At the Crosswalk

One of the questions on an autism test I took several months ago was if I found it easy to do more than one thing at once. That didn’t require more than a second to answer. I am usually cool, calm, and collected when I am performing ONE task at a time. If I have to do more than one, my chances of making a goof go up tremendously.

On my job as a substitute teacher’s aide, I once had morning crosswalk duty directing pedestrian and car traffic. How did it go? There was a famous baseball player called “Dizzy Dean”. Well, that nickname would have fit me that morning.

I had done crosswalk duty at other schools, but it wasn’t something I had a heap of practice at. I always have a problem doing something I only do once in a blue moon. After all, practice makes perfect or almost. No job training or helpful hints were given by the sixth-grader who gave me the school-issued “STOP” sign. If it was only the incoming traffic I had to focus on and direct, it would have been a breeze. But it doesn’t work that way with crosswalk duty since a crosswalk exists for on-foot traffic.

Pedestrians were coming from two different directions with parents bringing their kids up to the front door and then crossing back to their awaiting cars. I had to watch the cars coming towards me and the foot soldiers to my right and left.  Needless to say, my neck got a workout.  Then there was the challenge of correctly holding the stop sign in front of cars or pedestrians depending on which one I wanted to stop. Sometimes I got confused and fortunately, the drivers figured it out themselves.

There was the added challenge of having to make decisions on the spot as to when I would stop pedestrian traffic to keep car traffic from backing up too far and vice versa.  I must have done okay and didn’t want to wait too long since I didn’t get angry stares from either drivers/pedestrians and above all, no honking horns.

Although my brain isn’t wired to keep up with all these multiple tasks, I survived crosswalk duty without any fatalities or near misses. Crosswalk duty is a lot harder than it looks.  I imagine it is challenging even for those who can juggle multiple tasks at once without blinking an eye.  Me?  I just aim for survival at the crosswalk.

 

 

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The Prophet Who Did His Job

In the Old Testament, there are stories of kings, queens, judges, priests, and then, there are prophets. There were a number of prophets with some of them having long, hard to spell names like Malachi, Zechariah, and Habakkuk (Google does come in handy for spelling). Their main job duty was relaying God’s message to one or more people. Sometimes they had good news, but it often was a warning instead such as “if you don’t repent and change your ways…”.

I would imagine the job of a prophet could be a thankless one since their message didn’t always tickle the ears of the receiver.  It could be a dangerous one too such as Elijah having to flee from King Ahab who didn’t think much of Elijah and thought less of the God Elijah served. It could be a lonely one. Jeremiah was called the “weeping prophet” who served during the reign of five different kings and wrote a lot about repentance. They lived fascinating lives such as Samuel who was a miracle child, anointed the first two Israelite kings, and was the only ghost we meet in the Bible (read all about it in I Samuel 28).

Nathan was the prophet who was around when David was King.  Unlike Elijah and King Ahab, Nathan and David had a good relationship. Nathan was a member of David’s royal court and one of his closest advisors. There are a few stories in the Bible featuring Nathan that occurred during some of the darkest and most emotional times in David’s turbulent life.

Nathan was around when David decided to build God a house. David thought it wrong that while he lived in a beautiful palace, the Ark of the Covenant was housed in a lowly tent. David shared his plans with Nathan. The prophet, so to speak, gave him the high five. But Nathan spoke too soon! God visited Nathan in a vision and told him to go back to David with an entirely opposite message. God did not want David to build him a house; rather, David’s descendant would be the one to build God’s house (2 Samuel 7:4–17).

Nathan goes back to David with God’s answer.  Instead of being stubborn about it and going ahead with his plans, or throwing a tantrum and taking it out on the messenger, David accept’s God’s will. That’s a good lesson in itself. Not all my prayer requests have turned out as I had originally hoped.  Sometimes I have to go through the process of accepting God’s answer, reminding myself that my Father knows best.  If I could see what would have happened if my request had turned out the way I wanted, I have no doubt I’d be on my knees thanking the Lord for sparing me from what I originally hoped.

