Our nineteen-year-old, non-verbal son, Thomas, is on the autism spectrum and thrives when we keep his routine and schedule — and Saturday is no exception.

His Saturday morning schedule? Chores, grocery shopping, and then a trip to the drive-thru for a specific order of fries and soda. Every single Saturday.

On a recent Saturday morning grocery excursion, our son caught sight of a display of colorful ink pens topped with hats that would spin around when you pressed a button. He quickly decided his course of action. 

1. Pick up a pen. 
2. Click the pen’s button. 
3. Spin the pen’s hat. Wheeeeee!
4. Repeat for each pen.  

His distinctive squeal of delight pierced the air of the aisle. I stood close by to appreciate his joy . . . and to protect him. In my experience, not everyone appreciates a man-child who is six feet tall and touches things in the grocery store. Not everyone understands the neurodiverse world of autism. Because of this, we are often the recipients of harsh looks and unsolicited comments.

As Thomas played with the pens, an older gentleman turned the corner and looked our way. He paused for a moment before pushing his cart towards us. I thought, “Oh no. Here we go again.” 

Here’s the thing, though. When it comes to autism and Thomas’ interactions with the world, we’ve landed on Luke 11:33 as our focus.

No one after lighting a lamp puts it in a cellar or under a basket, but on a stand, so that those who enter may see the light.
Luke 11:33 ESV

Thomas holds the light of God in him.  He is fearfully and wonderfully made in the image of God just like everyone else.  As Luke 11:33 says, Thomas isn’t to be hidden in a cellar or under a basket.  If I hid Thomas away, how would that show others that he has value? How would that show Thomas he has value?

An autism journey can be difficult. Sometimes it’s easier to hide. And, far too often, I do just that. Hide. 

But what if others know I have been there, too? 

My experiences on our autism journey can be used to light the way for another family looking for the hope of Jesus on their journey. I can offer comfort and compassion because I’ve been there.

As the gentleman in the grocery aisle continued toward us, I mentally checked my emotional energy tank — it was pretty low. Was it too late to run and hide? Did I really need those items on my grocery list? Why didn’t I put that invisibility cloak in my purse?

 I braced myself for what history has shown me would be an unsolicited lesson in parenting. The gentleman stopped, looked at me, and sighed. “My daughter is forty-two,” he said. “How old is your son?”

What followed was a brief conversation about his daughter and their journey as a family as she grew older. He told me I was doing the right thing, bringing Thomas with me to the store and showing the world that our non-verbal son on the autism spectrum had value.

“You’re doing a good job, Mom,” he said. Then he rolled his cart towards the produce aisle while Thomas continued to pick up and spin EVERY SINGLE colorful pen. 

That gentleman could have walked right by. He didn’t have to say a word — but he did. 

The comfort and encouragement he offered was the refreshing refill my emotional energy tank needed. The comfort he offered came from a position of experience. He had a special needs daughter. He might not have known what my specific struggle was . . . but he had, at least, lived a similar story. 

I bear witness to Thomas’ life and allow him to be noticed by others. It isn’t easy, but there is value in vulnerability. 

We received an unexpected spin on Luke 11:33 in the grocery store that day.  A compassionate gentleman bore witness to the value of the lives of Thomas and myself. He pursued us when he could have passed us. He made the effort to shine a light on two people he didn’t know — and that light made all the difference.

Friends, may we all remember that we have a role in bearing witness to the value of others and shining the light God has given us to share.

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