Longing for Ordinary

This past weekend at the retreat I hosted, a mother stood in front of us to share her testimonial.

She said a sentence, so seemingly simple, and yet so extraordinary, that I’ve been thinking about if for a week now.

She said…’since my son was diagnosed with autism…I have longed for ordinary.’

I immediately wrote it down on a piece of paper, drawing a circle around the word ordinary.

I too long for ordinary.

I long to blend in.

I long for simple. For ease. For calm.

We don’t have much of that. Never have, and I can say in this safe space, we maybe never will.

My son has an intensity about him. A chaos. I say he is a whole mood.

He doesn’t know how to whisper.

He refuses to sit. Or wait. Or be still.

He is perpetually in motion.

And as his mom, I am his person.

I join him on walks. I sit with him on the ground. I hold my hand under his head if he’s having a tough moment.

I am his mouthpiece. His buffer.

I am the bridge between two worlds.

I say in my writing that I have suit up in armor for every outing.

Willingly. And, lovingly.

I am his person. A role I take seriously.

Not a burden. But a gift.