If he doesn't like what's for dinner- melt down. If we are out in public and I prevent him from running to see something interesting- say, in the middle of traffic- melt down. If we are at church and we try to quiet him- melt down. What, you might ask, is a melt down? Have you ever been in a public place and seen a full-grown child on the ground screaming, kicking, thrashing, crying, and you think, "Where are his parents?" or "He should know better" or "If that was my kid, I would…" That's a melt down. And we saw it a lot. A whole lot.
Especially on Sunday. Getting him into clothes that half-way resembled Sunday clothes- melt down. Sitting still for the opening song and prayer- melt down. Chasing him up and down the hall when he escaped his Primary class- melt down. He still sports a scar on his forehead from when he collided with the pew in front of us right before church started. You know, during that quiet, reverent time the Bishop is always reminding us about? Yeah, screams, blood. Awesome.
Our therapist patiently listened to us and asked a few questions. While we talked, I watched this beautiful little boy playing at my feet. He looked so sweet and innocent. Part of me felt guilty for saying these horrible things about this precious child of God. The other part of me wanted to grab the toys away so that this therapist could witness our son in full-blown action.
She gave us some words of advice of things we could do at home to teach him better behaviors. Then just before we left, she asked if there was anything else we were concerned about. Again, I brought up church. She asked about what our church was like. She immediately interrupted our explanation with "THREE HOURS?!! No child, autistic or not, could be expected to sit in church for three hours!" We tried to clarify about Sacrament and Primary, but she wasn't buying it. Her profound words of wisdom? "Stay home."
As we left her office, Jason and I were quiet. I know we were both thinking the same thing. For just a few minutes, I gleefully thought, "Here is the excuse I've been waiting for! Randy is our ticket to quiet, restful, relaxing Sundays!" We could take turns staying home, which would stink, but would be so, so, so much easier. But that thinking didn't last very long. We both knew that this wasn't the answer for our family. We would just keep doing what we were doing. "Endure to the end" and all of that.
So, here's the miracle part-
This morning was going to be your typical rushed, crazy Sunday morning. Jason had a meeting, so I had to help Randy with fast offering collection (Last week was our Stake Conference, so Fast Sunday was today) before going to our meetings. Jason headed downstairs while I rolled out of bed. Then I heard those miraculous words. "Hey! Randy's up. And he's dressed."
"In Sunday clothes?!"
"Yes!"
Did you get that? Randy Welker was the first child out of bed this morning. And was dressed for church before I got into the shower. Today, he collected Fast Offerings and passed the Sacrament just like every other Deacon in our ward. As he sat down with our family, I caught a glimpse of the scar on his forehead he received so many years ago. I never completely expected this day, this quiet, pleasant, restful day to come. I looked at the other fathers and mothers in our ward who were wrestling with their own active toddlers and infants. Those children will also one day grow up to learn to sit somewhat still, and perhaps might actually like going to church. If it can happen to Randy, it can happen to everyone. I was also reminded to have more faith in Randy, to expect more miracles. I can't wait to see how he will pleasantly shock me in the future.
