Baptism Sunday

Yesterday at church was a baptism service. If I'd only known I would have brought Kleenex.

You see, witnessing people proclaim life change is emotional enough as it is. But the second person baptized -- a boy, who I'd guess was probably about 12 years old -- hit me square in the heart.

Before each baptism a short video clip was shown with the person talking about accepting Christ. When I saw this boy, I knew something was different. Others were taken aback when he eventually said he had autism; I recognized it right away.

What a huge step for this young man. Speaking to a film crew. Standing in a baptismal in front of a large audience. Being in an unusual place, out of his routine. Taking this massive step in front of God and our church body. I found myself cringing and praying at the same time as I imagined Ethan up there someday. And then I wept.

The boy was baptized by a man who had served as his mentor for years. The man told the story of how when he was younger, this boy would sometimes lose control at church in violent fits of rage, at no fault of his own. We who are familiar with autism recognize this as the "meltdown" and it is an extremely traumatic experience. This boy would get out of his mind until his system finally regulated itself. Then he would exhaustedly crawl up into his mentor's lap and just sob over and over, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." And the mentor would hold him tightly, rock him gently and whisper, "It's ok. I forgive you."

Guess what? To God, we often probably resemble this young boy in his out-of-control state. Yet He patiently waits by us as we work our way through the meltdown, until we eventually "snap out of it" and return to our senses. Then He longs for us to crawl into His lap and let our Daddy comfort us, gently reminding us "it's ok. Nothing you can do will ever make me stop loving you."

What a beautiful image of our heavenly Father.