"I tell you," says Jesus, "though he [God] will not get up and give him the bread because he is his friend, yet because of the man's boldness he will get up and give him as much as he needs" (Luke 11:8). 

Okay, let me be bold and persistent in my asking: please hear my prayer, Almighty God, and grant my son a full recovery in the coming school years, that he may function socially, spiritually, emotionally, intellectually, at high levels and learn to speak, and speak well. 

But in my boldness, I also ask: If you are willing to heal, then why do you allow such a thing as autism in the first place? 

Jesus answered, "It was neither that this man sinned, nor his parents; but it was in order that the works of God might be displayed in him" (John 9:3). 

It is hard for me to understand your will, but please help me to accept it. Not my will, but Thine.

Had a meeting with the Special Needs coordinators at the local elementary school this morning. The results of their assessment of Logan showed "severely autistic" traits. It is hard to hear this again. But at least they know now the level of his need, and they can be gearing up for his arrival, possibly next fall. They can be looking for "para's" (para-professionals, or extra helpers) with more training in ABA and they can be aware of the intensive methods and therapies that work for him. Lord, help us train him up and do right by this boy who has so much potential locked away. Help us to help him learn how to learn!

Jesus is in the neighborhood

"Jesus is in the neighborhood! Performing miracles and doing good." Today we were blessed by a little boy named Gary, 9 yrs old, who lives next door to my mom. As I pushed Logan past in the stroller, he ran along the fence, calling to his dad on the way, "Can I play with Logan?" The simple blessing of this boy reaching out to my son is beyond words.

He and Logan chased each other up and down the fort and slide; he'd try to tag Logan before he reached the top and then nudge him down the slide, then Logan would return the favor and give him the boot down, laughing all the while. I cheered them on and after Logan got his confidence up, he was nearly running up the ramp.

Then we three went out to feed the deer and look for Gary and his brother Micah's hideouts in the ravines and woods. We cleaned out litter like old beer cans and fast food trash tossed by drivers, and the whole way Logan climbed up the steep slopes, over fallen trees, and through brush and thorny bramble without hesitation. It was a great hike, and Gary kept talking to Logan during our whole visit.

When the girls came over, Gary pushed them in the swing and carried Elinor around and played so well with her that she cried when he had to leave. Gary, who had come over wearing flip-flops, told me he admired Logan's cool neon Nike shoes and that he was going to buy some like that with the Xmas money his mom would give him, adding that his parents were divorced.

During the afternoon, it also came out that Gary's B-B gun was broken, but I told him about a Daisy I have that's too small for me that he could use if his Dad approved. Thank you, Lord, for sending Gary to be our neighbor. It gave my son the chance to play like any boy among other boys. I only pray we can pass on that blessing.

The Director of Logan's clinic called Amanda and said he'd had the best week in the entire year he's been enrolled there. He is not only using ~50 words a day there, he is signing for things. Today at the playground, Logan signed that he wanted a drink several times to me. He also stayed dry for over 1.5 hours while we were out! At Mama Jean's he replied when Amanda asked what he wanted to do by making the sign for swinging, so they went straight out to the hammock. Afterward, she served him Butter Pecan from Braums and he said, "Ice...CREAM!" and pointed to each spoonful for another bite. On the walk home, we spotted baby calves in a field right next to us who huddled close to each other. Audrey asked, "Why are they hugging?" Logan repeated, "Hug!"

Mandy & I took Logan and Audrey on some adventures this Labor Day. First we dropped Elinor off with Mama Jean, and then we headed out to Natural Falls (film site of Where the Red Fern Grows), just 10 minutes from our house. 

We played on the playground, then set off on our hike on the trail that now crosses the creek and circles the small "mountain" beyond the dam. Logan fussed hard at the heat and not having stones to throw (this creek was strangely devoid of rocks) but eventually he accepted this hike for what it was and proved again that he's a natural hiker and climber. One part goes nearly vertical from the base of another creek crossing, and Logan found handholds on tree roots and rock outcroppings like they were simply a ladder going up. We enjoyed snow cones after we got back to the parking lot. 

After nap time (during which Daddy trimmed the hedges and tried cleaning the gutters), we then drove out to Flint Creek, where Logan found thousands of rocks to hurl down for that pleasing "ka-thunk" sound. We also used the inner tube to float by the falls and splash around, and all of us enjoyed twist cones before heading to Mama Jean's for baths and a tortilla soup supper. Thank God for a day of rest!

