With Five Years To Live

If you have any encouragement from being united with Christ, if any comfort from his love, if any fellowship with the Spirit, if any tenderness and compassion, then make my joy complete by being like-minded, having the same love, being one in spirit and purpose.

- Philippians 2:1-2 

In one of our small-groups we have been using a resource developed by our community pastors, entitled, Five Years To Live, addressing the question, "If you had only five years to live, how would you live them?" 

At the very beginning of our study, we created a "community tree" on a large roll of paper and cut out construction-paper leaves to stick on the sprawling branches. Each individual of our group shared what they would like to do in their remaining five years of life. Some members of the group are less verbal than others: one individual simply said, "Mom", and we knew that he would like to spend his time nurturing his relationship with his Mother, while another individual said she would like to visit New Zealand, "where the Lord of the Rings was filmed." 

After our sixth and final session we revisited our community tree under cover of smudged leaves, pushed down in purpose. We turned over our leaves to rewrite our purpose at this point in our personal faith-journey's and our community life - turning over a new leaf, so to speak - and asked each other again, after all we had shared and prayed for over the course of six weeks: what we would do if we only had five years to live?

Everyone had a turn to speak order and purpose into their lives, in their own unique way and timing. As we rambled around the circle, I looked at the blank backside of my leaf and thought about the purpose God had created me for. When it came my turn I gave some forgettable, half-hearted platitudes about loving others. Everyone stared at me politely, but as unconvinced as I was by my detached abstraction.

I turned to the man beside me and raised the question; "What would you like to do if you only had five years to live?" 

"Well..." he looked down at the foot pedals of his wheelchair and thought quietly to himself, "I would like to have a coffee with you and you", he pointed his finger emphatically at me and then another friend. "I'd like to get to know you better, 'cause you're good guys", he said with striking clarity and purposefulness - his arms flapping excitedly and grinning with missing front teeth.

With clearsightedness he invited me to rethink my purpose here. How sincere is my God-talk if I'm not willing to simply sit down over coffee with a friend and get to know others personally, as God in unoccupied availability does for us: slowing down to accommodate the otherness of the other. Love is not a removed abstraction for him. His purpose and identity are defined in relationship to others. Love looks a person straight in another's eyes, acknowledging their presence, up close and personal. 

When it comes time to pray for each other we need to listen creatively in our small-group of mixed abilities. One man who is non-verbal (though he speaks volumes into our lives) will simply point to a person in the room on his mind to express care and invite us to pray over that person. Tonight was my turn. He decisively pointed at me with purpose and a broad smile of full awareness. Love is that simple.   

 

A Pageant of New Life

To them God has chosen to make known among the Gentiles the glorious riches of this mystery, which is Christ in you, the hope of glory."

- Colossians 1:27

Christmastime is here again and our Hand Bells Choir was ready to celebrate after a year of faithful practices and successful performances. And so we decorated our room with the life and colours of the season, while the tables were covered with homemade Christmas treats, sharing the taste, sights and sounds of Christmas. 

Lately, I've found myself growing nostalgic for the good old days of Christmas Pageants, and so I decided to draw on the talents and resourcefulness of our inclusive choir of mixed abilities, and stage my own makeshift pageant that evening. With crayon-coloured, cut-out paper Bible characters pasted on chopsticks, choir members chose their favourite character, and just like the very nature of our choir, no one was left out; "Who wants to play the starring role as the barnyard chicken? Oh, me, me...". 

When the stage was set and the curtain raised one of the choir members raised the applause sign and we all gave ourselves an enthusiastic opening round of applause. Another member raised her "ACT I" sign and I began narrating.  Awkwardly, but willingly, we stepped into the Story, which has given new meaning and life to all our unrehearsed stories. 

The members of our choir proudly held up their chopsticks, sometimes with an additional prompting or two; "And the Wise Men..." Our friend with the Wise Men chopstick stared vacantly at me. "Ahem...the Wise Men", the Wise Men suddenly popped up, "followed the star" and the wisemen bobbed up and down on chopstick after the elusive star. The Barnyard animals mooed and neighed and clucked and bayed, chasing shepherds while the choir of angels stood on high to sing the Hallelujah Chorus. 

I continued narrating among the ordered chaos, "And the world held its breath..." There at the centre of all the noisy action, a little, defenseless baby boy, vulnerably held high on a flimsy chopstick: Christ among us, "the hope of glory." (Colossians 1:2)

It was a fitting way to end the year with this welcoming choir who accepted and included me, simply for who I am, even after ringing the wrong bell (only to realize after the song) or pointing at the wrong note for other hand bell players who require pointing aids. God's love is stronger still, strong enough to carry us with our limitations, stronger even than the power of death. 

