the climber

At our local children's museum there is a play area that wins all awards in the eyes of my oldest two children.  It is a climber, a labyrinth that winds itself around and up from the second to the third floor.  Both Micah and Rachel hesitated years ago, the first time they saw this climber, but Micah quickly overcame his fear and got busy with the task at hand, and since Rachel did whatever her older brother could do, she happily followed him wherever he might lead.  The two have been climbing partners ever since.

Even with much coaxing, Josiah has never been comfortable about the climber. From the time he was a toddler, he's watched his older siblings trot off and spend most of their museum time there, but he's never had much interest in venturing in.  With plenty of other sensory-related fears to help him tackle, I have never been one to urge him forward.  But today, we found ourselves at the museum together sans older siblings.  Sadly, they have outgrown these sweet childish pursuits, quite literally as they cannot fit in its small spaces with their adult-like bodies.  When we reached the second floor, Josiah and I found ourselves in front of the climber.

"Why don't you try going in?" I asked Josiah.  He shrank back but looked intrigued in spite of himself.  "Look at this, Josiah.  If you just go in this far," I pointed to the first carpeted rectangle, held up by diamonds of well-secured wire, "you can get right back out.  Just try it and see how it feels."

Feeling a bit braver, Josiah took a step into the climber.  "Now look," I said.  "If you climb to this next place, you can get right back down and come out.  What do you think?"  Josiah tentatively climbed up one rectangle.  He flashed a grin, got down, and came out.

For the next 25 minutes, I watched Josiah venture just one step further and then another, turning around each time to make sure he could find his way back out of the maze.  Finally, feeling completely confident, his face lit up with a smile and he began to climb, around and up.  I heard his triumphant little voice long after his body disappeared from my view.  "Mom!  I made it to the tippy top!  Woohoo!"

Today Josiah learned a lesson about the joy of overcoming fear, and taught me one in the process.  There are times I look at his ASD diagnosis and in every way, it resembles the tangled labyrinth of the climber.  I understand enough about how he is wired to venture in a few steps toward helping him tackle the next challenge, then timidly turn around and to find my way back out again, denying and ignoring the unique ways we have to face situations.  I balk, just wanting things to get easier rather than having to find the patience and creativity to meet the next difficult challenge.  Looking up, there are places I cannot begin to imagine we might have to climb.  Concerns about handling Josiah's food sensitivities as he grows, facing academic and social issues, and eventually letting this impulsive child climb behind the wheel of a car loom like insurmountable obstacles between Josiah's childhood and the day he will launch off on his own as an adult. 

I am grateful there is a Voice right by my side, to encourage me, guide me, and give wisdom for each step, the loving presence of a heavenly Father who knows Josiah better and loves him more than I ever will.  There are things about Josiah's upbringing that I need to consider and think about that may be variations from that of a typical child, but I'm also learning that much of what I need to give him is also the same as that of any of my children.  Josiah needs love, he needs to learn grace and know the victory Christ has won for his sin, he needs encouragement, and he needs to know how to access the God of the Bible who will walk with him through every challenge.

I'm gaining confidence that someday I will hear a much deeper voice say, "Mom!  I made it!" 

There is something inherently joyful about having the confidence to climb.