Autism hurts. It hurts every day, every night. Weekends and holidays, it hurts. The pain is real and raw. When I received the first of two diagnoses of autism over two decades ago, it was as if God was in the room with me. I imagined Him there as the doctor's words hung in the silent space of dismay. I visualized God handing me a box, unwrapped and plain looking. Once home, I dropped to my knees, removed the lid, turned the box upside down, and emptied its contents all over the floor. God had given me a puzzle with no instructions. Bits and pieces of life and faith, autism and altruism carpeting the room like a human tapestry.
I have laboured over the autism puzzle for most of my adult life. As the nonverbal world of autism spoke to me, I built a life from these scattered pieces. For me, autism has been a sacred teacher and a faithful friend guiding me to my divine purpose and true potential. Guiding me to joy, love, and hope. For five blessed years I poured the hurt onto paper and I called it Purpose High – Living with Autism. Come fly with me.