The Human In Me Doesn't Care What You Think...But Don't Listen to Her

My mother, Donna Rial Baker, always told me, to build great relationships keep in mind...it’s not about I feel about other people or how other people feel about me. It’s about how other people feel about themselves when they’re around me. She always told me that. That doesn’t mean I always remember.

Danny Mack, a pastor and leader I’m proud to call friend, told me I’m not a human having spiritual experiences...I’m a spirit having human experiences... Sometimes it seems like the human sure is experiencing a lot.

A great principal for whom I once worked told me, "Emily, we are perceived by our actions, not our intentions." (There's a good story that goes with that one, I'll write about some day.)  I generally forget that one too...until it's too late.

Jesus Christ tells us to pray for our enemies...to do good to those that mean us harm... He tells us that. But I don’t always listen.

Man...batting a thousand here, huh?

Sometimes I find myself racking my brain for answers...and lately it’s to the question, “Why doesn’t this person like me?!”

I mean...I like me... I didn’t like me very much in junior high but that’s a different post for a different day.  I know I’m not the coolest, smartest, funniest, or even sweetest person out there... definitely not the most organized or responsible... and I’m a terrible housekeeper... but I think I’m generally likable... so why do I still have enemies?

I don’t want enemies.  I've heard other people say things like, "Man, I don't care what other people think of me...that's on them."  And maybe they really feel that way.  I, however, will admit it, in writing: I, Emily Ann Rial Christensen, do solemnly swear... I care about what other people think of me.  

Not in the shallow...I care what people think of my looks/clothes/accent/taste in music sense.  And not in the sense that I'm going to become some inauthentic version of myself just to please others.  But I do care about how I am perceived...how my actions and words are interpreted and why they are interpreted that way...and how that makes other people feel...I do care about that.  After all, isn't that how we actually determine who we like and who we don't like?  It's about how we feel about ourselves when we're around them.  

I don't want to be hurtful.  I want to be liked.  I want to be valued.  

So maybe the biggest mistake is racking my brain for answers.

Because when I ask my brain...the human responds. The human rolls her eyes, and folds her arms (I don’t know about your human but mine is perpetually 15, has a southern attitude and a sarcastic tongue.) and says things like:

*Haters gonna hate!

*You can’t make everyone happy!

*Their loss!

The human makes me feel tough, like I don’t really care, when down, not so deep, I actually do care, much more than the human would like to admit.

And while there is truth to the idea that not everyone is going to like me...does that mean I just give up?  Is that what Jesus would do?

Maybe instead of racking my brain, I should be searching my heart. The heart knows what the human does not care to hear. And if I listen intently and intentionally, I can hear a much calmer and wiser voice prevail over the human’s snark.

It’s the voice of the spirit. It’s there all along...but my human just has such a big mouth.

My heart tells me to pray...but not to pray that they will like me... that they will “get” me... that they would be nicer to me...

Oh, I’ve prayed that prayer...the prayer for myself... the prayer that God would change their hearts. I prayed fervently and sincerely...I sincerely needed them to change. And I waited. I waited and waited and waited. And then one day, out of the clear blue, guess what happened...

Absolutely nothing.

We’ve all done it...prayed the human prayer.

But the prayer of the spirit is different.

The prayer of the spirit is reflective. It asks me to reflect on how others may feel when they’re in my presence. It insists I pray for peace for those who do not wish me well, and that I pray, for myself, a better understanding of how to live this calling...to shed the mask and to BE love.

The prayer of Saint Francis sounds, to my heart, much more like the prayer of a spirit having a human experience...like someone who genuinely cares about others with no ulterior motives...like someone who racks her heart for answers:

The Prayer of Saint Francis

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace:

where there is hatred, let me sow love;

where there is injury, pardon;

where there is doubt, faith;

where there is despair, hope;

where there is darkness, light;

where there is sadness, joy.

O divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek

to be consoled as to console,

to be understood as to understand,

to be loved as to love.

For it is in giving that we receive,

it is in pardoning that we are pardoned,

and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.

If You've Met One Kid With Autism Spectrum Disorder...

