(excerpt from my book, At His Dusty Feet: Storied Moments from the Road to Golgotha; based on John 12:1-8)

Today, on the journey to Jerusalem, we stop in Bethany, the place where Lazarus lives. The Lazarus who lives because Jesus raised him from the dead. And so, I recline with Jesus and Lazarus at the table. But my focus is not on Jesus as we sit around this table. It is on Judas Iscariot and Lazarus and the incredible difference in their responses to Jesus.

Judas exudes what feels like a sense of duty and obligation combined with unmet expectations. Jesus is neither who Judas wants Him to be nor who Judas expected and hoped He would be. Rather than a warrior king sent to defeat Israel’s enemies once and for all, Jesus is a rebel of redemption and a humble servant who takes on the religious elite rather than the Roman rulers. Unlike Judas, Lazarus radiates absolute, resolute joy; it’s in his smile, in the way his eyes light up as he speaks to and listens to Jesus, and in the relaxed, reclining position he has taken at the table near his dear friend and redeemer.

I cannot help but compare Lazarus’ joy-filled demeanor with Judas’ more stoic and business-like manner. Where Lazarus is comfortable and relaxed, Judas is tense and sharp, both in tone and posture. In the midst of this celebratory evening among friends, Judas’ response to Mary’s actions feels entirely out of place, and Jesus is quick to address it. He defends Mary’s extravagance, and in doing so, he convicts Judas for his greed and for his misplaced focus.

Does Judas feel Jesus’ rebuke? It’s difficult to say. Knowing that Judas, like the other 11 disciples, has been with Jesus throughout His three years of ministry and witnessed miracles and listened to Jesus’ words, how is it Judas remains reserved and reticent in the presence of this king? Who exactly is this man who travels with Jesus? I know where some of the other disciples come from and how Jesus called them to follow Him. But Judas? I don’t know much about him.

And so today I contemplate him. I wonder, was he as willing and eager to follow Jesus as Simon and Andrew, who dropped everything the moment Jesus invited them to follow Him? Did Judas have reservations even then, or was he so excited by the idea Jesus might possibly be the Messiah for whom he’d been waiting that he left all he knew without hesitation? I can’t help but believe he must have been excited at least initially. So when did that change for Judas? When did the reservations set in and when did he decide to steal from Jesus, or, even worse, to withdraw from Jesus?

I watch Judas. I watch the indifference he seems to have toward Jesus. I watch him bristle at the extravagance Mary demonstrates. And I cannot help but marvel at his mock indignation, claiming the perfume could have been sold to help the poor. How can he be in the presence of Jesus, not just around this table, but for three years now, and not be changed? How is it possible for him to be in the presence of Jesus and yet not embrace who Jesus is? Not embrace such powerful, unconditional love. Not embrace hope. Not embrace what Jesus is about and who Jesus is.

And yet even as I watch Judas with his indignation and seemingly duplicitous nature and even as I feel my own overwhelming love flowing from my heart for this Jesus who loves me with all my flaws, I wonder.

How many times have I looked more to my gain than to my Savior? How many times have I, like Judas, missed the opportunity to see before me the plans, the messy truth lurking in my own messed up heart? How many times have I sat in the presence of Jesus with ambivalence, distracted by my own agenda, my own needs, my own desires? How many times?

I can’t count.

And so, today, I am thankful as I sit around this table where Martha serves and Mary worships and Lazarus adores for an opportunity to examine my own heart and my own motivations. Today, I am willing to look at the deep, dark places and ask Jesus to shine His light there. To seek forgiveness for the times I have put my desires for gain above my need for Jesus. To seek forgiveness for chasing personal gain instead of helping others. To seek forgiveness for my Judas moments.

Recently, I was thinking back to my 12-year-old’s initial autism diagnosis – six years ago. Back then, I knew nothing about what an autism diagnosis would mean or what it would look like as the days transitioned into months and years. I confess I was a bit overwhelmed by what I didn’t know, but I was also incredibly relieved, and, yes, even a bit validated. For years I’d been wondering what was going on with my girl and what motivated her behaviors. For years, I’d been asking if she might be autistic. For years, doctors, family, and friends insisted she wasn’t; she didn’t meet the criteria. In other words, we couldn’t check off enough boxes on the autism checklists.

But I knew something was going on. When we finally got our girl’s initial diagnosis, I exhaled a long breath I’d been holding for years. Now, we could get down to providing our girl the support she needed to navigate this neurotypical world as someone who is autistic rather than neurotypical.

