Sunday, September 25, 2011
The boys indoor play on a rainy day.
The fact that it was a rainy day was apropos. The gloomy weather mirrored the melancholy sentiment blanketing our house. I suppose our household blahs began at church (of all places).
Our Sunday morning progressed as many prior Sundays. The boys dressed in a mostly timely fashion, and I whisked the five of us to church (minus Chris working in the ER). Caleb, my Aspie son, appeared fine until he hit the Sunday school classroom; that's when my morning began to unravel. I'll spare the details, but say the service ended with me in tears, Caleb wedged behind an array of boxes, and a legion of church staff and volunteers hovering around the perimeter.
As I pulled out of the church parking lot, tears still stinging my eyes, I wondered if I should ever return. Wasn't the morning painful enough to even consider returning? Could I ever really endure that again?
Then, I thought about why I take the boys to church. The messages all four boys are receiving. The friendships they're forming. How could I not return?
I reflected on my race in Asheville, North Carolina. I remembered how difficult it was to scale hill after hill. I recalled how many times I wanted to quit, preferring to fall in a heap on the side. A week later, I'm so glad I pushed through the pain and difficulty and finished the race strong.
I think it's like that with Caleb. Some moments are quite painful. It's so easy to want to fall to the side, seeking the easier route. But I'm hoping the effort and endurance expended will reap good things (for Caleb) in the future.
So, I'm preparing to return to church next week, four boys in tow. I'll hope for even terrain, but be prepared for any ascensions.