A Joy To See

I will lead the blind by ways they have not known,

along unfamiliar paths I will guide them;

I will turn the darkness into light before them

and make the rough places smooth.

Isaiah 42:16

The young man is not really so different.  He's dressed casually in a short-sleeved sport shirt, the kind with the ribbed crew neck and multi-colored stripes.  Not too tight.  And jeans - nondescript, really.  Not sagging, not Urkel-pulled up.  Just.  Jeans.  His hair is a little wavy; it might be considered longish by today's standards, but certainly groomed well.  I realize, as I watch him, that what draws my attention to him, is actually the woman accompanying him.  Middle aged.  A little more weight than I imagine she wants to carry, but her posture is good.  Glasses.  One of those curly-frame-your-face hair styles.  Even from three lanes down I can see the traces of lines in her face.  Softness.  Kindness.  Compassion.

She's guiding him by the wrist.

I watch.  Fascinated.  

She maneuvers him behind a steel-tubed ramp.  He swings the heavy ball up, following subtle cues from her hands.  Until it rests at the top.  She steps behind him and waits.  I can see her lips move, and see an answering smile from him.  He pushes the ball down the ramp where it is centered on the alley - the bowling alley.  This is special olympics bowling.  The young man is blind - the woman is his mother.

Before the ball spins off the foot of the ramp, mom has place her two hands on her son's back.  One by his belt, the other at the base of his neck.  The belt hand creeps up toward the spread-fingered neck hand - tracing the path of the ball down the alley.  It travels a little to the left of the spine then hooks in to the right just before the actual bowling ball strikes the pins at the far end of the lane.  Her fingers crumble in by ones and twos, both hands now acting like falling soldiers, until just one remains in the seven position.

I see him nod and his lips move again as she guides him back to the ball return.  They re-rack and he pushes the ball.  The hands begin their journey - their story - and the young man stands attentively watching what he cannot see.  The seven pin remains.  A miss.

I have never spoken with this pair.  I don't know their lives.  I don't know if he still lives at home, or if he is in supported living in the community.  I don't know if they argue.  I don't know what makes him smile, what makes them laugh.  I don't even know the words between them, when they stand at the head of the lane.

But I know her.  Not her name, not her address or job.  I know her motherhood.  I know her find-a-way spirit.  The I-want-him-to-be-accepted attitude she has.  Her patience, her will, their determination.  I see this spirit, this attitude, instilled in him - in his clothes, his demeanor, his confidence, his pride.  Ball after ball, frame after frame, game after game, week after week.  She guides him.  She shows him.  She leads him.  Down unfamiliar paths.  From darkness to light.  She makes his rough places smooth.  How biblical is that?  Support.  Friend.  Mother.

They are a joy to see.

Father God, thank you for showing me joy in a different way.  

Thank you for bringing light into darkness.  

Thank you for making rough ways smooth, 

for your guidance, for your support, 

for your friendship, 

for your love.  

Thank you.

Linking With Soli Deo Gloria
Unite

Letter to a New Mom

You hem me in behind and before,

and you lay your hand upon me.

Psalm 139:5

Dear Chosen One,

Hi.  You may not know me, but I want to be next to you.  I promise I won't tell you how to feel, because you have to.  Feel....everything.  And it won't always  be easy; and it won't always  be comfortable; and the joy you expected to feel has been pressed under, pushed away, like something that got swept under the bed before unexpected company.  Because what you're going through, right now, is unexpected.  But I promise, that joy will come flooding back a hundred-fold, a thousand-fold.  I chose you for this role.  This motherhood.  I know you, and I know what you're capable of, and I know that you will seek me when you need strength, when you need hope, when you need reassurance.  And I will be there for you. 

That joy?  It will come at unexpected moments - when you breathe in the baby-smell of lotion and no-more-tears, when skin-to-skin is your entire world.  It will come in the first moments - first word, first smile, first step.  Just like other babies, typical babies.  But this baby you hold so tightly may not stay on the typical schedule.  This child might make you slow down; which just means you can hold onto those joy-moments a little longer.  

Feel my arms, holding you.  Feel my hands brushing away those tears of confusion, of confession, of fear.  Let my tears fall with yours.  I know.  I've been there.  It's scary to hold this life, this new life that you carried and nurtured within your womb - deep inside - breathing with you, growing, moving - protected.  A part of you.  You will always protect this life.  You can feel it, can't you?  That bond.  That fierce, powerful, overwhelming bond.  Even though this baby may not live the life you imagined.  It's ok - this baby will live an unimaginable life!  Full of surprises.  A life that will not only bless you and your family, but others as well.

