Monday, December 24, 2018 Adrian Wood Comments (0) It never fails that as soon as I make some sort of plan, everything goes to pot. I mean, we were all showered and dressed in reasonable attire. Russell untucked his blazer from his pants as we walked to church (his older brother had told him that was what people do to look fancy on Christmas Eve) and we were hardly late. No sooner do we waltz into church and get settled in the balcony when five year old Amos comes one inch from pinging my phone over the balcony. Autism and church are currently a bad combination. My husband was pouring sweat and looked like he may faint, so I made him go home. After Amos broke Hell loose, I hauled his a double s outside. Is it too much to ask to just go to church as a whole family once a year? Yep. I took the little boy with autism home- where my better half had miraculously perked up by way of a football game and I drove back to church. I found my other three little people, sitting patiently, expectantly, knowing I would come back. I would. We sang and passed the peace and took communion and remembered the real deal of Christmas. A baby born in a stable to an exhausted mother, tired from travel and put out because she didn’t have a place to rest her weary soul, not to mention give birth. Earlier, when I took Amos outside with the hope that he may settle down (he didn’t), I propped the heavy door open to the sanctuary so as to not feel totally excluded. I heard singing. And somehow, that was enough.

Merry Christmas. ❤️