Mikey and his brother Gaby are surrounded by the Rock Springs’ crystal-clear water and lush greenery. For Gaby, autism can sometimes limit his interactions and experiences, but here, in the cool, rushing water, he is free. This is where he moves with ease, unburdened, where joy isn’t just seen but felt.
Gaby was born in 1999, during a time when research on neurodiversity was still emerging. Diagnoses and treatments for conditions like profound autism were not as advanced. As a baby, Gaby rarely cried, which raised concerns for my parents about his lack of eye contact and delayed developmental milestones. As he grew older, these challenges became more complex.
One of the most challenging moments during Gaby’s early years was his struggle to regulate emotions. When overwhelmed, he would bang his head against surfaces in frustration, and it was heartbreaking to witness. I felt desperate to help him, knowing he wasn’t acting out but rather crying out for understanding, safety and clarity in his world.
Those early years were marked by trial and error. We were trying to navigate uncharted waters, often feeling like we failed to meet Gaby’s needs. It’s painful to admit, but in those days, we focused on fitting him into our world instead of trying to understand him. We wanted him to adapt, to meet us halfway. But we didn’t realize then that the key wasn’t forcing him to understand us; it was immersing ourselves in understanding him.
Everything changed the day our family decided to stop trying to mold Gaby into our way of life and instead do everything in our power to embrace his world. We learned to listen to him in ways that didn’t rely on words. We studied his behaviors, patterns and needs. We sought resources, tools and technology to help him express himself. And when we did that, miracles began to happen.
Gaby may not speak verbally, but he communicates uniquely through modern technology. He can share his thoughts, needs and feelings with us using electronic communication charts. For the first time, we began to understand him on a deeper level, and in turn, he could feel seen and heard. This shift not only transformed our family dynamic but revolutionized our church’s approach to neurodiverse worship experiences.
For many years, Gaby was left on the fringes of church life. He wasn’t intentionally excluded, but no one seemed to know how to include him. Departments were hesitant to engage with him, perhaps out of fear of his unpredictability or simply a lack of understanding of how to approach his needs. Whatever the reasons, Gaby wasn’t being poured into the way other children were. He didn’t have the same opportunities to be part of the community, and as his older brother, it was hard to watch.
But in the 2010s, a new Adventurer director joined our church, and everything changed. When this director met Gaby, he asked my mother if he could join the club. He admitted, “I don’t have a lot of experience with neurodiverse children, but please, show us how best we can love your son and your family because everyone deserves community.” That simple yet profound gesture shifted the course of Gaby’s life and the life of our church.
Once Gaby joined the Adventurers Club, other departments began to follow suit. Sabbath School teachers started inviting him to participate, and soon, he was involved in children’s Sabbath programs, like choirs and unique presentations. The church members watched as Gaby’s unique presence became a central part of our congregation. His involvement wasn’t just tolerated it was embraced.
I’ll never forget how this inclusion had a ripple effect. Visitors would come to our church and see how Gaby was treated with dignity, love and care. Some families, particularly those with neurodiverse children, decided to transfer their memberships to Apopka Spanish SDA because they saw that our church didn’t just preach about God’s love — we lived it. Gaby became an unwitting evangelist, drawing people closer to God, not through words but through the quiet testimony of his life.
Today, when I visit my home church, I see a growing number of neurodiverse individuals in the congregation. It is a beautiful testament to how one person’s presence can inspire a community to grow in understanding and compassion. Gaby preaches without ever speaking a word. As a preacher, I often marvel at how his silent ministry speaks volumes. While I stand at the pulpit, sharing the gospel with words, Gaby shares it through his very being.
Gaby has taught me more about the love of Jesus than any sermon or theology class ever could. He has shown me what it means to genuinely meet people where they are and to seek understanding before seeking to be understood. His life is a living reminder of Christ's inclusive love — a love that breaks down barriers, challenges assumptions, and welcomes everyone to the table.
One of the most profound lessons I’ve learned from Gaby is the importance of presence. In a world that often values productivity and achievement, Gaby’s life reminds me that being can be just as powerful as doing. His presence in our family and church has transformed hearts, not because of what he accomplishes, but because of who he is.
As I reflect on Gaby’s journey, I can’t help but think that my brother’s life is a living testimony to the truth of God’s love and glory shining brightly through his challenges, triumphs and quiet witness.
To this day, Gaby remains my greatest inspiration. He has taught me patience, humility and the power of unconditional love. He has shown me that ministry isn’t just about what we say or do; it’s about how we make people feel, show up for them, and reflect God’s love in our actions.
As his brother, I am proud to stand alongside him, knowing that his silent sermons continue to change lives. Gaby is proof that you do not need words to preach the gospel. You need love. And in that love, the presence of Jesus is undeniable.
Mikey Ayala is set to graduate from the Seventh-day Adventist Theological Seminary in May 2025 with his MDiv and will soon serve as the new associate pastor of Highland Seventh-day Adventist Church in Portland, Tennessee.
