rainbows.

I'm spending this week at God's Treasures Camp on the shores of Lake Huron. (You can read more about the camp here.) As I prepared last night with the rest of the counselors and staff, we practiced with the colored bells that I'll be using with the campers. Immediately my mind went back to the story below; this was originally posted on June 19, 2008.

My friend Megan goes to the same church as me. Every Thursday night, from September to June, I have dinner with Megan and her mom. It’s a high-point of my week and when I’m with them, I feel blessed and loved and understood. Megan is five years old and she has autism.

We met when Megan was two and her mom would bring her to a store where I worked. In those first days, Megan was in a stroller and couldn’t walk on her own. She had no verbal skills and would almost never make eye contact. She was in her own world and had very few bridges to let others in.

Megan and I have come a long way from those days. We now see each other at church instead of the mall and Megan walks and talks and makes connections with lots of people. She still has trouble making eye contact and needs a reminder to use her words but from those first days of our friendship—she is a different child.

Along this path we’ve walked together I have been so blessed by this little girl who is truly a friend. Megan has taught me the truth of unexpected, undeserved, and truly unconditional, love. Not because of how I have come to love her, but because of how she has loved me.

In the beginning and still in many ways to this day, Megan thinks highly of only three people—her mom, her first teacher, and me. For no reason what-so-ever, Megan took it upon herself to love me. And no one loves as an autistic child loves. With Megan I am invited into a new world. A world that exists inside and around and throughout this mundane world that everyone else sees.

In this world there are mysteries around every corner. In this world, green is a magic and wonderful and most beautiful color and it should be on every surface we can possibly touch. In this world there should always be frosting and no cake. In this world, chocolate is made out of moon sand and a broken lightbulb is as dire and distressing as a broken heart.

With Megan I eat tacos from the inside out and bananas from the bottom down. And I watercolor just to color water.

Megan has given me tools I never knew I needed. I’ve learned to embrace my life in a way that I didn’t do before her and couldn’t do without her. Through my friendship with Megan and her mom, I have met other children with autism. And I have begun to open my eyes to the beauty of God’s creation. A beauty that makes itself known in tubs full of lima beans and rice and in purple shaving cream.

Today I sat in a circle with seven of these children—my new friends—and watched them making music with colored bells. After the last resounding chorus a tiny voice reached up from next to me and whispered, that sound was a rainbow. It was the best secret I’ve ever been told.

Wanting.

You know what I want?
I want family.
I mean a big family.
I want a ‘talking over each other at the dinner table’ kind of family;
a ‘hair pulling cause you looked at me funny,
but I’d still kick the ass of any little kid that messed with you on the playground’
kind of family.
I want a home and a house and a life where God is known by name and love is lived out loud.

And even when you laugh at me because I want more kids than I can count on one hand,
I hold tight to my dream.
And I outright reject the thought that this is too idealistic because some sense of societal norm makes it so.

Still, another year has passed by without the whisper of a turning page
and I am almost ‘at that age’ as they say,
so for now I still wait.

It just seems like so much of my life is spent waiting
and wasting away
on the next job or next man or next plan for my life
which is happening still in the midst of it all
but I –
I crave the brink.

Makes me think:
But what of right now?

I was once told that before you’re an us, you’re a one.
And I shouldn’t squander one bit of my time.
Because soon enough I would be entwined with ours and not just mine.
So I guess I’ll be selfish with time;
trying to be a little more slow
and grow
and come to know God as only I can right now.
Truths I find? Those are mine alone,
between this one single young female and her God.

So just as God loves me
whom He dreamed up and designed
before I ever saw life in this time,
I will keep my own dreams of love and life and family.
And I will keep waiting.
Waiting with thankfulness that God will guide and protect my heart.

I can make this vow,
this vow, right now:
I am His and He is mine—
for life’s best and its worst;
when I fall and when I rise up.
In moments of richness and times of such deep soul poverty.
Until my death and through all things.

I make this one vow,
this vow, right now:
I will live and love.
And I'll wait.

Although—
it doesn't mean I wouldn't date.

Waiting.

Sarah laughed at God’s word.
She couldn’t believe what she had just heard.
A baby in her belly after all these years…
I am not ninety years old
but I walk around like there’s nothing left to unfold.
Close the book, it’s over on this story.
But I’m starting to believe.
There’s faith where there was none before
and hope where there had been despair
and confidence that seems to come from nowhere.
God will do what He said He will do.
God will do what He said…
I’m starting to believe.
-Starting to Believe, Jenny Youngman

Last year on my birthday, I felt the first pangs of my age getting away from me. I think everyone has that internal map, something like a checklist to occasionally consult. Some take stock on a birthday or anniversary or the beginning of a new year. Until last year, I hadn’t done much of that. But there it was and in a few weeks will come again.