The most famous encounter between David and Nathan came later.  It was after David committed adultery with Bathsheba.  When she informed David she was pregnant with his child, he was so desperate to cover it up that he brought about the death of her husband, Uriah, who was a loyal soldier in David’s army.  David married Bathsheba and life went on … or so David thought. Nathan shows up and it was a climactic moment, to say the least.  If it wasn’t one of the worst moments in David’s life, it surely came close to being.

Nathan began with telling David about a rich man and a poor man. The rich man had company and needed to prepare a feast. He sees the poor man’s only possession, a little lamb, the poor man loved like a member of his family. The selfish rich man takes the lamb to feed his guest instead of feeding his guest with one of his own lambs from his flocks. David’s reaction to this story was an absolute rage. Perhaps the story took David back to when he was a shepherd boy tending his father’s flock. David declared the rich man had no pity and deserved to die.

This is the climax! I dare say one could have heard a pin drop when Nathan pointed to David and said, “You are the man!” (2 Samuel 12:7).

Perhaps at that moment, David felt like an arrow of guilt had hit his heart. It couldn’t have been easy for Nathan to reveal David’s sin, but he was the prophet and it was his job. David did confess to Nathan his sin. At least, David didn’t deny it or try to blame someone else. Nathan had good and bad news. The good news was the Lord had forgiven his sin and that David would not be punished by his own death. The bad news was David and Bathsheba’s child would die. It was devastating news but David didn’t argue with or blame the messenger who was just doing his job.

After the death of David’s child, his wife Bathsheba became pregnant again, this time with a son whom they named Solomon. The Lord sent Nathan to David again but this time with wonderful news that the Lord loved his son Solomon. They named their son, Solomon “Jedidiah,” a name that means “beloved of the Lord” (2 Samuel 12:24–25). Solomon would grow up to later build God’s house, the temple, and became an ancestor of the Lord Jesus Christ.

Another mention of Nathan is an encounter he had with Bathsheba. David was near death at the time and one of David’s sons, Adonijah, had his eyes on his father’s throne. Nathan knew Bathsheba well enough to speak to her about Adonijah attempting to take David’s throne from her son, Solomon (1 Kings 1:11). Nathan enlisted her help in bringing the matter to David’s attention before David’s death. After Bathsheba told David what was going on, Nathan came in and backed her up. Thus, there was no King Adonijah.

There is evidence that David and Bathsheba appreciated Nathan for his faithfulness, friendship, and even his “tough” love. First Chronicles 3:5 reveals they named one of their sons “Nathan”. A fine thing to be named after a prophet who did his job.

A few decades ago I pray for something with a heavy heart.  In my prayer, I had a sob story and thought that what I wanted to do about the situation had the Lord’s blessing.  Just as I was almost about to carry it out, I ran into someone.  I shared my sob story with the person who generously gave me a hug and advice.  Her advice wasn’t what I wanted to hear but I listened.  It occurred to me a short time later that her advice was the Lord’s answer.  I can’t prove it but to this day I don’t believe it was a coincidence I ran into this person when I did.

In a way, she was the prophet delivering the Lord’s message to me.  At least, I can say that time I accepted it and if I had to live it over again, I wouldn’t have changed a thing.  By the way, I never held a grudge against her.  She was just doing her job.

 

Deciphering The Rules

Whether it is a first-grade teacher or an Ivy League professor, the beginning of the school year or semester is spent introducing students to rules and expectations. When I was growing up, rules were written in chalk on a blackboard. Now in some schools, rules are displayed on interactive whiteboards and typed out using a computer keyboard. The tools have changed, but the rules haven’t changed that much. Such as there’s still the rule that one can’t talk when the teacher is talking and that rule is still a popular one that students break.

I am a retired government employee and my post-retirement job is being a substitute teacher’s aide. I started my fourth school year in a gym class for two days. I heard the P.E. coach’s list of rules 14 times in those two days. It reminded me of playing my favorite song over and over again on my record player back when I was growing up.