Still, there were questions and unknowns. And there was misinformation about what an autism diagnosis means. For example, one of the first things I read, one of the first things I was told by more than one person, was I needed to take time to grieve. I needed to mourn the loss of the child I thought I was going to have. Except I still had her. She sat there before me, no different than she was before being diagnosed as autistic. The only real difference was I now had the information necessary to understand her and to meet her where she was.

As I look back at those early days with her diagnosis, I can’t help but think back to the day she was born. I remember all the preparations we’d made in getting ready for the birth. Unfortunately, I hadn’t spent as much time preparing for after she was born and I’d overlooked something pretty important – breastfeeding. Even though I knew I wanted to breastfeed her, I hadn’t read about nor had I planned for what breastfeeding involved. So, when that sweet baby girl entered the world, I was at a loss. I had no idea how to feed her. 

Although it is one of the most natural things, it doesn’t come naturally, at least it didn’t for me. And it also doesn’t come without some challenges (even if you happen to know how it’s supposed to work). Because I was new to this, I relied on the nurses in the delivery unit to help me by providing advice and instruction. Unfortunately, it turned out none of them knew a whole lot more than me.

In fact, following their advice resulted in greater challenges and even greater confusion. Mind you, they meant well, but just because they were nurses didn’t mean they had all the answers. I had had a C-section, and there was some discussion about whether my body would do what it was supposed to do as far as milk production was concerned. As a result, one well-intentioned nurse advised me to begin pumping every hour for fifteen minutes. 

This turned out to be not-so-good advice. This turned out to produce more milk than six babies would have needed let alone my one sweet little baby girl. Fortunately, it wasn’t impossible to correct the course I’d started on. It took a few weeks, but eventually with the right guidance, my milk production evened out, I learned how to help my girl latch so she could get what she needed, and we found the routine and rhythm that worked for us.

Parenting an autistic child is a similar journey.

There are well-meaning people who will offer advice, like you need to grieve the loss of the child you thought you would have. Like the nurses in the Labor & Delivery Unit, these folks believe they are helping, but in reality they are creating challenges you don’t need to face. Because the reality is, your child hasn’t changed. The only change is you have access to the services and support she will need to succeed in this neurotypical world.

Parenting is an adventure filled with unknowns and parenting an autistic child really isn’t all that different. It’s up to us to meet our kids where they are and walk with them into the world. It’s up to us to be their advocate, their guide, their encourager, and their hope. It’s up to us to be their safe space and love them unconditionally.

Trust me, you will find the routines and rhythms that work for her and your family, and it will make a world of difference. Like any parent, you are an expert on your child and when it comes to discovering the resources to help support your autistic child, this book will help you navigate that part of the adventure, helping you plug into the autistic voices who can shine a light along the path. It is my hope that my words will guide you and encourage you when the journey brings challenges along the way and remind you how amazing the adventure can be.

One night a few years ago one of my girls knocked over the glass of red wine I’d put on the floor by the place on the sofa where I was sitting. She didn’t see the glass, and most of its contents spilled out on the floor. I was frustrated, even exasperated.

But it was all okay.

Until my dear girl spoke the words, “I hate myself.”

Immediately I rose and approached her and took her face in my hands. I looked into her eyes for several moments and then I spoke a deep, unshakable truth:

“I am tired. I am human. I am frustrated. Even so, I love you. You are smart. You are amazing. You are creative. You are beautiful in your soul and your heart. I love you beyond words and it is so not okay for you to say you hate something I love so very much.”

I repeated these words two more times, looking deeply into her sweet face and her eyes, eyes that wanted to argue with me.

I saw in her a deep desire to believe the worst about herself.

I saw in her a reflection of me.

I saw in her the need for absolute unconditional love.

Because I have received such love. Because I have known such love in my deepest moments of hurt and shame and self loathing. Because God has whispered His truth, His unconditional love for me to my heart.

Because I received what I desperately needed, I was able to offer the blood of my blood – my dear girl – the truth she so desperately needed to hear and to know.

She is loved.

No matter what she does or what she says or how she messes up – she is loved.

There is no greater truth than the Gospel that says we who are not worthy are made worthy by Jesus and His love for us.

As I sat with her on the couch that night, I hoped and prayed my girl not only heard that truth and felt that truth, but she believed that Truth.

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