many things! The evidence must all be locked up in the evidence room, by the "powers-that-be..." and I don't have the authority to access them. There's plenty I don't see, however. I don't see the front of the grandiose puzzle I'm making of my life - only the backside of the pieces. I don't even know if I'm putting them together correctly! I need a view to the frontside of the pieces, where the designs lay.
Who will flip them over for me? Should I wait? Or should I demand that they be flipped? Should I throw them all up in the air at once, say a prayer, and see where they fall? Maybe this will help me to sort them out. Or maybe I should take up another hobby other than puzzle-making.
So this is where I stand. With a rehabilitated Michael, by some miracle, in my life and blessing me daily. He is the gift we had received years ago, never fully unwrapped until the recent exposed edges began to give away the nature of the present. I am thankful for the gift. But there remains - me. The perplexed and distant shape of myself, trying to be pieced back together. Funny that the logo for autism involves puzzle pieces. I honestly hadn't even thought of that when I began to write, tonight.
In hopes that the pieces will suffice for the puzzle-builder...and in hopes that I will find the Puzzle Maker to be Someone other than myself,
Most people think of spring when they break things down into seasons of time, of life and death, and of victory. Newness of life, rebirth, gentle budding of qualities yet unseen, beneath the raw and waiting earth.
Some start with summer, since it could represent freedom, fullness of growth, exuberance, perhaps. A child skipping rope is an inviting thought which signals summertime fun. Who wouldn't want to skip their way through life? So we linger with thoughts of summer.
A few may think of fall - the mature among us, those who love deep rich colors, perhaps the artists reflecting on their palette, and some who have lost a loved one recently and ponder their own mortality and the meaning of life. Still a noble season upon which to reflect.
Winter is not a starting point for many. Maybe a few avid skiiers, purists, the extremely traditional, or ginger-bread cookie designers. But I can't think of anyone else who would begin with this forlorn season if given a choice. Yet it seems to be my starting point of thought at the moment.
Since I last wrote, there have been innumerable changes with Michael and his autism. He is more peaceable now, more content, more "adult." We changed his diet somewhere back in middle school, and I never really know if that was responsible for the entirety of his changed nature, or if simple maturity and time factored into it. But I'll take it! He's a wondrous, beloved masterful mix of simplicity, honesty, giggles, and satisfaction these days. He loves school. He loves church. He loves family. He loves friends. He loves life. Wouldn't it be wonderful if it were that easy for us all?
Michael sees things in one dimension of love. There may be many dimensions he's seeing through his lens of autism, many of which I may never know or understand, but his language of love is universal and it has reached its apex of perfection. He forgives completely, restores fully, gives selflessly, loves exuberantly. So amidst all this peace and joy - why is my heart deadened?
In past blogs and thoughts, I am quite sure that I may have appeared to blame Michael for things "dysfunctional" in our family - from the sibling issues and behavior, right down to my career choices, personal health, and even spiritual life. Anything which was amiss was easy to attribute to the "family with autism" which outsiders will never understand. Yet now in this lifeless moment in time, a casual observer may think, "What's the problem? He's fine! How can you blame autism for ANYTHING you're now dealing with?"
I don't know. Really. But I'm willing to try in upcoming blogs. To explain, that is. Not to blame.
Control comes to mind. And the lack of it. With autism, and in all the formative years of Michael's earlier life before he transitioned into such a fine young man, one always feels out of control. There is an onslaught of powerlessness, the fear of living it, and the insatiable quest to overtake it. There are no answers to so many things, and it is endless and horrifying. Am I being melodramatic? No. I'm not. I promise. The years and years of begging and pleading with God to help, when little recognizable help came, lead one (yes, me! and probably hubby!) to begin to despair and to hope less. Now let's talk about this thing they call hope.
I am an ardent believer in Messiah Yeshua (Jesus) and He has always given me hope in a general way, and for my overall life and eternity. But sometimes not for the pieces of my life. Sometimes I feel totally separated from His constant love, as if I am the dome over the mantel clock which is part of the clock, but has nothing at all to do with the working of the timing mechanism, nor of telling time. I'm just a dome on the passage of my own life, waiting for someone to look at me and tell me what time it is. Wipe the dust off me on occasion, will you? Or I may fail to be useful in letting others know the time.
So back to the topic at hand - hope. Hope is the evidence of things not seen. Yet somehow in this winter-ish season in which I find myself, I don't have any evidence for so many things! The evidence must all be locked up in the evidence room, by the "powers-that-be..." and I don't have the authority to access them. There's plenty I don't see, however. I don't see the front of the grandiose puzzle I'm making of my life - only the backside of the pieces. I don't even know if I'm putting them together correctly! I need a view to the frontside of the pieces, where the designs lay.
Who will flip them over for me? Should I wait? Or should I demand that they be flipped? Should I throw them all up in the air at once, say a prayer, and see where they fall? Maybe this will help me to sort them out. Or maybe I should take up another hobby other than puzzle-making.
So this is where I stand. With a rehabilitated Michael, by some miracle, in my life and blessing me daily. He is the gift we had received years ago, never fully unwrapped until the recent exposed edges began to give away the nature of the present. I am thankful for the gift. But there remains - me. The perplexed and distant shape of myself, trying to be pieced back together. Funny that the logo for autism involves puzzle pieces. I honestly hadn't even thought of that when I began to write, tonight.
In hopes that the pieces will suffice for the puzzle-builder...and in hopes that I will find the Puzzle Maker to be Someone other than myself,
Elise