The coach didn’t just read the rules out loud; she deciphered them.  That was particularly helpful for those who take verbal instructions literally — word for word — a common trait for those of us on the Autism Spectrum.  If she hadn’t explained them, some students might be trying to live up to something that wasn’t realistic and/or totally confused when the class was playing tag.

For instance, one of the top five was to do your BEST at ALL times. The teacher admitted that the literal meaning wasn’t realistic. She explained she wanted the kids to do their best with what they had that day. If they were in a fantastic mood with energy to match, they should be at the top of their game. If they were not up to speed, she asked they just do the best they could with whatever energy they had to give. I was glad she explained that because I wasn’t as much an eager beaver on my second day as the first day of being her sidekick.

Another one of the top five school district-wide rules was “Keep hands and objects to yourself at all times.” If taken literally, one would think it was NEVER appropriate to touch someone. That’s a good rule when students are standing in line or sitting side-by-side on the gym floor, but not when playing a game like tag where tagging is, more or less, touching someone.  The coach gave examples as to when the rule applies and when it doesn’t.  It’s a good rule, but the “at all times” phrase just needed deciphering.

The coach had her own dozen or so rules in a computer document that she read out loud. One of them was one that took me by surprise.  I never heard of a coach having the rule of “no jackets in the gym!” The students could wear jackets to school but were not to enter the gym wearing one.  Her reasoning behind this rule was that kids might get sick from getting too hot wearing a jacket while doing their exercises and playing games.

This rule gave me an uncomfortable feeling since I was in violation of it.  She didn’t ask me to take it off and I didn’t volunteer to do so. I was not working in a hot-boiling gym or even a warm toasty one. It was so cold in the gym that I felt my knees shivering. I mean that LITERALLY! I assume I was given a pass since I was a substitute or maybe the 20-something old coach wouldn’t ask a thin gray-haired lady to take off her jacket.

 

Within Boundaries

A British writer who writes about Autism Spectrum Disorders (ASD), Alis Rowe, wrote “I gain a lot of comfort from people who do not expect more time/interaction/activity from me than I can give, i.e. they are able to understand and appreciate that there will be ‘boundaries’ in our relationship and are flexible to be OK with that.'” Those of us who have ASD and have such a flexible friend(s) are blessed indeed!

I was once asked in a psychological test what I picture myself as being in one word. I didn’t have to ponder long on that question. The word “observer” instantly popped up. I see myself looking out the window and just doing that — observing. Sometimes I do that at the shopping mall. Sit down to get a load off and to observe the passersby. Come to think of it, with what I see at the mall, it’s sort of like watching a reality TV show parade.

As an observer, I am mystified by those who socialize and enjoy it. The “enjoying” part is the mystery.  I wonder what’s so fun about it when I want to go off by myself and solve a jigsaw puzzle or something. I hear of planning get-together events and I shudder at the thought of an invitation. I know to a neurotypical (NT) that sounds so … what’s the word … I don’t know. But whatever the word, it’s not flattering.

Don’t get me wrong! I don’t secretly desire to live on a deserted island even though I may appear to behave like I do. Even I admit to a need to interact with people. I actually enjoy conversations ever now and then. But like Alis’s quote, on a limited scale. Such as I have a weekly conversation with someone who shares my interest in politics. With all that’s going on in Washington, we haven’t run out of gas yet on that topic. I get rather loud at times on my soapbox and repeat myself but the person doesn’t complain, not yet anyway.

My best way of interacting with my fellow man was, is, and will continue to be writing. I can write down my thoughts, edit them with countless drafts, and when ready to ship, I hit the SEND button. I can’t edit or delete what I say on the phone or in person. It is so frustrating and beyond my ability to stop replaying conversations of yesterday or 30 years ago with words I wish I had said or had not said at all.

Another Alis Rowe quote: What people don’t get is that, even if it doesn’t show, autism is a massive, massive part of me and it leaves me with a lot of reasons (not excuses) for almost everything I do, or do not experience.  Autism is the reason I am mostly content doing things that don’t involve other people. It’s not an excuse; it’s just an explanation.