I remember a guest speaker at Harding one time, some kind of enterprising business leader, who talked about how he arranged his life to be a better Dad. He worked extra hard 4 days out of the week so he could have 3 day weekends with his family. His son was born with some kind of devastating condition, or so the doctors said, but daily he kept praying, massaging the baby's limbs and telling him reassuring words about his wondrous abilities and as the boy grew, he overcame the diagnoses. I've never forgotten that story.

More than anything, a child must know they are loved and cherished. I don't pretend that Logan's autism will magically go away, but I am sure he'll do better if he knows that he's wonderfully made. Yes, he is neurally and behaviorally atypical right now, but God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong. There are more important things than being faster, better, stronger, more graceful, or more clever (though we should all do our personal bests) and daily I'm reminded of that. There's a place and a purpose for everyone under heaven, and Logan was put here to bring glory to God. I know our Lord delights in him, and I do too!

Isaac Regained

Around noon, we had a scare when a bee stung Logan's lower back from inside his Avengers undies. Three years ago, he broke out in hives from 3 wasp stings, but that reaction never developed today, thank goodness (I'm surprised we haven't had more stings, as our place is lousy with bees this summer!). He did great with training, except for 1 big accident when I was preoccupied with fixing screens in the shed. Tonight he even knocked on his door after bedtime to let us know he needed to come out and potty; he kept his pull-up dry! On his Big Wheel, we got up to about 8 minutes of me pushing him, and his toes kept a vice-like grip on the modified pedals (wood blocks taped on so he can reach); it's another interactive thing for us, since I won't push until he complies with my mand of "feet up." He and Audrey love riding the tire swing in tandem, but I got strong eye contact alone with him on it, and he started saying "ready" along with me when I'm saying, "Ready? Go!" as I release the tire. All the time I've been able to spend with Logan this summer makes me feel I'm catching up on those missing years when our little boy was lost to us; there was just a whole phase of his toddler years when he seemed unaware that we existed. Now he takes me by the hand and leads me to the pool so we can have horseplay, or he climbs up, wraps his arms around me and pats my back. I wonder if this is how Abraham felt when God gave him back his only son?

The large fortune we are spending on Logan's therapy is a great mercy from God, training us to spend our time and money on things we should have spent it on anyway (lots of joint attention, home projects, crafts, and activities that foster togetherness, keener awareness of our example and the impetus to correct our own behavior toward each other and the kids), rather than on vanities, entertainment, and building bigger barns. In other words, we are paying a vast sum for something incalculably greater, which we could have gotten for free.

Life is so short; it's a huge blessing to be reminded with this daily cross of autism that only what we invest in the shape of our character, the seasoning of our speech, and the souls of our kids will endure; everything else will wither away with age.

Just when I think we've autism-proofed his bedroom sufficiently, Logan finds something else we need to remove or repair: in the past few weeks he has pulled the packing tape off his light switch (so he can turn his light on in the middle of the night), pulled the makeshift drape off his bookshelf to raid it and tear out pages of his favorite Bible story book, pulled all 1000 powder-blue and flower-scented diaper sacks into a great heap all over the floor, disassembled his closet shelf, pulled off his closet door, pulled out and broken the drawer under his crib/bed, and stuffed things down the floor vent (I haven't figured out a way to keep the vent cover attached to the carpet). I walked in his room and caught him in the act of trying to shove his white noise machine down the A/C shaft, and so I reached my arm down in there to see what else might be lurking and pulled out a nice Buster-brown type of dress shoe that has been missing on Sunday mornings.

Autism and Life Choices

I will say something about autism just a few paragraphs down, but first a few thoughts about the nature of life choices.

At the recent C. S. Lewis & Inklings conference up at Taylor University in Upland, Indiana, Alan Jacobs of Wheaton U. spoke on the current trend in fiction dealing with multiverses and infinite choice within parallel worlds.  Jorge Luis Borges gets credited for starting this phenomenon with his 1941 short story "The Garden of Forking Paths," and you see it now in all kinds of popular movies and books.  It appeals to this generation because it makes each choice in life seem less momentous and consequential.  The idea is that somewhere out there, another version of the protagonist (or me, if I am quite fond of this mode of thinking) could just as easily have chosen the other door, or the other job, girl, reaction, etc.  There is not quite as much at stake if this is only 1 of all the possible incarnations of me.  (I took lots of notes on his talk, but right now I've misplaced them.  One good quote from a philosopher was something like "It is possible to choose nothing; what is not possible is not to choose.")

