What People Don't See

Today church was an adventure. I've been attempting to transition Ethan over to the toddler room, which is basically two and three-year-olds, as opposed to the baby room. Depending on the day, this works out okay or...not so well. Today was a not so well day. The reasons? Well:

1. I'm new to this and I need to learn how to educate people on how they can help Ethan and what some of the "pitfalls" might be. I think I need to write up some sort of reference card. One new reason I need to do this (beyond the obvious that the teachers need to be in the know) is that

2. Ethan is starting to "milk" my presence down there for all it's worth. It's like any kid that knows they can get away with stuff if mom is around as opposed to the level of respect they might have with a teacher. Hence, today I got lots of looks and smiles before he ran over to try to dig in the craft cabinet or play in the bathroom. He was basically waiting for me to go after him, and he'd start laughing when he saw me coming.

3. Whichever teacher is down there also has an impact. Today the coordinator expected a little more from the kids than other teachers do (wanting them to not play with toys but to sit and watch a Veggie Tales video, for example). This leads back to point #1. I need to find out what is expected of the kids, then communicate what Ethan can handle, and maybe we can meet somewhere in the middle. Yes, Ethan should be expected and can handle sitting at the table and eating a snack. No, he can't handle sitting for 10 minutes, coloring, and listening to a lesson. Not yet. We're getting there.

Thankfully after church I called the nursery coordinator and we talked about how we can work together to make this transition happen. I can't tell you how much this means to me. I can't tell you how much it means to be in a church where people have a heart to reach out and help parents and their children, especially those with special needs. Our church could do more -- so many churches could do more -- but I am thankful that the willingness is there, and more and more people I talk to are seeing what a benefit it would be to actually have a "special needs" ministry. The issue is always (as with everything) volunteers. It's hard enough to find regular Sunday school teachers! But I think we are onto something, and I want to do my part to help. With prayer, hard work, and with more and more people's hearts being open to how much this can make a difference, it will happen at some point.

I know when it does happen I will be at the forefront sharing my background stories, helping people to understand how much this can mean to a family. What always comes to mind is the image of me at 11 years old. We attended a small church in Springfield, and this was 25 years ago, when people weren't as knowledeable about autism or special needs in general. They didn't know what to do about my brother. And of course it was a small church and there weren't a lot of resources...but there wasn't a lot of care and compassion, either. People shunned us, stared at us, didn't even try to learn more and think about how they could help. I don't remember if my parents asked me or I offered, but I ended up staying home to watch Andy most Sundays. Either that or I'd go outside with him and we'd wander around in the small patch of woods behind the church. It was a weird responsibility to have (I can't remember why I was the one doing this rather than my parents) but there was a part of me so relieved to not be in that stifling place where people were so unkind and unfriendly.

The fact that that was a church, of all places, is just so sad to me. I think of Jesus, and the verses where he talks about letting the little children come to him. This man who kept the company of lepers surely meant all children. And yet his followers so often have not, well, followed, that example.

But I have to say this: one day about a year ago I happened to pop into the ladies bathroom in the basement of church during the middle of a service. I heard the voice of a little girl and then a woman's voice behind one of the stalls, gently instructing her. After a moment I realized the child was a sweet blonde-haired girl with Down syndrome, and the woman's voice was not her mom's but the pastor's wife. As I walked out after them and watched them head upstairs to the church foyer together, I realized what was going on. The pastor's wife had volunteered to watch the little girl so the mom could attend church. There they were, sitting on a bench while the service was going on beyond the double doors, looking at a book together. (Apparently, I learned later, this arrangement has been quietly going on for years. Every single week).

In that moment, I felt a very deep wound begin to heal, and a taste of bitterness that I thought I'd let go of dissipated. If they had looked up they would have seen me with tears in my eyes and not understood. It was as if, by helping the little girl, she was helping me. Somehow, a wrong had been righted.