By Shawntae Chase
@shawntaechase

As usual, I begin the day cooking triple berry muffins for breakfast while the kids watch cartoons. My oldest is the last to arise from his slumber and as he joins us, we all quickly can tell today will be anything but “normal.” To add to the brewing storm, today, I have a Zoom meeting scheduled with my supervisor.  

My oldest son with autism wakes in a mood. He is irritated and upset, filling me with an impending sense of dread and anxiety about my meeting. As the morning progresses so does my son’s irritation. The morning is filled with the ebb and flows of my son screaming, crying, meltdown after meltdown. Because he can’t tell me what’s wrong, I don’t know why it’s started, or what I can do to stop it, or how long this rollercoaster of emotions will last. 

Sometimes there are days like this, where all hell breaks loose with no rhyme or reason. Sometimes, instead of looking for a solution (for which there often is none), you hold on tight and hope to survive the roaring waves. The tension can be felt throughout the house. My youngest child proclaims he’s going to his room because it’s too loud. As I try to be the peace in this storm, the stress of it all begins to permeate my heart.   

The clock inches closer and closer to my meeting. How am I going to do this today? I try calling my husband at work, thinking maybe a FaceTime call with his dad will help my son calm down, but I can’t reach him on the phone. There’s no family close by to come over and sit with the kids so I can have my meeting. It’s just me. So, I reach for the little I do have control over and begin to clean up the kitchen from lunch. I can’t help but cry.  

I am alone, in need of help, but there is none here for me today. 

As I stand in the middle of the kitchen, broom in hand and tears running down my face, with about five minutes to spare before my meeting starts, I hear a knock at the door. I wipe my face and wonder who could it be, as I’m not expecting any visitors. I open the door and see a package on the doorstep. I flip through my mental rolodex trying to remember the last thing I ordered. I have no idea, so with the boys now gathered near me, we begin to open it. As soon as I see the contents of the package, my heart leaps.  

With the kids being quarantined, their regular toys get boring faster than usual, so every so often I will bring them to my computer and let them pick out something they want from Amazon. My two other sons’ packages arrived together weeks ago, but my oldest son’s package got delayed. What are the odds this package—puzzles for my son who is having a hard time today—would arrive mere minutes before my meeting? The timing is impeccable for both of us.  

My son took one look at those puzzles, carried them to the kitchen table and started working on them. He assembled puzzles for the duration of my meeting and never made a sound.

On the surface, this may seem like such a small thing, but, for me, it felt like a miracle. It was more than just puzzles arriving at the perfect time. That day, I felt seen in such an intimate way. My cries were heard when my mouth couldn’t even find the words to ask for what I needed in that moment. Because the truth is—I didn’t know what I needed or what would have made that difficult morning better. My tears spoke when my words failed me. There are so many days as a special needs mother and military spouse where I feel alone. There is no one to call or ask for help. You work hard to build a support network around you and then you move and have to leave them. 

I imagine my son felt that way too. I had a morning where my words failed me, but he lives that way daily, with needs and wants that he cannot express. And even though the people who love him most and have his best interest at heart would do anything for him, sometimes even they don’t know the source of his pain and frustration. I can only imagine how that must feel.  

That day God was faithful to remind us: we may be lonely sometimes, but we are never alone.

Through insurmountable trouble, there is always an answer. When words fail me, He can search my heart, know my thoughts and grant me the help I need, even through something as small as a perfectly timed puzzle delivery.

Guest essay written by Shawntae Chase. Shawntae is a military spouse, autism mom, social worker, and follower of Jesus. Her family is currently stationed at Hill Air Force Base in Utah. When not busy keeping up with her children, Shawntae loves reading, watching documentaries and all things politics.  She can be found on Instagram.

Photo by Ashlee Gadd.