I carry him, my eyes fastened on the door: escape. I carry him, screaming. I carry him, writhing. I carry him in a fit that stretches beyond reason. I carry this child and his small brother, past the whispering onlookers. Past the one person in that entire store who possibly understands exactly what we're dealing with here. I just can't meet his eyes. That other parent, at least, isn't tittering on about poor behavior and bad parenting. "Hi." Thank God for one empathizing soul.
Three littles pattern their steps behind mine, while their daddy pays the bill in the check out line. No tears. Someone should hold their head up and claim this boy. Someone should pray through the embarrassment and remember that although he seems a flailing ball of leg braces, clenched teeth and determination for self-injury, he is also a phenomenally gifted masterpiece. Made with a purpose; deliberately and lovingly shaped, this child is no more "handicapped" than any of those who walk, limp free, in my wake.
"Handicapped," "Special Needs," "Cerebral Palsy," "Epilepsy." Blue eyes, white skin, innumerable nose hairs." Labels to describe physical conditions. Physical conditions mean precisely squat. Compassion, bravery, integrity, wisdom, graciousness, playful mischievousness, humility, most would concur, are the true labels of decent humanity. As a human I beg you, smile sincerely and look each other in the eyes...especially when someone's child seems at their most inhuman.
I am not brave, nor particularly brilliant. I cling to peace and a smooth path. God has seen fit to plop 5 willful, loud, crafty little charmers smack-dab into my part of His Story. What a wonderfully ornery prank. What a beautifully elaborate gift. :)
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