One thing Jacobs said that struck me is that when you're young, you think of all the things you'd like to do or become, and the younger you are, the more of them you think you might possibly do, if not all of them (why not be a singer in a rock band AND a missionary AND a professor AND a family man AND a writer AND on and on, given enough time).  But the older you get, you begin to realize that each choice you make in life begins to preclude other possibilities, as you devote yourself to narrower and narrower concerns, interests, and obligations.  It reminds me of a G.K. Chesterton quote used by our pastor to the effect of:  "In order to do certain things, you may not do other things."

I recently watched "The Horse Boy" film, and I was shocked when I looked it up afterward to find that it was a true story, and that the actual father, autistic son, and mother were the ones in the film and not actors.  I had thought it was just a story based on current hoopla about autism, but these people actually filmed a documentary about their trek to Mongolia to seek a cure for their son's autism symptoms.  In his case, some of the severe tantrums and bowel troubles went away after meeting a shaman of the reindeer people.  

I don't believe necessarily in any inherent miraculous properties of medicine men or mongolian ponies or reindeer, as much as I believe in the power of families banding together and purposefully dropping everything to pursue "togetherness" and putting the relationships first, dropping our private agendas and ambitions, and truly seeking to connect with a lost child, one who is locked within himself.  I'm not sure it matters exactly what you do together, as long as you choose to go all out with it, get radical, and change your orientation to all of life.  I think it helps if you share a passion like horses with your son, or anything that he seems also to bond with.  They say for some autistic kids, dogs have a similar effect, but it could be anything.

Logan's autism has been a tremendous blessing to our family.  I agree with other fathers like the one in that movie who say they have become a far better father because of autism than they ever would have been otherwise.  One expert interviewed in "The Horse Boy" said that parents of autistic children, before they come to the point of acceptance of this condition, must usually go through a long grieving process that can take years.  The grief comes from gradual realizations that one after another dream has been lost or denied because of the autism.  But she also said that if the autistic child knows that the parents accept their condition and love them as an integral part of the family, it can help them greatly through life.

Autism has made me more conscious every day of how short my life will be.  Autism fosters constant vigilance in a parent.  It strips life down to basic essentials, and you have to be on top of your child's situation, proofing your home and being aware of where you child is and what he's doing most of the time, to prevent his injuring himself or the functionality of your home furnishings and appliances.  While he's at school and bedtime are about the only times you can let your guard down and relax.  While this can cause one to forego many other pastimes or professional opportunities, in many ways it brings a deeper appreciation for things of ultimate value.  It is also good training for efficiency and focus.  It forces me each day to look at how I'm using my time and to make careful choices:  "To do certain things, I may not do other things."  So I prioritize each day to take care of the urgent things first, then work on important long-range things, and trim out the trivial.

Those were some of my meditations today.  I've given up on the rock star thing.  But once in a while, I'll burst into song. 

Applied Behavior Analysis Offers Hope, Tools to Parents, Teachers

An article that relates a little part of our journey. Thanks, Becky Butler Lambert, for sending me the link. Thank you, Amanda Himes, for doing this interview. Thanks, UA, for promoting awareness, and thanks Beth Hayes McKee for bringing ABA therapy to our neck of the woods! And thank our God for Logan's progress -- he's come so far since August.

http://coehp.uark.edu/colleague/10988.php

A Chat with Danny: Autism as God's Mercy

J: Danny, we have been potty training Logan all week long. It's exhausting, but I feel closer to him than ever. 

D: no problem -- I've been reading all of your postings and your struggles have been in my thoughts and prayers for a while

J: Do you know, I feel that Logan and his autistic condition is 1 of God's most merciful acts in my life?

D: How so?

J: It gives me REAL practice in daily taking up a cross. I have been far too selfish all my life to really try.

D: I think you are learning the true nature of Christianity, constant service to others that causes you to lose your own identity, but ironically giving you a sense of purpose (as Jesus said, only when you deny yourself do you find yourself, or something along those lines)

J: God gave me this to get my attention when nothing else worked. I actually remember asking God while we waited for this 1st child to be born, that if we had a child with any kind of disability, that it would be something like yours, Danny, [hearing impairment] because you were such a dear friend of mine, and you made such a difference in my life.

D: Thanks. I wouldn't have known if you hadn't told me. But you did more for me by your persistent effort to get me to attend church, and my identity as a Christian is due in large part to your consistent effort and especially unconditional inclusion into your circle of friends. I still remember you writing a letter in 4th grade asking me to join you and Antony in some kind of venture (a movie club?)

