Rejoicing in our children with special needs is often mingled with grief when the milestones they meet are quite different from their peers. My friend, Karen Jackson, is here to describe how she responded in one such occasion. Karen is the Director of Faith Inclusion Network (FIN) of Hampton Roads, a non-profit organization devoted to the better inclusion of people with disabilities into faith communities. She’s also mom to three kids, one of whom experiences autism.

Let Us Rejoice!

Today at Mass, fifteen beautiful young children received the Sacrament of First Holy Communion.  They were impeccably dressed in miniature suits for the boys and delicate while dresses for the girls.  Many of the girls even wore flowers in their hair, as is traditional, and a professional photographer was on hand to take individual photos of each young person with our Pastor.  This was a special moment in their lives as Catholics, to be sure, and a celebration for our whole congregation.

Rejoicing in Milestones

While these families celebrated this special time for their second graders, I silently and joyfully celebrated a special moment in time with my only daughter Samantha.  Because today, after more than six years of preparation, advocacy in our church, and a succession of “almost” and “not-even-close” experiences in worship, my precious 15-year-old daughter with autism sat in the sanctuary with me for the entire Mass, beginning to end.

Rejoicing in Milestones on the Spectrum

For those who have children on the spectrum, I probably do not need to say much more than that.  For those who do not live with or work with children with autism, let me try to explain.

For lack of better terms, Samantha falls under the moderate to severe part of the Autism Spectrum Disorder.  She does not have exceptionally aggressive behavior, for instance, but she is severely limited in her ability to communicate.  Sitting still has also been a challenge and, although she loves to sing snippets of her favorite songs or just vocalize in a sing-song way, she exhibits very little control of her impromptu vocalizations.  Therefore, it is very possible she might belt out “I love, you, you love me, we’re a happy family” (Barney theme song) in the middle of a very quiet moment at church.  (And she has actually done exactly that before).

So today, I quietly celebrated a small—well, no—actually a big victory.  Instead of sitting in what is essentially considered the traditional “cry room” area where parents bring babies and toddlers, I boldly led Samantha into the sanctuary.  Of course, this was not the first time we had tried.  On a good day, we might make it through to the homily (about 20 minutes into Mass) and then sneak out, just in time, as she started to get restless and be a little too loud.

But today she remained calm and we settled into our pews, her older brother at one side of me, Samantha tucked in close to me on the other side.

Rejoicing in Corporate Worship

I had completely forgotten how amazing it is to be in corporate worship at our church.  Music from our organ, choir, and hundreds of fellow parishioners surrounded us, engulfing us with the soothing and exiting sounds of traditional hymns.  In the cry room area, the music is heard mainly through the speaker—beautiful, yes, but not the same experience.
And the prayers! Again, I was overcome by the strength of hundreds of voices speaking in unison, declaring our beliefs as Catholic Christians, reciting prayers, raising our voices as one.

It only took a short glance over at Samantha to recognize that she was affected by the experience as well. She smiled, rocked to the music, strained to see what was happening at the altar, and exhibited a heightened awareness of her surroundings.

After the homily, I began to get nervous, as Samantha was getting fidgety and kind of silly.  She was trying to engage me in a game by repeating my “shh…quiet” with a no-so-quiet “qui—et” repeated back to me.  But as I struggled to calm her down and resist the temptation to pull her out, I caught the eye of a fellow parishioner who was smiling at the scene.  In the past, I had experienced those “looks” (you know what I am talking about) or even stares that convey at best, confusion and at worse, judgment.  I was encouraged by this woman’s smile.  Samantha and I persevered.

Rejoicing in Communion

Soon it was time to participate in communion and we dutifully got up and followed our row toward the front of the church.  Only a minor glitch—we were not on our Pastor’s side of the church and Samantha will only take communion from Father Joe if he is there.  So we had to “jump” lines, but no one even seemed to notice.

We got back to our pew, and I struggled to overcome my emotions.  Tears fell down my face as I realized that we would actually make it through the whole Mass like any typical family!  Could it really be so?

Yes, as the last hymn rang out, we again enjoyed the experience of being awash in music one last time.  And as those young children, having received their First Holy Communion, filed out ahead of our Pastor, I quietly rejoiced in an important first of our own.

This may have just been one in many, many Sunday Masses to come, but I will never forget it.  My daughter is growing up and growing in her faith, as am I.   Alleluia, Alleluia.  Thanks be to God.

“This is the day that the Lord has made, Let us rejoice and be glad in it.”
Psalm 118:24

What Milestones Have You Rejoicing?

Have your children with special needs reached a long awaited milestone lately? Leave a comment so we can rejoice with you, too!

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