Too many Questions

by Sam Huber of Huber Family Adventure on Instagram

When I was six I went to Sunday School for about a minute.  I remember being stuffed into a little ex-broom closet with six other kids and a boney old teacher.  She looked like something out of a "Little House on the Prairie" novel, with her pale-colored dress buttoned up to the neck and tight gray hair bun.  The smell of old chalk from the board hung in the tiny room like dust in an old ghost story.  The teacher would sit us in a circle, then open a half moth-eaten book and start to read a story to us.

One day, it was the story of Noah and the Ark, and she go to the point where he was loading all the animals onto the ship.  "How did he keep the fish alive on the boat- did he have fish tanks?" I asked.  "Sam, they just stayed in the water," said the teacher.  She turned the page before I asked her, "What did Noah feed the animals?"  "God provided Noah with the animals' food," she said.  "How does God know what animals eat?" I asked.  On and on my questions went until Sunday School was over.  The teacher's hands were on my shoulders as she shuffled me down the old wooden benches, to the back of our Quaker meeting house.

My parents were sitting there laughing with their friends.  The teacher waited patiently, but when my parents paid her no mind, she finally coughed loudly.  "What is wrong?" my mother asked.  The teacher responded, "As we have previously discussed, Ms. Huber, your son asks too many questions.  He is a constant disruption to my class.  I am afraid he is not ready to be in my class."

My mother's face remained emotionless, with just a hint of tears in her eyes.  Then her lips curled silently-I realized now that she was both hurt and angry-as my mother replied, "We are sorry for any inconvenience my san has caused you."  She guided me away from the teacher with a hand on my lower back as if she were steering me from danger.

My parents soon abandoned religion after that event.  I still sometimes wonder if they asked themselves, 'How can we worship a God who doesn't accept our son?'  And I was turned off from God for many years because I did not want to would my parents with the words, "he is not ready" ever again.  I believed I was not ready to receive the rewards of having faith in God if anyone had to suffer because of me.  This is the burden that many people on the Autism Spectrum place upon themselves, as we are hushed and ushered out of so many rooms because we create too many problems, sometimes with our questions.  The most important question might be this: Can autistic people even have a useful concept of faith in their lives?

To my fellow aspies, I say, having faith and using it cannot be learned online or in a book; it can only be experienced.  I took many religion classes in college as philosophical exercises.  I knew all the gods, the demigods, the prophets, and ideas from many different religions.  But, I did not believe in any of them; I saw them more as guidelines than something that I could experience.  In other words, these religious figures and ideals did not make me feel anything.  I believed that God did not have providence over me; anxiety was in control instead.  In my life, I have suffered more panic attacks than there are stars in the sky.  

One panic attack last October led me to truly experience the most important secret to finding faith, which is the ability to surrender.

Every day after work I stand at a bus stop by a big grassy field, but on that fall day I collapsed-literally collapsed-to the ground.  The anxiety whispers started: "Am I still a burden? Am I not able to do my job the right way? Am I not ready?"  My body locked up in a weeping angel position with hands in my face and my legs tucked beneath me.  Tears began to flow, and I felt so alone.  Then a voice came from deep within me:

"God, please take this anxiety from me."

For a moment nothing happened.  Then I felt a hand on my shoulder.  I looked up, and there was Jesus Christ himself, like a Jedi Ghost.  I understand that this sounds otherworldly, and it was: I saw a transparent being in a white robe and red sash.  His hair was long like you see in a million stained glass windows, and his eyes twinkled as if the sun shone through them.  He took my hand, helped me to my fee, and told me, " I have always been  here for you."  With a loving smile he vanished, and as he left so did my anxiety-it was suddenly gone from my body.

For the first time in my life I felt free.

Then I heard, "Sir, catch this....you look like you need it."  I glanced up to see an older, blonde woman throw a small black book toward me from her station wagon.  As she drove off, she shouted, "God loves you!"

The book was a travel-size version f the New Testament, full of index cards that marked passages about how God loves every person and has endless patience for everyone.  I started crying again, but now it was tears of joy because every word I read made me feel ready to receive God's unconditional love. 

I knew at that moment that I did not have to "be ready" for God- He was waiting for me.  And I would be able to ask Him all the questions I wanted to.

Note from the Editor:

Many of us have experienced what Sam has shared here today, too many questions and the feelings of rejection and self doubt at being ready.  If you are on your autism journey and seeking answers to your questions and your spirituality or relationship with God and have wounds or hurts to heal please know you are not alone.  My friend Rebekah J. Samuel hosts a wonderful group just for us where she shares her experiences and helps others also heal from hurts.  She is starting small group studies where there is no such thing as TOO Many Questions.  To learn more about Rebekah and The Healing Place on the Spectrum and to see if this is right for you, read more HERE.

To connect and continue the conversation with Sam you can visit him on Instagram @HuberFamilyAdventure

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