Especially in high school, I was poised to move in a non-Christian direction, but you were a positive influence, reminding me and grounding me in my Christian faith

J: Thanks, Danny, I love those memories! I still think of Anthony's friendship too as golden years. So much creativity back then. But you confronted me with such logic when we were kids. You helped me see that I was not treating others right. you helped me more than anyone to judge my own behavior just as closely as I judged others'.

D: it was a formative, mutually enriching relationship and I can only pray that my kids will have something similar

J: I think often about our weekend trips to Ivanhoe. Your parents were so kind and generous. That example has stuck with me. And we did so many fun things at the lakehouse. I will never forget that.

D: great times! hey, what a great conversation and especially a treat to have a live conversation! I need to go to pick up Taylor at a birthday party. But let's do stay in touch! Tell Amanda I said hi! I don't think I've seen her since the wedding, but hopefully our paths will cross someday!

J: Danny, thanks so much. I have missed you over the years, but I know always that you're in God's good hands. Take care, brother!

Logan, this is what we see in you

Logan, as you miraculously acquire new abilities where there were none before, I see a fine and noble and sweet and forbearing spirit.  And it reminds me that all your outward symptoms that interfere so much with daily life -- even though we are learning a great deal through them and even because of them, like being reforged through a fire -- those things do not define you. 

When I see your personality emerging beyond the autism, here's what I see:

Behind the stubborn refusal to request desired foods or juice with words that you do indeed know how to say, I see a strong-willed spirit that would rather not waste time when you know that I already know what you  want.  And I see a sweet smile as you hand over the peanut butter jar, or lift the sippy cup to my lips as a sign, or hold up the Nilla Wafers box. 

I also see a wholesome desire to do it for yourself, as you try for the umpteenth time to get the snack off the shelf and open the package, rather than depend on us to do it for you.

When your little arms flap and you hop around the room or use your crib as a trampoline, making enthusiastic but inarticulate moaning sounds, I see the light in your eyes and I know that you have more happiness and joy than your little body can contain or express at the moment.

When you come over to Elinor's high chair and just gaze at your little sister with a slight smile, or when you sit patiently in the tub sharing the bubbles and bath time with her, or when you watch a cartoon standing beside her or let her crawl over and tap on you with a toy without rejecting her attentions, I know that you are beginning to accept her as part of our family and not just another source of irritating high-pitched squeals and cries that wreak havoc on your ultra-sensitive ears.

When you squirm and giggle hysterically as we try to put on jammies, you are anticipating with great hopes that we will rough-house with you and turn this time of attention into a gymnastics session of flipping and tumbling and climbing over Daddy's back.  Those times of happy rough-and-tumble are all too infrequent in your estimation.

When you constantly run off into the aisle during the interminable 10 or 15 minutes of announcements at church, making distracting vocalizations during prayers, I know you are simply eager to begin a 1-on-1 session with a sweet volunteer who generously is giving up their worship time to interact, play, and teach you all kinds of social cues.

Even when you have a mishap in your diaper at nap time and make a mess of your crib, through our tears of frustration and bewildered anger, we know that your Houdini tricks of escaping any and all hindrances (no matter how many overalls, extra layers, or safety pins we put on) reflect your ingenuity when it comes to basic bodily comfort and changing your environment.

When you pat my back gently but heartily as I sing you a lullaby at night, I know that you are returning the affection and expressing your thanks and approval.

When you climb up eagerly into the stroller, or into the truck to go for a ride, or into the grocery cart to shop at Walmart, I know you are saying you're happy to go some where with Daddy, even if it means putting up with all kinds of sensory overload that used to terrorize you.  You are patient.  You are willing to put up with a lot and even learn to enjoy new things and get out of your comfort zone.

When you recite your ABC's or sing the entire first line of "Hushabye and Goodnight" as we try to make you sit down and not crawl up onto the dinner table -- even though we know it's a diversion tactic so that we'll praise you and momentarily suspend our rebuke -- we observe the sensitive, sweet voiced boy who loves music and has also learned the power of song.  When you sing, we are under your spell !

You are so much more than the sum total of your challenging mannerisms.  Those symptoms of the "spectrum" are obstacles that God has put directly in our paths, but those things are not you.  I see you working hard, I see you struggling to break through them, I see you overcoming against great odds, piercing through a gate of steel. 

I see you sometimes balking or even barking at the next hoop, but I know that in time you will jump through it because you know these are more than parlor tricks we are asking of you.  You know how much you are loved, and you are willing to go through the pain of change.  I learn so much just by watching you.  Thank God for you, my sweet son!