According to The American Journal of Medical Genetics, 99 percent of those living with Down Syndrome say they are happy; 97 percent say they like who they are; and 99 percent agree with the statement, “I love my family.” Based on such numbers, we must conclude that those living with Down Syndrome are “the happiest people in the world.”
One of my greatest privileges is being pastor to a church with many children and adults who have disabilities and special needs. For many years, our church has chosen to invest resources and special attention into this community. I firmly believe the greatest beneficiaries of this relationship are not our “special friends,” but those of us in their company.
I think of Katie, who has Down Syndrome. She has the biggest smile and gives the longest and strongest hugs. I think of how she lights up when I tell her she is beautiful and how she sweetly reminds me that I need to tell her she is beautiful on those rare occasions I forget. I think of how she hands me drawings that reflect her profoundly simple, yet simply profound, interpretations of my sermons.
I think of Cade, who also has Down Syndrome. One day I was visiting with his parents as he arrived home from school. It was very clear that Cade was a young man on a mission, as he stripped off his shirt, located his iPad and earbuds, and headed up the stairs to his bedroom. Within seconds, we heard Cade’s voice bellowing through the house with his favorite songs by the Wiggles. He sang with gusto, from the top of his lungs, with zero signs of insecurity or of self-consciousness or of having a single care in the world. There was something special about Cade’s no-filter, shame-free, man-on-a-mission, bellowing-the-Wiggles approach to life. His demeanor became a fresh reminder to me of how God welcomes and delights in us, and also in me. Rather than a timid, calculated, sophisticated posture in our relating to him, God wants us to come to him “naked and unashamed” through Jesus—with freedom, bold confidence, conviction, and feeling out loud. Anything less than this represents an amnesia about how deeply and fiercely God loves us.
I also think of William, who has Down Syndrome and autism. William’s parents are stretched fully and are on constant call working together to care for his needs. And yet, they never stop telling us how God reveals himself to them again and again through William. Amid days that can feel like a non-stop, full-court press, William will surprise them in wonderful ways. One day, William got a hold of his father’s cell phone and began texting random people on his father’s contact list. Each text William sent contained two simple words, and nothing more: Love you.
For the remainder of the evening and into the next day, his father received responses to the “Love you” text from family, friends, professional colleagues (awkward!), plus a handful of mild acquaintances (more awkward!). Some responses were affectionate, and as you might imagine, others quite humorous. And yet, each of these exchanges was triggered by a spontaneous, non-discriminating love note, delivered via the thumbs of a young man with Down Syndrome, autism, and an endearingly unique sense of humor.
If not for William, people in our church would know Jesus less. If not for William, I, too, would know Jesus less. He wears his ball cap backwards and his sunglasses indoors. He is consistently energetic, funny, impulsive, and sometimes sneaky. If you look away for even a minute, he may disappear to another room. He laughs at my jokes and gives me high fives and fist bumps, and he smiles ear to ear whenever our eyes make brief contact. William, like Katie, insists on giving me hugs—but in his case, only side hugs that last for a half-second. But he never fails to give me that hug. Maybe it’s because William, with full and childlike awareness, belongs. And, knowing that he belongs, William has a simple, yet deeply profound way of helping others belong, too. Though he cannot clearly articulate his thoughts in words, he hands out bulletins at church, helps serve communion, and dances happily to hymns and worship songs. As he does all of these things – as he lives honest and true – he brings me back to the truth. He brings me back to grace. William reminds me of the “Love you” that comes to me every moment, and sometimes in the most unexpected ways, from Jesus. He shows me a kind of Kingdom that I would not be able to see as clearly without him in my life.
Oh, how we need the Williams and Cades and Katies of the world to help us see the world, help us see God, and help us see reality, through their eyes.
It may be that these beautifully broken, mostly happy friends represent the very perspective we need in the sometimes-difficult journey of making our peace with God.
Because we are all weak, frail, and in great need.
And Jesus meets us and loves us in that place, just as he does our special friends.
