Part 1: Fearfully. Wonderfully.
*The following post is the first of a two. They both come from the same story and thus, are assisted by one another for context. However, not wanting to kill anyone of boredom and so that you might read both in their entirety, I have split them into two. The first follows & is titled: "Fearfully. Wonderfully". Part 2 is here when you're done: http://t.co/Gy0rJLyfW5*
I was eating a burrito when he and his father walked in. I didn’t notice him at first until I had to look up to see who was making that sound. It was a high pitched sort of siren sounding sequel. I wanted to know what rotten kid was ruining my burrito. And then I saw him, approximately 12 years of age holding the hand of his father; he had glasses and his pants were hiked way to far up for someone his age; he had his fingers in his ears and was making the sound that had first gotten my attention. His father was tired, obviously worn out by the regular routine of the day and the other obstacles that aren’t routine but you come to expect when you are the father of a boy with autism. And they both were smiling.
After about five minutes of the siren squealing several people in the restaurant had become noticeably agitated and I am ashamed to admit that I was one of them. But then my agitation moved from annoyance to frustration. Frustrated at several things, I was frustrated at myself for being such a jerk as to get annoyed with this precious boy. Frustrated at all the kids in the restaurant who kept staring at him and his dad. Frustrated that I haven’t “felt” God in who knows how long. Frustrated that God would allow a person to have autism. Frustrated that his father had to spend his entire life caring for this boy. Frustrated that my burrito had too much sour cream.
I was angry.
My first thought after my initial annoyance was towards God. "Why would God allow anyone to have autism or any other handicap?" Why would God allow a person to go through life like that? Why wouldn’t God prevent it? Why wouldn’t God make him “normal”? And then I remembered my final semester of high school, when I got to be a “buddy” to several students with varying mental and physical handicaps. I remembered the joy they had and how it spilled over into others' lives. I remembered the beauty of each crooked smile and how I wish/ed I could be as innocent and loving as them. I remembered the tears I cried when I graduated, just because I would no loner be able to take that class. I remembered the deep mark each student left on me. I remembered that the only “normal” there is in life is the way we already are, anything else is just manufactured and fake. I remembered that God is in complete control. That not a sparrow falls without his say so. I remembered the story in John 9 where the disciples ask who sinned to make the man blind– he or his parents– and Jesus said “Neither he nor his parents sinned, but that the works of God might be displayed”. I was reminded that God creates all things the way they are. That he makes no mistakes. That every crack, crater, and crevice we bear is meant to be by the careful hands of the Creator Father who loves us more than we could ever dream. I remembered that this boy was made exactly how he was meant to be made.
Fearfully. Wonderfully. Imago Dei.
*Forgive me for still having flesh to wrestle with, maybe one day I’ll be where you are
**Post 2 to follow