Sometimes I kind of go along in my Christian life on a minimalist setting.
I love as much as I need to, but no more. I'm as joyful as I need to be, but no more. I'm as patient as I need to be, but no more.
I don't expend too much energy overdoing it.
Perseverance means plodding. Kindness means kind of. Self-control means a tightly controlled self.
But reading the fourth chapter of Philippians the other day, I was struck by the extravagance, the wastefulness and the overflowingness of Paul's instructions to the Philippian church.
Firstly, he goes overboard about how much he loves them. "I love', 'I long for', 'I plead with'... the verbs are all pretty extreme. And how often do you call someone 'my joy and my crown'?
Then he repeats what he's already said multiple times about rejoicing! Not just a little bit of happiness, but joy and rejoicing.
He affirms God's desire to answer prayers, to calm anxiety, to give a peace that's beyond understanding. And then he challenges his readers to fill their minds with all good things!
Philippians 4:8 Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable-- if anything is excellent or praiseworthy-- think about such things.
It's quite an extravagantly wonderful thought to imagine my mind full to the brim of all good, true, pure, lovely, admirable, noble, excellent and praiseworthy things. Wow!
It's a big spur to me to eschew Christian minimalism, and embrace the reality of God's extravagant character.
Friday, September 29, 2006
Mrs whoever
The news this week has featured a former prime minister's wife criticizing a current prime minister's wife. It's apparently something she said 'off the cuff' a while back. But it has now been reported in a new biography and it's making headlines and discussion shows all over the radio.
Mrs Whitlam said that Mrs Howard 'should have done more' in her role as the wife of the PM. She could have started foundations or charities, she could have been more vocal on public issues (presumably not political issues), she could have lent her support to various causes.
There has been lots of talk about whether the criticism is justified, and how much Mrs Howard has done, and precisely what Mrs Whitlam did when she was the PMs wife, but I haven't heard anyone say in various media discussions yet that Mrs Howard is entitled to do just what Mrs Howard wants to do!
I take it a bit personally, because the PMs wife is the only real parallel I have can think of to a minister's wife, which is what I will be in about three months time. She's the wife of a public leader who is seen by the people he leads. Like a church minister, being the PM is the sort of job which one person does, but the two people are seen together in it.
No-one cares about what their local doctor's wife does. No-one thinks about the school principal's spouse does. No-one takes issue with the wife of the soccer club. But the wife of the minister is in the public eye, just because her husband does what he does. Everyone keeps talking about the 'role' of the wife of the PM, but no-one really wants to define what it is.
Poor Janette Howard. She might not be the sort who wants to go public on lots of things. And for the people who expect that, she won't ever be a success. If she was a second Hillary Clinton, she'd cop flak for getting involved in her husband's job. Whatever she does, she'll never win.
I think it's really slack of Margaret Whitlam to criticise. She for one ought to know how hard the 'role' is to fulfill. And it's not up to her to say what Janette Howard should or shouldn't do.
Mrs Whitlam said that Mrs Howard 'should have done more' in her role as the wife of the PM. She could have started foundations or charities, she could have been more vocal on public issues (presumably not political issues), she could have lent her support to various causes.
There has been lots of talk about whether the criticism is justified, and how much Mrs Howard has done, and precisely what Mrs Whitlam did when she was the PMs wife, but I haven't heard anyone say in various media discussions yet that Mrs Howard is entitled to do just what Mrs Howard wants to do!
I take it a bit personally, because the PMs wife is the only real parallel I have can think of to a minister's wife, which is what I will be in about three months time. She's the wife of a public leader who is seen by the people he leads. Like a church minister, being the PM is the sort of job which one person does, but the two people are seen together in it.
No-one cares about what their local doctor's wife does. No-one thinks about the school principal's spouse does. No-one takes issue with the wife of the soccer club. But the wife of the minister is in the public eye, just because her husband does what he does. Everyone keeps talking about the 'role' of the wife of the PM, but no-one really wants to define what it is.
Poor Janette Howard. She might not be the sort who wants to go public on lots of things. And for the people who expect that, she won't ever be a success. If she was a second Hillary Clinton, she'd cop flak for getting involved in her husband's job. Whatever she does, she'll never win.
I think it's really slack of Margaret Whitlam to criticise. She for one ought to know how hard the 'role' is to fulfill. And it's not up to her to say what Janette Howard should or shouldn't do.