On most days, blue is not my color, but today is not most days.  

Today is World Autism Awareness day, and one of the ways we bring attention to this cause is to wear blue.  It was never our intention for Baker to know his diagnosis until it became important to know...which may be never.  Honestly, we kept it to ourselves for a while.  People just wouldn't understand...but I guess that's why we have awareness days.  

So today, blue is very much my color.  And I wear blue today with a greater awareness of Autism than I had on April 2, of 2017.  I'm no expert in the matter, just a mom who has done my research, but as my awareness increases, I feel it is my duty to also increase the awareness of those around me...not awareness that ASD exists...but awareness of what the diagnosis actually entails (to the best of my ability, at least).  

"Autism...that's like that Dustin Hoffman character...right?"

When most people hear Autism Spectrum Disorder, their mind's eye constructs an image based on experience.  If personal experience does not generate any hits, they generally land on well known characters, such as Rain Man, Sheldon Cooper, or Carley, the non-verbal young lady from an episode of 20/20 who has benefited from the use of technology to communicate for her.  And they would be right, in part, because each of these individuals exhibit ASD to varying degrees.  

But relying on one experience to characterize a cognitive difference which has evolved from multiple diagnoses to one now defined on a spectrum, actually paints a highly inaccurate portrait of the individual diagnosed.  For those on the spectrum, one size does not fit all; one size does not even, necessarily, fit most.  

When describing autism, I often default to a quote well known to those in the ASD world.  Dr. Stephen Shore explains, "If you've met one person with Autism, you've met one person with Autism."

He is Baker

My son, Baker, is one of many amazing and unique individuals with an ASD diagnosis.  He if gifted, creative, compliant, and eager to please.  He is loving, affectionate, has a significant capacity for empathy, is protective of his little sister, and has a heart for Jesus.  He is not Rain Man.  He is not Sheldon Cooper (though sometimes he has his moments).  He is not Carley.  He is not anyone you've ever met.  He is Baker.  

From birth, Baker exhibited some quirks and delays, but all children develop differently, right?  I didn't realize that his difficulties feeding, his delay in crawling and walking, or the fact that he barely spoke until he was 2 were signs or symptoms of anything at all.  After all, once he began talking, he used full sentences and vocabulary well beyond that of a two year old...as though he'd previously lacked enough words to adequately express his viewpoints on life, and once he had collected all of the words he needed, he decided it was time.  He was like that with walking too...and potty training...and drinking from a straw.  He did these things well after his peers, but once he finally acted, it was as though he knew how all along.  

Baker began reading at three, and when he turned four we enrolled him in the private pre-K program where he soared to the top of the class in his reading skills.  Coloring, however, was another story.  Baker would rather stack and line up his crayons than color with them, and it soon became quite evident that coloring was an exhausting task.  Another challenge for Baker was playground equipment.  He would only go backward down the slide, on his belly, and he refused to sit on the swing-set. Monkey bars and jungle gyms were also out of the question.  Even so, he loved school.  He had tons of friends in his class, he loved his teacher, and he talked about school all the way home on our daily drive.  

Something else began happening toward the end of that year, and it was the first thing that really got our attention.  Baker stopped eating.  I don't mean like most kids who will only eat a few things.  I mean, over the course of about six months, Baker's diet dwindled to white Wonder Bread (no crust) and water.  When he would eat something he "trusted", he would often gag on the food and empty the contents of his stomach directly on his plate.  Going out to eat, as you can imagine, became a bit of an ordeal.  My mother encouraged me to talk to his pediatrician, who ultimately referred us to a really spectacular occupational therapy clinic.  

It was from the physical therapist that we learned that Baker has sensory processing disorder, which occurs when the brain has difficulty filtering or interpreting sensory stimuli (smell, taste, touch, sound, and even visual stimuli like flashing lights).  This explained his issues with balance, fear of crashing, preference for quiet activities, hatred of fireworks and camera flashes, and, of course, his dietary issues.  The therapist also diagnosed Baker with Dyspraxia, a motor skill condition which makes it difficult for Baker to coordinate and plan his movements.  Early signs include weak feeding reflexes in infants and delays in both fine and gross motor skills.  