And you will love this child.  Because this child will teach you how to love in ways you never dreamed.  And if you have other children - you will love them better, stronger, bigger, with extravagance and exuberance - because your love, your ability to love, has been tempered.  And if you don't already know, you will learn to find joy in the simple, the ordinary, the everyday, because these are celebrations in your life.   Everyday gifts.

I will be with you always.  Darkness will not hold you, because I will light your way.  I will keep you safe.  I will guide you.  Talk to me when you need to talk.  Whisper my name and I will come.  I will cry with you; I will laugh with you.  Do not fear; do not be anxious.  I will help you.  I will be with you always.

With Great, Deep Love,

God

Dear God, thank you for always being near, 
for never leaving us, 

for making us fearfully and wonderfully 
in your image.  

All of us.  

Thank you for comforting and guiding new parents - especially those with differently-abled children.  You show us your love in so many ways - Amazing God, Awesome God, 
Loving Father. 

Thank you.

Linking with:
Monday's Musings
Hear It On Sunday

Are You the One?

Therefore the Lord himself will give you a sign: The virgin will conceive and give birth to a son, 

and will call him Immanuel.

Isaiah 7:14

Are you the one?  A single thought, tiny, small, insistent.

Movement, like a hiccough, deep inside.  She imagined a perfectly formed foot, a perfectly formed hand, a miracle.  She rested her palm on the mound her stomach had become.  The mound she had kept hidden from prying stares and accusing glances.  She rested her palm on the blooming of the child inside.

Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I set you apart

The words of the prophet whispered to her.  Words she had learned in the temple, words from the old books, words that unwound like the scrolls, unwound and comforted these last months.  God is good, she thought, even as she felt another twinge deep in her belly - a twinge from the new life she carried.

Are you the one?  She had wakened early, before the birth of the day; it was her favorite time, when she could be still with her thoughts.  Thoughts of her husband-to-be, offering marriage even in this condition - placing himself between her and the gossips, the doubters, the law.  Thoughts of her parents, trying to understand, trying to believe, trying to hold their heads up in this oh-so-small village of everybody's business.

Are you the one?  The question lingered - as much in her head as in her heart.  Again the memory of that one night, so long ago now, when she had been visited by a servant of Glory.

The Holy Spirit will come on you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you. So the holy one to be born will be called the Son of God. 

Fear not.  Easier said than done, she thought.  The angel had come to her, frightening in his brilliance - the light of God was more than her earthly eyes could behold.  He had calmed her enough to hear and understand his message.  And she had agreed.  Shaking her head, she'd had no choice, really.  The fear remained at bay, held off by her faith in the goodness of her God.  Fear of gossip.  Fear of her future.  Fear of impending motherhood.  Fear for the child she carried.  She prayed, under her breath and out of sight.

God, do you hear me?  I am not enough for this.  Who could be enough for You, for your Son of Glory?  I am Your humble servant; I am but a girl.  If He is the One, truly, then what do I do, oh God of the Ages?  How do I raise this Holy Prince?  

The household was beginning to waken; she saw the glow of a lamp reaching up the steps to the rooftop where she had been praying.  Pulling her robes around her growing bulk, she paused to absorb the lightening of the new day.  Her mouth began to smile even as tears formed in her eyes.

The vision she had seen in that pause, in that moment, caused her thought to change .... You are the one!  The Chosen One!  Simple word order made the question into a statement - solid and real.  The vision had been instantaneous - a series of glimpses - a baby, pink and new, swaddled and secure - a tousle-haired boy running, fingers trailing through a field of gold - an older child sitting at the feet of a rabbi - a carpenter and help to her husband - a teacher, smiling and welcoming - a healer....beautiful glimpses of a full life, humanity-full of laughter and love.  But she had also seen glimpses of lonely, of darkness, of temptation, of sacrifice and soldiers - a dove alighting on a cross...

You are the one! The Chosen One!

Chosen.  She knew what it was like to be chosen.  Different.  Set apart.  Isolated.  Except for her God who gave her peace.  Especially in the early morning time.  She knew she rested in His Hand - just as this growing child was resting inside of her - protected and nourished - deep, secure, sheltered by her own body.

She knew.  And in that moment, she knew how to raise him - as only a mother could.  Her child.  Her son.  She would raise him to honor his father and mother.  She would raise him in the Law, and she would raise him in the Word.  Tears and smiles - she stopped.  It was just a whisper, a slight breeze lifting the corner of the veil she had just put into place.  Tears and smiles.  It was the breath of God, His voice - in the dawning light of morning - clear and sharp - cutting through the new day.

Yes.  Verily yes.  

Father, thank you for the humanity of your Son.  Thank you for his mother who raised him, and his father who accepted him as his own.  Thank you for the gift of Jesus.

Linked with Monday's Musings

Hear It on Sunday...