Even within my boundaries, I still want to have a part in having an impact beyond my boundaries.  That’s why I blog.

 

 

 

 

 

Joshua, Caleb, and the Fearful Ten

When I think of the word “courage”, the pictures that pop up in my mind are of soldiers on a battlefield, police officers on a call where weapons are drawn, or firefighters responding to a raging fire with people inside. Courage isn’t limited to those situations. It can be displayed at any time or place.  It isn’t limited to those wearing a uniform and it doesn’t have to be a matter of life and death.  Courage is when one does what the Lord would have them do, often taking the difficult instead of the easy road, even though they are scared silly.

The Bible provides many stories having the ingredient of courage. One of them is the story of Joshua and Caleb. It is a dramatic and powerful tale of two who did the right thing surrounded by those who chose to give in to fear and doubt.

The Israelites led by Moses had fled Egypt to their destination of the promised land of Canaan initially promised by God to their forefather Abraham. Joshua and Caleb’s story begins where the Israelites were at the threshold of this Promised Land.

Moses sent Joshua, Caleb, and ten other spies into the Promised Land to check out who the enemy was and report back what they saw.  The spies returned after scouting the land for 40 days. All twelve agreed that Canaan did flow with milk and honey and it possessed bountiful fruit. They all reported the inhabitants were powerful, their cities fortified, and they even saw descendants of Anak there. (The Israelites felt like grasshoppers in the presence of the sons of Anak who were endowed with height). The people focused more on the strength of the enemy than the milk, honey, and fruit.

There was not full agreement among the spies on what to do about it. The majority believed the enemy was a mountain too high to climb. Joshua and Caleb were of the opinion that the land was conquerable because they had the Lord on their side and the Canaanites did not. That made all the difference. They stated:

“‘The land we passed through and explored is exceedingly good. If the Lord is pleased with us, he will lead us into that land, a land flowing with milk and honey, and will give it to us. Only do not rebel against the Lord. And do not be afraid of the people of the land, because we will devour them. Their protection is gone, but the Lord is with us. Do not be afraid of them.’” (Numbers 14:6–9).

Although Caleb and Joshua were outnumbered, they didn’t change their minds to appease the majority. Their belief in going forward to battle wasn’t based on what they saw, but on what they couldn’t see.  It’s called living one’s faith.

The people didn’t listen to the courageous two, but to the fearful ten. They even turned on their leader, Moses, and complained about being led out to the wilderness to come this far only to die. It was a bad day for Moses. It seemed that sometimes the hardest part of Moses’s job was not dealing with the enemy or the physical challenges of traveling a multitude of people, but the “people” themselves who may have kept Moses up many a night with their complaining.

God threw up His hands so to speak. The punishment of the people’s lack of faith was making them wait forty years to enter the land (a year for every day the spies were spying out the land). He also promised that every person 20 years old or older would die in the wilderness.  Think about that!  All those 20 and above knew they had no more than 40 years to live and would never leave the wilderness alive.  If one was 20, one knew they wouldn’t live past 60 and would only see the land flowing with milk and honey in their dreams.

There were two exceptions.  Numbers 14:38, “Not one of you will enter the land I swore with uplifted hand to make your home, except Caleb son of Jephunneh and Joshua son of Nun.”

After the death of Moses 40 years later, Joshua led the people across the Jordan River into the Promised Land. He won every battle and thus possessed the land that God had initially promised Joshua’s forefathers Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. Oh, and Caleb? Well, he received an inheritance in the Promised Land in his ripe old age (Joshua 14).

Courage isn’t limited to adults.   I can think of another place where I have personally witnessed courage while on my job as a substitute teacher’s aide. A child is alone amidst a host of classmates on a playground. The child is perceived by the other children to be different.  Maybe it’s the child’s different skin color, or a brace on their leg, or doesn’t speak or talks too much, flaps his hands, spins in circles, or their legs are useless to them.  One of their classmates joins the child.  He or she is pointed at and snickered for giving attention to the “different” one. But the one who stands alone pays their snickering classmates no mind. That child who is putting into practice Jesus’s command to love one’s neighbor as thyself is displaying courage. Just as Joshua and Caleb did when they stood alone amidst the fearful ten.

