My wife and I are the parents of five amazing children. Each one provides us with profound joy and a unique set of challenges that serve as opportunities for growth. We love each of them immeasurably. Our eldest son, Tyler, is a remarkable young man. Tyler has autism.
For us, being parents of a son with neurodiversity has been a journey through uncharted territory. While we have experienced moments of sublime joy, the uncertainty that accompanies disability can also feel like a shadow of despair. For years, my faith felt as if it were floundering; it fell flat under the crushing weight of a silent, misplaced guilt and the nagging fear that somehow, I was to blame for his struggles.
In my profession, I now meet frequently with parents of children with complex disabilities. These competent contemporaries are devoted individuals. I have found that, like me, they often fear that their child’s predicament is not only frightening but also somehow a reflection of their own inadequacy.
The Fallacy of Blame
The idea that all trials result from individual sin is a common misconception that has persisted through the ages. Even the Savior's Apostles struggled with this 'theology of merit,' as evidenced in the book of John: 'And as Jesus passed by, he saw a man which was blind from his birth. And his disciples asked him, saying, Master, who did sin, this man, or his parents, that he was born blind?' (John 9:1–2).
The Savior’s response was a pivotal point for all humanity: 'Neither hath this man sinned, nor his parents: but that the works of God should be made manifest in him (emphasis added)' (John 9:3).
President Dallin H. Oaks has clarified that we must distinguish between trials brought on by our own choices and those that are simply part of the mortal experience. He teaches that we should not assume that all suffering is a consequence of sin. He said, “Some suffering comes from our own sins or those of others, but much suffering is simply an inevitable part of the mortal condition” (in Conference Report, Oct. 1991, 73). If we have faith in Jesus Christ, the most extremely difficult times in life can be endured with hope.
From Trial to Transformation
The Plan of Happiness was divinely designed as a crucible for both education and experience. These purifying components of progression could only be actualized through mortality and the inherent hardships of adversity. Despite these harsh realities, love and triumph can still endure and prevail. Elder Orson F. Whitney said: “No pain that we suffer, no trial that we experience is wasted. … All that we suffer and all that we endure, especially when we endure it patiently, builds up our characters, purifies our hearts, expands our souls, and makes us more tender and charitable. … It is through sorrow and suffering, toil and tribulation, that we gain the education that we come here to acquire” (Orson F. Whitney, 'A Lesson from the Book of Job,' Improvement Era, Nov. 1918, 6–7).
As we consider the hardships of disability or the heartbreak of unmet expectations, we ought to consider the “perfect brightness of hope” (2 Nephi 31:20) that resulted from Jesus Christ’s atonement. Christ’s divine role as Savior makes him the ultimate safeguard between the pains and injustices in this life and the peace awaiting us hereafter. Constantly cultivating faith in Him is a process of time, energy, and forgiveness of self. However, when our trust is properly aimed, it does come. President Nelson said, “Your growing faith in Him will move mountains—not the mountains of rock that beautify the earth but the mountains of misery in your lives. Your flourishing faith will help you turn challenges into unparalleled growth and opportunity. (in Conference Report, April. 2021, 101). For each of us, this sanctification represents the works of God made manifest.
Believe In Good Things To Come
President Jeffrey R. Holland taught this principle that light is often most visible when the surrounding darkness is most absolute. He once shared a story of a difficult time in his own life—a period of intense exhaustion and emotional heartbreak during his graduate studies. He recounted driving a broken-down car across the desert with his young family, feeling overwhelmed by his inadequacy and the weight of his responsibilities.
Years later, he returned to that same spot on the highway and felt as though he saw his younger, despairing self. He remarked that if he could go back, he would tell that struggling young father, “Don’t you quit. You keep walking. You keep trying…There is help and happiness ahead…It will be all right in the end. Trust God and believe in good things to come…Some blessings come soon, some come late, and some don’t come until heaven; but for those who embrace the gospel of Jesus Christ, they come” (in Conference Report, Oct. 1999, 38).
For those of us navigating the complexities of disability, the works of God may be an eventual miracle. In the interim, we find the strength through God’s grace to keep walking until it does. As the Psalmist wrote, 'Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning' (Psalm 30:5).
Seeing as the Savior Sees
When Christ encountered the blind man, He did not see a theological problem to be solved; He saw a soul to be cherished.
What would change in our homes if we adopted that same lens? What if we replaced blame with compassion? What if we replaced fear of the future with faith in the Master Healer?
The shift from 'Who is at fault?' to 'How can God be made manifest?' has changed everything for our family. It has not removed the autism, but it has filled our home with purpose. It has replaced the darkness of despair with the 'Light of the World' (John 8:12).
Still, just last month, as I peered into our High School’s auditorium full of decorations and seating for a graduation ceremony, I felt another sting of sadness. This year should have been Tyler’s high school graduation year. However, now, with years of relying in a plan and wisdom greater than that of my own, spiritual sight was able to be recovered more quickly. For my purposes, this is how His work is being made manifest.
Our experience in raising our son, Tyler, has taught us that parenting is less about control and more about trust. In 2 Nephi 2:2, Lehi tells Jacob, 'Thou knowest the greatness of God; and he shall consecrate thine afflictions for thy gain.' This promise is personal. The tear-soaked moments of despair and quiet prayers that sometimes span into the deep hours of the night are not evidence of God’s absence. I testify that it is during the times we trust in Him, despite great adversity, that He is most intimately involved.
As His work is made manifest, our hearts and eyes shift from a vision of blame and victimhood to the restoration of salvific, spiritual sight.