It is unclear to me whether timeliness is an attribute that eludes people with autism. Benjamin seems unable to hurry, even to an event he very much wants to attend. For the past bunch of years he has been ferried both to school and his internship by buses and cars, and since not keeping people waiting is deeply ingrained in my psyche I absorb the angst of shoving him out the door the second his driver pulls up. 

 

Benjamin, however, does not. 

 

One could liken him to a toddler who lives in a parallel universe not governed by clocks. Try coddling a two year old past a sidewalk full of puddles and see where it gets you. And yet it surprises me how impatient Ben can be when the driver keeps him standing at the curb, for say two whole minutes. I watch from the front door and see him slap his thighs, and grumble accusations to a man or woman whose name he has never bothered to learn. Even the ones who shepherded him for months. He whose middle name is Shepherd. 

 

I count myself among the crowds of people who have lambasted God for tardiness. Reminded Him of the need to act pronto. As if He was distracted, or has a tendency to procrastinate. 

 

Yet how often have I forgotten the name of the Driver. Lost track of time, and dawdled on a path that might actually get me somewhere of substance. Like heaven.