We had minutes ago arrived in the door after a very full and emotional weekend spent visiting one of our sons at college. Such proud moments, watching him march tall and broad in a parade that was the culmination of his hard work at VT New Cadet Week, plus precious hours spent together listening to stories from his adventures, mixed with tears as we hugged him goodbye and drove the four-hour trek back home.
Soon after we had unloaded the car, our beautiful 16-yr old princess suddenly discovered that some of her beloved Barbies, whom she has given names and personalities and birth countries, were smudged on the face from the pencil rubbings off of her sketchbook that was stored in the same carry bag with the Barbies throughout the trip.
When you have just collapsed on the couch after a very full weekend, the last thing you feel like doing is figuring out how to get the smudge off of Barbie’s face.
But this was the crisis of the moment. When you are living with Autism, the crisis of the moment becomes the priority of the moment.
My sweet husband grabbed one special cleaning product and began scrubbing away at Blonde Barbie’s (“Her name is Irene”) forehead. …..Nothing.
I came up with the brilliant idea of nail polish remover as I took my turn at scrubbing Barbie’s (Irene’s) face.
Within a minute of my scrubbing, to my horror, I discovered my mistake. The nail polish remover was failing in my attempts to cleanse Barbie’s forehead, however it was very successful in erasing all signs of Barbie’s (Irene’s) beautiful blue left eye.
What we had once hoped would be a quiet evening of settling back in our home suddenly erupted into more than I ever wanted to have to deal with that evening. Never would I have imagined that I would be spending the end of my day wrapping beloved Barbie in a Kleenex tissue shroud before laying her to rest in her final resting place. Oh, the tears. The grief. Oh, the spilled nailpolish remover all over the floor.
I had broken my precious daughter’s heart. I had killed her Barbie.
“I know you’re sorry, mommy. But I just feel mad right now.” Bless her heart – how I love this child!
What do you do when you have killed your daughter’s beloved Barbie? You promise to buy her another one, of course.
Armed with a photo of the one side of Barbie’s face not damaged, I knew the next day would be spent feverishly searching for her replacement.
And yet I wondered - - will the new Barbie completely erase the memory of the deceased one? Will she be given the same name as the one lying embalmed in the coffin of my trashcan, or will an entirely new name and personality be chosen for her?
As I was trying to comfort this precious heartbroken child, I had to keep reminding her to picture beautiful Irene as she used to be, and not how she ended up looking at the end of that fateful night.
Why?
Because that’s how God looks at us.
When God looks at us, He sees us as beautiful. The beautiful parts that once were, and the beautiful parts that are yet to come.
He just sees us as beautiful.
And suddenly, as I was rocking my grieving 16-yr-old Autistic daughter and kissing her tear-soaked cheeks, I realized yet again how God sees her:
Beautiful.
He sees the beautiful parts that once were, and the beautiful parts that are yet to come.
“For You created my inmost being; You knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise You because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; Your works are wonderful, I know that full well.”
Soon after we had unloaded the car, our beautiful 16-yr old princess suddenly discovered that some of her beloved Barbies, whom she has given names and personalities and birth countries, were smudged on the face from the pencil rubbings off of her sketchbook that was stored in the same carry bag with the Barbies throughout the trip.
When you have just collapsed on the couch after a very full weekend, the last thing you feel like doing is figuring out how to get the smudge off of Barbie’s face.
But this was the crisis of the moment. When you are living with Autism, the crisis of the moment becomes the priority of the moment.
My sweet husband grabbed one special cleaning product and began scrubbing away at Blonde Barbie’s (“Her name is Irene”) forehead. …..Nothing.
I came up with the brilliant idea of nail polish remover as I took my turn at scrubbing Barbie’s (Irene’s) face.
Within a minute of my scrubbing, to my horror, I discovered my mistake. The nail polish remover was failing in my attempts to cleanse Barbie’s forehead, however it was very successful in erasing all signs of Barbie’s (Irene’s) beautiful blue left eye.
What we had once hoped would be a quiet evening of settling back in our home suddenly erupted into more than I ever wanted to have to deal with that evening. Never would I have imagined that I would be spending the end of my day wrapping beloved Barbie in a Kleenex tissue shroud before laying her to rest in her final resting place. Oh, the tears. The grief. Oh, the spilled nailpolish remover all over the floor.
I had broken my precious daughter’s heart. I had killed her Barbie.
“I know you’re sorry, mommy. But I just feel mad right now.” Bless her heart – how I love this child!
What do you do when you have killed your daughter’s beloved Barbie? You promise to buy her another one, of course.
Armed with a photo of the one side of Barbie’s face not damaged, I knew the next day would be spent feverishly searching for her replacement.
And yet I wondered - - will the new Barbie completely erase the memory of the deceased one? Will she be given the same name as the one lying embalmed in the coffin of my trashcan, or will an entirely new name and personality be chosen for her?
As I was trying to comfort this precious heartbroken child, I had to keep reminding her to picture beautiful Irene as she used to be, and not how she ended up looking at the end of that fateful night.
Why?
Because that’s how God looks at us.
When God looks at us, He sees us as beautiful. The beautiful parts that once were, and the beautiful parts that are yet to come.
He just sees us as beautiful.
And suddenly, as I was rocking my grieving 16-yr-old Autistic daughter and kissing her tear-soaked cheeks, I realized yet again how God sees her:
Beautiful.
He sees the beautiful parts that once were, and the beautiful parts that are yet to come.
“For You created my inmost being; You knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise You because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; Your works are wonderful, I know that full well.”