Monday, September 25, 2006
Time
I'm finding I'm getting panicky about day to day life with my little boy with Autistic Spectrum Disorder.
"I'm not doing enough! I'm wasting hours and days and weeks that I could be helping him," I think, even though I'm spending most of my child-free time researching autism and remediation (apart from the time I write this blog of course!)
It was helpful to read this quote:
"If I don't succeed today, there's always tomorrow. And the day after that."
"I'm not doing enough! I'm wasting hours and days and weeks that I could be helping him," I think, even though I'm spending most of my child-free time researching autism and remediation (apart from the time I write this blog of course!)
It was helpful to read this quote:
"If I don't succeed today, there's always tomorrow. And the day after that."
Prayer: relationship over request
Can you pray about things that have already happened?
For example: If I have a job interview at 11am, I might ask you to pray that I'll be calm and clear at that time. You might be keen to do it, but forget all about it until 12, when my interview is over and done with.
So: if you pray at 12, still not knowing the outcome of the interview, will God treat your request 'retrospectively'? Is he able to answer the prayer, even though the time has passed?
This question actually came up in a theological discussion I had a few days ago. (Amongst other things we were talking about God, sovereignty, time, omniscience and guidance, but those topics might provide fuel for additional blog entries, so I'll leave it there.)
My take on the whole thing is that the question itself is irrelevent because it highlights a flawed view of prayer. Its focus is on the request, whereas the real key to prayer is the relationship.
I see it from the view of a parent/child relationship.
My little daughter loves biscuits for morning tea. I love to give them to her because they make her happy. But I also want to teach her to ask me for them, rather than just giving them out. Getting her to make the request teaches her that we are in a relationship. It's good for her to be able to acknowledge her own desires, and as well, acknowledge my part in caring for her and fulfilling those desires.
Typically, at morning tea time, she'll come to me and say, "Mum, could I please have a biscuit?". I'll say, "Sure, here you are," and give it to her.
Now on the odd occasion, she might come in a little late, or forget to ask. Sometimes, I'll beat her to it, putting her biscuit in a plate on the table, all ready for her. I am pleased to do it, because I know our relationship is such that she would normally ask and acknowledge me because her heart is turned towards me.
So with prayer: the technicalities of the requests we make of God are almost irrelevent. What is more important is whether our hearts are turned towards God.
Is it our habit to turn to God, to articulate our requests and desires, and to acknowledge God's care and generosity to us? Is it our delight to ask and to thank and to remember him in everything?
If the relationship is there, thinking about the specific requests and the answers to those requests becomes nit-picking, cold and artificial.
For example: If I have a job interview at 11am, I might ask you to pray that I'll be calm and clear at that time. You might be keen to do it, but forget all about it until 12, when my interview is over and done with.
So: if you pray at 12, still not knowing the outcome of the interview, will God treat your request 'retrospectively'? Is he able to answer the prayer, even though the time has passed?
This question actually came up in a theological discussion I had a few days ago. (Amongst other things we were talking about God, sovereignty, time, omniscience and guidance, but those topics might provide fuel for additional blog entries, so I'll leave it there.)
My take on the whole thing is that the question itself is irrelevent because it highlights a flawed view of prayer. Its focus is on the request, whereas the real key to prayer is the relationship.
I see it from the view of a parent/child relationship.
My little daughter loves biscuits for morning tea. I love to give them to her because they make her happy. But I also want to teach her to ask me for them, rather than just giving them out. Getting her to make the request teaches her that we are in a relationship. It's good for her to be able to acknowledge her own desires, and as well, acknowledge my part in caring for her and fulfilling those desires.
Typically, at morning tea time, she'll come to me and say, "Mum, could I please have a biscuit?". I'll say, "Sure, here you are," and give it to her.
Now on the odd occasion, she might come in a little late, or forget to ask. Sometimes, I'll beat her to it, putting her biscuit in a plate on the table, all ready for her. I am pleased to do it, because I know our relationship is such that she would normally ask and acknowledge me because her heart is turned towards me.
So with prayer: the technicalities of the requests we make of God are almost irrelevent. What is more important is whether our hearts are turned towards God.
Is it our habit to turn to God, to articulate our requests and desires, and to acknowledge God's care and generosity to us? Is it our delight to ask and to thank and to remember him in everything?
If the relationship is there, thinking about the specific requests and the answers to those requests becomes nit-picking, cold and artificial.
Saturday, September 23, 2006
Monday, September 18, 2006
Imperfection: whose problem is it really?
