Psalm 2:12 Kiss the Son, lest he be angry, and ye perish from the way, when his wrath is kindled but a little. Blessed are all they that put their trust in him.

Perhaps it was mother’s Asperger’s that caused her to be dispassionate, where hugs and kisses were not a part of our family life. Never allow a child to suffer the loss of genuine affection from the moment of birth to the day you die. This may have been the catalyst which birthed the rage in my oldest brother and if he too suffers from Asperger’s he may never admit it in his declining years. He has greater concerns now but that is his history and not mine.

My oldest brother was put out of the house and forced to graduate high school away from us while he lived with relatives in north central Maine. Seeing this as the youngest child, eight years his junior, I did not understand his anger any more than I understood my own. I saw the results, being put out. It was not something I wanted to happen to me. I did not want to follow in his footsteps.

My anger issues may have come to a breaking point when I broke my fist on the face of my best friend. My brother had broken his fist also. Was I following in my brother’s footsteps, even though I was desperate not to suffer his fate? It troubled me deeply.

About this time in my life I was desperate to try and make a connection with girls. I was awkward because of the Asperger’s which we did not know about. Social awkwardness is one of the symptoms. Then a classmate showed an interest in me. She was concerned for my soul. She was the catalyst to my burning bush moment. She invited me to BYF, Baptist Youth Fellowship. She invited me into church fellowship. Yes, I chased a girl into church. Not a very original story, but it happened.

2 Chronicles 24:27 Now concerning his sons, and the greatness of the burdens laid upon him, and the repairing of the house of God, behold, they are written in the story of the book of the kings. And Amaziah his son reigned in his stead.

We all have history. I am not sure if there is a chronicle of your life, but I have mine. It has changed over the years because truths are not always revealed in a moment. They are revealed as we are prepared to receive and believe them. Up until that time, life is nothing more than a perception.

I was born August 15^th, 1947, in my maternal grandmother’s bed on my grandfather’s farm. I was a blue baby, my umbilical cord wrapped around my neck.

My father was a WWII veteran born April 2^nd, 1910. I never knew the man he was before the war. I got the father with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder but none of us knew that at the time. One of the signs I can see know was a reluctance to share anything deeply personal and a determination to avoid all circumstances where his dark past could erupt. I saw it for a moment only once in my life.

Personal family history now leads me to believe that my mother probably suffered a mild case of Asperger’s syndrome. It is inheritable, perhaps more pronounced in me than her. It is also more pronounced in my daughter and my granddaughter is autistic. Mom was never diagnosed nor was I at the time.

These are all historical factors which led me to a point in my early teen years where I was angry all the time. If science was looking at Asperger’s at the time, my anger issues might have been explained in that diagnosis but it wasn’t and I did not know why I was angry all the time.

My oldest brother had a violent temper which led to his removal from our home.