The Prayer

Sunday school ended and we gathered the children to head back to the church to take part in the remainder of the service. Church is touch and go for us. Sitting in one place for any amount of time is not our strength (neither is whispering!), but we are blessed with a very loving church family who seem to understand – or at least ignore – our children’s unorthodox ways of “worshiping.” As we made our way to the church from the parish hall, my son (many steps ahead) made a beeline for the rock wall and began running up and down it with great abandon. Shuttling the others into the church, I went over to invite him to join me in the church. He informed me that Dad said he could stay out there. (Truth telling – also not our strength…)

After some time walking around with him, he finally agreed to come inside with me. As I settled into the pew, he headed to the back of the church to grab some paper and colored pencils. I was grateful he chose a calm activity to keep him occupied. Several minutes later I glanced down to see what he was drawing. But he was not drawing, he was actually writing – a minor miracle given that any request for him to write is typically met with flailing body parts, steam coming out of his ears, daggers shooting out of his eyes, and slight foaming at the mouth. Then I read what he was writing…God will you forgive me for all I’ve done. I’m trying so hard to be who you want me to be. I wish I could fix it.

<Insert ugly cry and melting heart>

He knows. He knows that sometimes his behavior is unacceptable, and hear this – he DOESN’T WANT IT TO BE. Sometimes, given what he has experienced and given this point in his development, he just really CANNOT control it. I know people who see us in public spaces may have a hard time believing this, and trust me, I understand the doubt! My husband and I spend the majority of our day playing a little game we like to call “Can He Help it or Not.” (If this were an Olympic event I am convinced that the training we have endured would secure us a medal!) The thing is this kid is bright and insightful and a deeper thinker than most 40 year-olds I know…when he is regulated. But when he is triggered by a memory, a smell, a sound, or when his anxiety kicks in, his dinosaur brain takes over and logic, knowledge, control have effectively left the building.

That morning in Sunday School we had read the story of Jesus and Levi. Jesus asks Levi, a tax collector despised by society, to come follow him. Jesus is not looking for those who are righteous, but for those who are imperfect. We encouraged the children to think of someone in school or in their neighborhood who was often left out and to write them a card inviting them into relationship through a play date or sitting together at lunch. My son, who is home schooled (a discussion for another post) and struggles to make friends was stumped by this assignment. He spent the entire class cutting paper into tiny little pieces. Shortly afterwards, back in church, he penned the prayer. Did he see himself in Levi, the one no one wants to be around? A “bad” kid? Unfortunately that is his interpretation of the messages he often receives from others in public spaces. It breaks my heart, and I just want to throw this paper in their faces…”See?! See?! He is trying! He doesn’t want to annoy you or to insult your vision of how children should behave. He is asking God for help, and HE IS TRYING!”

Then it struck me…this is my prayer too. I am trying so hard to be the person God wants me to be. I am trying to remain patient as I deal with tantrums that spring from seemingly nowhere. I am trying to hold on to all of the beautiful moments that are filled with peace and laughter and not forget them during those dark days. I am trying to teach my children coping skills and to model for them how to effectively handle their emotions. I am trying to live in the moment and to not worry about what today’s behavior might mean for the people my children are destined to become. I am voraciously reading about all of their multiple diagnoses in order to find ways to best support them without losing faith. I wish I could fix it. God, please forgive me…I am trying.

After letting me read the prayer, my son folded it up and hid it in the pew. He wanted to leave it “for God to read.” (Side note: To anyone who knows us, the note is still there <wink, wink>. His mother did not remove it when he wasn’t looking to save it for herself because she knows God can read it wherever it is. And she certainly didn’t blog about it…)