A friend of mine has recently heard the word "autistic" applied to her three year old son. We met for coffee this morning, and her life, jampacked with molecular microbiology study, needs no other pressures. I felt heavy for her, like the last thing that she would want in life is to have a child who struggles so. We discussed this sadly, with her eyes brimming.
However, a couple of hours later, Cody and I were on the city trail. I ran, and he biked. He'd pedal furiously ahead and then turn around, and yell, "C'mon, Mom!" A lone woman walker looked back at me, smiling, and said, "What is he, your personal trainer?!" I'd pick up my pace and when I passed him, I'd raise my hands, swinging them up in victory like an Armstrong. That just made him "embarrassed" but determined and he'd pedal furiously on. It was great fun; we were laughing a lot. When we got to the lake, we sat at a bench and stared up at the clouds, smiling big, when Cody perceived, "A chicken showing off its butt!"
We laughed quite a lot in the heat-busting cool that's swept graciously into our area.
Later, I thought, even with "diagnosis", even with not being able to fit into square schooling pegs, even with somewhat aggressive behavior, Cody is still a fun, wonderful kid. I just need to make sure that my friend knows that regardless of what the professionals say; we're still gifted. Our kids are still gifted. The clouds formulate our hope, as we, different or alike, gaze up at them and understand their language.
Thank you, God, for clouds and gifts.