My little boy has Autistic Spectrum Disorder. The paediatrician confirmed it last week. And since then, I've been thinking about human imperfection.
Why is it such a big deal to have a child who isn't typical or normal? Why does every prospective parent say 'I don't mind what it is, just as long as it's healthy...'? Why do we all secretly cringe when we see someone who's disabled or challenged or disturbed?
I have spent the last two or three months feeling sad, heavy and dismayed by the idea that my child is going to struggle in life with his understanding and communication. But stopping to analyse the fears I have for him, I can see that I'm most afraid of other people's reactions to him. I'm worried that he'll be bullied, excluded, laughed at, tormented or just plain ignored.
How do I know he will suffer these things? Because I know my own heart, and I know my own sinful reactions to others who are different from me. I have bullied, excluded, laughed at, tormented and just plain ignored people who were 'imperfect'. And in doing so, I have shown my own imperfections, which are far more serious, far more deadly and far more vile than any physical or mental disability could ever be. The real human imperfection is the sinful, unloving heart that each one of us carries inside.
If we humans were truly able to love, having a disabled child would not be a cause of sorrow. It might create a few extra challenges, but parents would not fear for their children, and societies would care for them.
Perhaps the 'imperfect people' are part of the world in order to show up everybody else's imperfection.
Love isn't always easy. It isn't always convenient. And the objects of love are not always attractive. I'm stunned again to think how great is God's love for us that he loves us, who are truly and thoroughly disabled, giving up his own son to make us perfect and beautiful in his sight.
Why is it such a big deal to have a child who isn't typical or normal? Why does every prospective parent say 'I don't mind what it is, just as long as it's healthy...'? Why do we all secretly cringe when we see someone who's disabled or challenged or disturbed?
I have spent the last two or three months feeling sad, heavy and dismayed by the idea that my child is going to struggle in life with his understanding and communication. But stopping to analyse the fears I have for him, I can see that I'm most afraid of other people's reactions to him. I'm worried that he'll be bullied, excluded, laughed at, tormented or just plain ignored.
How do I know he will suffer these things? Because I know my own heart, and I know my own sinful reactions to others who are different from me. I have bullied, excluded, laughed at, tormented and just plain ignored people who were 'imperfect'. And in doing so, I have shown my own imperfections, which are far more serious, far more deadly and far more vile than any physical or mental disability could ever be. The real human imperfection is the sinful, unloving heart that each one of us carries inside.
If we humans were truly able to love, having a disabled child would not be a cause of sorrow. It might create a few extra challenges, but parents would not fear for their children, and societies would care for them.
Perhaps the 'imperfect people' are part of the world in order to show up everybody else's imperfection.
Love isn't always easy. It isn't always convenient. And the objects of love are not always attractive. I'm stunned again to think how great is God's love for us that he loves us, who are truly and thoroughly disabled, giving up his own son to make us perfect and beautiful in his sight.
Thursday, September 14, 2006
God put tear ducts in our eyes because grief is best expressed when we are looking into the eyes of another person.*
People, family, fellowship, the body - whatever you call it - are the greatest source of love and comfort in hard times. We have experienced so much support in the last week. Cards in the mail, loving emails, phone calls and even some yummy fruit slice delivered to our door. It's a privilege to be part of Christ's family and experience love in the flesh.
Yes, our little fella does have Autistic Spectrum Disorder, but it's a good thing to be able to put a name to his quirky habits and now start working to get him some help.
It's been a temptation to me to isolate myself from others when I've felt bad, but the love and support that's out there has reminded me that God gives us people for good reasons.
*an idea pinched from a favourite book How People Grow by Cloud and Townsend.
People, family, fellowship, the body - whatever you call it - are the greatest source of love and comfort in hard times. We have experienced so much support in the last week. Cards in the mail, loving emails, phone calls and even some yummy fruit slice delivered to our door. It's a privilege to be part of Christ's family and experience love in the flesh.
Yes, our little fella does have Autistic Spectrum Disorder, but it's a good thing to be able to put a name to his quirky habits and now start working to get him some help.
It's been a temptation to me to isolate myself from others when I've felt bad, but the love and support that's out there has reminded me that God gives us people for good reasons.
*an idea pinched from a favourite book How People Grow by Cloud and Townsend.
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
Another great poem
When what begins, ends
You are faced with a new start
A desperate challenge, a challenged life.
But never forget
You will always live with joy
In the cathedral of your days
And will always be loved, a yearning love
By its maker.
