What is True, and What to Do
Where to Hang Your Hope
When I was pregnant with my first I had rotating OB-GYNs, which I suppose is common in many practices. You get to know each doctor so that when it is time to deliver your baby, you won’t have to deliver your baby with a doctor you don’t know. I liked most of the doctors in the rotation. In fact, I liked all of them. Except for one. Just one. She was rude and very dogmatic. She made my pregnancy feel medical instead of magical. And she treated us like we were specimens reproducing in a lab instead of humans starting a family. When I started showing signs of pre-eclampsia she actually told me, with my husband sitting right beside me, that I might want to consider a new partner for my next pregnancy because research shows that preeclampsia is linked with the sperm, not the mother. Uh, what? She definitely knew her stuff, but man, her bedside manner left a lot to be desired. Well, guess who was on call when it came time for me to deliver. You guessed it! I had been in labor for thirty hours, was pre-eclamptic, yada yada yada, and had been through three of the doctors that I loved. This doctor comes on shift, introduces her self as if I hadn’t already met her three times, declares without any tact that my kidneys were failing and I needed an emergency c-section. From there, things just continued to downward spiral. One thing after another went wrong, and I have to say, this doctor handled everything calmly, brilliantly, beautifully. No NICU stay for Evie, no post delivery complications for me despite all that went wrong in the delivery room, and doctor after doctor has commented on how beautiful my c-section scar is ever since.
Fast forward nine months. I’m pregnant again. I’ll spare you all the details for the sake of time, but because of how soon this pregnancy came after the first, my history of pre-eclampsia, and a condition I was diagnosed with during this pregnancy, it was high risk. I needed a scheduled c-section. Because of this I was given a choice of which doctor I wanted to deliver this baby. And you know what? I chose the doctor that I thought was ruining my experience the first time around by stomping on my feelings and getting straight to the facts. This time around, I wanted the one who knew her facts and made decisions based on them. I wanted the one I knew could handle the complications that were coming our way because she was less concerned with the fluff and more concerned with all the intricacies of my body and the body of my baby. I had lived a little and while yes, I still had feelings, I knew that I couldn’t hang my hope of a successful delivery on a doctor simply because she made my pregnancy feel magical. My hope had to hang on something more solid. I chose the doctor who knew her stuff.
In the same way that this doctor has been accused of being too dogmatic about her medical practice, I have been accused of being too intellectual about my faith. Too much head and not enough heart. But my friends, my head provides the hooks on which my heart may hang its hope. My burdens are too heavy for platitudes. My pain is too deep for a shallow emotional stir or positive vibes. I need promises that are concrete, unchanging, specific, and sure. Just like I couldn’t place my hope in a doctor simply because she made me feel good about the outcomes, I am past the point in my Christian life to be moved by shallow devotional pick-me-ups. Snacks won’t suffice, I need a hearty meal. I need solid Truth. That’s what I’m here to explore with the NeuroRadiant in mind. And for this new series I’d like to get back to some basics. The basics of identity. Who am I? Who is God? What are the solid hooks on which those of us who love someone with developmental or psychiatric disabilities can hang our hope?
Who Am I?
Ever feel like a shell of the person you once were? Ever feel like a shell of a person, period? Everything you do is touched by disability. Everything you say is informed by parenting a child or loving a spouse or caring for a parent with a psychiatric disorder. Everywhere you go is dicated by the unique capacity of your family. Every friendship you have has been changed by the reality of suffering in your life. Every thought you have is, must be, thought through the new lens of limitation and even maybe despair.
Our identities, as people caring for someone with developmental or psychiatric disabilities, can be so clouded by the all consuming nature of disability and mental illness. It consumes your time and energy, your thoughts and conversations, your finances and calendar. In the same way that our identity can be swallowed up by typical motherhood, I have found that adding the qualifier of neurodivergent motherhood is like adding oxygen to the fire, speeding up the process of combustion, burning up everything I have ever known myself to be.
