The Music of Missed Milestones

Last night, after we read an Easter book that ended with Jesus sitting at the right hand of God, Caroline asked, "Where is God?" 

Wow. I didn't know what to say or where to begin. How do you break something down so huge and abstract to a little girl of two? But my heart beamed. She had asked me about God, and I was going to say something. 

"He's in heaven...in the sky." 

I probably could've come up with something better, but that's all I managed to say.

"Why?" she replied.

"Well, he's watching over us. He lives in your heart, too."

She didn't ask anything else, so I left it at that. 

But as I left her room, sadness filled my heart. Isaac has never really asked questions about God. One thing about being on the autism spectrum is the struggle to understand abstract concepts like faith. I've often battled with this, wondering if my son will be saved from sin, if he will understand and grasp needing a savior, wondering if God will understand if he doesn't. This is tough stuff.

One of the first things I remember about our journey was seeing a little girl praying around her table one night on Facebook. She was Isaac's age. She had her chubby hands clasped together and her head bowed. She whispered some words while the family cheered and clapped. They were two. My heart began to fill with sadness and jealousy. I kept wondering, "Why can't I ever get Isaac to imitate us? Why doesn't he even want to try? What am I doing wrong? How did I mess this up?"

Thankfully, he's just beginning to understand prayer. For a long time, he struggled with this. If we were praying at church and sometimes at home, it scared him. I don't think he could grasp why all of us were bowing our heads and getting quiet while one person seemingly talked to himself. 

Still, though, things are different for us, and even though it's hard to talk about it, I feel like it's my responsibility to communicate our struggles sometimes, to give our song a melody. 

Some of our songs have slow, steady rhythms that weave into our hearts and minds, staying with us forever. 

These are the bittersweet ones...beautiful because they remind us of where we've been and echo our homesick-for-heaven hearts. They give us hope. They give us promise. 

They crescendo and build with hope only to plummet back into the minor notes to remind us that this is not our home.

These are found in my family's songbook. Sometimes I have trouble turning the page and instead linger on the music of missed milestones. 

Often I find that my voice is rusty, I'm using the wrong songbook, reading the wrong lyrics. 

This can't be right. 

I feel the melodic joy building in one minute, and the next I'm plunging head first into the minor notes all brimming with rough edges and chaos. They sting. They hurt. 

Sometimes I watch my little boy at church and say, "God, what was in your mind when you created this little boy?

Before he was ever in our hearts, I prayed for him. I bargained with God. "Make him different, God," I said. "Make him special. Make him stand out. I promise to give him back to you." 

I imagined a preacher, singer, song writer, or artist. I visualized him possibly in front of the pulpit, singing, teaching, and passing on his legacy and testimony. I envisioned a little one singing in the choir and inviting his friends from school to church. I imagined sweet prayers with chubby hands smashed together.

But life isn't what we always have in mind.

Key change.

Instead, I watch him fidget, lie down, squirm, make noises, and exist uncomfortably in his own skin at times, and I wonder. 

Will this ever make a difference for him? Will he ever understand?

The enemy says that Isaac won't ever understand God or anything on that abstract of a level...that nothing that emotional will ever permeate his realm of thinking...that his sounds, squirms, and over-stimulated mind will always take precedence over the Word...that his literal mind will never grasp the wonder of salvation and community...that he will always be held prisoner by his own mind.

And with this, my voice falls flat. Sometimes I lose it all together.

This is when I'm reminded of Paul, the great martyr and teacher that he was. He often communicated with people and churches from a great distance. He poured out his life and love into his letters, and he depended on these epistles to share the message of God's sovereignty and to give his readers a hope of righteous identity in Christ. Alone in his cell, Paul had to truly believe in something he had absolutely no control over. He had to love those in which he could not communicate or monitor. He  had to love and forgive those he was angry with. He even had to forgive himself. I imagine he felt stuck at times, vulnerable, and powerless. I imagine he felt lost and confused, probably how Abraham felt when God led him to the mountain with Isaac in tow.

But, y'all, the song isn't over. It wasn't then; it isn't now.

"Fulfilled by love," that's what Paul teaches us about in Galatians regarding the old law and Jesus' sacrifice.  He says, "The only thing that counts is faith expressing itself through love." Gal. 5:6

When I walk into the sanctuary and see my church family keeping my little boy so my exhausted heart can hear the Word, I am fulfilled. When his grandparents take my little boy to spend the night at his favorite places, I feel fulfilled. When Isaac's teachers and paras send me messages of encouragement or pictures of him enjoying himself at school, I feel fulfilled. When friends tell me they saw Isaac or interacted with him, knowing it will warm my heart, I feel fulfilled. When my son learns something knew and wants to show me, I feel fulfilled. 

My stubborn heart that lingers on rules and formalities does not fulfill me. My plans don't. My expectations. My broken dreams. The developmental checklists. 

Love. What fulfillment.

God is our composer. He’s the Great Musician. He knows the lyrics to our song, because He penned every word. 

So what is God? A big question with a simple answer.

God is Love, and because of the example of his sacrifice, I too can relinquish any mental or emotional bondage I have over my life and my circumstances. I am free to love and forgive, and I am free to sing about it. 

This is why I sing; maybe you'll want to sing along, too.

"For the Spirit God gave us does not make us timid, but gives us power, love and self-discipline. So do not be ashamed of the testimony about our Lord or of me his prisoner. Rather, join with me in suffering for the gospel, by the power of God. He has saved us and called us to a holy life—not because of anything we have done but because of his own purpose and grace." 2 Tim 1:7-9

I've Been Singing 'Bout my Lord for so many years 
I've Sung when I've been happy 
Even Sung When I've had Tears 
I've even had Folks ask me 
If It's All Been Just A Show 
But the Reason That I'm Singing 
I Want the World to Know 
Chorus 
I Sing Because There is an Empty Grave 
I Sing Because There is the Power to Save 
I Sing Because His Grace is Real to Me 
I Sing Because I Know I'm Not Alone 
I Sing Because Someday I'm Going Home 
Where I Shall Sing Through All Eternity 
Verse 2 
I've Sung to Those Walking Through the Fiery Trial 
I've Watched Their Saddened Faces Turn Into Happy Smiles 
I've Bowed my Head and Whispered 
Lord, Please do the Same For Me 
And I'm Glad That I Can Tell You 
He's Always Given Victory

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The Music of Missed Milestones