Have you noticed that it’s easy to trust when everything’s going well? That’s when you feel there is a loving God. That’s when you know the Universe is on your side, and you are in the “zone.” Then — LOOK OUT! — a wrench gets thrown in the works. And suddenly God is not so loving, the Universe is out to get you, and that zone is some far-off place that has no relation to you.

Welcome to my week.

Blue Eyes and I have been quietly celebrating a thinning fog in Joseph’s brain. No one other than his mother(!) has ever called him smart before, but in the space of a few days one of his teachers told me he was intelligent, and another said he was obviously smart. This is, I believe, a direct result of that thinning fog. Joseph is thinking more clearly, speaking more lucidly, and understanding more quickly. So yeah, that loving God was showering his favor on us.

Then came not one, but two, wrenches.

First was our beloved RDI Consultant. He has a disability that he has courageously battled since he was a child. He called the day before our consultation to tell us the disability was looming large in his life and that he needed to go for some major surgery. Said that this may be the end of his role as a Consultant.

If you haven’t had someone come in and make a huge difference in your autistic child’s development, you may not get the impact this had on me. First I cried. Then I prayed — hard — for trust.

Oy. Trust. My whole life I’ve had a hard time trusting God. Trusting that there is some grand plan in execution beyond my limited vision. So I cried and I prayed and I cried and I prayed.

A few days later, I heard Joseph in his room at 4am, crying. When I asked him what was wrong, he said his left leg was killing him. Blue Eyes woke too, and together we massaged his leg, gave him pain killers, applied heat, and tried whatever else we could think of to help ease the pain.

Joseph was in agony. He couldn’t get off of his bunk bed, so Blue Eyes had to carry him down, Joseph screaming with pain. We had a trip to the doctor’s, a trip to the hospital for x-rays, and a later trip to the hospital for an ultrasound that evening. In between visits Joseph (and I) cried about this mysterious, vindictive pain.

I had to drive directly from the evening visit to the hospital to meet someone for a work consultation. My head was NOT in the right space to meet with this man, and I didn’t do my best work. So I’m driving home, completely exhausted, and — guess what? — praying, once again, for trust.

That’s when God spoke to me. This, s/he said, is how one builds trust. Facing frightening challenges and actively trusting again and again. Day by day, or moment by moment.

Then the radio started playing  a song:

Strength will rise as I wait upon the Lord. Wait upon the Lord, I will wait upon the Lord.

Whatever caused Joseph’s pain, it has cleared up now. The tests found nothing. The doctor is guessing a twisted muscle.

Whatever else it was, it was also a  great gift for me. In the hospital waiting room that morning, I felt an overwhelming urge to let all my girlfriends know what we were facing. So I texted them. They responded with moral support, practical help, and many prayers. I thought back to seven years ago, when we got the autism diagnosis and I told almost no one. I was not ready to ask for, and receive, that much help. I was not ready to be so vulnerable.

love GodKahlil Gibran says that, even as love is for our growth, so it is for our pruning. The journey of autism has pruned me — cutting off everything that was not essential so that newness could grow and flourish. Now I can say, help me! I can lean on others when I am not strong.

And a loving God, a Universe that is on my side, and a zone that is readily accessed with an open heart are all reminding me that I can relax. All is happening as it’s meant to happen. I don’t know what that is, but for my part, I can trust.

More and more, I can trust.

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