Have you ever gone to tour a national park in the year or two following a forest fire?

Why do I bring up such unpleasant topics of death and destruction?

While very destructive to flora and the habitat of the fauna, the black scars do not last forever. In fact, many species of tree, including the famous Giant Sequoias, require fire’s periodic destruction in order to germinate the next generation of seedlings. In the scheme of things, the location of wildfires can seem very random and arbitrary.

Similarly, to help people understand the seemingly random destruction of prenatal alcohol exposure, I often paint the picture of an IED going off in the baby’s brain and body. The collateral damage coincides with whatever systems happen to be physically developing, or being programmed, at the time of exposure. And while this is somewhat predictable, like fires occurring where understory growth is not tended, to parents and professionals, it all feels very random.

This randomness is documented in the 2% of affected youth who are lucky enough to have neurocognitive testing. Unfortunately, the "scattered findings" are all too often used to dismiss most of those children from receiving the most appropriate diagnosis (FASD), when in fact the scattered findings ARE the pattern pointing to FASD.

It is tempting to carry over the language of “scattered findings” from “deficits” to the person’s diverse expressions of extraordinary brilliance.

I myself have done this.

But because many people have negative associations with the word “scattered,” there is a far better word picture we should all consider adopting.

It comes from observing what happens to the landscape following a forest fire. A rebalancing of soil nutrients. New growth. New habitats. New life. And very often, wildflowers.

Let’s try this on for size: while prenatal alcohol exposure has had its destructive impact upon seeming random aspects of our cognitive and physical functioning, it has left wildflower intelligences in its wake.

I have yet to meet anyone who doesn’t agree that a field of wildflowers is not far more beautiful than formal gardens.

Many of you know that I have served as a chaplain, and from that role, I will point out the promise that beauty rises from the ashes.

Living with FASD is easier when we understand our individual maps of neurodiversity, and build tailored workarounds for each of our struggles, but it is easier still when we can take stock of the many wildflowers of our lives and appreciate their rich beauty.