I showed up on a Saturday morning to take my 9-year-old grandson Jacob to the park. Jacob lives with autism and is mostly non-verbal though he speaks a few words: park, train, no. And he’s darn good with sign language, vehemently expressing the hand signal for “more” if you happen to be holding a bag of Cheetos!
I asked him “Do you want to go to the park?” and expected to see him run and grab his coat and shoes. But instead, he ran to find a small laptop-sized device that is called his “voice”. He pushes on the button and the device says “Disappointed”.
”No park,” I ask, “you are disappointed about the park?”
”More Zoo, More Zoo, More Zoo” he says.
And off we go to the Zoo instead of the park. And he does not need to tell me why we are going to the zoo. I know that his favorite part of the zoo is not the penguins or the kangaroos but it’s the train. And we rode it 3 times in a row.
But I can’t stop thinking about the word “disappointed.” And I wonder if it is a word that we neurotypical folks might employ with as much ease as did Jacob. Too often we sweep our strong emotions aside, remaining silent even when inside we are anxious and unhappy. Or we bury our feelings, and they later erupt in anger or depression. Our marriages might be better if we could say on occasion “Disappointed”. Our relationships with colleagues and siblings and neighbors and political leaders might be transformed if we found the courage to articulate our honest desires and disappointments. What if we truly listened to each other from the heart?
I’m told that some church organists enjoy the season of Lent because it gives them permission to play songs in a minor key. And for some chapters of each life there is the sadness/disappointment that only a song in the minor key can capture.
Lent reminds us of the chapters in Jesus’ life that were filled with disappointment. His closest friends, like Peter, deny him. His adoring disciples play fickle, shouting joyful hosannas for him one moment and running to hide and abandon him the next. Jesus knew the words of the prayer book called Psalms ‘my soul is in deep anguish” and “God heals the brokenhearted”.
After that day with my grandson, I felt like I knew him better, knew not just that he loved trains but that he has a deeply tender heart. The park was five minutes away and the zoo was 30. But after he exhibited the courage to state his genuine feelings, I couldn’t imagine not affirming his heart’s desire. A deeper knowing ensued. The doorway called despair frightens us and we do not always want to name our disappointment. But sometimes, when we find our voice and state the truth, we may find ourselves stepping out of an empty tomb.