They accepted me even with my limitations and the disability of my heart, just as God has accepted us in Christ; they love because God loved us first; they included me because God has welcomed me and you and made us a welcoming people too - and together we made beautiful music for God. As I looked out over the floating chopstick bible characters animating the story and listened to the strangely harmonious chorus of our shared lives, I knew I had found a place of belonging in this community of hand bell players.    

With our final Act upon us, the pageant was coming to a close; "And they named him, 'Emmanuel', which means..." 

In front of me Mary stuck up her hand and blurted out, "Oh I know - God with us". 

"That's right" I nodded approvingly.

The living and loving God right here with us, here in the midst of simple, humble hearts, gathering together in the name of Jesus; Love incarnated in our human-all-too-human condition, with the promise of new life, the eternal life of God.  

In the Beginning

In the beginning you laid the foundations of the earth, and the heavens are the work of your hands.

- Psalm 102:25

As much as sin, suffering and death has run its course in our ruined world, there is still much good-will to be found in others. A kind businessman from our church invited one of our Special Needs Ministry small-groups to a hockey game at the Saddledome, and moreover, to enjoy the game from the comfort of box seats.   

We jumped into our vehicles and headed down the road to the big game, with so much energy and enthusiasm it felt as if our vehicles might take off in flight. After arriving and gathering our group together into some semblance of order, the kind businessman led us up to our box seats. As we turned the corner all eyes grew in disbelief: The kitchen was full of mouth-watering food, and a view of the game like none other, as if watching from the comfort of one's home. 

Everyone filled their plates, roared with the crowd, booed the referees, danced at every intermission, sang off-key with all their hearts, waved frantically for free T-shirts and a spot on the wide-screen. We all ended up losing our voices, but still had enough in us for the final countdown to close the game, with one last hooray for the home team.     

5...4...3...2...1..." We held our breath, as my dear friend sitting beside me yelled in all seriousness, "Happy New Year!" 

We all stopped and looked at each other, with a raised eyebrow and the mutual recognition of the time of year (it was November). We suddenly broke out in the simple pleasure of shared laughter, a measure of grace incomprehensible to the crowd around us, as the winning home team skated over to the goalie, encircling the net and smothering his face-mask with sweaty gloves. 

We laughed, in part, for the out-of-place remark, and then again, because of its timely appropriateness. We were, after all, celebrating new beginnings: for the honoured guests an opportunity to take part in a hockey game, a gift the rest of the crowd had taken for granted with numbing familiarity, and for our host an opportunity to see the game from an entirely different perspective, through the eyes of his guests wide-open wonder. We left the Saddledome and piled back into our vehicles to head home, still laughing, dancing and singing, fully human and alive.  It's good that we exist, even in this fallen, old world of ours.  

Resurrecting Hope

Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! In his great mercy he has given us new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, and into an inheritance that can never perish, spoil or fade - kept in heaven for you. 

- 1 Peter 1:3,4 

One of the highlights of my brief time in this role as lead pastor of our Special Needs Ministry has been our Parent Support Group. Every time I enter into their meeting I feel I've stepped out of the superficiality of our illusory defects-free world and stepped into a refuge of reality, their transparency and honesty inviting me with all my flaws to rest in God's constant sustaining presence. God must be drawn to brokenness, because his felt presence there is almost palpable, the tenderness and pain of their words and presence hammering at my hardened heart.

Tonight we drew our attention to the externally-focused mission of our church. We have six individuals with developmental disabilities preparing to go on our first Special Needs Ministry Short-Term Missions Trip to Mexico, and the invitation was extended to other parents to begin thinking about transformative possibilities for their children.  

Recognizing the scepticism in the room, our perceptive and spiritually discerning group leader asked how the vision of mission for all applies to the profoundly disabled. She raised the question, is ministry only for the "walkers" and "talkers" (all six of our people going on this short-term-mission trip are "higher-functioning", as we like to say in the field, meaning that they have a higher degree of independence and mobility, both verbally, cognitively and physically). 

Is the mission of God for all? Is God's mission crossing the borders of ability/disability divisions and disrupting the established order of the status quo in creative inclusion, or should we resign ourselves to the fact that some will always be sidelined?  

The parents clearly had not accepted the proposition for their children, for while they applauded this mission trip for other "higher-functioning" individuals, it had not changed the world they live in; a world that's tidily divided people into groups of fit and unfit, with their sons and daughters inevitably winding up on the losing end of the great divide.

We went around the circle sharing how our children had made a "positive impact" on the lives of others. This was clearly a painful exercise for most parents, for most of them have given up hope, and accepted the lie the world has pounded into them with tired despair and a spirit of passive resignation; namely, their children are more trouble than their worth.  

