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“Oh no! The colors are all gone! They’re MISSING!” The alarm in Travis’ voice startles me awake. We’re driving into the mountains for a few days of family camping and at that moment, we drove right up into a dense fog bank. The fog was so thick that sure enough, the colors outside were indeed, all missing. In an instant, with no explanation or preparation, the world as he knew it was disrupted and disappeared into a disorienting fear of the unknown. With every repetition of his exclamation his fear grew as if fueled by one frantic question after another: What just happened? Why is this happening? Where did the colors go? When will the colors come back? How can I make them come back? What will happen if they never come back? How long oh Lord, how long?!
Misinformed and magnified by his Autism, fear can quickly push Travis into a panic state of fight or flight that is not safe for anyone, especially when in a car driving up a winding mountain road with zero visibility. Adrenaline jump starts my body and brain to fend off his fighting limbs and to strategize how best to comfort and calm him. But with each failed attempt, my growing frustration triggers a cascade of unknowable questions of my own: How do I explain the phenomenon of fog in a way that he will understand? How do I reason with him when he is so unreasonable? Oh no, did I remember to engage the child safety lock on his door so he can’t open it while we’re driving? What about his window? Why fog? Why now? How long oh Lord, how long?!
As is all of life, this is beyond me and this is far beyond him. This is only for the supernatural grace of God. So we pray together, “Dear God, help me to wait for You to show me the colors again, Amen.” And thank God, a few seemingly infinite minutes later, we emerge at an elevation above the clouds. The awe, wonder, and pure joy that instantly flash across his face as his eyes feast upon the brilliant yellows of wildflowers and the deep greens of pine trees is an image I will never forget. He turned to me with glee and said, “They’re back! The colors, they all came back!” In that moment I wondered, is this what it will be like when my faith turns to sight? When in an instant, all fear vanishes in the face of God and His radiant glory? Will I forget that fear even existed when I see what was meant to be, what is to come?
Like a dense fog that shrouds this fallen world, sin distorts and dims my vision. If I am not diligent to look to Christ to continually recalibrate my perspective, the beauty of God’s creation in His image bearer, my son Travis, quickly fades into the fog of disorder that comes from the disruption of disability. So I wait. And like Travis prayed for the colors to come back, I look to the Lord, I pray, and I wait. There are definitely days when I waste the waiting in worry, swept away in a flood of answerless questions going nowhere fast. But yet there are other days when I worship in the waiting because in God’s goodness, at divinely appointed moments, He makes my path straight as He reminds me of Who He is, of His glory, and of His promises of what is to come. The last weekend of February 2026 was one of those moments to catch a stunning glimpse of clarity though the fog. It was the weekend our church hosted the Imago Dei and the Bridge Family Conferences. In that time and space, it was as if we all emerged above the clouds and could do nothing but worship in the waiting.
The Imago Dei Conference kicked off the weekend with an amazing two days of worship with over two hundred individuals from over thirty different churches. The foundational truth of Imago Dei, God created each one of us in His image (Genesis 1:27), was beautifully on display as we heard from God’s Word, fellowshipped with His people, and experienced His grace in the presence of so many whose faithful lives are examples worth imitating. Some of those faithful saints are our friends, Justin and Tamara Reimer and their incredible family. By God’s grace, they have turned their testimony of His faithfulness in their lives affected by disability into a global ministry, Guidelight. A desperately needed ministry in this fallen world, it aims to bring gospel transformation to those experiencing disability. And it was a special blessing to hear Pastor Paul Martin of Grace Fellowship Church in Toronto preach from God’s Word of His purposeful design in disability and suffering this side of eternity. Like the Reimers, Pastor Paul’s passion for the church to grow in loving the least of these is informed by his family’s experience with disability. Being up close and in the presence of God’s amazing grace in their lives was a blessed assurance of God’s love and care in His sovereign plan for disability in ours.
It was a comfort to be greeted at the door by two cheerful teens whom the world deems disabled, but God holds indispensable. I was moved to worship by the sweet voice of another teen whom the world deems disabled, but God proclaims worthy. I loved the exhortation made to the church to care for individuals affected by disability from the cradle to the grave as one of their own, as a family member. It was both a hard and helpful word to hear that children who have a brother or sister with a disability are known as “glass children.” These children are often overlooked or not seen at all because the needs of their sibling are seemingly so much greater than their own. Or, as in the case of our oldest son, these precious children can intentionally choose to be or make themselves invisible so as not to add to their parents’ stress. Raising two boys, one with disabilities, and one without, constantly places us at the uncomfortable crossroads of choosing one over the other as their needs are so often mutually exclusive. So it was a sweet relief to hear the call to the church to be the family with eyes to see and hearts to love specifically these “glass children”.
And as a mother who is well acquainted with how the world can disregard, diminish, and even discriminate against my beloved son because of his disabilities, spending the weekend meditating on the truth of Imago Dei was a welcomed balm to soothe my aching soul. No matter what the world says of Travis’ abilities, disabilities, giftedness, limitedness, capacity, potential, or lack thereof, I rest in knowing that he was made in the image of God. And because of the One Whose image he bears, nothing of this world can ever separate him from his dignity, value, or worth. This is the truth that instructs my heart to have faith in the fog and to hope in the day when the sin that veils our world vanishes like a mist.
The conference weekend wrapped up with a perfectly placed restorative exhale in the Bridge Family Conference. Justin Reimer specifically encouraged our families to do our part in the church, to show up, to invest in the church family, and to do life, in all its messiness, together as a family. And Pastor Paul opened God’s Word to remind us of God’s ever-present nearness and His unwavering loving kindness that we may remain anchored to a hope that is imperishable, undefiled, and unfading. It was a rare and blessed time to spend laughing and weeping with fellow sojourners in the hard and the hurt of disability. In these families, the grace of suffering is so beautifully on display as they fight for faith and even rejoice with hope. And in these families, truer words were never spoken than these from Joni Eareckson Tada: God always seems bigger to those who need Him most. And suffering is the tool He uses to help us need Him more.
This weekend will remain in my heart and mind like an Ebenezer of God’s faithfulness and trustworthiness. When the fog of fear is so thick that it’s hard to see a way forward, I will remember this moment of clarity. I will remember this glimpse of God’s divine design in His image bearers, and I will look to the things unseen. Just like the transience of the fog bank we drove through that day in the mountains, I will remember this space between the already and the not yet is only temporary, and I will hope in things to come. I will remember to pray as Travis prayed to wait on the Lord to show me the colors once again, and I will trust that they will indeed return and will do so with a brilliance beyond my imagination. So that I do not lose heart, I will remember this weekend as a reminder to look up to Christ to see through the fog as I wait for Him to make all things new. This was a weekend, in a time such as this, that will help me worship in the waiting until my faith finally turns to sight.