Just how much help did he get? I wondered, looking at the art project I had pulled out of my son’s backpack. It was a cut-and-paste picture of a Christmas tree, consisting of a rectangular brown stump, six bars of green paper running horizontally in descending width, and a yellow star on top. Because my son has autism and is mostly nonverbal, I cannot simply ask him how much of his art he has made on his own. The part of my heart that wants to believe he has accomplished something significant himself must hold itself in check and let the question go. I could pursue the matter with his teachers, but they already have enough to worry about without chasing down this information. I just have to trust that no matter what he brings home, it’s an improvement on what he has brought home before.
Given the season, my thoughts turn to the Bible. I cannot help but see my son’s tree reflected in its stories. And I see the theme of “home” as well. I think of Jacob running away from home to escape his brother’s wrath after stealing the latter’s blessing. On his first night of flight, he dreamed of a stairway reaching to heaven, with angels ascending and descending upon it (Gen. 28:12 ff). Upon waking he said, “Surely God is in this place and I did not know it!” (v. 16). My son’s Christmas tree could certainly be interpreted as a kind of ladder reaching for a divine source of light.
Or one could see the tree in the story of the nativity. A Messiah taking the form of a human, being born in humble circumstances (the stump as the manger), making his way upwards towards his final ascension into heaven after his death and resurrection (the star). Or, you could look at it the other way: God leaving his home in heaven (the star), making his way steadily down an ever widening path to a wooden cross (the stump). Either way, there is no leaving or going home for Jesus without traveling through the path of suffering for our sake—just as Jacob would have to face suffering to become the patriarch (see Gen.29—30; 31—32).
As I ponder the closing of 2025 and the beginning of 2026 (which hardly seems possible), I ask whether I believe the year will bring blessing or hardship. This year has not been a smooth one for me, as I have continually locked horns with mental illness and fought hard to maintain stability. My brain short circuits easily, and sometimes it takes little to tip me over into depression and fear. I must practice a lot of self-care to care for my son, who (at thirteen years old) still requires much attention because of his deficits.
However, when I consider my child, I feel every reason to hope. He has made great strides in 2025, both behaviorally and cognitively. He can do more independently, such as getting dressed and putting away his school things when he gets home. He is trying new foods at restaurants, once only a pipe dream my husband and I could hardly entertain. And he has spoken up for himself on rare occasions, telling me, “Bus is here,” when I had not seen it outside our house. Most significantly, he is working with horses three times a week at a therapeutic farm, where he completes chores and dotes on his special horse, which is named Gus. His words about the farm have grown clearer and more forthcoming. It’s incredible to behold.
As for my husband, he remains steady as a rock, which in itself is a miracle considering the two needy people with whom he lives. One thing I have admired in him in 2025 is his continued recreation with his college friends. Whether talking on a Zoom call or playing a virtual game with partners, he stays in close touch. And he allows himself to enjoy such things as music and football, rather than cutting these “extras” out when the going gets tough. I guess that it is his form of self-care, which he faithfully maintains.
In the end, can we say how much we did on our own versus how much we had help with? Did we always recognize God’s presence with us in an unknown place? Did we frequently question whether we were traveling upwards or downwards when suffering or hardship came our way and we had to cope, like it or not? Have we always recognized our own growth as human beings, as we continue to develop in our own, atypical ways (let’s face it, we all exhibit them)?
It is my prayer that anyone reading this blog be encouraged to believe that they are traveling towards that star, no matter what they are going through. Even the tough, unwieldy stuff (like mental illness) can be turned for good if it is surrendered into the hands of the One who wants to not only save us from our sins, but from our wounds, self-inflicted or not. The One who chose to walk in our footsteps so that He would know firsthand how hard it is to be human. Who chose to love rather than judge even his worst offenders (Luke 23:34).
May a warm embrace go out to you, whichever holiday you celebrate at this time. May you know you are loved and have reason to hope. And may you feel no shame in receiving the great and humbling gift of help, wherever, whenever, and however you may need it.
Amen.
