MMA Meets AUTISM

On Sunday I awoke at 6am. This is not something that happens often I assure you. Often this hour appears for only 2 reasons. Either I have not yet gone to bed or I have an early flight to catch. This 6am was neither. My son was off to compete in a mixed martial arts challenge. New Jersey, New York’s and Pennsylvania’s toughest. The night before clouds of motherhood and storms of worry collided leaving a tornado of thoughts and fears spiraling through my restless mind. When this happens like to present myself with the facts and try to think logically. This is stupid. While logic comes with fact is does not come with faith. I am a woman of favorite quotes. I hate reading so quotes are like my version of cliff notes. A quote that is dear to me reads “Faith is not believing that God CAN it is knowing that He will”. NOW, I use two words that I struggle between daily “Logic is believing that God can BUT Faith is knowing that He will”. I don’t want to believe, I want to know. SO faith in fact becomes logic in my version.Here are the facts that I knew about the mornings events.1. I was going to wake up way before I wanted to, especially on a Sunday2. My son is autistic. The war to get him accustomed to socks, and buttons and zippers and hugs and the happy birthday song, oh my!3. My son like his alone time. He likes his world in order with few in it. Today was going to be anything except.4. The arena was going to be filled with noise, people and a collage of colors and lights and smells my son had sensory issues.5. I was going to watch my son willingly throw himself into a ring with children his size, same amount of knowledge and watch his world and theirs collide. Literally.6. I was going to close my eyes until the ref said “time” and pray for the entire 2 minute rounds.7. I had no idea what I was going to say if he lost and his dreams were crushed.Like any mother I work hard on a daily basis to prevent my child from harm and danger. I teach him to pay special attention to warnings and postings. I instill in him a healthy fear for the dangers life throws at us without caution or re-guard. Today however the battle was in his mind not on the mat and preparing for that fight could not happen in one pep talk. The true success of how he handled this chaos was based upon my 8 years of words both spoken to him and prayed over him. For both him and I, this was the moment we discovered if we had instilled and absorbed what it takes to win this challenge called self defeat. A challenge called life.He walked into the arena calm and excited. He didn’t notice the crowds of people or the awful fluorescent lights. He did not however like the mans voice on the loudspeakers. He found ring 14. He liked ring 14. Ring 14 was 7 plus 7. Ring 14 was good. He began to get on his gear. He popped his mouthpiece in. He took out his ear guards and strapped them on his head. I watched him flashing back to the first time I tried to place a hat on his head. He screamed as if the hat was crushing him. “Don’t touch me!” I could hear in a toddler voice. The bell rang and his name was called for weigh in. 81.5lbs. I smiled and saw the digital reading in the operating room that read 6.2lbs. Grappling was about to start. 2 minutes of wrestling. 2 minutes of touching, crushing, yelling, and pulling. All of which my son does not like. My father went to get a coffee and I asked Xavier to stand in front of me while I checked his gear. I asked him to hold my hands and pray with me. I was sitting, he stood in front of me, our eyes closed and we prayed, out loud with our heads bowed. The crowds faded out and peace moved in. The chaos became clarity for those few moments.First round, he won. Second round things got tough. His opponent laid her body on him like dead weight. I could see him look annoyed. He did not like this. He fought to get out from under the pressure but after 1 minute and 40 seconds fear and disappointment kicked in. He let his body go flat, slapped his hands down, looked the ref in the eyes and yelled “I quit!” The ref told him he couldn’t and to keep going. To try…my son said “No, I told you, I quit.” He laid there for the last 20 seconds and tears began to come. The bell rang and his opponents hand was raised. He was crying. He had another round to go. I could see him telling the judge he wasn’t go to go again. He wad done. He said this very sure of his answer. I let him sit there for a moment before I pushed through the crowd and knelt down next to him. “Lord, what am I going to say…” I sighed a few times with my hand on his leg while I waited for words to flood my mind like the tears had flooded his eyes. “Xavier…Xavier? I need you to stop crying for a minute so that your ears can listen to me” (I know this statement seems odd but in his world eyes and ears do not both happen at once. One at a time.) “You know how we have crazy days and we have good days. Today is a crazy day where everything is out of order. We need to get our minds into a good place. We don’t know what is going to happen when you fight the next round. We do know that you can do your best. We do not know if you will win a trophy but I do know you’re my hero already. We signed up for this tournament. It is important to keep our word. We cannot quit. We cannot go home. We have another round. We need to try. We will not always win the first time, the second, sometimes we will not win for many turns but one day our hard work will pay off and I promise you that one day you will see your work grow into something big that your eyes can see. If you want that trophy, if you want anything as bad as you say you do, than kiddo, your gonna have to keep going out there, time and time again and fight for it. Fight for what you want. I love you and I know you can do this.” And in my mind I heard “Claim what is yours”, signed, God.We walked away from ring 14 and the tears stopped and he was left with an angry frown. “Fine, I’ll do it but after this, I’m done” he said calmly. He stomped over to ring 17. Ring 17 was, ok but not the best number. Ring 17 was the end in his mind. He bent down and began putting on his shin guards, helmet, gloves and I began to pray. This was all out of our hands and all I could do was pray. It was the only language I could speak without thought and the only words that made no sense yet complete sense. First fight, he won. Second fight was to place and win a trophy. He won. The ref raised his hand in the air. He looked up at him and asked “me?” I laughed and cried, yes you! He looked at me with the sweat dripping from under his helmet. Bright-eyed and awestruck stood tall, smiled and said “Me!” As I took my first real breath of the day I thought to myself…yes…you. This moment was set aside for someone deserving. Someone who was a true fighter. Someone who put others first. Someone who loved because God told them to love. Someone who forgave people that most would not. This moment was designed for someone who would appreciates its true worth, the real value and show an appreciation for those that helped make this moment happen. This moment, was his. Finally. It wasn’t handed to him, it was out of pity, it wasn’t sugar coated, it wasn’t the easy level, it wasn’t put in “his” words, it was the world that everyone lives in and not only was he surviving in it, he was thriving in it.The judge looked at me with an unusual smirk. I proudly looked him in the eyes and said “Autism meets MMA, are you ready?” The “normal” children all began comparing and I put my arm around my “different” son and thanked God for all 81.5lbs of him. The children were handed a trophy my son was handed pride.The children were handed a certificate of competition my son was handed a certificate of acheivementThe children were given 2 minutes to show there strength my son was given 2 minutes to show himselfThe children were wearing protective gear my son was wearing armorThe children were filled with nerves my son was filled with faithThe children saw the colors of belts my son saw the same ring The children saw who was best my son saw who tried there bestThe children had 2 parents who yelled and shouted orders my son had a mother that spoke loudly of how much she loved himThe children wanted all the credit my son turned to me and said “Thank you”Some of the children won but my son…but my son was the winner And as cliché as this may sound…Jesus died but my God livesAnd to this day my son has perhaps given to me the greatest quote I will ever hear, “Mom, I prayed and gave it all to God last night, what else is there to pray about tonight?” I smiled and said “You know, your right, tonight…let just give thanks”