If God is real, and is in any way interested in my well-being, then I don’t GET him at all.
I got disillusioned with religion years ago due to various things – too many questions I couldn’t answer, feeling like I was somehow missing something, and mostly because of autism. I mean, what kind of loving God lets autism happen and babies get cancer and children be brutalized and killed, sometimes at the hands of their own parents? And if he doesn’t LET it happen, it just happens, then how is he all-powerful? But even with all that, either because of habit or fear, or some inner need I couldn’t articulate, I never could let go completely of the IDEA of God.
At times I was happy to wash my hands of church – no more rushing around on Sunday morning, more time to get stuff done that I couldn’t seem to get done during the week – not going to church seemed a wise choice, a mature decision. Other times I missed it – I missed the warm feeling of community, the hymns, the peace, the wisdom I gained. Especially at Christmas I used to long for those feelings again. But by and large, I let it go.
This is the South, though. Besides football and church, what else is there that gathers somewhat like-minded people together? What other ties bind us in community? Not much that I’ve found. So, I pondered. Years passed, and I visited a church here and there. I found that I could no longer sit through a sermon that taught, for example, that I was to be a good girl and be submissive to my husband. Ummm…no. Not to mention that my husband would have a big problem with that, having long ago told me I had a good mind and I should use it. Kudos to David for always, without question, assuring me that thinking for myself is not only a good thing, it is essential to becoming a whole person.
I digress.
After years of wandering and pondering, my dear friend Rebecca invited us to her church, where they are beginning a program geared toward families with special needs kids. It’s an Episcopal church, and though I have darkened its doors only a handful of times, it feels peaceful and…holy…to me. Set apart. I still have all the same questions and doubts (if not more) but, if I step back and just EXIST, it feels wonderful to be in that little church, reciting creeds and being given the Eucharist.
I don’t know WHY it soothes me, but I thought, why question it? Just soak it in, a brief respite, an island of peace in the turbulent river of the week. I don’t have to answer all the theological questions. I can just…BE. Stephen has been happy enough downstairs in the nursery, watching DVDs. In fact, he started asking two days ago, on Friday, for church. I led him to his weekly schedule in the hall, and showed him that the next day was Saturday, then, "Sunday – church!" "Church," he intoned, with a smile. Well all right then! Now we’re getting somewhere.
Until this morning. He began asking for Zaxby’s, and I told him (as per our usual Sunday routine) that we’d go to church, then we needed to go by Publix (admittedly not part of the Sunday routine but a familiar place that we often frequent), and then…Zaxby’s!
"No no no no no."
"But, we’ll put on shoes and go to church! Church! Fun!"
"Bye-bye."
"Yes, we’ll go bye-bye in just a little bit."
"Zaxby’s."
"Church, Publix, Zaxby’s, home."
"No no no no no."
I fixed his portable schedule up with those four pictures, only to be told no again. And again.
Damn it! I should’ve known not to get so smug and self-satisfied. The kid who asked repeatedly for church now wouldn’t even get dressed to go. He cried as I was getting dressed – I thought, Fine, I’ll go…but no, it was way too early, and I didn’t want to aimlessly drive around. When he’s like this, nothing will calm him besides seeing me leave – because then, in his mind, at some point I’ll return with the desired food in hand, and that’s all he cared about today. I don’t know what the difference is. I don’t know why today, he balked. All my plans, compromised…again.
I don’t know what next Sunday will bring. Maybe this was a fluke. All I know is, the irony of FINALLY finding a place I feel comfortable, and perhaps even a little of that peace that passeth understanding, only to have Stephen throw a wrench into it all is more than I can take. I thought God helped with stuff like this? I finally ease out of my backsliding ways and show my face in a religious institution – I’m no longer throwing out desperate pleas for some higher power to help me, without setting aside time to at least be still – and this is the result? Maybe it’s the wine I’ve had at Communion. God must be a teetotaling Baptist and I have displeased him.
I was too upset to go to church anyway. I’m still too unsure of myself to go there, and possibly cry through the whole service. Instead I cried on the way to Publix, in the parking lot, and on the way to Zaxby’s. I’m quite proud that I didn’t push my cart up and down the aisles sobbing. I think that shows real restraint, don’t you? I mean, yes, I did completely ignore all the helpful Publix employees who said, "How are you today, ma’am?" I didn’t think it would appropriate to say, "Well, I’m completely distraught, on the verge of tears, and don’t know what to do next. Will you hug me while I sob? Thanks."
Sometimes, the pain welling up is so immense, I feel like I’m going to burst. The choices laid out in front of me are usually just differing degrees of yuck. What does the future hold? Eternal discord, living on the edge of a precipice – or placing Stephen outside our home only to worry about his safety endlessly? I discard both but have nothing to replace them.
We are increasing Stephen’s Risperdal in hopes that it will help to calm him – but it won’t suddenly make him understand abstract concepts, or gain the ability to reason or to understand reasoning.
Today I feel like God, whoever or whatever that might mean, is looking down at me saying, "Gee. Sucks to be you, huh?"
Yeah. Today it does.
