Feeling the Spirit at Church With My Autistic Son

After 10 years of taking David to Church I've finally realized I don't need to sit through an entire service in quiet reverence in order to feel the Spirit. When I make the effort to be at Church with my autistic son the Spirit can find a way to reach me. 

Sunday.

The longest hardest day of the week.

 

The day I take David to Church.

 

One Sunday after an especially long and trying sacrament service I found myself standing in front of the elevator. Nine months pregnant. David had just pushed the button and was jumping up and down as he waited for the doors to open.

 

I felt exhausted. I wondered how I’d get through the next two hours. David had been upset for most of the first hour. This made me think the next two wouldn’t go well either. It was one of those Sundays where I found myself wondering if it was worth all the effort.

As I leaned against the wall a painting caught my eye. It hung next to the elevator and was positioned directly in front of me. I recognized it as a pioneer burial in the snow. I’ve stood in front of the elevator many times and I’ve seen that painting before. But this time was different.

The scene before me—‘Martin Handcart Company, Bitter Creek, Wyoming 1856’—depicted by Clark Kelley Price, ignited a warm glow inside me as the Spirit filled my being. Deep within my soul the fires of faith burned a little brighter.  

 

I tried to imagine what it must be like to bury your husband or child in a shallow, snowy grave. Tears welled up in my eyes. I was glad that wasn’t my reality.

All of a sudden my trial didn’t feel so bad. I’d rather bring an autistic child to Church than bury him in the snow.

The elevator doors swung open and David pranced inside. I followed close behind. It didn’t matter now if the next two hours were difficult. I’d received the spiritual strengthening I needed.

In the midst of chasing David, the Spirit found a way to reach me. It only took a few seconds for me to be uplifted and edified. In the short time it took for the elevator to arrive I received a beautiful impression of comfort and faith—my reward for coming to Church.

 

All of my effort in wrestling David had now become worthwhile.

 

Weak Body, Strong Spirit

Real strength doesn't come from our physical bodies, it comes from our spirits. Even though our bodies may be physically weak, they house strong spirits.

Before David's birth, I wanted to know who he was. One night as I lay on my bed quietly pondering, I received some distinct spiritual impressions. I sensed he was a strong, determined, warrior-like spirit, similar to Teancum of old. I was told even though he'd arrive in a small, fragile body, he was a strong, mature spirit. I marveled at this information and imagined him one day serving a mission as a great spiritual warrior.

And then the awful complications of his birth. . .

. . . a stroke and oxygen deprivation.

When I saw my baby for the first time he was attached to life-support machines in the Newborn Intensive Care Unit(NICU). (I'd just been released from Intensive Care myself, and was now allowed to visit my baby.) He lay peacefully nestled amidst a maze of tubes and wires. At the center of all this medical equipment was the most perfect angel I'd ever seen.

The lights in the NICU had been lowered. Within this soft twilight, David's body shone. He was filled with light and radiated a warm glow. His eyes were closed, and he had a fine brush of light brown hair. Immediately I noticed his little upturned chin. It was Rob's chin, complimented by a cute button nose. I marveled at how long his toes were. So unlike my short, stubby ones. And each slender finger, so perfectly formed.

At 7.1 pounds and 20 inches he looked too big to have fitted inside me.

Could he really be mine?

Now that I'd seen him the thought of letting him go was even more unbearable. In all my attempts to imagine his face, I could not have conjured up a masterpiece so magnificent as the person who lay before me. My heart swelled. Seized with joy I felt the power of maternal love flood my being. Pure and strong.

My arms ached to hold him and my bosom longed to soak up the warmth of his being. But he belonged to all those machines and medical attendants.

I remembered the impressions I'd received prior to his birth--that he was a strong, determined, warrior-like spirit. I'd imagined him fighting great spiritual battles. But now I realized he was engaged in a physical battle as he fought for his life. I reminded myself even though his body was weak and fragile, it housed a strong, mature spirit. I determined to put my faith in this strength and prayed his spirit would triumph and remain with us in mortality.

Thought for the month

“Some of those who have required much waiting upon in this life may be waited upon in the next world—but for the highest of reasons.”

(Neal A. Maxwell, “A More Determined Discipleship,” Ensign, Feb. 1979, 79‒73)