A celebrity mom recently wrote about the reaction of others when a child is diagnosed with autism. She tells in her book of how people rush to attend to the parents of a child with a cancer diagnosis, but hide from the parents of an autistic child.

I remember similar feelings as I watched the sign-up sheets go around our ward for a child in a wheelchair. There weren't any sign-up sheets for my son with autism. And what would people even sign up to do? It can be clearer to see the needs of a physical disability, but what about a neurological one?

When Meridian initially asked me to write about what members and ward leaders can do to help an autism child and their families, my mind went blank. What would I even want on those sign-up sheets if there was one for my family? I guess if I knew how to “fix” his behavior at church, I would have done it.

Despite five years of struggling at church to attend with our son, I felt that the challenges changed each week and the answers became more and more elusive. With a disability like autism, you never know what's going to happen. My husband and I woke up each Sunday and held on for dear life, uncertain of what the day held for our son — and us.

Autistic children struggle at any church, not just in Mormon congregations. They struggle for a variety of reasons — the loud noises, uncertainty of the schedule, confusion in social situations and more.

For my son, we could usually expect rolling around the floor and screaming — often throughout the meetings. He was instantly over-stimulated when we'd walk into the building. He'd usually fixate on a certain thing and be determined to get there no matter what — things like throwing a ball off the stage over and over again or opening all the clerks' offices to see their computers. He'd have these rituals that he had to do at church no matter what we did to stop him. Any “good” behaviors that we'd taught him at home went by the wayside as the church environment overpowered his senses.

As the numbers of autism children soar, what can ward members do to help the families grappling to cope around them? In the recent general conference, Bishop Richard C. Edgley quoted a columnist as saying, “What happens to a few happens to all.” Autism happens to us all if it's in our ward. We must endure it together.

What One Family Did

And that is what one particular family did for us — they endured it with us. They ministered to our needs in service, praise, encouragement and sacrifice. This family didn't just bring us cookies or casseroles, though I'm a big fan of tempting foods. Let me explain how they made a difference for our child.

When they moved into our ward, we were about at the end of our rope with church attendance and autism. It was physically and emotionally exhausting, not uplifting, to attend church with him. I was starting to wonder how many more Sundays I could attend and go home in tears while my son had tantrum after tantrum at church.

First, this family offered to give us breaks so we could listen in sacrament meeting. They offered their older children's service to walk the halls with our autism child or be with him. They literally picked all of my family up off the floor and carried us through this stage.

Second, their children loved my autistic boy. They went into his world. As they did, a true miracle happened. My son became aware of others at church. He'd look forward to sitting with these youth. As I sat outside the chapel with him, he suddenly had a desire to run inside and sit with his “friends.” My autistic child had been loved, and it felt good to him.

How did they go into his world? They laughed at the things he found funny, even if they were not usually funny. These young children made sounds along with him and didn't treat him as strange. He felt comfortable and happy with them at church and enjoyed their company. It taught me a powerful lesson — that a large group of church members meant nothing to my son. He preferred staying in his own world. But, individual children or adults going into his world, gave him the desire to go out into their world.

Once my autistic child felt loved and accepted at church, a new desire to be there started to emerge. He smiled when we entered the church building. He'd look up at me and ask for the children he now knew by name.

These wonderful children loved him, true love, Christ-like love — the essence of charity to me. My family had truly been touched by charity. We had been ministered to, and I would never see service the same. My only answer to members wanting to help comes from this example of being ministered to by this one family in my ward.

Other Ways to Help

Here are some ideas I now see on how ward members can help a family dealing with autism:

• If family has been outside or too late for the sacrament lately, take it to them. Feed their souls as they struggle.
• If they've spent all three hours in the hall, offer to take a turn so they can listen to some of the lessons.
• Youth can learn about autism as a YW or Scout goal and offer to sit with that child at church or babysit.
• Invite other Primary children to say “Hi” to the autistic child. Teach the Primary kids to get to know the child, call him by name, and find out what he likes/dislikes.
• If the autistic child loves trains or cars, have another child bring him one to Primary. Find ways for the kids to go into the world of the autistic child and love him till he notices they are around.

Let Compassion Rule

Whatever you do, avoid making assumptions about that child and the parent's ability to parent. One Sunday, my son sat through the whole sacrament meeting because there was a yo-yo in my purse and it held his attention. I enjoyed the meeting and was thrilled to sit still. It's not your typical quiet church toy, but it was working.

Yet, those who hadn't yet gotten to know my son rolled their eyes or shrugged at his lack of reverence. I wondered if they had been there the Sundays he was screaming. For me, I'd rather hear a yo-yo than a loud scream. My point is this — refrain from judging the families grappling with autism.

In the past week alone, I've heard of two more families struggling in their ability to attend church. It breaks my heart to think of the number of autism parents I know who just can't find relief at church. And it makes me feel guilty to think of how many times I missed the chance to serve.

I have no room to talk; I still don't give the kind of service shown to me by the one family in our ward. But, I've tasted the difference and it does taste better than cookies or casseroles.