My Son has a Reputation

Two days ago, Jack got one of those embarrassing bruises on his chin. You know, one of those that makes you scared to take him to the grocery store for fear of being reported to Child Protective Services. It happened at school during recess. He is totally fine, but it looks like someone colored purple marker all over his chin.

Then this morning, I was walking him to his class. He goes to “regular” class with a personal teacher for the first half-hour, and then to his special autism classroom. In the hallway, an irregular flood of students greeted him.

Like three cute little girls walking together, calling to him in unison, “Hi Jack!”

I prompted him, “Say hi.”

“Say hi,” he waved in their general direction.

One little guy who talked with a lisp came in step with us to examine his bruise. He repeated the legend of how it happened: Jack had run from the teacher at the end of recess and knocked his chin on the balance beam. I knew the story already.

“Did you see it happen?”

“No, I wush in my clashroom,” he said. I imagined the story spreading through the school and becoming a legend: how Jack, the little blond boy that can’t talk, suffered a sudden, traumatic injury on the battlefield. Did he break his jaw? Did he go to the hospital? Will he ever recover?

“He’s just fine,” I assured the boy.

This school does a tremendous job of preparing students to relate with children with special needs. They are really trying, these kids. It makes me hopeful that as they get older, they might advocate for my son in the face of taunts and bullies. For now, they really do get it.

Jack let out one of his quick little laughs, related to nothing that I could tell.

The boy didn’t even look up. “He ish alwaysh sho happy.”

We turned the corner and I smiled out loud. My son has a reputation. Sure he doesn’t talk, and he flaps his papers in front of his eyes, but he is known for “alwaysh” being happy.

It’s going to be a good day.

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Photo by Anne Nunn Photography.

A Letter to My Autistic Son on His 7th Birthday

Dear Jack,

I’m writing this letter in faith that one day you will be able to read it, understand it, and forgive us for the mistakes we are making with you.

Tomorrow is your birthday. Seven years ago, I was watching the first quarter of the Super Bowl and your mom’s water broke. I joked that it meant something. That you wanted to come out and watch the Steelers beat the Seahawks. I took it for granted that we would someday watch football games together and practice fade routs in the back yard.

Confessing Cocaine and Twinkies

It was a Hall of Fame calibre excuse. One which hasn’t been seen since the Twinkie Defense. And it worked.

Here’s the story: A professional tennis player tested positive for cocaine. Big trouble for him. But his explanation was profound. He claimed the cocaine kissed off.

When Moses Needed Matt Foley

The Burning Bush episode in Exodus 3 and 4 ranks among the most compelling scenes in the Old Testament. Here’s Moses, once full of promise and potential, but now considered the biggest Draft Bust in history. He’s a total washout now, living with a desert tribe, traveling in tents, looking after sheep.

Then he sees a bush on fire. He watches it for a minute, and notices that it’s not falling. It’s not turning to ash. Somehow, the thing still looks completely intact. He just has to take a closer look.

Joseph, Pharaoh, and the Ghost of Christmas Future

So Pharaoh has a nightmare. Two of them, actually. And he’s mortified. He calls for his wisest wise men and demands an interpretation, but they’ve got nothing. That’s when the cupbearer—an ex con—remembers that funny little guy he did time with. Joseph was his name, and he was smart. Scary smart.

Pharaoh summons him.

On Grief, Gratitude, and Whether to Take Your Suit to the Hospital

Today, I am honored to share a story I wrote about friendship, mourning, and thanksgiving over at a wonderful blog called Confessions of a Funeral Director.

The Shirt and His Boy

This is my son Jack. He has autism, as some of you know. But chances are, you have never met his favorite shirt, Tiger.

Tiger got his name from a character in Kung Fu Panda. Technically, it was TigRESS, but that’s unimportant. What matters is that Jack looked down at his striped sleeves one day while watching the movie, said the word “tiger,” and fell in love. He refused to take it off.

The Greatest Trick the Devil Ever Pulled

It’s been three weeks since Newtown, and I think we’ve pretty much talked about everything. Guns, mental health, medication, school security, and especially God. God-talk is always trending at times like this. People “turn to God,” and “lean on God,” and “find God” in the midst of suffering. Others ask “where was God?” or “why, God?” or “how could a good God do this?” In almost every case, the speaker rightly assumes that God is at least supposed to be the good guy. What I don’t understand is this: why is there so little talk of the bad guy?

The fictional villain Keyser Soze rightly said, “the greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn’t exist.” It’s true.

“It’s Your Job to Make Me Believe”

Happy 2013, friends. A new year also means a fresh start in Bible Reading plans. I’m going with the Life Journal plan, developed by Dr. Wayne Cordeiro. It will take me through the Old Testament once and the New Testament twice, plus a healthy dose of Psalms and Proverbs. I’m planning to blog at least once a week about what I’m reading, in addition to my other topics of autism, stories, etc.

Life Through Wide Angle Lenses

Whenever tragedy strikes, we make statements like “That really puts it in perspective.” And it’s true. Jarring events impose themselves on us, forcing us to remember the treasures we have neglected. Treasures wearing our rings, or wrapped in footy pajamas. And then, when the sadness fades, we revert again to our old patterns, glorifying the trivial over the truly precious.