You are faced with a new start
A desperate challenge, a challenged life.
But never forget
You will always live with joy
In the cathedral of your days
And will always be loved, a yearning love
By its maker.
A really great poem
Let us have faith
Security is mostly a superstition.
It does not exist in nature, nor do the children of men as a whole experience it.
Avoiding danger is no safer in the long run than outright exposure.
Life is either a daring adventure, or nothing.
To keep our faces towards change and behave like free spirits
In the presence of fate is strength indefatigable.
~ Helen Keller
Security is mostly a superstition.
It does not exist in nature, nor do the children of men as a whole experience it.
Avoiding danger is no safer in the long run than outright exposure.
Life is either a daring adventure, or nothing.
To keep our faces towards change and behave like free spirits
In the presence of fate is strength indefatigable.
~ Helen Keller
Thursday, September 07, 2006
Too many worlds
This whole thing of being able to see from other points of view leads me to another problem.
There are just too many different cultures, sub-cultures, worlds, places and ways of thinking and living out there.
Growing up in a completely different culture brought this problem to the fore for me. How was it possible that I could live amongst some people who were so poor that they had no electricity, no transport, no education and no sugar to put in their tea, and then get on an aeroplane and fly to Australia where all our family and friends and churches had more than they could possibly ever use, where shops were full to bursting of ridiculous paraphernalia that people would throw out after a season of use.
I found it almost impossible to hold such different worlds together in my head, and went through a sort of subconscious separation or shut-off process. You can survive in the desert village if you don't know there's another whole life out there. And you can enjoy the shopping malls of Sydney if you've never considered the possibility of people dying from hunger and treatable diseases. You can only live comfortably in both if you are able to separate yourself into sections. (Is comfortable living what I should be aiming for anyway?)
Even in Sydney, I find myself constantly looking at people I see on the streets and trying to imagine their worlds. Where do they live? How do they think? What's their framework for reality? How can the simple, challenged man receiving the disability payment who we loved in one of our churches relate to the highly successful company director we love in another of our churches? How can the worlds cross? How will they crumble when Christ is seen in both of them?
I still find it paralysingly confusing to cross cultures (and even sub-cultures now). But I guess it's a lot less boring than being the same and staying the same, and never ever moving, in any way or direction.
There are just too many different cultures, sub-cultures, worlds, places and ways of thinking and living out there.
Growing up in a completely different culture brought this problem to the fore for me. How was it possible that I could live amongst some people who were so poor that they had no electricity, no transport, no education and no sugar to put in their tea, and then get on an aeroplane and fly to Australia where all our family and friends and churches had more than they could possibly ever use, where shops were full to bursting of ridiculous paraphernalia that people would throw out after a season of use.
I found it almost impossible to hold such different worlds together in my head, and went through a sort of subconscious separation or shut-off process. You can survive in the desert village if you don't know there's another whole life out there. And you can enjoy the shopping malls of Sydney if you've never considered the possibility of people dying from hunger and treatable diseases. You can only live comfortably in both if you are able to separate yourself into sections. (Is comfortable living what I should be aiming for anyway?)
Even in Sydney, I find myself constantly looking at people I see on the streets and trying to imagine their worlds. Where do they live? How do they think? What's their framework for reality? How can the simple, challenged man receiving the disability payment who we loved in one of our churches relate to the highly successful company director we love in another of our churches? How can the worlds cross? How will they crumble when Christ is seen in both of them?
I still find it paralysingly confusing to cross cultures (and even sub-cultures now). But I guess it's a lot less boring than being the same and staying the same, and never ever moving, in any way or direction.
Not alone on the planet
I can remember the day I first noticed other people.
I was about four years old, and very happy with myself. I had started to enjoy the idea of having thoughts and ideas zooming around my head, and liked nothing better than to sit and daydream. I would follow my stream of consciousness around in my brain and see where it led me. It was a wonderfully exciting feeling to almost watch words and ideas intertwine, and I believed myself to be very special, unique and talented for being able to do this.
On one particular day, our family was going somewhere and decided to take one of the crowded mini-buses that used to travel the streets of Karachi. As we boarded the bus, with me in stream-of-consciousness mode, I looked around at the packed seats and marvelled at the number of people there were in the world.
Suddenly it hit me. They all had brains as well. That must mean they all had thoughts and ideas zinging around their heads as well. They must have thought they were just as special as me. And that must mean that I was not as unique as I thought I was.
