Anyone who has ever said this to me or my wife usually meant well, although they probably had some sense deep down inside of what a comment like that could potentially do to the emotional stirrings of a special-needs parent. If they were anything like me, more than likely they were just trying to be encouraging at a moment in time when they were unsure of what to say. Whether or not their intensions were good, once the phrase was uttered and reached my ears, I always felt a complex and indescribable emotion run through me, which left me a little confused and compelled to momentarily consider whether or not I believed it to be true.

“Is it true? Am I uniquely equipped by God to meet the needs of my autistic child? Even though I make so many mistakes? I certainly don’t feel any super, special-needs-parent powers at work in me.” After considering this for a few minutes, I would find myself mentally searching for some pattern of progress or development in our son’s physical or cognitive abilities that might be attributed to my stellar, parenting job. Surely this would provide proof that no one else could raise my son better than I do. Rarely, if ever, did I arrive at this conclusion.

What I did find, after some deliberation, was a thought pattern similar to one I had experienced for over twenty years as a Christian, which was: faith is beneficial and necessary for every area of my life. When I look at the description of believers in 1 Peter 2:9 (NIV) that says, “But you are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s special possession,” I experience the same pull to doubt its message as I do when someone tells me they believe God deliberately assigned me to parent my autistic son. It’s almost a spiritual brainteaser to connect a fault-filled person, such as myself, with the description of someone who is holy, royal, or God’s special possession. It requires faith to grasp it.

I found this to be no less true in believing the miracle of the cross as it applies to my life. Not only do I have to grab it by faith, but I also have to hold on to it by the same means. The comfort, confidence, and optimism, which materializes from knowing that something bigger than myself is at work as a result of believing what is written in the Bible, also comes into play in parenting my autistic son. When I’m willing to accept that, despite my shortcomings, God has allowed me to take a shot at parenting my son, I feel a great sense of pride, purpose, and enthusiasm toward the undertaking. This is not ignoring or minimizing the difficulties of rearing a child with a lifelong disability; rather it is deliberately choosing to stop and take a moment to experience what comes when I faithfully look beyond it. At those times, the closeness I feel to my son is indescribable.