Baker attended occupational/physical therapy twice a week during his Kindergarten year, and we saw huge improvements in his coordination and muscle tone.  Very gradually, he began incorporating more food into his diet, though he is still more limited than most children.  

Toward the middle of first grade, however, Baker added yet another piece to the puzzle: severe anxiety.  Baker's sensitivities to sound made it difficult for him to feel safe in large, loud crowds (such as the cafeteria and school assemblies...which he refused to attend.)  His coordination limited his balance and physical activities.  At the time he could not proficiently navigate staircases or catch a ball using both hands.  And his self awareness of these differences made PE quite uncomfortable and nerve-racking for him.  

Baker became significantly overwhelmed, specifically during unanticipated transitions and when frustrated by work or play.  He would cry and hide, not like a temper tantrum, but more like the tears shed when you are at a complete loss for words or actions.  It was time to bring a psychologist on board to help with this anxiety.  

We took Baker to one of the best psychologists in the area, specializing in pediatric anxiety, ADHD and ASD.  After observing Baker, the doctor asked if Baker had ever been evaluated for ADHD or Autism Spectrum Disorder.  He had not, though I explained with certainty that Baker did not have ASD, because he makes eye contact (usually), and he's social, and he's full of empathy, and although he speaks very slowly, he's not robotic...The list went on and on.  

That's when the doctor smiled and said, "Yeah, that's why it's Autism Spectrum Disorder."  He's the one who introduced me to the quote, "If you've met one person with Autism...". 


Sometimes, it Really Does Take Two

In that moment, I actually was not flooded with panic.  I was not nervous or worried.  Maybe the doctor was right.  But if he was, what would that change?  We already fully accepted Baker the way he was, so it wouldn't change him.  If anything it would...and did...change me.  It took TWO psychologists to get to the bottom of Baker's anxiety, attention, and sensory issues.  Independently, each psychologist came to the same conclusion.  

"Baker Christensen," one doctor wrote, "is a screening conundrum, and is the reason the writers of the DSM-5 amended the singular Autism diagnosis as one that occurs on a spectrum."  Baker was formally diagnosed with high-functioning ASD in May of last year.  But it didn't change how I see my son, rather, it increased my awareness.  But some things did change. 

Then Why The Diagnosis?

The diagnosis changed the way I quietly judged other parents at Target whose son appeared to be having a meltdown over what I assumed was something related to not getting his way.  But what if I was wrong?  What if the poor kid couldn't handle the lighting?  What if he couldn't handle the crowd?  What if there's a bump in his sock that for him feels like the equivalent to someone putting a tarantula on my shoulder and asking me to go all day and pretend there's not a furry arachnid sitting on me?  And what if the parents are at a complete loss and don't know about sensory disorders, ASD, dyspraxia, etc.?  

It changed the way I forced Baker to play along when other people would suggest he not leave the table until he ate a bite of the meat, or a spoon of the mashed potatoes.  Rather than being embarrassed by the situation or frustrated by their unwillingness to accept what I'd tried for a year to explain about sensory defensiveness and vomit on the table, I became emboldened in my role as my son's advocate.  

It changed my approach when I'd hear one of Baker's friend's greet him, and I would see him just keep walking, or when someone would hug him and he would keep his arms at his sides.  He hugs Dave and me every day, and he kisses us and tells us he loves us, but with people who don't hug him daily, it didn't come as naturally.  Before, I did not understand how this fun-loving, social child could be so aloof.  In hindsight, these are cues many of us pick up on and develop through watching others.  If, however, your brain was wired differently, you too may need direct instruction in what to do with your arms when you are hugged by someone who doesn't hug you every day.  

Is ASD an excuse for misbehavior or a poor attitude, absolutely not.  Those things are not tolerated in our home, and luckily, Baker is a pleaser.  Awareness alerts us to the concept that what absolutely is outright defiance for one child, may actually be the result of a cognitive misfire for another.  One seven year old refuses to eat his mashed potatoes out of a struggle for power.  Mine refuses to eat his mashed potatoes because the texture in his mouth tells his brain that the item he is chewing is harmful to his body, engages his gag reflex, and causes him to throw up.  It's not the same thing.  

