The dragon of despair is a dreadful beast. He slides and slithers under the smallest of crevices, feasting on hope, faith and love. He leaves corpses wherever he goes, slaying with haunting words of past dead deeds—words that breed the very contempt from which he is made.
It’s been nearly five years since I ran into Donald and his aging father while patrolling the mall parking lot in my police cruiser. Five years since I dispersed the confused crowd that formed around the aging father and his large, imposing, combative, adult son.
Donald’s dad had picked him up at the autism group home where he resided and taken him to the mall for a new pair of shoes.
Somewhere between the pickup truck and the entrance to the mall, the large man with autism had a complete melt down, taking off his socks and shoes as he sat screaming in the middle of the parking lot.
After dispersing the crowd I helped the man-child put on his socks and shoes and then tried to console the aged dad who was just about to have an emotional meltdown himself.
“I’m getting to old for this.” The weary father whispered to the wind.
I placed my hand on his shoulder and shared the story of raising my own son with autism. We seemed to have an immediate bond of genuine kindred spirits. After helping the man get his boy back into the truck, I watched them drive away as the weary dad placed his arm around the disheveled son.
A prodigal never finds love so satisfying and sweet as he finds it in the arms of his father.
I surveyed the providential scene. Was this a prophetic picture of my life to come?
That single, brief encounter has haunted me for years.
The bawling shrieks of the agitated son were unforgettable, and the despairing face of the father seems to be forever etched in my soul. But it was the tired father’s parting words that left me staggering,
“You know it gets worse right? They get bigger and stronger, and you get older and weaker. You still love them the same, but it becomes impossible for you to take care of them. Even short visits like this become–impossible.”
Last week I sat on the edge of Jake’s bed as he stared silently out the window. My son lives in a one-bedroom apartment with round the clock staffing, twenty minutes from our home. He’s a man now. Twenty-one years old, with a scruffy beard and a deep voice. Long gone are the days of little boys riding on dad’s shoulders, swinging around and around, laughter filling the air.
He seems more distant now. So much of his bubbly personality has faded into medication, frustration, isolation and just plain life. The time I get to spend with him is brief on a Sunday afternoon. He doesn’t want me there and demands in repeated sign language to “go” as he waives to me and points toward the door.
I stay anyway, defying his rebellion with deflecting love.
Love never gives up.
He takes off his shirt to change clothes—a rigorous, rhythmic, autistic routine of shirts off and shirts on, all day long. Between changes I notice his chest and stomach covered with self-injurious wounds.
Like a soldier marked by combat he is covered with scratches and scars all over his torso. His arms have deep bite marks and gashes—his forehead also. Without meaning to give the devil credit, I often wonder what role the demonic plays in the realm of disability.
Lest we forget, Satan is real.
I want to spend time with him, but the only affirmation of affection he gives me these days is when I’m taking him to the corner convenience mart to get chips and a root beer, or when I’m leaving. “I’m just a bag of chips and a bottle of root beer to him.” I recently droned to my wife.
“You are so much more.” She encouraged.
Last week I took him to the corner store, and at the checkout realized I had left my wallet at home.
Panic.
A simple mistake.
A conjuring of demons.
Without chips and root beer, there is no happiness. The biting, clawing and gnashing of teeth began. I carried him back to the truck as the onlookers looked.
“I’m getting too old for this.” I whispered to the wind.
“You know it get’s worse, right?” Those haunting words echo inside of my head. I’m not sure if they come from the old man or the old accuser.
They slay the same.
But there are other words—greater words—Holy Words.
As we sit on the edge of the bed and look out the window, I whisper them to my son, and more importantly, to myself.
The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The Lord is the stronghold of my life; of whom shall I be afraid? (Psalm 27:1)
The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit. (Psalm 34:18)
Our citizenship is in heaven. And we eagerly await a Savior from there, the Lord Jesus Christ, who, by the power that enables him to bring everything under his control, will transform our lowly bodies so that they will be like his glorious body. (Philippians 3:20-21)
And now, O Lord, for what do I wait? My hope is in you. (Psalm 39:7)
The verses are short, but the words are strong. Like sharpened swords, I carry them with me wherever I go. They shine in the darkness like a lighthouse on a stormy shore, bringing the ship of my faith safely through the jagged rocks of desolation.
Jake doesn’t respond but I know he hears. He continues to stare out the dirty window of his darkened bedroom and nothing changes, except my heart and my view.
