He was behind the couch the WHOLE time

Being at best a lapsed Baptist, and at worst a SERIOUS doubter, I got a chuckle over a bumper sticker I saw a year or so ago: "I found Jesus!" it proclaimed. "He was behind the couch the WHOLE time!"

Now, to some of my church-going friends that probably seems sacrilegious. I beg to differ...if we're to take God at his word, he's everywhere. Including behind the couch.

Okay, I'm stretching it a little, but my point stands. It's a funny bumper sticker, and it exposes the problem (to me) of literally looking for God. I find evidence of God, or a higher power, or whatever you want to call it most often in nature. I'm not alone there, I'm sure.

Recently, though...I had a revelation.

Thus saith the Autism Society of America in its letter to the people: you can find God...IN AUTISM! Yeah...not so funny, that one. At least not to me. Apparently some good God-fearing mother kept looking for help and support in dealing with her autistic son, and, according to Amazon: "Listening to the many preachers on TBN and doing Bible studies, she studied Scriptures to help her understand God's plan for her child's life." TBN? You gotta be kidding me.

I can find evidence of godly things in some unique places, I'll give you that. Reading a perfectly crafted sentence in a book...listening to my son's laughter...that autumn scent in the air when it starts to get cold outside...the barren, windy expanses of desert in the heat of Death Valley...but in autism? Oh, hell no. If I was into believing in the big bad guy from H-E-double hockey sticks, maybe I'd see HIM in the vile thing that is autism. When my child is beating himself over the head in frustration, or coming at me with fingernails clawing, or screaming and crying and I don't know why, it is impossible to see anything remotely reminding me of God. I apologize in advance to any of my readers who are upset by this. Don't hear me saying my child is evil...don't even think it!

I love and adore him, and treasure him. But this THING...this disorder that has taken over his life and mine? I hate it. I detest it. Some days I don't even want to see the word autism written out. And so, in my wandering, doubting way, I am very nearly offended by some other mother telling me I can grow closer to God via my son's devastating problem.

But hold on...I was raised to believe that we can glory in all things...all things work together for good, blah blah blah. Yes, I am a stronger and more independent woman because I deal with autism on a daily basis. Yes, I am bold and forthright when it comes to taking care of my children. But to say that there's a REASON for this? It makes me sick and I refuse to accept it. Because that's what it is, people, if we stop fighting and start "accepting." Nothing will change.

Another clever quip from Amazon: "Here are Scriptures to restore your hope, strengthen your faith and show you that God has a plan for your child's life. Scriptures to promise that God is listening to your every prayer, that He is watching the work and efforts being done on behalf of your children. Scriptures that will empower you to be strong and steadfast, reminding you that with God, nothing is impossible."

"God has a plan for your child's life." Oh, man. That one just sticks in my craw, sayin'? How is it supposed to comfort me that God PLANNED this? God planned that my baby would get the chicken pox from his brother, and that he would wake up this past Friday night crying and wanting me to scratch his little head? God planned that he would drive me completely MAD at my mom's, adjusting the color and tint and brightness of the TV in endless cycles, then screaming till I fixed it so he could do it all again? God planned that?

And this is supposed to be COMFORTING?

So, where does someone like me go for comfort? That's a tough question, and one I can't really answer fully. To be honest, the whole autism thing is really hard on a family, and on a marriage. You get mad, but there's no one to take it out on...so you take it out on each other. That's inherently wrong, but it happens. We find our moments...few and far between...we feel like a family when we manage to go to the park and get home without incident. That precious half-hour between when S. FINALLY goes to sleep and me falling asleep - I should treasure that time more. Every time S. says a word, especially when he actually communicates - that's a source of comfort. When my oldest son comes to tell me he loves me...on his own...there's another source.

We just hold on. To each other, to friendship when we can find it, to music, to books, to traveling when we get the freedom. We find god, or peace, or tranquility, in every tiny scrap of space and time we can.

"Though we might have precious little, it's still precious." ~N. Peart