I think of family – my parents and my brother. My grandfathers who are dead now and my grandmothers who aren’t. I think of the family I want, the children I hope I’ll have, the husband I hope I’ll love. I wonder when those things will happen and why they seem so far away when I want so desperately to find them.

It’s no secret from those who know me well that I want a large family. Five children sounds beautiful to me. A family that knows and loves each other. A home where a life with God is known and loved and lived out. I reject the thought that this is too idealistic and although I understand women—usually mothers—who gently laugh at me, I am holding on to this dream. Yet I have come through another year and still don’t see the page turning. I remain in this chapter of life, shrugging off feelings of disappointment.

I’ve seen the movies of the almost-forty woman finding at long last the love of her life and think: God, please don’t let that be me. Yet in it’s way there is a quiet beauty there. And still, I think of my father’s mother, finding love at eighty and think: God, please don’t let that be me. Yet I sang and prayed and cried at her wedding. 

And I don’t feel sad or desperate or alone so much as I feel like I’m waiting.

It seems much of our lives are spent waiting. Waiting for the next job or relationship or adventure. Or even the next fight or disappointment or pain. It makes me a bit sad that we spend so much time waiting when life is happening in the midst of these things. For some reason we must always be on the brink of something. The brink of a new discovery. Something just around the corner. A finish line just ahead. But what of the now?

A very wise friend of mine once told me she felt a little, tiny prick of heartbreak when she became engaged to the man now her husband. She had a strong faith at a time when I had little and she explained that her faith led her to believe that once united as a couple, a unit, she and her husband would share an intertwined relationship with God. It would no longer be her alone with God, but them. An us. Being in love with love, this seemed beautiful to me and of course it is beautiful. But for her, that new beginning was also an ending.

Though I’m sure she has no idea, her insight has stayed with me for many years. This is a time to treasure and grow and come to know God as only I can right now. The truths I find are mine, small pieces of clarity and joy that are between this one single young woman and her God, her Creator, who loves her beyond all understanding.

So just as God loves me—whom He dreamed up and loved before I ever saw life—I will keep my own dreams of love and life and family. And I will keep waiting, but with thankfulness that God will guide and protect my heart. I am His and He is mine, for life’s best and its worst. When I fall and when I rise up. In moments of richness and times of poverty. Until my death and through all things. I will keep living and loving and waiting.

Psalm 78

O my people, hear my teaching; listen to the words of my mouth. 

I will open my mouth in parables, I will utter hidden things ... things from of old--what we have heard and known, what our fathers have told us.

We will not hide them from their children; we will tell the next generation the praiseworthy deeds of the LORD, his power, and the wonders he has done.

rainbows.

My friend Megan goes to the same church as me. Every Thursday night, from September to June, I have dinner with Megan and her mom. It’s a high-point of my week and when I’m with them, I feel blessed and loved and understood. Megan is five years old and she has autism.

We met when Megan was two and her mom would bring her to a store where I worked. In those first days, Megan was in a stroller and couldn’t walk on her own. She had no verbal skills and would almost never make eye contact. She was in her own world and had very few bridges to let others in.

Megan and I have come a long way from those days. We now see each other at church instead of the mall and Megan walks and talks and makes connections with lots of people. She still has trouble making eye contact and needs a reminder to use her words but from those first days of our friendship—she is a different child.

Along this path we’ve walked together I have been so blessed by this little girl who is truly a friend. Megan has taught me the truth of unexpected, undeserved, and truly unconditional, love. Not because of how I have come to love her, but because of how she has loved me.

In the beginning and still in many ways to this day, Megan thinks highly of only three people—her mom, her first teacher, and me. For no reason what-so-ever, Megan took it upon herself to love me. And no one loves as an autistic child loves. With Megan I am invited into a new world. A world that exists inside and around and throughout this mundane world that everyone else sees.

In this world there are mysteries around every corner. In this world, green is a magic and wonderful and most beautiful color and it should be on every surface we can possibly touch. In this world there should always be frosting and no cake. In this world, chocolate is made out of moon sand and a broken lightbulb is as dire and distressing as a broken heart.

With Megan I eat tacos from the inside out and bananas from the bottom down. And I watercolor just to color water.

Megan has given me tools I never knew I needed. I’ve learned to embrace my life in a way that I didn’t do before her and couldn’t do without her. Through my friendship with Megan and her mom, I have met other children with autism. And I have begun to open my eyes to the beauty of God’s creation. A beauty that makes itself known in tubs full of lima beans and rice and in purple shaving cream.

Today I sat in a circle with seven of these children—my new friends—and watched them making music with colored bells. After the last resounding chorus a tiny voice reached up from next to me and whispered, that sound was a rainbow. It was the best secret I’ve ever been told.