Finding Rest in the Scariest Moment of My Life

 It was a warm, windy evening in McKinney, Texas on Saturday, August 28, 2021. I had walked my two boys to the neighborhood park located just half a mile from our house. Sam and Drew tend to be pretty active almost all the time, especially Drew. I was watching him climb the ladder to the top of the tall slides, whoosh his way down the enclosed tube as he squealed with delight, run across the playground, jump off large rectangular stones, then run back to the slides. The same routine over and over again.

In many respects, his autism makes me feel as if I have a two-year-old living inside a seven-year-old body.

His nine-year-old brother was content to sit and swing the entire thirty minutes of our park visit. More often than not, these two boys could not be more different. Both being diagnosed with ASD, they are proof that “once you’ve met one child with autism, you’ve met one child with autism.”

On this particular evening when it was time to walk home, my compliant Sam got out of his swing and took my hand. We began walking toward Drew who was still running around the expanse of the park. As we approached him, I called his name, held out my hand and told him it was time to come home with me.

He responded by giving me a quick glance, giggling and running the opposite direction. I knew that if I ran after him, I would be entering an endless game of “tag.” Also knowing the meltdown from the nine-year-old that would ensue if I left him to run after his younger brother, I chose to stop and wait for Drew to run back to me.

Drew did run back to me, but never close enough for me to take his hand. After several minutes of waiting in the heat with Sam, who was growing more impatient by the minute, I tried the next strategy that had given me success in this situation.

I walked away.

I knew from past experience that my youngest would be too frightened to stay by himself. He wouldn’t dare let me out of his sight. I was counting on him running after me.

I wasn’t counting on him running ahead of me.

But he did. He was still several yards to my left as he ran by Sam and me. I told Sam we needed to walk a little faster. I knew the danger ahead of Drew.

The street.

As calmly as I could at the moment, I called, “Drew, stop!” He was still running on the sidewalk parallel to the street. Once again, I had a choice to make: run after him and leave my oldest behind (chancing a game of “tag” in the street), or walk quicker hand-in-hand with Sam praying that Drew would stop. And that’s when it happened.

Drew ran into the street. And a car was there to meet him.

The car stopped. And so did Drew. Right in the middle of the street. His hands began banging on the hood of the car. 

My heart racing, I knew what I had to do. I told Sam to stay where he was and I would come back for him. I ran as fast as my middle-aged body would let me, all the time yelling like a mad woman, begging my child to get out of the street.

But the game of “tag” had already begun in my son’s mind. He took one glance at me running toward him, let out a giggle, and kept running, zigzagging in the middle of the street.

“DREW, STOP!” I screamed over and over at the top of my lungs. A yellow car driving in the street pulled over. A black car did the same. Passengers left their vehicles to help me stop my child who had run around the corner from me toward our home. I kept praying in my mind, begging God to take care of my children. I don’t think I have felt my heart pound like that before.

When I finally rounded the corner, I saw a small group of people surrounding my son, who was lying on the ground, crying to get up. Holding him under his arms was a dear lady from our past, Mrs Vaughn, who lived around the block from our house, and who happened to be Drew’s kindergarten teacher fifteen months ago. “Go get Sam,” she said calmly. “I’ve got Drew.”

I ran back the way I had come, this time screaming for Sam. He had walked toward the neighborhood pools and was calmly walking with a man in my direction. I gently took his hand and my heartbeat began to calm. We walked back to the small band of people on the sidewalk where Drew was now standing with Mrs Vaughn. I thanked everyone there and apologized for the inconvenience my son had caused. Their eyes were very understanding and their sweet voices reassuring. “No, no. We’re glad everyone is ok.” 

I have never been more thankful for a group of people. I whispered a prayer of thanks to God. My children had been protected.

I have to wonder how many times God has run after me and I kept on running from Him. How many times a year, month, week, or day has He called my name? 

How many times has He called yours?

“Come to me, all of you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take up my yoke and learn from me, because I am lowly and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” (Matthew 11:28-30)

Rest. Doesn’t it sound appealing? 

My son never saw the danger he was running toward. Sometimes we don’t see the danger in front of us, either. We treat life like it’s a game of “tag,” but we’re playing in the street. And God is calling after us the whole time.

I don’t know what you are facing today. But let me encourage you to take a moment and listen for God’s voice. Is He calling you to do something specific? Maybe He’s asking you to take some time to learn from Him and study His Word. Or perhaps He’s calling you to be someone’s Mrs Vaughn and help stop someone else from running away by praying for them or sharing Jesus with them. Maybe He just wants you to stop today and rest in His love.

To run from God is to find danger. To run toward Him is to find rest.

May your soul find rest in Him today.