If I put a plate of cockroaches and toenails in front of you and told you to eat it, would you?  What if you were hungry?  What if everyone else ate all of theirs?  What if I told you, "You cannot leave the table until you try a bite?"  What if I threatened to take away your toys?  

I'll tell you what I would do.  I'd be devoid of toys and sitting at that table for a long, long time.  I'd probably cry.  I might even lash out.  After all, my refusal to eat in no way indicates that I am not hungry.  No matter how much I love you, no matter how badly I'd want to comply, my brain will send every possible fight and/or flight signal to alert my body that what's on that plate should not enter my mouth.     

Because I Am Aware

I feel that, because of my personal experience with my anomaly of a child, I have a heightened awareness for how ASD operates on a spectrum.  My awareness opens the door to educate others and to continue learning.  

Because I am aware I also know...

MYTH:  Autism is on the rise.  
Autism Spectrum Disorder is not necessarily on the rise, as many would have us believe.  Rather, the amended diagnosis and inclusion of a spectrum allows for the identification of more individuals who struggle with sensory and social disturbances.  

MYTH:  ASD is caused by vaccines.  
The original author of that study actually recanted his claims.  Unfortunately this was too little, too late, as even science is not immune to the court of public opinion where the subject is guilty until proven innocent...and is still considered guilty even after that.  

MYTH:  ASD is caused by poor parenting.  
I did not cause Baker's ASD.  Sadly, another myth revolving around ASD is that of a medical belief in the 1950s that Autism was caused by "Refrigerator Mothers," those who lacked warmth toward their children and failed to meet their needs.  This belief was debunked when more studies surfaced regarding the brain chemistry of individuals with ASD, but as long as there are people who believe the world is flat and that the Mayan calendar predicts the end of time, there will be those who hold fast to the Refrigerator Mother hypothesis like a dog with a bone.  

MYTH:  Individuals with ASD don't want friends and don't feel emotion.  
People with Autism are not automatons.  Depending on the degree to which the individual is locked-in, (s)he may express a great deal of love and affection or may be unable to express his feelings at all.  The desire to love and feel loved, however, is not nullified.  

MYTH:  Individuals with ASD cannot understand the feelings of others.  
While one feature may be difficulty with social cues, many individuals with ASD can understand the feelings and emotions of others if given the time to process or if the information is clearly communicated.

MYTH:  Individuals with ASD are intellectually disabled.  
While intellectual differences may sometimes be a comorbid feature of ASD, most have average to above average IQs.  In fact some of the most ingenius and creative minds were diagnosed with (or would have been, had the diagnosis been identified at the time) ASD.  This includes names such as Mozart, Steve Jobs, Sir Isaac Newton, Thomas Jefferson, Bill Gates, Emily Dickinson, Andy Warhol, and Temple Grandin.   

Because He is Aware

Last week, when he learned why today is the day we wear blue, Baker became curious.  Of course, in true Baker fashion, he did some research.  And naturally, the question that followed was, "Daddy, do I have Autism?"  

The simple answer was, "Well, Autism is on a spectrum.  Some people, like you, have it a little bit.  Some people have it a lot.  We all have things that make us different, and that's okay.  We are all perfectly created the way God intended us to be."

For now, the simple answer is sufficient.  But it will not always be that way.  

I became aware because Baker was diagnosed.  I continue to learn because one day, he will want to know more.  

That's why, today, I wore blue.  

Love - Out of Control

Listened to a song today called Control by Tenth Avenue North. For those who don’t know the song, it’s worth a google. Anyway, the chorus says this:

God You don't need me
But somehow You want me
Oh, how You love me
Somehow that frees me
To take my hands off of my life
And the way it should go

As I listened to the chorus, I first thought...what would that look like? To let go...I mean REALLY let go, and give it to God.

Then I thought...why? Why would anyone ever give control of their life over to another?

Then I thought...when? When, in the course of human life do we EVER trust someone else fully, 100%, that whatever happens next...they’ve got control? What’s that kind of trust like?

