A Long and Rambling Tale…

This morning, almost ten months after our ward split, I headed back to our old building to hear my friend’s son give his welcome-home talk. When Beanie heard I was going to the old church, his face lit up- for the first time this year. He raced to his room, frantic with excitement- and rushed back to me, asking my help in reaching his “best church shirt way up high”. Since January, church has been more of a nightmare than usual- and church with an autistic child is enough of a nightmare- trust me.

Over the years, during sacrament meeting, Beanie has broken my teeth loose, given me countless nosebleeds, and busted my lip numerous times- he doesn’t process noise (or touch) well, and when you combine chatter, organ music, singing and people too close, it’s a recipe for disaster. When he gets agitated, he head-butts- hence my face battering.

But don’t judge him too harshly- like so many autistic children, he’s also a wonderful, loving, sweet boy- you just have to know how to work with him, and have patience. Lots and lots of patience.

You can probably imagine what a joy Nursery was for him- and his leaders. But the Lord has been kind to us, and there were two other mothers in our ward with autistic children- both older and both wiser than me, with older children, and both willing to help me. It was in Nursery that Sister Love was called to be Beanie’s special teacher. Sister Love is a young grandmother, but most of her children don’t live nearby, and she took it upon herself to learn all she could about Aspergers and how best to serve Beanie. She was loving and patient and infinitely kind to a confusing child not her own. I’ve heard people stand and say how they love the primary- but watching Sister Love with Beanie cracked my heart wide open.

When January rolled around and it was time to move up to Sunbeams, I was sick with worry- but our wise Bishop moved Sister Love up with Beanie. She became his Sunbeam teacher. After she had been with him almost a year, he finally let her touch him. She never forced him- only acted as a warm sun, eventually making him feel so safe he opened up and loved her back. And when he opened up his heart to her, it was a flood. He would climb up in her lap and just melt. She moved up with him two more times. Sister Love would even sit with us in Sacrament meeting- she would have a bag of comforting things just for Beanie- and he would nestle in next to her and relax. Relaxing is a big, big deal, when a child has Aspergers. And I would sit and cry tears of gratitude.

So in January, our ward split. The first thing I checked on the new map was where Sister Love landed. My heart was leaden when I saw her house, on a boundary street, simply on the wrong side of the road. Beanie did not understand- not any of it. Not why were at a different building, not why the seats were different, not why the rooms were different or who these new children were in his new class. And most of all, not why Sister Love was gone. He was a wreck.

Sister Love came over the night of the split, and Beanie had been waiting for her at the front window. When she pulled in the driveway, he flew out the door and ran down the walk, flinging himself into her arms, and sobbing. (I can’t even type this without tearing up). She came in and we did our pathetic best to explain that sometimes things like this happen, and we have to be brave.

Since January, Beanie has had four different primary teachers, and another was called last week. He hates church. Now days, he spends most of the second and third hour with me, only occasionally venturing into Primary.

So today, he put on his best shirt- which for Beanie is huge- and ran downstairs to color a picture for Sister Love. He even wrote his name on it, in careful, giant blue crayon. We got to the chapel before she did- she usually sits alone in the back- and Beanie was antsy and excited, and constantly keening towards the doors. I saw her come in and sit down before he did.

Carefully taking his hand, I walked him outside the chapel and down the hall, towards the folding chairs in the gym. When she saw us, she came into the hallway, fell to her knees and gathering him into an enormous, teary hug. He he took her hand, full of laughter and news, and bounded off with her to the back row, leaving me standing in the hallway with tears running down my face.

He spent the rest of the hour cozied up next to her, quietly chatting and sharing his tales and adventures, his little face glowing.

I was wiping tears with a torn tissue out in the hallway when the two more-experienced moms who had helped me found me. They had just watched what happened- and as mothers of spectrum children, they were also teary and emotional. They wanted me to know they were going to petition the Stake President (in this ward as well) and the Bishop to let Sister Love change wards.

I have no idea what will happen. It may or may not be allowed- but none of those rules detract from the power of one person, guided by the Spirit, to actually be the hands of the Lord here on Earth.