I have no license to preach, but I felt compelled to share how one mother's daughter impacts me every time I see her.  She requires intensive supports and is non-verbal, though she's spoken to me with a language too rich for words, speaking into my life of love's openness. For the life of me, I don't know why my face causes hers to light up. I really haven't done anything for her at all, but simply accepted her uneven measures of grace, as I know I could never fully return what she has given to me.  

She's taught me to never underestimate the ministry of presence, even (and especially) in our utilitarian culture that values productivity at all costs.  As is so often the case at our Parent Support Group meetings, the unasked (and sometimes unanswerable) questions are raised, and tonight our model of normalcy, "normal ministry" as our Parent Support Group leader put it, was put into question. 

We live in systems, and sometimes those that don't fit into the prevailing system, those that have been rendered unfit or disruptive to the system, set aside to erase from our memories or demonized as "rebellious", can surprisingly be the most healthy of all, simply pointing out (sometimes non-verbally or unknowingly) from an outsider's perspective, that something's not quite right in the system, something's dysfunctional with the system itself.       

The leader of our Parent Support Group spoke of "resurrecting hope" that evening, and I felt hope rising in our spirit for those who for too long have been left out of God's prevailing purposes for all His beloved people. In powerlessness and rejection, a song of living hope emerging for the whole world: Rise up Church! 

Freedom! Hallelujah!

It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. Stand firm, then, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by a yoke of slavery.

- Galatians 5:1

We were sitting quietly together in our worship service, listening to a woman's profound testimony of the saving power of Jesus Christ, when my friend overwhelmingly responded with an "amen" of approval and then hollered "hallelujah!", startling slumbering spirits. Another friend on the other side of me broke into laughter, disrupting the orderliness of religious routine. 

I self-consciously panicked as others turned around pronouncing the inappropriateness of the moment. I almost surprised myself as I abruptly hushed him and made him jump in his seat. He sat stunned for a moment, a look of shame and anxiety crossed his face as he bent over to me and whispered in my ear, "Pastor Dallas...It's great to see you today. Pastor Dallas, I'm sorry I was too loud." 

In that light, with the hallelujah of a growing chorus of angels ringing in my ear, my moralistic behaviour modification appeared rather small-minded; I was not an educator, advocate, resource specialist, pastor, in his questioning eyes - he was speaking to me as a friend. I knew he hadn't misbehaved, nor was anyone offended but my own ego and control spirit.

He was simply caught up in the moment of worship and praised God directly from his heart, without filtering praise through complex layers of control - the control mechanisms that dictate the expression of most typical adults.  How can we limit praise, when the word, "hallelujah", is itself undefinable (since a definition is by nature a self-imposed limitation)? The "hallelujah" of the heart is the unconstrained response of the human spirit to our infinite God who loves us beyond words, for no human word is the final word.

This was our Remembrance Day service, and as we spent time in silence to remember our fallen soldiers in the line of battle - the wide screen displaying row after row of white crosses in an endless field of green - I thought about their sacrifice, and what they had laid down their lives for, namely; freedom, including our freedom to worship. Not the self-serving indulgence of an anything-goes relativism, but the freedom to live for God. 

The moment was particularly sobering as I reflected on the restrictions I unnecessarily imposed on my friends to limit their free expression of worship to our living and loving God. 

I thanked God for friends today - friends willing to confront and invite me to remember, for a spirit of oppression is the result of ingratitude and forgetfulness, "they have oppressed the alien and mistreated the fatherless and the widow...For you have forgotten me, declares the Sovereign Lord" (Ezekiel 22:6-12). Lest we forget, how far Jesus was willing to reach to secure our freedom, with outstretched hands nailed to a cross.  

Differently Blessed

May God be gracious to us and bless us

and make his face shine upon us,

that your ways may be known on earth,

your salvation among all nations.

May the peoples praise you, O God;

may all the peoples praise you.

- Psalm 67:1-3

I've been meeting with the parents of children with special needs to prepare for a parents panel session  included in our Special Needs Conference for parents and caregivers.

What a privilege to step into the homes and lives of these courageously real parents who have stuck together under seemingly unbearable stress that has torn apart most families (the rate of divorce for parents of children with special needs is considerably higher than the typical rate, with estimates as high as 80-90%). I say "courageous" because they have faced many odds against them, but "real" because I know they resent being singled out as "special" or "heroic" when they have simply lived with what has been given to them. 

As one parent candidly remarked, "reality lives in this house." The reality for me is that I will never be able to fully step into their shoes and identify with their lived reality, yet I am so thankful for each parent who has vulnerably risked unpacking the reality of their daily lives, as I've assumed a listening posture in their presence.   

