My career of teaching children began before I was qualified. But willingness matters more than ability when it comes to Sunday school and as a preacher's kid I was recruited without a resume. 

By the time I was in college I landed a gig at a summer art camp on a lake making paper mâché with six year olds. I loved them and discipline was not an issue. But one night my boss called about an irate parent. 

"You made Meredith cry. Apologize." I scoured my memory of the day's events and came up blank. 

"What did I do?"

"Her father said you told her 'you'll survive', or something like that."

The interchange happened when Meredith did not get the color paint she preferred and I was less than coddling about it. All the kids at this camp were privileged and I was not invested in keeping up with their every whim. 

The next day I said I was sorry and hugged her. Her big brown eyes teared up. I had not guessed how my thoughtless comment had hurt her and was glad for a chance to make it right. 

Surviving is not always as easy as getting the pink paint pot. When a close friend was going through a messy divorce (are they ever tidy?) we went to a karaoke night and she got up her nerve to take the mike. She belted out "I will survive!" With gusto. 

Life has tossed me a few hard balls too. But so far I have survived. What I learned from Meredith was that not everything I want is essential. I wanted neurotypical kids, although I never knew that word until Benjamin came along and wasn't. 

We played charades today and invited him to try. Obscure signs like "movie" and "3 syllables" confused him. But he got up and took a turn. 

He stood motionless. We guessed randomly. Unwilling to leave us in limbo he whispered a clue. 

"I'm not moving."

Think like Ben. 

"Frozen?" Huge grin. 

Maybe God had a better idea anyway. .