I stood in front of baby Isaac in the kitchen of our family Cabin on Whidbey Island waving a spoonful of homemade applesauce in front of his mouth. He was wearing little textured green leggings with a tiny navy blue waistband at the top. There was no cute matching shirt to go with them. Just some random green leggings—hand-me-downs from a women we knew from Church who kindly passed along box after box of baby boy clothing to our small family. But there was something about these little pants that brought me great joy. I am not sure what it was about them—perhaps it was something about the way his chubby legs merrily kicked In them that brought a sense of deep satisfaction to my heart. He wore them often, and then I kept them—not for later boys to wear, but as a symbol of Isaac’s babyhood.
This particular year, I had gone home for Christmas. Brian, baby Isaac and I had taken a ferry to Whidbey Island in the forever green Pacific Northwest where mild, rainy, short days fill the winter with sweatshirt and beanie wearing joy. And this Christmas, instead of romping in the woods and on the beach reminiscing my childhood, I spent much of my time trying to get my little guy to eat and sleep. Ironically enough, trying to maintain these simple life sustaining practices for my son still take up much of my time and attention these twelve years later. At that time, however, all I knew was that my baby hated eating and sleeping. I also knew that in order to stay alive, he needed both. I would often pull out my phone and let him watch Sesame Street while I snuck bites of applesauce in his little mouth. I was well aware of all the folks watching with love and concern—perhaps some watching on with silent disapproval as well. I knew it was not recommended to distract a child in order to get them to eat. But, I also knew—even in my first-time-new-mom heart that Isaac was not a typical baby despite what his pediatrician had said. If this was the way I could get him to eat, then despite the judgment, I would do what it took to feed him.
For a long time, both before and after Isaac’s diagnosis, I kept thinking something along the lines of: “we’ll figure things out and find a sustainable groove….things will even out…we’ll find a ‘normal’ continuable life rhythm.” At some point after many years of waddling around in autism’s puzzling behaviors and complexities, I realized something. I realized that there is no real landing spot in Isaac’s autism journey. We don’t get to figure it out and then cruise along. We can make progress. We can even have major breakthroughs. But the success of these seasons readily bleeds into other health or behavioral or emotional or developmental or communicative complexities. I realized that I needed to stop chasing some obscure predictable security or ease of existence in his care and embrace the wildness of the puzzle… even expecting that the pieces will not all be found or fit together perfectly in this life.
Security cannot be found in my own understanding and smooth navigation of Isaac’s autistic existence.
Security can be found in listening to and trusting in the One who fully comprehends every aspect of our individual mortal walk.
Still, I struggle.
“Thy will be done.” The truth is, this sacred and faith-filled phrase has often scared me. I have often felt like I needed to brace myself as I slur through the essence of this sentiment—I pray for my hearts deepest, most righteous desires—timely healing for a loved one; the safety of my children in a scary world; the end to a specific suffering—and then I brace myself as I recognize that these prayers may not be answered in a way that makes sense to me. In fact, some of these prayers might be “answered” in what feels like tragedy—the opposite of what I wanted—the opposite of what I felt I needed. On the other end of the spectrum, sometimes the answers to my prayers wildly exceed more than I could ever ask or imagine (Ephesians 3:20). Clearly, I am not in charge. He is. And I don’t always understand the goodness in His will—or what He causes/allows to happen in this world.
As I have continued to ponder on why I sometimes internally balk in my efforts to surrender to His will, I have learned something that has settled my heart in all of this. In 3 Nephi 27:13, Jesus Christ is ministering to the people on the ancient American Continent. He says: “Behold I have given unto you my gospel, and this is the gospel which I have given unto you—that I came into the world to do the will of my Father, because my Father sent me.” One’s “will” is defined as the inner strength, determination, or control to guide action” (Merium-Webster). So, what is God’s will? I found the answer in one of the most well known passages in all of holy writ: “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life” (John 3:16) God’s will is a manifestation of His perfect love. God’s will is His Love. Always.
“Thy will be done” shifted in my mind and heart to “Thy Love be done.” In all things, let “Thy Love be done.” That feels safe. That feels secure. My prayers will be answered according to His perfect, wise, love. That, I can trust even without fully understanding. His Love powers the goodness that can be born in every earthly experience..
I can shift the heavy to Him. In the unfolding of autism and every puzzling or painful reality past, present, and future “Thy Love be done.”
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