He runs into the church building, trying to avoid the gentle rain and any possible eye contact from other parishioners parking their cars. Once inside, this tall, dark, and handsome young man makes the required nods and greetings of acknowledgment, then speedwalks to the sanctuary. There he makes a beeline for the little room off to the left.
Originally a cry room, now turned prayer room, our congregation uses it as a "quiet room." Here, he breathes a sigh of relief as he sits in the familiar wingback chair as the darkness of the room envelops him. This is his safe place. On a good day, he will stay in the sanctuary, hovering over the sound men. If it's a really good day, he will pick up a cordless microphone and help us praise sing, but not today.
He has high-functioning autism and is more in tune with his body and needs than I am most days. He is exhausted from the morning's OCD (obsessive compulsive disorder) routine. On this particular morning, his clothes would not lay quite right. His socks, underclothes, pants, and shirt must be in a staggered pattern that is every archeologist's dream. His bedroom door didn't make the right clicking sound when he walked out to go to church. Once it finally did, after about 15 tries, the seatbelt in the car met him with the same rebellion, click, release button, click, release.
On this same Sunday, his brother takes his place on the platform and belts out praises with a voice much older and refined than his 9-year-old body. Most days, he will go to Sunday school and come back with a fistful of crafts and worksheets but not today.
Today he runs down the hallways growling and grunting as he bursts through the sanctuary doors, his PTSD pushing him to the front row. He loudly exclaims that the "dumb new kid" is getting on his nerves. The faces of the first-time visitors have upset the usual routine his mind needs.
Some outbursts are endurable for a young child but not as acceptable as an adult. One day an adult was sitting cross-legged at the entrance of a Chinese restaurant, his adult body blocking access in or out. He was triggered because he did not want to eat Chinese that day. We don't always witness these types of meltdowns from him anymore because, as an adult, he has learned to cope and hide his anxieties.
So many of us and our family members confront the battles of invisible disabilities on a daily basis. We never know what someone has gone through just to get out the door on any given day.
Angela Marquez and her husband, Alex, pastor in Mexico. They are veteran missionaries and church planters. Together they have been fostering for 10 years and have adopted three wonderful special needs sons. Angela is a trauma-informed facilitator for foster parents and is very passionate about ABLE's Virtual Moms Groups and spreading hope!