Communication among family members is important. So I ask questions. My wife Andrea tells me about her workout at five o’clock in the morning. I hear about the new girls our oldest son Trevor (16) met at band camp. Our daughter Tristen (13) tells me about municipal band practice (it was her first time and she was really nervous). Our youngest, T.J. (9), talks non-stop about Camp Invention and what he is going to make. I know a lot about what kind of day my family had and how they’re all feeling.

But we have one child, Trent (11), who lives in a world of his own. He never tells us about his adventures at school. We learn about his scrapes and bruises only when we happen to see them. He has never told us his stomach hurt. When he is hungry he says “hamburgers” or “bacon.” If he is thirsty we hear “juice” or “milk.” And we often discover his pain or frustration only after he becomes violent. There is no conversation, no knowledge of his activities, no communication.

At a young age we knew there was something different about Trent. In some areas he progressed normally or even early, but there were clues even then. Trent walked at 11 months (earlier than our others) and within a few weeks he began to carry the full gallon of milk around the house looking for someone to get him a drink. Trent didn’t seem to care what was going on around him. We would stand behind him, stomping, yelling his name, or banging pots together with absolutely no reaction. We had his hearing tested three times. Finally, at two years old, Trent was diagnosed by a pediatric developmental specialist with severe, or classic autism. That diagnosis changed every thought, every dream, every aspect of our lives.

Those first years were difficult. From accepting the reality that our child had a disability to learning how to restrain him during an outburst, everything moved in fast forward. Members of the church I served at the time did their best to help us, though their well meaning encouragements couldn’t get through the flood of emotions we faced.

Church people use certain slogans when someone is facing something difficult. We heard them all. “God only gives special children to special parents.” “God must really think you are great parents to have entrusted you with this precious jewel.” “Don’t forget that God will never give you more than you can handle.” These statements were meant to encourage, but they only caused more confusion. They sounded spiritual but they offered little comfort.

At age three Trent was beginning to be physically violent, hitting us and his siblings. He continued to reveal his feelings through aggression. We lived in a constant state of alert. Trent slept only two to four hours a night and never took a nap. Then a single reply in an autism chat room about an over-the-counter sleep aid called Melatonin got us our first full night of sleep in two years. Trent fell asleep 30 minutes after the dose and slept all night. You can’t imagine our prayers of thankfulness that next morning.

Trent was a challenge at church too, especially when he got too big for the nursery. We decided that I would sit with Trent while Andi sang in the choir and then I would preach. Several times I had to restrain him in the foyer and then quickly walk to the stage and preach while everyone sat in silence, not realizing what I had been doing. One morning Trent walked into the sanctuary and slugged a church member in the face. It was then that Andrea stopped singing in the choir, leading worship, or doing much of anything church related. At the height of Trent’s physical violence I considered leaving the ministry and finding a job that paid well and offered good insurance. (That discussion still comes up at least twice a year.)

But there have been unexpected blessings too. Our children don’t struggle with materialism since Trent destroys nearly everything of value they have. They still love him, including him in play and “tickle fast” on the floor. They also have a great heart for others with disabilities and stick up for those who can’t defend themselves. We also have witnessed God move when I called the elders of the church to come and pray for Trent in James 5 fashion. As they prayed, Trent was visibly agitated. He jumped up and ran to his little brother as an elder prayed that he come back to our circle. Trent headed straight for T.J. and for the only time in his life, he used a name for a reason. Trent took him by the hand and said, “T.J. come.” They came back to the center of that circle and sat until we were done. From that day on Trent’s violent aggression has not been as severe or lasted as long as it had previously. We thank God for miracles.

In 2007 I planted Real Life Christian Church and for a time Trent attended with us. This was stressful for the whole family. Andrea is the worship leader, our son Trevor plays percussion, and Tristen sings while I play the bass guitar and then preach. More than once Trent has made his way on stage to see his mom in the middle of a song. On those Sundays my message begins with, “The young man who came on the stage is my son, Trent. He has severe autism and sometimes just wants his mom. You can say hello to him but don’t feel bad if he doesn’t reply.” We are grateful that we live close to Andrea’s parents who are a tremendous help with Trent. Our evenings out have been a blessing we cannot hope to repay. And lately Trent’s grandpa has been missing church at Real Life in order to watch him when a sitter is unavailable.

Andrea continues to work as a special education teacher and is working on her EdS in school psychology. She also continues to lead the praise team and be Mom. I began driving Trent to and from school every day in January of this year and started working with Trent as a para-educator in his classroom to give the five ladies it took to restrain him a break.

If there are special needs kids in your church, you can help. Don’t offer platitudes. Be available. Be honest. You may not be able to physically watch their child, as in our case, but you can help. Keep an eye on the child so the parent can have more than a 30-second conversation at church. Maybe you could take their siblings to a movie to give them a break from the stress of home. Recognize that this child probably takes up a huge amount of time and energy and don’t be critical of moments of weakness or times when they need to vent. Be conscious of the look on your face. Special needs parents are often sensitive about how others look at their child. Encourage your church to explore options in respite care or special needs Sunday school classes. Do your best to make those families who find the courage to attend your church feel not only welcomed but wanted and valued. Ask questions about their child’s care or needs and offer to attend Sunday school with the child so the parents can enjoy the service. If you jump in and help, others will be more willing to accept them too.

If you are in the ministry and have a special needs child, realize that God’s plan was not for any child to be born with a disability. He did not single you out or decide to test you. The reality, in our fallen world, is that sometimes life stinks; you must to learn to adapt. Do what you can and what God has called you to do and let others step up to the ministry plate and take a swing. Remember that God can handle your questions, anger, and tears. Do whatever it takes to keep your marriage strong; it’s going to be hard on the whole family. Dig in and you’ll make it with God’s help. Don’t be afraid to take advantage of help and get away. A strong marriage leads to a strong family. You may contact me at corey@reallifecc.us if I can be of any help to you. |L