The idea that everyone else in the world was just like me felt like shutters falling from my eyes. I blinked and was overwhelmed by the smallness of myself in comparison to everyone else on the planet.
"Hang on," said my four-year old self. "Maybe I can just pretend I didn't think that, and go back to me being the most special/talented/interesting person - the only one who really matters." I tried to ignore everyone else for a few minutes and went back inside my head, but the truth had already burned its path. I reluctantly submitted to the idea that other people were alive and important and special.
Since then, I've had both the gift and the challenge of being able to see things from other points of view than just my own. (Not always, I hasten to add... in case there's anyone out there who's jumping up and down in protest!)
It's a good thing to be able to step in the shoes of others. But it can also mean I am often paralysed in making decisions or having my own opinion. (Not always, I hasten to add again, in case there are people out there thinking, "She's the most opinionated person I know...")
It all makes me secretly wonder sometimes like that kid in the film*: if we are all special, does that mean no-one is special? Is the answer perhaps this: we are all special because God made us, and because God loves us. Simplistic but true...?
*can't remember which: maybe the Sixth Sense? I'd be hopeless on a trivia quiz....
I was about four years old, and very happy with myself. I had started to enjoy the idea of having thoughts and ideas zooming around my head, and liked nothing better than to sit and daydream. I would follow my stream of consciousness around in my brain and see where it led me. It was a wonderfully exciting feeling to almost watch words and ideas intertwine, and I believed myself to be very special, unique and talented for being able to do this.
On one particular day, our family was going somewhere and decided to take one of the crowded mini-buses that used to travel the streets of Karachi. As we boarded the bus, with me in stream-of-consciousness mode, I looked around at the packed seats and marvelled at the number of people there were in the world.
Suddenly it hit me. They all had brains as well. That must mean they all had thoughts and ideas zinging around their heads as well. They must have thought they were just as special as me. And that must mean that I was not as unique as I thought I was.
The idea that everyone else in the world was just like me felt like shutters falling from my eyes. I blinked and was overwhelmed by the smallness of myself in comparison to everyone else on the planet.
"Hang on," said my four-year old self. "Maybe I can just pretend I didn't think that, and go back to me being the most special/talented/interesting person - the only one who really matters." I tried to ignore everyone else for a few minutes and went back inside my head, but the truth had already burned its path. I reluctantly submitted to the idea that other people were alive and important and special.
Since then, I've had both the gift and the challenge of being able to see things from other points of view than just my own. (Not always, I hasten to add... in case there's anyone out there who's jumping up and down in protest!)
It's a good thing to be able to step in the shoes of others. But it can also mean I am often paralysed in making decisions or having my own opinion. (Not always, I hasten to add again, in case there are people out there thinking, "She's the most opinionated person I know...")
It all makes me secretly wonder sometimes like that kid in the film*: if we are all special, does that mean no-one is special? Is the answer perhaps this: we are all special because God made us, and because God loves us. Simplistic but true...?
*can't remember which: maybe the Sixth Sense? I'd be hopeless on a trivia quiz....
Friday, September 01, 2006
Why I'm not really here anymore
If you've been a regular reader of this blog you might have noticed that my postings have become less and less frequent. I started off thrilled to bits that at last I had a forum for my odd and random thoughts and posted twice a day on the odd occasion that I had two things to say in 24 hours.
For the last month, though, there hasn't been much room in my brain for extra ideas and interesting concepts.
I have been a little bit concerned about my second child for about 18 months - ever since he was one and a half. His social development and language seemed a long way behind his very bright big sister at the same age. But people kept saying things like, "Oh, he's just a little bit slower. Einstein didn't talk until he was six you know," or "It's just boys and girls. Girls always talk earlier."
As he got older he seemed to become more and more 'eccentric', and around the time he turned three, a month ago, about three or four people independently mentioned the word 'autism' to me. I have done a whole lot of research on it, and when we take him to the paediatrician in two weeks I am expecting a diagnosis of Autistic Spectrum Disorder, or something very similar.
Obviously, this is hard news. I feel very very heavy about it. I feel sapped of energy for anything else apart from thinking about him and what we should do for him. I feel angry. I feel tired. I feel ripped off.
Even though I don't understand evil and sickness and the many bad things there are in the world, and even though I don't know why it has to be my little boy who is afflicted in this way, I can stand and firmly attest to God's goodness.