What can I say...I ask a lot of questions...

Sometimes I answer myself too...

I’ll come back to the first question in a minute. But first...the question of control.
Why would I give that over?
Well, control not actually my possession, anyway. The way I see it I have two choices...allow myself to be guided by the Lord...or allow myself to be controlled by literally EVERYTHING ELSE. One choice results in positivity, the other in negativity. One results in faith; the other results in fear. One results in being present; the other results in future-tripping. I, however, don’t have control...but what I do have is a choice.

That being said...I’ll go back to all of the other questions I asked myself...

What would it look like to let go, and when do humans ever contain a capacity for that kind of trust?

And then I picture my children. Whom I love so much. So much. So. Much. So much that I can go from perfectly rational to certifiably insane the instant that it appears either have been or will be harmed.

I picture Dave...throwing Baker in the air when he was just a baby. HIGH in the air. It still makes me cringe. But the look on Baker’s face was pure joy. Not a worry. Not a fear. Not a moment of thought to what COULD happen...because Daddy was there. Daddy would catch him every time. Daddy wouldn’t let anything bad happen.

I picture Lucibelle, the free-est of all free spirits. Running, full speed ahead wherever she goes...which also makes for some gnarly run-ins with gravity. I see it coming, but can’t get there fast enough. Hands and knees scraped, and a busted lip...she does not first seek to determine what is hurt...she doesn’t yell at me for not catching her...she does not try to fix it herself. What does she do? She looks up, through her tears, looks for me, and cries out, “Mommy! Mommy, kiss it! Hold me. Make it better.” There is no doubt in her mind that I’ll scoop her up, hold her tight, kiss her bumps and bruises, and make it better. Not a single doubt.

It’s the purest form of trust...the trust an infant has for his/her parents. Baker, at two, was invincible in Daddy’s arms. Daddy is the strongest man in the world. Daddy can do anything. Daddy is my protector and will not let me down.

As parents we know we aren’t perfect but we sure seek to climb to the top of the pedestal our children so naturally construct for us.

Of course...then there’s God. The ultimate father. Who actually IS all of the things our babies believe US to be.

That’s what it looks like if I really believe my Father is The Great I Am. When I run headlong into a brick wall...I would look to Jesus before anything or anyone else. When I’m in an unfamiliar place, unsure of my surroundings, I’d cling more tightly, certain that although I do not know the path, He does. When I’m in a place where things could crash and burn, I’d relax and enjoy the ride, knowing that I’m totally safe in His hands.

Love is Baker

12/29/2017

Googling some verses tonight. Googled Corinthians 13:4-6, the “Love is” verses. I liked the image to the right, so I clicked on it. The title of the article was “What is Love” on a website titled “I Am Baker.”

Let that soak in? Do you have goosebumps yet?

The article suggests, as I once heard at a wedding and then stole the idea for my own wedding, to replace the word “Love” with your own name. Since we are created in God’s image, and Jesus took our shortcomings with Him on the cross...it makes sense that when He, our Father who looks on us with the same adoration as we see our own children, describes you and me...He uses these words.

It’s hard to replace Love with MY name. I miss the mark in so many places. 

But then I look at Baker. I’ve described my son as a portal into heaven...actual Heaven itself.

Perfect, he is not. But inspiring, yes...that...Every. Day. Baker’s unique approach to life...the way he perceives his world...and his spirit, clearly anchored in something I could have never *taught*...leaves me in awe.

And so when I need to pause and remember what love is...when I need an example of what it looks like...maybe I just need to remember:

Baker is patient.
Baker is kind.
Baker does not envy.
He does not boast.
He is not proud.
He is not rude.
He is not self-seeking.
He is not easily angered.
Baker keeps no record of wrongs.
He does not delight in evil.
He rejoices in the truth.
Baker always protects.
He always trusts.
He always hopes.
Baker always perseveres.
He never fails.

No, he’s not perfect. And yet, I look on my son...my little portal into heaven...with an adoration that makes me see these features in him.

God looks on His children in the same light. That’s pretty exciting news, right?