“For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I have been fully known.” (1 Corinthians 13:2)
The haunting words are drowned out by the holy words, and death is swallowed up by victory as the dragon of despair lay broken on the bedroom floor.
He is the disabled one today.
And I remember,
We have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us. We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed. (2 Corinthians 4:7-8)
Holy Words…
…are always stronger than haunting words.


Latest posts by Greg Lucas (see all)
- Haunting Words and Holy Words - August 12, 2014
- The Perfect Family - July 8, 2014
- Agents of Grace - June 10, 2014
Greg, I LOVE everything I’ve ever read that you wrote! But this……this was my hug from God for today and all the days from now when I will read it over and over again. My husband sustained a traumatic brain injury last November, and I’m his care-giver. It’s not autism, but there are definitely words of encouragement for me as I also face a dragon many days. The holy words ARE always stronger! Thanks so much!
How amazing that God led me to read your article today. Thank you! My 20 year old son struggles with brain injury, mental illness, and drug use (addiction?) rather than autism, but so much of what you address is the same, including the helplessness and feelings of despair. When he was a minor, I was able to at least make sure he had the best supports, but now that he is an “adult”, his poor decisions are putting him in ever worsening positions, and it’s breaking my heart. This morning has been an especially hard one for me, but after reading this, I am reminded to wield my sword and stand on what I KNOW, rather than what I see. Again, thank you.
This is difficult for me to read! ? I have a 13-year-old son with autism. I can’t look too far into the future, or I get anxious and fearful. This has been quite the roller coaster ride. The only thing is there’s no chicken exit. But for the grace of God!!!
Thanks for writing about what goes unspoken and unwritten about very much……….the world of severe autism and the desperation parents feel as we hopelessly try to help our children. Our son is 32 and we just came through a very difficult time,. I spent time writing scriptures in my journal and calling out for strength. As always, our Lord never failed us and gave us “manna” each day. Thanks for the scriptures and the reminder to listen to The Lord and not our enemy!
Just Wow.
So thankful that Satan is defeated. There will come a day when your son will embrace you and say, “Thanks, Dad.” Thank you, Greg, for sharing your heart to us.
Greg, a mutual friend passed along “Haunting Words, Holy Words,” a friend that you have ministered to greatly. And now me as well. I found myself in tears both of sadness and joy. Thank you, for as a pastor who reads and traffics much into the hearts and lives of our broken world, I find that such riveting clarity, transparency and passion coming from you smells like Jesus. I’m heartened by your service to the community in law enforcement, but am convinced that writing about your journey is definitely a notable gift God has given you. I look forward to reading your book, Wrestling with An Angel. May the peace of Christ fill you and your family today!
Thank you for your raw honesty. One day, every enemy will be defeated- but until then, I pray God continues to flood our hearts and minds with His holy words.
Your post really hits home in many ways. Thanks for putting this into words. If you don’t mind, I’m making a copy to carry in my wallet.
I seem to remember this from a book – “Wrestling an angel” – a wonderful, wonderful read!
Greg, your honesty is powerful. Just last month I found myself crying as I stood next to my car on the side of the road. I had to get out of the car because my 29 year old autistic son was pulling my hair (hard!) as I tried to drive. It was a very dangerous situation. I couldn’t safely get back in the car (thank God for child locks in the backseat, where Joel was sitting!) Guess who stopped to help me? A father of a 29 year old son with autism! And another man who works as a caregiver for a young man with autism! As I called out for Jesus on the side of that road, he sent these 2 men to help me, to uplift me with their words and presence. The enemy has already been defeated! God is our Rock and our Redeemer!
Hi Greg
Your posts always speak to my heart because I think they speak what is also in my heart. We are parents to 23 year old son and don’t get out much/ever due to behaviors. I look forward to your posts- can rarely get through them dry eyed but always left feeling not quite so alone. Thank you.
Thanks for this beautiful post. Thanks for making it OK for us to acknowledge that despair but also reminding us that God is powerful enough to slay that enemy. We need both messages. I appreciate God speaking through your posts; they always touch and encourage me.
Greg, thank you for putting words and deep emotions into this piece. We are on the edge of transition ourselves and only by His grace will we find our strength and peace. Thank you once again. Colleen
Greg, what an incredible post…your words are haunting as we too are approaching transitions that only God can walk us through. Thank you for your depth and honesty! Colleen