He is Listening

Maybe I'm a little overwhelmed with life right now to be blogging so much. Usually something hits me once a month or so, but lately it's been flowing like honey.

I had to share the divine intervention that gave such comfort the other day, and hasn't left my brain since. First, I guess I have to share the embarrassing- ok mortifying- incident that got the ball rolling. It was not so divine in and of itself, but nonetheless notable.

We started going to church Saturday evenings to alleviate the anxiety Rowen feels from the bigger, Sunday morning crowds. We walked in this past week to our pastor greeting us. The big smile on his face and desire to get through to Rowen was evident. He knew about Rowen's diagnosis, but that doesn't tell anyone how to handle him. He did what most kind-hearted people would do- he talked to my son. I held my breath though, because I knew by Rowen's head-down reaction that it wouldn't go well. Pastor prompted him, "hey little guy," he said, waiting for a response. I steeled myself for the outburst that came right on cue.

"BUTT HEAD!" Rowen shouted at him, face grimaced. I turned in slow motion (at least that's how it felt) to see a look of, well, terror on my pastor's face. The couple he was standing by looked away too, and so I did what I always do. I made some stupid joke and ran off. Not sure if we'd go to Hell for calling our pastor a butt head, I figured I'd better waste no time in repenting.

I stayed with Rowen in his class for awhile until miraculously he let me go. There are moments he surprises me, and that was one of them. Usually he holds onto me for dear life, but something other-worldly must have been prompting me to get to our service because Rowen gave me the go-ahead.

I slipped into the back of the congregation alone, trying to pay attention. I have to admit, my thoughts were elsewhere. How embarrassing it is to have a son that attacks everyone. How would I explain to our pastor that we hadn't taught Rowen that he's a butt head. In fact, we really like him! So absorbed I was in these thoughts that I barely felt the tap on my shoulder. I turned to see a young, sweet faced man in a wheelchair putting his hand out and whispering, "Hi, I'm Charlie." I gave him a handshake and returned the greeting.

He stopped for a moment and then said, "I don't know what this means, but I have to tell you that He is listening." I think the world stopped for a moment. What had I been thinking of? Oh, "butt head," that's right, I remembered. Tears stung my eyes and as he started off and I said, "actually that means a lot."

I turned my head and then back again, and truly he was gone. I'm not saying he was some sort of angel, but I was a little mesmerized by the fact that he slipped away so quickly out of my sight. He is listening.

I thought of these words last night when Rowen had a severe panic attack. Yes, my 6-year-old son had a full-on, knock-down panic attack. I am a psychotherapist and work with this often, but I have to be honest and say I've never thought much about seeing something like that in a child. Through his tears he screamed, "help, mommy!" and "I want to die," over and over. I held him tight and patted his back hard until it left a half-hour later. When Rowen passed out exhausted after, I knew He was still listening even in the middle of the chaos. I know He's listening because I still feel some sense of peace through something so terrible. Seeing your child so afraid and out of control is horrible. This child who has the best memory around couldn't even remember some of what had happened the next day. It truly took it out of him. But I'd fall apart if Jesus wasn't in the trenches with us. He was there listening when no one else was; giving us comfort when we needed a Savior to pull us through. And that's why I know it's true. He really is listening. He always is.