The post The Privilege of Pastoring to Those with Disabilities and Special Needs appeared first on Focus on the Family.
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One of my greatest privileges is being pastor to a church with many children and adults who have disabilities and special needs. For many years, our church has chosen to invest resources and special attention into this community. I firmly believe the greatest beneficiaries of this relationship are not our “special friends,” but those of us in their company.
The biggest smile and sweetest hugs
I think of Katie, who has Down Syndrome. She has the biggest smile and gives the longest and strongest hugs. I think of how she lights up when I tell her she is beautiful and how she sweetly reminds me that I need to tell her she is beautiful on those rare occasions I forget. I think of how she hands me drawings that reflect her profoundly simple, yet simply profound, interpretations of my sermons.
Singing songs of joy
I think of Cade, who also has Down Syndrome. One day I was visiting with his parents as he arrived home from school. It was very clear that Cade was a young man on a mission, as he stripped off his shirt, located his iPad and earbuds, and headed up the stairs to his bedroom. Within seconds, we heard Cade’s voice bellowing through the house with his favorite songs by the Wiggles. He sang with gusto, from the top of his lungs, with zero signs of insecurity or of self-consciousness or of having a single care in the world. There was something special about Cade’s no-filter, shame-free, man-on-a-mission, bellowing-the-Wiggles approach to life. His demeanor became a fresh reminder to me of how God welcomes and delights in us, and also in me. Rather than a timid, calculated, sophisticated posture in our relating to him, God wants us to come to him “naked and unashamed” through Jesus—with freedom, bold confidence, conviction, and feeling out loud. Anything less than this represents an amnesia about how deeply and fiercely God loves us.
An endearingly unique sense of humor
I also think of William, who has Down Syndrome and autism. William’s parents are stretched fully and are on constant call working together to care for his needs. And yet, they never stop telling us how God reveals himself to them again and again through William. Amid days that can feel like a non-stop, full-court press, William will surprise them in wonderful ways. One day, William got a hold of his father’s cell phone and began texting random people on his father’s contact list. Each text William sent contained two simple words, and nothing more: Love you.
For the remainder of the evening and into the next day, his father received responses to the “Love you” text from family, friends, professional colleagues (awkward!), plus a handful of mild acquaintances (more awkward!). Some responses were affectionate, and as you might imagine, others quite humorous. And yet, each of these exchanges was triggered by a spontaneous, non-discriminating love note, delivered via the thumbs of a young man with Down Syndrome, autism, and an endearingly unique sense of humor.
Sometimes God shows up in the most unexpected ways
If not for William, people in our church would know Jesus less. If not for William, I, too, would know Jesus less. He wears his ball cap backwards and his sunglasses indoors. He is consistently energetic, funny, impulsive, and sometimes sneaky. If you look away for even a minute, he may disappear to another room. He laughs at my jokes and gives me high fives and fist bumps, and he smiles ear to ear whenever our eyes make brief contact. William, like Katie, insists on giving me hugs—but in his case, only side hugs that last for a half-second. But he never fails to give me that hug. Maybe it’s because William, with full and childlike awareness, belongs. And, knowing that he belongs, William has a simple, yet deeply profound way of helping others belong, too. Though he cannot clearly articulate his thoughts in words, he hands out bulletins at church, helps serve communion, and dances happily to hymns and worship songs. As he does all of these things – as he lives honest and true – he brings me back to the truth. He brings me back to grace. William reminds me of the “Love you” that comes to me every moment, and sometimes in the most unexpected ways, from Jesus. He shows me a kind of Kingdom that I would not be able to see as clearly without him in my life.
Oh, how we need the Williams and Cades and Katies of the world to help us see the world, help us see God, and help us see reality, through their eyes.
It may be that these beautifully broken, mostly happy friends represent the very perspective we need in the sometimes-difficult journey of making our peace with God.
Because we are all weak, frail, and in great need.
And Jesus meets us and loves us in that place, just as he does our special friends.
The post The Privilege of Pastoring to Those with Disabilities and Special Needs appeared first on Focus on the Family.
Continue reading...