Silence is the Wingman

There’s a lot on the news right now about abuse, sexual and otherwise. I decided to jot down my thoughts on why I applaud those who have been brave enough to come forward:

Silence is the wingman.

Abuse is wild and reckless. He is dishonest, manipulative, and self-serving, but he draws a crowd. He threatens, shames, guilts, bribes, and demeans, ultimately forcing Silence to be his wingman.

So Silence paves the road, creates the guest list, and keeps the energy alive. He collects the keys in a bowl and turns up the music, loud. His playlist includes titles like, 

“They’ll Never Believe You”
“I’ll Hurt Your Loved Ones”
“But I Love You”
“You Don’t Deserve Love”
“You’re Tainted Now”
“It’s All Your Fault”
and the classic, “It’ll Never Happen Again.”

Then he cleans up after the party, as though it was all just a dream that left behind a song stuck on repeat.

Abuse puts on the event, but Silence is the sponsor.

Abuse goes unchecked, because Silence covers all evidence.

Abuse brings the baggage, and Silence crams it into the darkest corners, never to be unpacked. Rather, the baggage will sit and act as a magnet for all of the carry-on Abuse delivers.

Abuse launches missiles which will be untraceable, because Silence makes him invisible...invincible.

And while Abuse may be the mastermind, Silence drives the getaway car.

Once the golden boy, Silence is now the antagonist to freedom, healing, and truth.

And Abuse is the bully with a deadly wingman.

Correcting Your Mistakes

Mom brag: Baker got a stack of papers back yesterday...10 papers or so. All were perfect scores except 3, which were in the B's due to careless mistakes here and there.

We celebrated the 100% scores. He was so proud. We talked about how the others were good grades if he tried his best, but when we looked at the mistakes, he recognized they were careless. We talked about the mistakes, and I had him correct each paper and write why the original answers were wrong.

I stood by and listened as he bravely and independently took the papers back to his teacher and said, "I know I don't get any more points and that the grades are not bad, but I fixed these so I don't make the same careless mistakes again." He was so brave and mature and never once pouted or complained. He had such a positive spirit and was genuinely interested in learning from his mistakes because, "Mommy, that's what a scientist does when he makes a mistake or has to rethink his hypothesis. Scientists can't be careless."

I have to admit, I'm even more proud of his maturity and attitude about correcting the 85%, 88%, and 80%, than the other seven perfect scores. I pray that he approaches all of life's blunders with a scientist's approach. The mistake is only bad if you leave it that way and don't learn from it...otherwise it's just another step toward the right answer.

As adults, we can make some huge blunders. But it's important that we look at all of the things God has done in our lives and all of the things we've gotten right through He who strengthens us. Sometimes we make the same mistakes again and again...it's when we come to the place that we forgive ourselves (because He already did), pay no attention to what others might think, face our mistake, prepare our hearts for the hardship, and open up to learning, that we can actually see the redeeming value in it all.

I'm learning from my 7 year old that ego is for the birds.

I also learned yesterday that he hopes to one day make a bird-rhino hybrid...not sure if that would be a small flying horned creature or a flying rhino...but that's another post for another day.

What Makes a Good Marriage?

This one will be short and sweet...it doesn't need much more

Me: what makes a good mommy?
Baker: ...takes care of her kids...cares for them when they are hurt and sick...makes sure they eats their fruits and veggies...(awwww...sweet...right?)

Me: what makes a good dad?
Baker: ...same thing that makes a good mom. (Lol...cute...right?)

Me: what makes a good man?
Baker: ...works out...and does the things that a good mom does does for the people he loves (getting deep there, little man)

Me: what do you think makes a good marriage?
Baker: (doesn't miss a beat...not even a half second...I kid you not...like this is the easiest question he ever answered) God.

Wow.  

Got it, Father. LOUD AND CLEAR. They see us and pay attention. They don't miss a moment. And they know what matters.

My prayers tonight will be a bit different than ever before...and my future prayers are changed too.

Pic from July, 2006, just about 2 months into the relationship.  Eleven years later, I still thank God for him every day.