Just before all of this came to the fore, I had an interesting conversation with God. I do not normally have conversations with God. I am not the type who says, "God told me" with great abandon. I have trouble believing those who do say that sort of thing. However, I was praying one Sunday, as I wheeled my baby around in the pram outside church (he didn't want to sleep and was too noisy to stay inside). I was praying for a particular spiritual gift. "Lord, give it to me please. It would really be great. I could do so much for you."
Like a little quiet voice inside my head, I think God said "Why do you want that so much?"
I had to stop and think. "Well, it would be great for pastoral ministry. I could really do some good - for you of course." And then I realised - I wanted that particular gift for myself, so I could look good in ministry and have charisma and personal power. I had to repent. And again the quiet voice came, "It would be better if you really loved people."
"All right, Lord, that's what I'll pray for. Please - teach me to really love people." I started to pray the prayer, believing that God had given me that desire.
The very next day, the first person of the four mentioned autism to me. My heart stood still, and I had to cope with the idea that my child could have something seriously wrong with him. At the very same time, I felt a love that I have not felt for twenty or so years.
Let me explain: someone in my close circle when I was growing up had developmental difficulties in their life. And although I loved that person deep down, I often found frustration and anger crowding out the love. Now, in one instant, I saw that person from a parent's perspective, and love for them absolutely overwhelmed me. It has not gone away since.
Already I can see God's goodness in this. It's a beautiful, tangible reminder of his love that he's given me in this hard time - sort of like an extra little light in the darkness. Praise God for answering prayers and working all things out for the good of those who love him. In the meantime, I'd appreciate your prayers, for us, and for our little boy.
I'll keep posting, but it may be less frequently. And I may break the rule I started out with - which was that this blog would be my one 'child-free zone'....
For the last month, though, there hasn't been much room in my brain for extra ideas and interesting concepts.
I have been a little bit concerned about my second child for about 18 months - ever since he was one and a half. His social development and language seemed a long way behind his very bright big sister at the same age. But people kept saying things like, "Oh, he's just a little bit slower. Einstein didn't talk until he was six you know," or "It's just boys and girls. Girls always talk earlier."
As he got older he seemed to become more and more 'eccentric', and around the time he turned three, a month ago, about three or four people independently mentioned the word 'autism' to me. I have done a whole lot of research on it, and when we take him to the paediatrician in two weeks I am expecting a diagnosis of Autistic Spectrum Disorder, or something very similar.
Obviously, this is hard news. I feel very very heavy about it. I feel sapped of energy for anything else apart from thinking about him and what we should do for him. I feel angry. I feel tired. I feel ripped off.
Even though I don't understand evil and sickness and the many bad things there are in the world, and even though I don't know why it has to be my little boy who is afflicted in this way, I can stand and firmly attest to God's goodness.
Just before all of this came to the fore, I had an interesting conversation with God. I do not normally have conversations with God. I am not the type who says, "God told me" with great abandon. I have trouble believing those who do say that sort of thing. However, I was praying one Sunday, as I wheeled my baby around in the pram outside church (he didn't want to sleep and was too noisy to stay inside). I was praying for a particular spiritual gift. "Lord, give it to me please. It would really be great. I could do so much for you."
Like a little quiet voice inside my head, I think God said "Why do you want that so much?"
I had to stop and think. "Well, it would be great for pastoral ministry. I could really do some good - for you of course." And then I realised - I wanted that particular gift for myself, so I could look good in ministry and have charisma and personal power. I had to repent. And again the quiet voice came, "It would be better if you really loved people."
"All right, Lord, that's what I'll pray for. Please - teach me to really love people." I started to pray the prayer, believing that God had given me that desire.
The very next day, the first person of the four mentioned autism to me. My heart stood still, and I had to cope with the idea that my child could have something seriously wrong with him. At the very same time, I felt a love that I have not felt for twenty or so years.
Let me explain: someone in my close circle when I was growing up had developmental difficulties in their life. And although I loved that person deep down, I often found frustration and anger crowding out the love. Now, in one instant, I saw that person from a parent's perspective, and love for them absolutely overwhelmed me. It has not gone away since.
Already I can see God's goodness in this. It's a beautiful, tangible reminder of his love that he's given me in this hard time - sort of like an extra little light in the darkness. Praise God for answering prayers and working all things out for the good of those who love him. In the meantime, I'd appreciate your prayers, for us, and for our little boy.
I'll keep posting, but it may be less frequently. And I may break the rule I started out with - which was that this blog would be my one 'child-free zone'....
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