Seeing Noah

We've been trying out new churches over the past few months--but that's another post.

The pastor today jumped right into Revelations, and I have to say, I admire a pastor who isn't afraid to do so.  Again, that's another post.

In part of today's message, the pastor began speaking of what life during and after the rapture will be like--everything that will be eradicated when all is said and done.  When he got to orphans and foster children (maybe I should phrase that, 'children without parents and homes' instead), abortions, miscarriages, still births, birth defects, poverty, and other heartaches and hardships our children face today--and we face as parents--I had to choke back sobs.  When he started naming off specific birth defects, I had to cling to my seat with one hand, and Shawn with the other, anchoring my feet to the floor and my butt to my chair, fighting the urge to jump up while shouting "NO MORE AUTISM!"  Even writing this post, even telling Shawn, and BFFs Sharon and Jen, about it, my eyes still fill with tears, and I still have to fight the urge to break down and cry.

The thing is though, I don't think of Noah as being defective.  He's different, yes, but far from defective.  God made Noah in His own image.  My child is fearfully and wonderfully made by our Creator Himself.  God knew Noah before He formed him in my womb.  God has great plans for His--our--son, and He knew those plans, walked Noah's path, before Noah was born.  And another thing?  Noah is who he is because of ASD--he's not ASD, but it is part of what has made him Noah.  I don't know who he'd be like without it, but there are parts of him I absolutely love and adore, knowing full well he wouldn't have those traits without it.  But would I make life easier for him, given the chance?  Absolutely. He's my son, and I want what's best for him.

Noah frustrates me at times.  At times, raising him is a full-on, hair-pulling (and raising!), foot-stomping, downright maddening experience; not just for me, but for himself as well.  This is not something I would ever wish upon any child, or any parent, most of all, my own.  I admit, with tremendous guilt (because there's a part of me that feels as though that might say something about how I feel about Noah), to breathing a sigh of relief when Avery showed no signs of it.  I will also admit that at times I feel guilty for complaining about Noah's autism; after all, in the grand scheme of things, his is an incredibly mild case.  On the flip side, there are also times I am guiltily grateful it is not something else with which we struggle.  But seeing Noah frustrated with himself is enough to drive this mom to tears.  Some days, it's just too much.  Living as though we are in the movie Groundhog Day, day in and day out, is enough to make me wonder just how long it will be before I end up in a pretty little padded cell with a fabulously stylish new coat, snacking on Xanax.  I love my son, but there are times I really, really hate autism.  I want to scream, "HE'S MY SON!  LEAVE HIM ALONE!"  There are times I want to rage against autism, times I want to ask God how this could possibly be part of His plan for Noah, times I just want to curl up in a ball and make it all go away.  Is it weird to want to scream at something I can't see, can't touch, can't even put a face to?

I will also tell you there is extreme joy in raising Noah.  At times, raising him can be a very humbling experience.  His triumphs are greater, his efforts bigger, his successes more celebratory, and his rare smile more precious.  I am always grateful for Noah, for his life, and the gift he is to me.  He is my hero, and I'm grateful for everything he is teaching me as I attempt to raise him up.  There are times I've even been grateful for autism, because we wouldn't be who we are today without it as a part of our lives.

I love Noah just the way he is, and I'd never seek out to change him.  Help him build coping mechanisms into his life to be able to function in society? Yes.  But change him?  No.  I don't believe my son needs to be cured, or changed, or whatever. Noah doesn't need to conform, or fit in, or be anyone but himself. But I do become frustrated for him (and yes, with him *sigh*), and in that frustration, whatever I can do to make life easier for him--I would do, I will do.  In a heartbeat.  Just like any other mom.

ASD has left both of us lonely while sitting right next to each other.  It has made it difficult for us to forge a bond; it makes it difficult for Noah to forge any bond.  It makes it difficult for Noah to not walk into traffic, to play with his brother, to make eye contact, to make friends, to be in crowds--it just makes life difficult, period.  BUT, it has also created a young man who strives for his best every day, has a love and sensitivity for animals, has a curious mind, and who makes me prouder than I could ever possibly put into words.  Noah is full of awkward goofiness, while at the same time, capable of profound thoughts that simply stun most adults.  Autism has grown and matured our family while helping us educate others, and has created goals and dreams for all of us individually, and as a family unit.  We have wonderful friends we wouldn't otherwise have because of the autism connection.  We've had experiences and opportunities we wouldn't have had without autism.  It reminds us that even the little things in life are huge, and worthy of celebrating.  We are constantly reminded to never take life too seriously. Perhaps most of all, our experiences, and autism itself, have taught us volumes about love, acceptance, differences, faith, and perseverance.

Every mom wants the best for her children, and sometimes that includes the eradication and cure of a disorder, a disease, or an illness, and even of everyday, normal difficulties and struggles our children face.  What we learn instead, is to use these trials to help make us stronger, and to help make our children better than they could ever be.  Sometimes, the difficult part--and the key in life--is remembering that what we think is best for our children, isn't what God knows is best.

What we learn, is to trust in, and lean on, God--and to teach our children to do the same.  We are mere humans, and simply cannot do this thing called 'life' on our own. 

Noah may never be 'cured' by society's standards (I won't print what I really want to say about that!), but he's imperfectly perfect (perfectly imperfect?) by our Father's standards.  Noah is perfectly imperfect to me.  And for our family, that's what matters most.