 

Motor City

An item on the list of female Asperger Syndrome traits is “youthful for her age in behavior…” That item I could put a checkmark beside. A big check mark made with a red marks-a-lot marker!  As I am approaching my 59th birthday, the telltale signs of aging are there. It really hit me when I stopped using hair coloring this past year. Well, I suspect thanks to my living on the Spectrum, I am getting younger by the day.

The above picture is my new toy — Magic Track. Yes, it is mine even though it says on the box it is for 3-50 year-olds. I take things literally, spoken or written, and chose to disregard the maximum age of 50 since it doesn’t make any sense that 51 and above are too old to possess one.

Magic Track is one of those As Seen on TV products which I never saw advertised on TV. I saw it in an e-mail attachment from a neighborhood store. I was hooked at first sight. My Autism brain was sending me a wire message: “That’s got your name written all over it!” I went to the store a few hours later and was so disappointed that no such item was on their shelves. Their sister-store 40 miles away had it but I wasn’t that desperate. So I ordered it online on Amazon Prime and waited 2 days for it like a kid waiting for Christmas morning.

I wasn’t attracted to the racing part. It was the creative possibilities. The track can bend, flex, and curve in any direction. I can change the track into any SHAPE or PATTERN! That’s right up my alley because I enjoy working with shapes and patterns which is a trait I share with others on the spectrum.  With my new toy, I am putting my imagination to use to build various shapes of highway and to add homemade pieces such as making a tunnel from a shoebox.

Since an 11 ft. track is a hard thing to hide, I didn’t bother trying.  The drawback to my having this magic track was the trick of answering the adults in the room as to why someone my age would buy a toy track and car.  I just wore my autism shirt with the words “awareness, understanding, and acceptance” and pointed to it when asked.

I had another reason besides it being one of the female autism traits.  I thought my grandniece and nephew would enjoy playing with it when they were over at our house. I had every intention of letting them play with it if they wanted. I am capable of sharing; although, I didn’t do much of that sharing with their grandpa when we were their age.

So the bottom line is I act “YOUNG” for my age. My grandniece and nephew, my playmates, can back me up on that.

Oh, since 11 ft. did not satisfy my obsessive crave, I got another Magic Track.  Hopefully, that’ll do and I won’t order more before turning my bedroom floor into a Motor City.

 

The Yard Stimmer

Shortly after I learned I was on the Autism Spectrum, I had a conversation about “stimming” with a teacher whose students are on the Spectrum.  She said something that stuck in my brain like glue:  any repetitive movement is stimming.  Well, that being said, it must not be limited to hand flapping, spinning, and rocking.  I am big on rocking myself which is a big help when the “meltdowner” pays me a visit.  Since that conversation, I’ve come up with other stim ways.

Yard work has “stimming” possibilities.  Before I moved back home to help my Mom, I lived in the Washington, D.C. area where I always lived in apartments/condo and had no yard to labor in.  During the autumn of last year, I came down with a “leaf obsession” in my Mom’s yard.  This was shortly before my diagnosis.  I didn’t know why I catered to raking or picking up leaves.  Now with an understanding of “stimming”, I can see why.  There is a repetitive motion to gathering leaves.  I even have a hard time once I start raking of knowing when to STOP doing the leaf bit!

During my summer break from my school job, my Mom said, “If you’re looking for something to do…”  I interrupted and said, “No, I wasn’t looking.”  HA!  She was suggesting some other yard chore – a new one on me.  Well, that pricked up my ears.  Her suggestion was trimming a hedge in the backyard.  I got excited at the prospect.  I know … I live such an exciting life.

The hedge trimmer and I were not well-acquainted but I was eager to give it a whirl.  After my Mom left to do errands, I took off outside with the manual trimmer and went to work.  Cut, cut, cut!  Repetitive movement all right!  It was an instant gratification to see the hedge taking shape.  I was like a sculptress with a chisel.  Despite the Sun’s heat bearing down on me, I wasn’t eager to stop trimming because it was stimulating.  After it looked trimmed enough to me, I put the trimmer away for another day.

