seams and stitching ♡ published

PLAYING TRAINS WITH GOD

the child is two years old

yet looks like he's five

and laughs like he's been here a thousand times

but will never get tired of this place.

he's a beautiful little soul,

all sunshine and spunk and spirit--

and Asperger's.

the child has the most heart-warming smile,

and he doesn't listen to a word you say

and he has the most unruly head of curls

and the strongest grip

and you love him.

you love this child, you do,

and you can feel your heart swelling in your chest

every time he takes your hand in his

or says your name, because this small boy

is growing before your eyes

and the autism is growing with him.

his name is Elijah, but you always call him Eli.

he calls himself, "me,"

and he says it with such conviction

that you cannot argue with him.

perhaps this is your biggest weakness--

the way he has you completely wrapped around

his tiny finger, the way your love for him

can overwhelm you at times--

and this is why you are crying on the stairwell

after he woke up from his nap

and told you about his dream.

the boy is an angel, and you've said this from the beginning

so it does not surprise you when he tells you

he had a dream

in which he was with God.

what does surprise you, however, is when you ask him

what he was doing in the dream,

and he tells you he was playing with his trains.

this, specifically, does not drive you to tears,

but it is the combination of his earnestness

and beauty and sheer innocence,

and the way he immediately reaches for his

thomas-and-friends toys

and sits, birdlike, with his legs pulled awkwardly

beneath his lap

that deflates your heart and leaves your lungs

gasping for breath.

the beautiful young boy

with a strong grip and kind heart

and sunshine, spunk, and spirit

has Asperger's and you do not think

you are the right person for this job.

you do not think

God has made the right decision,

and you are angry, and you are crying,

but the awkward angel with autism

is peering up at you curiously

and you feel your heart swell all over again

because you love him,

with every shard of your soul

and you wish more than anything for his dream

to come true.

he does not call himself by his name,

he calls himself, "me."

you call him an angel,

you do not call him autistic,

you sit down on the floor beside him

and roll the plastic trains over the plastic tracks

and he squeals with delight.

he's laughing, and your heart is

in hysterics, and who cares if God has made the wrong decision,

everything about this boy is just right.

tonight, you will tuck him into bed

and wish him sweet, angelic dreams.

his eyes will glow ethereally in the moonlight,

his hair, a halo of curls,

and his soft hand will grip yours until he

falls asleep. and you will hope,

with all of your heart,

that he dreams of playing trains with God,

so he will wake with a sunshine smile

on his beautiful face.