I feel … abandoned, alone. As a special needs parent, I cast my net wide for support systems for my son—school, recreation, and additional therapies. It is crazy to me that people can go to restaurants and bars and do some outdoor sports and our state has been pushing for in-person learning, but my son hasn’t seen his speech therapist in six months—and probably won’t see her for many more months.

Remote? In-person? Homeschool? The answer, for us, is quite simple. I have never second guessed this: Matthew will go to in-person school for as long as they will allow him to be in the building. Why? A stat from one of Temple Grandin’s books keeps ringing through my ears: autistic children, particularly those between the ages of 3 and 5 years old, need 25 hours a week of schooling/therapy.

I remember reading that stat many years ago and feeling grateful that Matthew had the opportunity to receive such schooling. Now, the 12.5 hours initially offered are gone temporarily and it makes me feel angry and sad. I think the best word to describe it is I feel abandoned. I feel alone. I realize that isn’t necessarily the case, but it is how I feel.

So much so that I have considered private school for him (don’t even get me started on the educational disparity gap that is going to widen significantly from all of this. If injustice exists now, just wait until rich white people are the only people who have access to a decent education. If we don’t know our neighbors now, just wait until kids go to schools in different towns … but that is a whole separate post). While we could swing a private school for our son for a year or two, ultimately I don’t think it is a great fit for him. His people—therapists, friends, etc.—are at his public school. His talker—his voice—is provided to us by his public school. No doubt, if we pulled him out, they would take the talker back. And while we can certainly buy him a new one, that specific device is his first voice, and I am not ready to take it away from him yet. He has had too much taken away from him already.

We also, as a family, feel that public school is where we belong. Our main objective as parents is to teach our kids to be missional and kind to our neighbors—that is more important to us than the age they learn to read. It is easier to do that when you go to the public school down the block, rather than a private school two towns over.

While I was lying in bed fretting about all of this—getting angry and sad—I made a very important decision. I decided to change my mindset.

What if … this is exactly what God intended for Matthew—quarantined with his family for a year or two, with access to very little schooling and therapy.

What if … our family bond grows stronger.

What if … we spend more time outside.

What if … we read so many books together that he learns to read any way.

What if … we do so much sensory play at home that he tries a new food.

What if …

What if …

What if …

There are so many opportunities in this. I keep focusing on what we are NOT getting (25 hours of schooling/therapy) that I am not focusing on what we ARE getting (time together to learn and explore and just be). My kids will only be kids for so long. If we are lucky, we get 18 summers with them before we launch them into the world. We need to use the time well.

And then I picked up my bible study. I am currently reviewing Held by Lee and Sandra Peoples, and the question was this: Do you struggle trusting God’s plan when you can’t see evidence of His power?

I read that and then I reread that and I am brought back to the basement floor of our old townhouse back in the summer of 2013—seven years ago before any of our children were born. When I sat on the floor and cried out to God because we weren’t pregnant after months of trying. I prayed for our future children—and I gave them to Him. I knew in that moment that God’s plans are far greater than any plans I could come up with on my own. The next day I found out I was pregnant. And eight weeks later I had a miscarriage. A year later, we had our first son. Three years later he was diagnosed with autism. Through all of that I trusted God’s plans. I trusted that He knew better than me.

And now I sit here in a pandemic and I can’t trust that His plans are greater? I need to trust that He has something for me—and for Matthew—in all of this. It might not be 25 hours a week of schooling/therapy. But it just might be something greater.