Later in the day, the sky turned a dark blue.  Raindrops falling on my head.  Thunder band was rolling in.  The wind was kicking up its heels and I knew what that meant.  After the storm, if I needed to stim, there would be plenty of leaves waiting to be picked up.

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Lonely Road

I was asked by a young girl if she was bad for not wanting to be friends with a boy who had Autism.  His quirky behavior was as she put it, “driving her bonkers”.  He’d get in her face, follow her around, and spin in circles on the floor.

I was coming at this question from two perspectives.  One is I am on the spectrum myself and empathize with the boy.  On the other hand, I was a substitute teacher’s assistant and although I love the students, some do test my patience and so I could empathize with where she was coming from.

I answered with first stating I didn’t think she was a bad person. Just the fact that she was asking the question suggests to me she’s nicer than she thinks.  I advised her not to abandon him completely.  She didn’t have to be his best buddy but I advised her not to ignore him completely. I know all too well what it is to be ignored and it hurts like heck.

I gave her a few examples of those, (how shall I put this nicely), put my patience to task.

One was a boy on the Spectrum who does not give his voice a break.  I often wonder what keeps him from getting laryngitis.  My best coping mechanism is a sense of humor about it.  I don’t mean laughing at him; just keeping my sense of humor to ease the chatter on my nerves.

Another example was an autistic boy whose behavior for whatever reason changed for the worse when he changed schools.  He had been such a gentle soul but the change in schools took a toll on him.  He was physically disruptive and the other kids were a bit frightened of him.  I did my best to remain calm around him.  I knew he couldn’t help it.  He even knew that.  His teacher told me that one day he had given her a hard time.  He came over, gave her a hug, and said, “I don’t know why I do it.”

Then, I told her about the gentle giant who loves to give hugs and kisses. She has the autism trait of being repetitive in saying or asking things over and over again. That can get annoying! But I try to be patient because I know her story. You see she’s the new kid on the block in her class as well as neighborhood. Her world was rocked when her Mom died in another state and she now lives with Grandma. She talks about her Mom being in Heaven as if her Mom just moved away to some far-away location. She freely talks about joining her someday as if death is an everyday topic. Her teacher gently tries to change the subject, but rest assured, the gentle giant will bring it up again.

Last example, but not least, is a 7 years old who is the youngest in his autism unit. He’s also the only one who has yet to utter his first word. He does understand some of what he hears for he will do what he is told for maybe 2 minutes at most. He’ll flap with one arm, stop, hit his teeth with one hand, stop, give the top of his head two slaps, and start over again. The teacher will tell him to put his arms down and that works for maybe 10 seconds. He was climbing over me and I gave him a hug. While trying to put him back in his chair, what did he have in his hand? My billfold! I got pickpocketed! I showed his teacher and she wasn’t the least bit surprised. I wasn’t his first victim and I surely won’t be the last.

The girl with the question was amused at my stories and I told her that I laugh at my own quirky behavior all the time.  It beats crying about it.  I think I gave her some food for thought.  I hope she decided not to abandon the boy.  After all, Autism can be a lonely road.

The Greatest Invitation

A party is not a bad thing if you like such things.  Not that I would know but I assume those who are the life of a party welcome party invitations unless it’s an invite with people that they if they had a choice, they’d see an orthodontist instead.  I don’t get many invitations and that doesn’t keep me up at night.  Coming up with a plausible excuse to get out of an invitation or dreading going to one does.  I have learned from observation that a simple “no” to a party invite with no excuse or a lame one is a social no-no.  Social interaction just doesn’t come easy for me and others on the autism spectrum.

One of Jesus’s parables was about an invitation to a great banquet.  You can read all about it in Luke 14:16-24.  The banquet was hosted by a certain man who I am speculating had a fair amount of wealth.  I assume that since the banquet was for many guests.  I have never hosted a party, but it just makes sense that the bigger the guest list, the bigger the price tag.

