Autism: One Year Later

One year.

One year, 5 doctors, 132 therapy visits, 1 billion trillion melt-downs (approximately), 5 signs, 4 consistent words, 2 very tired parents, and one sweet, sweet voice that we are finally getting to hear.

One year ago today, Levi was diagnosed with Autism. One year ago today, I was sure we would not survive until today (Apparently, one year ago today I was a little overdramatic).

One year ago today, I remember crying to my mom in Chick-fil-a that I was so scared Levi would grow up and never have friends. And I mean, real friends; not friends who are only nice to him because their parents made them. One year later, and that is still a fear that stays at the forefront of my heart.

 

New Noise-Cancelling Headphones!

We have learned so much in the past year: things about Levi, things about Autism, things about genetics, and a whole list of new bad words to describe health insurance coverage or lack thereof.

Most importantly, I have learned a lot about God. In the past year, I have questioned, doubted, and accused more than I ever have in my life. Now, not all of this has come because of Levi’s diagnoses. A lot of it has spurred from watching people around me walk through deep, deep caverns of suffering. Some of it has come from waking up daily to the crushing reality of living in a fallen world.

However, Levi’s diagnosis was the first toppled domino that set it all into motion. I recently read a quote from New York Times Bestseller that said: “[Suffering] does not change you. It reveals you.” How painfully true I have found that quote to be. I’m fairly certain the questions, the accusations, and the doubts have always been there; shamefully hidden from even my own view. Hidden, because for some reason we have it in our minds that questions and doubts negate our faith completely. But in reality, these extremely low moments have only made my faith stronger, my trust greater, and my humility deeper. That is what moments (or years) of weakness do. They make way for the power of God as they slowly chip away the power of ME.

So what have I learned this year?

I have learned that I am a really, really terrible mom. In this initial post about autism, I wrote that I didn’t know how often I would lose my patience with Levi. Well, a year later, and I still can’t tell you how often because I just can’t count that high. I have been impatient. I have yelled (both at Levi and the ceiling/floor/air/etc.). I haven’t tried to understand him nearly as often as I should.

I have learned that I don’t fully love a lot of people in my life because I am too busy being jealous and envious of their lives. Jealous that they can enjoy the beach with their children. Jealous that they can leave their kids in the same room together without worrying about what the older will do to the younger. Jealous that they can stay home with their kids because they aren’t having to work to pay for therapies and doctors visits. How do you love your friends when you are secretly feeling these things? You don’t. That’s the problem with jealousy.

I have learned that I still expect Levi to act “normal” and I am sorely disappointed when SURPRISE, he doesn’t. I have learned that I can get really angry with God. I have learned that I care way too much about what people think of me. I have learned that I am WAY too quick to forget blessings and answered prayers. I have learned that I in no way put God first in my life. I have learned the hard way that I absolutely cannot do anything, say anything, be anything, without the Lord.

And that is the beauty in the ashes.

That is why I am so thankful for autism, for this past year, for my questions, my doubts and my desperately dark moments.

I absolutely cannot do anything, say anything, be anything, without the Lord.

That is why James says “Count it ALL joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds,” because the pearls of truth that are found amidst the temporary trials are eternally worth it.

So when I stare down this dauntless path of raising a special needs child, I will remember that this is light and momentary. When my heart aches for Levi and the hardships he is and will endure, I will remember that his earthly condition is just that- earthly. When the end of the day comes and I am so weary and defeated, I will remember that the Lord said to me “I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you…” (Isaiah 41:10).

And when, in moments of weakness, I am tempted to beg away the hardships, I will remember that “blessed is the man who remains steadfast under trial, for when he has stood the test he will receive the crown of life” (James 1:12).

And that crown of life is what makes this a joyful journey. Not always a pretty one, not always a easy one, and definitely not always a Christ-like one; but a journey that is undeniably worth it.