God With Us

This year I finished reading Matthew right at the beginning of the Christmas season. It was nice to be reminded of the end at the beginning. He came to be with us as a baby and, then, in Matthew 28:20 tells us “And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.”

Emmanuel (“God is with us”) ends up meaning something different to me each year. This year God revealed a new facet, to my great surprise, in my laundry room. I am not sure why I was surprised. God has a reputation for unveiling great things in ordinary places.

My 6-year-old son, who has autism, has seasons of fixation. He is currently obsessed with our washing machine. 

It started when I was trying to teach him about punctuation. I drew a box for him to draw a period in and he yelled “washer!” That was the beginning of the end for normal punctuation in our home. In his writing, he would turn each period into a “washer” period by enlarging it and drawing a box around it. I coaxed and bribed, but they remained, sprinkled throughout each journal page as a glaring reminder of his strong will, but also his ability to make unique connections. 

In the middle of his Speech and OT zoom calls he would randomly break away and end up in the laundry room standing in a trance-like state staring at the washer. I begged and pleaded and chased him with the open laptop, giving his teachers vertigo, but Caleb was resolute with the object of his attention.

He had videotaped segments of the washing machine running on three separate electronic devices, so throughout the day I would hear the sounds of the washer from all over the house and would often make my way up to the laundry room to stare, disoriented, at an empty machine. 

One positive aspect was that we had never been so caught up on laundry. One day he said “washer” and I told him there was nothing left to wash. He looked at me and said “Paw Patrol Blanket?” I laughed, but later found it in the washer with a Pete the Cat sock and a pair of his underwear. Then Caleb ghosted up behind me yelling “washer!”

I decided to put him in time out when he went in the laundry room without me and touched the buttons on the machine. So he would wait until I was in the bathroom and I would hear the buttons being pushed, this time not a recording. I would find him trying to reach the soap while water filled the machine, soaking “hand wash only” items. Then he would put himself in his room in timeout. Clearly my method of disciplining was not working.

Eventually, I gave up fighting the wind. His stubbornness won out against my own. My annoyance at a distance was only causing conflict and causing him distress. I dropped my agenda and the little checkboxes next to all the homeschooling activities and decided to shadow him for the day. If you have not yet done this with your child, I highly recommend it. What I learned was invaluable.

I noticed that he was filming the washer and that the number that was displayed was often “33.” I happened to be in the hallway when I noticed the time on the washer hit “33” so I called out “Caleb, 33!” to see what would happen. He came running out of his room, grabbed his ipad and started filming. That is when I found out “33” was the point the spin cycle began. The point where it got LOUD. 

I put my arms around him and we watched and listened together, his heart pounding rapidly. As the sound escalated, he handed the ipad to me, said “video” and ran to watch from a safer distance while I filmed. I was impressed and touched at the same time. He knew what he could not handle and also showed trust in me. I was finally with him and not trying to thwart his efforts.

I learned that he wasn’t randomly running into the laundry room out of a strange love for our washing machine. The washing machine was something that scared him. He was timing it to film the exact point when the sound got louder and more threatening. He was desensitizing himself to the noise by playing it on his terms over and over throughout the house. He was creating as many experiences as he could with the washer running so he could get used to it and understand it. 

God made a decision not to remain distantly watching over us. He made the ultimate investment and became one of us so that He could be close to us. He is therefore not just listening when we reach out in prayer, He is empathetic to our circumstances. 

As a mom,  it is hard when I discover my limitations in protecting my kid. I can’t erase the sound of the washing machine or stop doing laundry to ensure he does not feel distressed, but I can be with him. I can stand next to him, with my arm around him, notice his heart rate increasing, and comfort him. I can whisper to him that he is not alone.

We progressed to talking about the washing machine parts and sequencing the steps to doing laundry. I adjusted his lessons to be about washing clothes. He wrote one of his best journal entries, complete with a detailed, labeled picture of the washing machine and several sentences. He wrote it in the hallway on a clipboard as he watched the washing machine switch between cycles. He gradually moved closer and closer to the machine when the spin cycle began, and now is able to sit in the laundry room for the entire process and helps me load and unload and press the buttons (this time while supervised).

There were times this year when I was fixated on things that brought me fear. I wondered if God being with me was enough. This situation with my son gave me my answer. From the point I decided to stand with him in front of the washer, he started thriving and I watched him get over his fear.

So through my son, Romans 5:4-5 exploded in technicolor.

“Not only so, but we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us.”

It was in the midst of the turmoil this year that God reminded me that as a Christian I am going to come face to face with difficult things. We are living in the “not yet” of God’s Kingdom, battling as soldiers in training on an imperfect earth. But HE is our “already.” His mere presence with us gives us hope that these things that plague us here on earth will no longer exist in heaven. 

Lord, thank You for teaching me through my son and for strengthening me in the layers of difficult circumstances this past year. Help me see every opportunity to reach out and reflect Your love and compassion to others who face bigger mountains in this season. Thank You that no matter how big or small the object of our fear, our future is filled with hope, as You promise us in Revelation 2:14–“He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.” Amen.