"There is a zero percent chance that he is going to stay in Sunday school today," I said to as we headed out the door to church. My forecast had steadily decreased from 50 percent over the last twenty minutes.
Transitions are hard for my twelve-year-old who has autism and an intellectual disability, and this year there have been many changes. He started middle school this year: new teachers, new classrooms, changing classes. This is also the year we decided he was simply too tall to continue in Sunday school with the first graders. Looking back, this was probably not the best year to make this move.
We moved him to the new class in June. There are things that make it easier: we arrive early so he can take his time coming into the classroom with fewer children around, we sit near the back of the class, he has his iPad ready while he waits, and we bribe him. If he makes it through the class he gets a prize at the end. Eventually, he figured out that if he simply started to loudly sob during the class, he could leave. He started crying often. Right now, he stays in class about one out of three.
This particular Sunday, we were running late. I knew we would arrive when all of the kids were already there, seated in their desks. "Everyone would be staring at him," or so he worried. But still, we headed to our car for the fifteen-minute commute to church.
I will admit, as in previous weeks, I thought about just staying home. No one would blame me. There are times when families affected by disability are unable to bring their loved one to church due to illness or legitimate safety concerns, such as aggression or self-injurious behavior, but that is not the case for us.
It would be easier to simply arrive at church just in time for the worship service. He loves worship service. He loves to pretend to be the drummer or hold a pretend microphone, raise his hands, and jump up and down just like our pastor does.
It really wouldn't hurt anything to stay home. If the class is going to end with him sobbing after five minutes, why should we bother? Wouldn't it make church less traumatic if we just focused on the good things? Does Sunday school really matter that much anyway? Why did I leave for church that morning?
There is a phrase that our kiddo has picked up from the story of Peter Rabbit. Peter is walking through the woods, frightened. He says to his friend, "Can we just go home?" And his friend reminds him, "A good rabbit never gives up." Our son has personalized that sentiment. When he is afraid of something, he will often say, "Can we just go home?" and then, in the same breath, he will remind himself, "A good Timothy never gives up!" This script used to play itself out, in the car, on the way to church. From the back seat, we would hear, "Can we just go home?" Our response has always been the spoken response, "A good family never gives up and always goes to church."
To be a bit more spiritual, a few verses come to mind:
"And let us not be weary in well doing: for in due season we shall reap, if we faint not" (Galatians 6:9).
"Train up a child in the way he should go: and when he is old, he will not depart from it" (Proverbs 22:6).
Personally, there have been times in my Christian journey that I have felt abandoned, anxious, alone, unloved, and neglected. What I have found is that if I just continue to do what I know is right, then eventually the storm will pass. This issue with my son is no different.
Did he stay in class that morning? I am happy to report that he did. Will he stay in class next week? I say we have about a 50/50 chance. Is it hard to walk out the door some Sundays? Yes. But will we be there? Yes. Because a good rabbit never gives up!
Stephanie Gossard is ABLE Ministry UPCI's secretary. She and her family are blessed to attend church at New Life Saint Louis.