My family was on vacation in Toronto, and we had decided to tour a local castle (Casa Loma). I recall that the castle had various modern fashion pieces on display, which seemed a little ironic considering the age of the castle. One of the items was a dress made entirely out of bubble wrap. I also relayed the more predictable features of the property: various stairways, rooms for the servants, ornate lighting fixtures, and classic architecture. But the part that stands out in my mind, which was consequently the part that most interested Nathan, was the secret underground passage.
Casa Loma has an 800-foot-long underground tunnel that connects the castle to the stable building. It is long and dark, it twists and turns, and it reeks of moist, stagnant air.
"Is it creepy?" Nathan interrupts.
"Oh, yeah," I tell him, "It was super creepy!"
And that's where I left it. Nathan remained deep in thought for a while and then said to me, "Hey, Mom! I wish I could see a MOVIE of you going through the tunnel when you were a kid!"
And this struck me as funny. Because the part of the story I didn't divulge was the emotional and physical breakdown that I had about 150 feet into that tunnel. I was an incredibly nervous kid, and claustrophobia combined with the general propensity to panic led to a full-blown anxiety attack. And so, there I was, probably in my young teens, being carried through the tunnel by my Dad while I absolutely bawled.
And I pictured Nathan and I sitting on the couch and watching that little episode and munching on popcorn. Pathetic.
You know why it was pathetic? Not because claustrophobia isn't real. Not because the tunnel wasn't dark. Not because the smell wasn't a little nauseating. Not because the passageway was pleasant.
It was pathetic because I was there with my Dad. And my Dad would never, not in a million years, put his daughter in a situation that he thought would bring her harm.
When I cried through the duration of the "It's a Small World" ride at Disney: my Dad was there. When I had a meltdown on top of Pike's Peak: my Dad was there. When I searched my room up and down for spiders that weren't there, guess who was? Yep. My Dad. When my husband was in the hospital and I was too nervous to stay and be a support to him: My Dad was there. And in the middle of that dreadful tunnel.
My. Dad. Was. There.
Today I'm feeling about 150 feet into life's tunnel, and it's feeling uncomfortable. Today we are learning that Nathan has (what we are "for now" calling) probable-Asperger's Syndrome. Today we are learning that he has a sensory processing disorder, and life as we know it is changing. Today we are trying to figure things out financially, emotionally, and logistically. Today we are composing lists that tell us what to do, how to do it, and when to do it, and we are preparing for tomorrow, when that list will be marked all over, erased in places, and edited in red marker. Today I'm aware of the tunnel.
Have you ever had those days?
Right now, we don't see the light at the tunnel's end. And, frankly, this portion of the tunnel doesn't seem very well lit. And my 13-year-old inclination is to panic. To render myself immobile. To cry. And, I'll be honest, over the past few weeks, I have done each of those things. But as I replayed the little movie of the Casa Loma tunnel, my perspective on this tunnel changed.
Because my Dad is here.
Because my Dad would never, not in an eternity, put His daughter in a situation that He knew would bring her harm.
So maybe I can do today what I had to do all those years ago. I can just look up into my Dad's face and focus on Him while He carries me.
"So do not fear for I am with you. Do not be dismayed for I am Your God. I will strengthen you and help you. I will uphold you with My righteous right hand." -Isaiah 41:10
3 comments:
Great analogy, Rachel. I'll be praying that God will be all you need as you and Nick walk through this tunnel with Nathan.
A-Sandy
Rachel - my heart is heavy for you. I just wanted to quickly message you and let you know that although I claim to be no expert or even close to that, the oldest of the boys I nanny for has traumatic brain injury due to a previous nanny and has many aspbergers (sp) tendencies. They believe that without the TBI the asperbergers may have been present. Please feel free to facebook me and ask me about anything. I would love to be of any help if I could be. He also has had sensory issues. I have been with them for 4 years and have learned a lot.
Love - Jill
Thank you for sharing this. It perfectly reminded me that in our "tunnels" our Father is there to carry us through. Will most certainly be praying for your family.
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