At the time of the banquet, the host sent his servant to tell those who had been invited, ‘Come, for everything is now ready.’  The servant went around giving the invitation and was turned down by invitees, one by one, who asked to be excused.  They all had their excuses and some of them were so lame that the servant might have scratched his head wondering why they couldn’t have come up with a better excuse.

Jesus gave three examples of those who asked to be excused from coming.  One said he had just bought a field and must go and see it.  Hm?  Who would buy a field before seeing it?  

Another claimed he had just bought five yoke of oxen and was on his way to try them out.  Hm?  Who would buy five oxen before trying them out?  That’s like me buying a car without a test drive.  

And a third said he had just got married and couldn’t come.  Hm?  He couldn’t bring his bride along?  Or, she laid down the law to him that his partying days were over?  

The servant came back and reported the bad news of repeated “please excuse me” responses.  The house owner was livid.  Now why all his invited guests did not want to attend a banquet given by the host isn’t told in the parable.  I gather that wasn’t the point Jesus was getting at in this parable.  The meaning of the parable wasn’t about how to get out of a party given by someone you’d rather not break bread with.

The owner of the house ordered his servant to go out into the town streets and alleys and bring in the poor, crippled, blind and the lame.  After the servant had completed the task, he reported to his master what had been done and that there was still room for more.  The master told his servant to go out to the roads and country lanes and invite the folks to come in so that his house would be full.  Instead of his banquet attended by those he had invited in the first place, it was full of strangers.  The master said he did not want one of those who asked to be excused to even get so much as a taste of his banquet feast.

Every parable was an earthly story with a heavenly meaning.  This one was no exception.  Jesus was like the banquet host in extending an invitation.  The Gospel was first given to the Jews.  Some believed but there were those Jews who did not.  Some of those unbelievers were Jewish priests, elders, and scribes among others.  On the other hand, there were believers who were the outcasts.  Like the Samaritan woman at the well, a short-in-stature chief tax collector named Zaccheus, and a woman who lived a sinful life whom Jesus allowed to anoint his feet with perfume.

Jesus gave His life to give the greatest invitation to all who will accept it.  The gift of salvation isn’t limited to a particular group of people.  My own personal favorite scripture of invitation is John 3:16, “For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten son, that whosoever believeth in Him shall not perish but have everlasting life.”  I’m so thankful for that “whosoever”.

I’m thankful, too, more than words can say, that Jesus’s invitation was one I did accept!

Me and My Shadow

British author Alis Rowe, who writes about Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD), is quoted as saying “I’m just not really that fond of ‘socializing’. I’m not saying that I can never have fun being with other people but I just tend to have more fun when I’m on my own!”

I echo that quote.  I have oodles of fun by myself. Since I don’t live alone now, I am not lacking in human interaction as I was when I was living by myself.  I confess when I have the house to myself, it is like being in Disneyland without being at Disneyland.  It has nothing to do with those around me that I prefer my own company.  It’s just the way it is with my ASD.

Parties are hard for me to have a good time at, but not impossible. The more people I know, the better the odds of enjoyment. I once had fun at a party get-together with mostly total strangers but I can only recall one of those. I managed by eyeing an introvert who perhaps was just as or maybe more introverted than myself.  One of my party coping mechanisms is looking for an introvert at the same party too.  If I’m the only one, it’s going to be a long night.  I can’t recall feeling sad when the party guests started leaving. That’s usually the best part.

Dating and fun? There are folks who admit to having had both at the same time. I just have to take their word for it.

I confess I have the capacity to chat for an hour or longer with someone where the topic is one that sustains my attention. If the topic ventures to something I know little to nothing about, the fun is over. It’s nap time. I will not nod off, though, because if someone gives me an inch and lets me talk, I should do likewise when the person is on their soap box. That is only fair!  I may not hear every word, but I’ll try to keep up the pretense that what is going in one ear isn’t coming out the other.  The least I could do for someone who listens to me.

I have another confession. I have actual memories of having honest-to-goodness fun with others. It’s just I don’t have as many of those memories as I have of “me and my shadow”.