Do we need bad news to keep us grateful? Do we need death and sickness to remind us of the beauty of life? Are we that pathetic?

In a word, yes. As a society, I’m afraid we are. But we don’t have to be.

Parenting and the Problem of Proverbs

Sara and I are fortunate to have a community that seems to “get” the autism thing. That is to say, most people don’t assume we are bad parents when Jack goes limp on the sidewalk, or screeches for Puffins at Safeway. It probably helps that his words are so slurred and his stims so obvious. They can tell something is different. Not all parents are so lucky. Some get the “you-suck-as-a-parent” stink eye, even from family members.

Good News: You’re Not Job!

First, know this: I am not making light of your experiences. You have lost friends and family members. You have experienced devastating relational fractures. You have suffered in body and spirit. We all have.

But you are not Job.

At first glance, I see why you think you might be him. Job was the most unfortunate of Old Testament figures. He is a man who lost everything and everyone he loved. He feels intense pain, and he knows he doesn’t deserve it. He is not afraid to ask why. Neither are you. His sorrows have multiplied onto more sorrows. You’ve felt that before. Maybe not now, but before. And you wonder why God is putting you through this.

But I tell you, you are not Job. And that is good news.

Do Bad Worship Lyrics Keep Us Wretchy?

I recently read a beautiful post by Addie Zierman over at her blog “How To Talk Evangelical” about hyperbole in worship. In it, Addie talks about our tendency to go over the top in the songs we sing, as if we really have had nothing but joy, joy, joy, joy, down in our hearts all the time and every day, since we gave our lives to Jesus. As if the Christian life is all unicorns and grassy hills full of strawberries. Her main point: Let’s be real, friends. We need authenticity in our worship.

Addie is right about all of this, but I want to take one more step. Our lyric problems do not end when we embrace authenticity. In fact, if we stop there, we might end up in spiritual defeatism. It happens accidentally, but it happens often.

A Review of Joe Bunting’s “Let’s Write a Short Story”

When I started this blog, I had no intention of writing about autism. I wanted to tell stories. “Old Stories in New Ways.” I was thinking about fictional modern parables and short stories that carry hints of life’s deeper truths. But the fact is, short stories are hard to write. Non-fiction essays, even about heavy and personal topics like autism–go much more quickly. I can handle two of those every week, but fiction is another matter.

Enter Joe Bunting.

“Invisible” Autism Families; How the Church can Help

My family doesn’t get out much. You might see two or three of us at the grocery store, the school parking lot, or even at the movies. But you would never know that we have five children, because we almost never go out as a family. Restaurants are not worth it, and don’t even get me started on theme parks and state fairs.

We are like many invisible families with autistic children. We stay home.

“50 First Dates…” Today At Prodigal Magazine!

Today, i am excited to share an article I wrote for Prodigal Magazine. If you haven’t subscribed to this site yet, you are missing out. There are some fabulous bloggers that run it and post terrific content every day. Read it here.

Can I Love my Son AND Pray for Change?

Jackson woke up this morning at 6 with a drum solo. It was pretty awesome. He started by beating his hands on the sliding glass door, waking his sisters from their living room slumber party. I smiled. He really does have great rhythm. Then he turned the microwave into a bass drum. I got up.

I took his hand and led him to the conga drum next to the TV and said “Dude, this is a drum. Play this.”

He scrunched up his nose and smiled. Then, he played a masterful hand-drum concerto. It lasted for five seconds. (The glass door is so much more interesting…)

Fighting Autism with Lame Theology

I just finished reading a great post entitled “THE AUTISM DADDY RELIGOUS MANIFESTO.” The anonymous blogger has a nine year old boy with severe autism–worse than my son’s, whose is formidable enough–and was put off by trite religious platitudes that were supposed to make things better. He is not a believer, but he is honest, and I want to stand next to him in addressing this “comforting” statement to autism parents:

“God never gives you anything you can’t handle.”

First of all… really? Are we still using that line? I had hoped it would go out of fashion with TestaMints. Because nobody in the history of pain has ever been healed by religious denial. Ever.

The Cruelty of Fairy Godmothers (A Short Story)

Original Illustration by Chris Audet

The old woman frowned at the moping beauties in the king’s garden. For a moment, she almost felt sorry for them. On any other night, they would have had a fighting chance. The Duchess’ daughter was lovely enough to incite a riot with her scandalous gown made of red rose pedals. And the Vizier’s girl—the one wrapped in thin layers of golden lace—she might have had a dozen knights preparing to quest on her behalf. Even the poor merchant’s daughter in the deep purple dress was alluring enough to win for her father a dowry as tall as the castle walls.

Poor girls. They must have been so confident earlier in the evening.

But now she was there.

Finding the Mountain Pass to Narnia

(…With apologies to C.S. Lewis)

I have journeyed many times with the boy called Shasta. His heart was full when he left for Narnia, but things have not turn out like he hoped. Not by a long shot. I especially feel for him after he delivers an urgent message to a foreign king. The king promptly forgets about him, leaving him alone at midnight on a cold mountain road. Shasta moves tepidly in the blackness. Disappointed. Exhausted. Numb.