Month: August 2015

Before I share these lessons, let’s be clear about something. We are ALL special needs people.

First, we are special, as unique as the whorls on our fingertips. It may be a worn adage, but it’s divinely true: there has never been another person just like you or me. Think back on the many people you’ve met in your life as a testament to this miracle.

Second, whether we are the Pope or a panhandler, have all have needs. We require food, water, shelter. We need human touch, love, and acceptance. On a more actualized plane, we have a need to exercise our deepest gifts and passions.

But obviously, there are those among us those whose needs are greater. Born with mental and/or physical limitations, they require specialized attention. My son, Kristoffer, is one of them. What the geneticists call a “chromosomal translocation” has capped his mental abilities and limited the horizons many of us take for granted. His mother and I will be his guardians until we die.

As father to a special-needs son, I often reflect on the lessons Kristoffer teaches me. Here are three that have changed me forever.

1) “Every Person Matters” is a lifestyle, not a slogan: I spent a 30-year career advocating for the marginalized, but my most pressing and immediate ministry was always at home. I have daily challenges to go beyond abstractions to concrete acts of compassion. This has benefited me as much as Kristoffer. As I invest my life in him, it humbles me, showing me the trivialities of my ego. I see more clearly our culture’s idolatry of success and notoriety. Kristoffer has taught me the path of downward mobility, the descent into humility’s wisdom. By celebrating how much his life matters, I have found new freedom.

2) Gentleness is everything: I reject any stereotypes of special needs people blithely living Edenic states of innocence. Kristoffer, like all human beings, has his moods, his ups and downs. He can be downright surly at times. And, at levels I may never fully realize, he’s aware of his condition. He sees how he compares to others. Because of this, gentleness is crucial. Even when I discipline, I try to temper it with mildness. Without that temperance, I undermine his fragile esteem. Recently he returned from a visit with his older brother. It had been a week when my tongue was sharper than usual. Kristoffer looked at me and said, “Keenan is so patient with me, Dad.” My heart melted. This world needs gentleness in all our relationships.

3) There is always a pathway through difficulty: Cynics will say this is a superficial meme that withers under scrutiny. How many people have experienced inexplicable tragedies that ended only in sorrow? Surely, I see this, yet my experience with Kristoffer has been different. His initial diagnosis was dismal. Doctors and specialists told us he might never communicate. From that ground zero, we have gone forward with prayer and trust, finding that our son defied the odds. He graduated from his version of high school, found a job for a while, and now volunteers at a place he loves. He has taken on his role in helping us maintain our household. We still dream that one day he will meet someone to be his partner in life outside our nuclear family. If I ever start to doubt that vision, I think of how far we have come, and I resolutely turn towards the future.

I believe these lessons are valuable for ALL of us, not just this thick-skulled father.

Namaste!

I’m no fan of country music or radio preachers (blasphemy to some), and when I’m on the road in Texas, they hijack large spans of the FM bandwidth.

But life is full of surprises, eh?

A couple days ago, I was driving up the I35 corridor from San Antonio to Arlington. It’s been a week of family crises. Real ones. Painful ones. A stroke; a near fatal car crash. My trip was a mission of mercy. I was amped with more stress than I realized.

Flipping through the channels, I came upon a radio evangelist. The first words I heard were, “No one escapes the pressures and trials of life!”

Poke

OK. I peeled my finger away from the seek button.

Too much American Christianity, said the preacher, is cloaked in a false garb of abundance, as if belief is a magical flak jacket deflecting life’s difficulties.

I said a quiet amen.

This lie, he continued, tells us that somehow we’re more acceptable to God and others when we “have it all together.” It spawns a cosmetic religion, one content to deal with surface issues rather than core elements of life.

Another quiet amen.

Then he unpacked a few verses from the Epistle of James: Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance.

Joy comes from knowing a truth. We place our mercurial emotions – our fears and panics of the moment – under guidance of an overriding wisdom.

That truth is this – even the worst hardships can strengthen us. Too often we see this in retrospect, a blurry memory through the rearview mirrors of our frantic lives. But what if we embraced every trial – in the present – with knowledge that it hides a treasure?

I don’t know about you, but I value inner fortitude. I desire faith that can face life exactly as it is without running, hiding, or medicating. I cherish steadfastness of character.

And so on a Texas highway, I brought all the griefs of my week into sharp focus. I asked myself; “Krin, do you know, really know, not only that our Creator will help you find a way forward, but that this experience – right here, right now – will fortify your faith AND your value to others in this conflicted world?”

My answer was a heartfelt yes.

It was an open stretch of road. I hit cruise control and settled back in my seat. A few clouds fleeced the hot August sky. A vast expanse of sun- bleached pasture passed on my right, cattle browsing the stubble. I took a deep breath, one of those inhalations that descends to your soles.

Pure joy? No. But the weight of my circumstances began to lift, replaced by a growing sense of something else. I would call it peace gilded with a measure of happiness.

It wasn’t easy to maintain. I had to return to deep breathing, one mile marker after another.

But still…poked by a radio preacher, his theological bandwidth so narrow I would never consider tuning in on a regular basis…

Perfect.

The Sirius soundtrack for my gym workouts is a dizzying clash of styles and eras. The other day I heard OMI, Taylor Swift and Maroon Five, followed by a switch to Robin Trower, Jethro Tull, and Led Zeppelin.

In the middle of this time travel mix was the classic Youngbloods song, Get Together, with some of my all-time favorite lyrics: If you hear the song I sing, you will understand…listen. You hold the key to love and fear, all in your trembling hand. Just one key unlocks them both. It’s there at your command.

Depending on the focus of our faith, we may describe this key differently. For me, its name could surely be ACCEPTANCE.

I don’t mean passive submission. I mean the peaceful letting go that happens when we accept life on life’s terms, not as we would mold it. I mean the pressure we release when we “live and let live.” It is admirable to work for change, but our expectations of the way things SHOULD BE can lead to discontent, and ultimately, resentment.

There’s a saying in 12 Step groups that sums this up beautifully: expectations are resentments under construction. A passage in AA’s Big Book speaks to many of us.

When I am disturbed, it is because I find some person, place, thing, situation — some fact of my life — unacceptable to me, and I can find no serenity until I accept that person, place, thing, or situation as being exactly the way it is supposed to be at this moment…Unless I accept life completely on life’s terms, I cannot be happy. I need to concentrate not so much on what needs to be changed in the world as on what needs to be changed in me and in my attitudes.

What expectations are constructing resentments within you this moment?

• Do you expect your parents, your spouse, or your children to change their habits according to your pattern?
• Do you expect more recognition from others?
• Do you expect God to answer a prayer according to your demands and timeline?
• Do you think life owes you something?
• Have you not accepted yourself, or are you still brooding on what you are not, or what you don’t have?
• Are you mired in the longstanding grief that stems from not accepting a sorrowful event in your life?

Learning to curb our expectations does not mean depressive resignation. As the parent of a special needs son I must stay centered every day in the grace of acceptance. It’s not easy. I find help in the full version of this famous prayer by Reinhold Niebuhr.

God grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change;
courage to change the things I can;
and wisdom to know the difference.
Living one day at a time;
Enjoying one moment at a time;
Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace;
Taking, as He did, this sinful world
as it is, not as I would have it;
Trusting that He will make all things right
if I surrender to His will;
That I may be reasonably happy in this life
and supremely happy with Him
Forever in the next.