G. K. Chesterton diagnosed our problem quite accurately when he said “we have all forgotten what we really are”. But what would it be like to take the sage advice of Mufasa when he appeared to Simba to remind him of his identity and destiny, to "Remember who you are, you are my son”. Identity amnesia has robbed us of our purpose, strength, and peace. As pointed out above, a return to absolute truth would restore those things once again. Culture would have you pursue some “me time” and do something that makes you happy to remember yourself. But if you’ve ever tried this, as I have, it does little more than remind you of the life you’ve lost. A return to unchanging reality would anchor us, and keep us from getting lost in the always changing circumstances of our lives. A return to doctrine would provide the solid rock on which the Christian can lie down and truly rest. It would provide the hooks on which you can hang your hope.
Now, if you have been a Christian for any length of time, you have absolutely heard the phrase, and thought about the concept of, “identity in Christ”. The old has gone, the new has come, and you are a new creation. But that’s the abstract, the summary, the quick description. We have sixty six other books of the Bible telling us exactly what that means. Fleshing out our identity, helping us to remember who we are, and even more importantly, who God is to us in our identity as human beings— and as saints in service to His Kingdom, as sinners still battling the flesh, and as sufferers living in a broken world (if you haven’t already, check out Mike Emlet’s Saints, Sufferers, and Sinners: Loving Others as God Loves Us).
The Bible doesn’t mention mental illness by name. Likewise, it doesn’t speak to parents of autistic children in terms that we use today. But that doesn’t mean that the Bible doesn’t know us, see us, and speak to us. In this new series, which will continue indefinitely, I’d like to explore who I am, who you are, and what each aspect of our identities mean for us as we navigate this collision of neurodiversity and humble faith in Christ. Not in an abstract, up in the clouds, applicable-for-parents-of-typical-kids-but not-for-me kind of way, but in a very specific way. Taking very real and very varied Biblical truth and applying it to the specifics of a life touched (consumed) by disability and/or mental illness. All theology is practical theology. Let’s bring truth to struggle, and remember who we are in the unique and trying circumstances God has placed us in.
What is True, and What to Do
While that all might sound great, the question immediately becomes, “how do I do that?” It’s hard to find your way from “through faith you have been justified” (Romans 5:1) and recognizing your identity as a person who has been justified to some sort of application that helps when your adult autistic child is having an aggressive meltdown. It’s so hard, but if we believe the Bible is true, then we must believe its claims that it is profitable and sufficient.
James calls us to be doers of the Word (James 1:22). Doers of the Greek word logos. This means that we are to be doers of the entire Bible, not just the commands. Every part of the logos has implications for how we should think and behave. This is also why Paul says to Timothy that “all Scripture is breathed out by God and is profitable” (2 Timothy 3:16-17). All scripture— the narratives, the prophets, the geneologies, the sermons, the letters, the doctrinal diatribes and the commands. It’s all profitable for practical use. And it’s profitable for practical use in every area of life. 1 Peter 1:3 tells us it has all we need for life and godliness. There’s no qualifier that says “Oh, man, unless you have a non-speaking autistic child. Then you’re own your own.” God’s Word is profitable to you, parent of a child with autism. It is profitable to you, mom to a son with OCD, dad to a daughter with Bi-Polar Disorder, sister to a brother with Schizophrenia, wife to a husband with PTSD, and child to a parent with Major Depression. It’s profitable and it’s sufficient. So my earnest desire and goal is to mine the depths of scripture, to understand its Truth. Meditate on its Truth. To find what is true. And then to actively consider what to do based on that truth. How it changes me, in the specific NeuroRadiant life I am living. How to redirect my thoughts, how to change my behavior, how to adjust my feelings. Honestly, Cognitive Behavioral Therapy was God’s idea, if you know what I’m saying. It works because it’s God’s way.
What is true, and then what to do. This series will follow that pattern. My prayer is that as we remember what is true, about ourselves and about God, and the dust begins to settle, that the path will become a little clearer. That when we remember who we are, that we will know what we should do.