On autism and a better rescue

Our son has autism. Sometimes people who know him are surprised by this. I certainly was when he was diagnosed at age 3. Others who have had the privilege of knowing people all along the autism spectrum and know what to look for are usually not surprised at all. 

I distinctly remember saying to the pediatric psychologist at the beginning of his evaluation, “I will be completely floored if you tell me he has autism.” My experience with autism was limited to only a small number of real-life acquaintances, and large amount of fear in my own heart. 

Six years later, our son is old enough to notice differences between him and his peers, and also just the right age to care deeply about this at times and not give it a second thought at others. We talk to him freely about autism and are always eager to answer any questions he has, but it doesn’t come up that often, and we don’t obsess over it. When we do talk about it, we talk about it with the same tone and demeanor that we bring to conversations about the sky being blue or the Denver Nuggets being our favorite basketball team. We do not define life with autism by a list of things he cannot do, or a condition that has been imposed upon him, as is the practice of some. 

Here’s how we explain autism to our 9-year-old autistic son:

Every person is unique. Because God is infinite, full of love and life, and his creativity has endless facets and dimension, he has made people with all kinds of different traits, including the way our minds work. Every person’s brain thinks and processes the world around them a little differently than any other person. This is a great thing! We can know God more fully because of the billions of unique ways his glory is reflected in each person. 

The different ways that people’s brains work don’t always have a name, but yours does: autism. And having a name for it is a great thing too, because it helps everyone who loves you know how we can cheer for you, show you love in ways that you like to receive it, and be part of what God is doing to form you into who he made you to be. Having autism means that some things that are easy for others might be hard for you, and things that are hard for others might be easier for you. But just because a thing is hard (or even easy!), doesn’t mean you can’t learn and grow in that area! We know you can!

Every person is unique, but it’s also true that every person is the same. We all are made by God. We all bear his image. Because of this, we are all worthy of being treated with dignity and honor. We are all loved by him and made to love him back. Because of this, we all desire to be loved unconditionally and to love others. We are all made for salvation and unending life in Jesus and in his kingdom, which he purchased for us by his own blood on the Cross.  Because of this, we all want to know that our lives matter and have a purpose beyond ourselves. All this is true for you, for other people who have autism, and for people whose brains or bodies are different in other ways. You are loved and treasured, just as you are.

This is how we talk about autism in our home. Our son is a joy to us. Autism is not destroying life, as some claim. It is revealing a truer, deeper well of life, hiding in the midst of all that is seen as undesirable by the world.

Is caring for a child with autism hard at times? It is. 

Am I sometimes afraid for his future? Yes. 

Am I sometimes confused about what he most needs and how to give it to him? Yes.

Am I sometimes sad about it? Do I sometimes cry about it? Yes, and oh yes.

Do I sometimes wish it there was a way to remove it from him? 

It is important to say here that I cannot speak for what every family would want, or what is morally right or wrong to want. Autism manifests itself in all kinds of ways, with all kinds of levels of severity and challenge. It can and does cause suffering, and in many different ways. God help us, there really is a lot we do not yet understand about how to support these individuals. I am answering this for myself and only for myself. But in answer to your question…no. No, I don’t wish for a way out of this. This is part of who he is. It does not sit at the core, at the center of his being where his identity as a child of God alone lies. But autism is a part of what makes him, him. And I adore this child, every part of him. I will not even try to express it in words. No one has that kind of time. The sound of laughter through tears is as close as I can come to describing how I feel about him. And even that isn’t sufficient. I treasure this boy and would not change a single thing about him. Oh, how I would change some things for him. How I wish there was a way to help others to look closer and see the glory of God reflected in this person of his own creation, to see what I see when I look at him, to see what a gift he is, just as he is. 

He is a light bearer. He is quick to forgive. He is funny and fun. He is a good friend and a good brother. He never gives up, even after saying he’s going to give up when he isn’t good at something on the first try. He has the loveliest singing voice and is still learning how to use it with confidence. He works hard to navigate social situations, but keeps making the effort because he loves to be with people. Nothing makes him laugh harder than Calvin and Hobbes comic strips, Wallace and Gromit movies, and his siblings’ antics. He is a baby whisperer. He is tender-hearted toward God and others. He always—and I mean ALWAYS—believes the best about people, even those whose uncertainty about how to interact with him comes out sideways as unkindness. 

Autism does not have the power to change my son’s identity to “victim.” He is a wonder. He is loved, not just by Mom and Dad, but by an entire community of people who truly see him as God has made him to be.

So to you, Mr. Secretary, I say, “No, thank you.” I am not interested in the kind of “rescue” you are offering my son or my family. 

He does not need to be rescued from being different. He needs Someone who can meet him in his difference and exchange his fear of rejection with a soul-deep belonging that no amount of misunderstanding can take away. 

My son does not need to be rescued from limitations. He needs Someone who can meet him in his limitations and exchange his frustration and despair for an unshakeable hope. 

He does not need to be rescued from struggle. He needs Someone who can exchange the droning voice of pity from others for the stronger, sweeter, purer voice that rejoices over him with singing. 

He does not need to be rescued from not checking off everything on someone else’s list of what constitutes “the good life.” He needs Someone whose love permeates every single moment of his grace-drenched existence, fulfilling his longing to be called “good” in body, mind, and soul with the deep rest and joy of the Father’s resounding voice speaking over him in and through Christ: “This is my son. With him I am well pleased.”

And you know what? I need this kind of rescue too. And it is mine, not because the powers that be have deemed me “normal,” “capable of a fulfilling life,” or “useful,” but because I am the Beloved of God, made in his image, and have been made his child by  grace through faith in the cross and resurrection of Jesus Christ. Just like my son. Just like you.

So again, I say, “No, thank you.” Our life is abundant and overflowing with the goodness of God—just as it is—thanks to the rescue we’ve already received in him.