I listened to the stories of the daily grinding challenges - working and coming home to pick up the pieces, day after exhausting day searching for hope as if fumbling in the dark for the light switch, only to be told by the "professional expert" that their child is "hopeless" and to not expect any improvement; to be told by friends and family that their "disruptive" children are "misbehaving" due to their poor parenting skills; to be told they are no longer welcomed in their circles of community if they insist on bringing their "out-of-control" child with them; to receive their child's school yearbook only to realize that their child's special education class was conveniently left out; the behaviour of a child is rendered "cute" at the age of five, but when their adolescent's behaviour has not progressed past the age of five they are told that their child has become a problem. And so on.  

When parents are given space to share the pain that has been pushed down as a matter of survival, the reality all surfaces irrepressibly. A mother shared with me a session she had taken in at our last conference on the character of God and the problem of pain in the context of raising children with special needs. As parents shared their questions and expressed their anger at God, often for the first time, a raw nerve was touched, "the pain in the room was almost physical", she said with tears forming in her eyes, still clearly moved by the experience.

It's become increasingly clear to me that the pain does not sting in response to the disability, in and of itself (even in a medically fragile state), but in response to the accompanying exclusion. Families of children with special needs still feel isolated, ignored and excluded - looking from the outside in communities and churches that are shaped by the world's exclusionary normative standards and power structures. 

I'm praying that our local churches would be a counter-witness to the powers of the age: churches not merely running outreach programs for people with special needs, but an extended family of mixed abilities. A church that not only advertises, "all are welcome", but is by nature welcoming. A church not for people with special needs in a charitable posture of accommodation, but a church of people with special needs, where we all vulnerably gather together in our need (regardless of what that need may look like) and the abundant overflow of God's blessing. 

"I don't like the term special blessing, but he is a different blessing", one parent shared as her son pulled at her arm for her attention. When I think of all the differently-abled people I've worked with I too know that I've been differently blessed, and as we share our lives with each other in the church we will be a blessed people, the blessing of God's manifest presence radiating from our faces, which makes all the difference in the world.   

The evening was getting late, and the parents I was visiting that night asked their son to go to bed. He was still restless and with a guest in the house he simply refused to settle down for bedtime. The Dad laughed with his son and said, "I think you want to wrestle." They began play-fighting on the couch and the Dad asked his son for a hug and kiss, which the son gave gladly.  

"I love you son" his Dad said softly, as his son smiled and expressed the non-verbal language of affection with his shining face and another kiss. We can  manipulate our image with words, but there is no image-management in this household. They are housing a different reality, an altogether different language, the blessing of gentled, affectionate love, softening their spirits and holding their family together in the midst of the painful silence of most typical homes falling apart around the world.  

Pulling Up A Seat At The Table

If you show special attention to the man wearing fine clothes and say, "Here's a good seat for you," but say to the poor man, "You stand there" or "Sit on the floor by my feet," have you not discriminated among yourselves and become judges with evil thoughts?

Listen, my dear brothers and sisters: Has not God chosen those who are poor in the eyes of the world to be rich in faith and to inherit the kingdom he promised those who love him?

- James 2:3-5

I was invited to an exclusive screening of a new documentary, "Then and Now", put out by the Canadian Down Syndrome Society, "a film exploring the past and future of the advocacy movement in Canada as seen through the eyes of Canadians with Down Syndrome." In my mind, the highlight of this event was a stirring and spirited speech on marriage, work and community living, given by a self-advocate and co-chair of the "Voices At The Table Advocacy" (VATTA) Committee, Dale Froese, to set the stage for an inspiring documentary.

Dale shared his journey with us between the "then" of isolation, "spending most of his life living outside of the community", and the "now" of community inclusion, "belonging in all aspects of the community."

Dale put it best, "Hey, who wouldn't want to hang out with a guy like me?"

That's not to say there still aren't challenges to community inclusion. Dale often finds that he's singled out for having a disability - a reverse discrimination that emphasizes his unshared exclusiveness as opposed to our shared togetherness. 

"I don't want people's pity", he looked up at us intently and then returned to his script, "I don't want people to celebrate my successes." He noted that at his workplace customers still treat him with either the unease of ambiguity or a sentimentalism he can't relate to himself. Finally, when workplaces and communities have begun opening doors to people with developmental disabilities and inclusion initiatives, he is still looked down upon - on others one-sided terms - the terms of exclusion.  

"Sometimes you just can't win!" he sighed to the audience's approving laughter. Though people still tend to view his "disability" first as opposed to his personhood, he still concedes generously, "I'm cool with that!"

"Just like everyone else, my routine will start again tomorrow. Tonight, I'll turn over in bed and kiss my wife goodnight." The journey to inclusion can be a long one, but there is wisdom in the simplicity of taking a day at a time and taking in life as it comes every step of the way there. Along the way, Dale's at work making room for one more voice at the table.     

Lifting Others Up

And when you pray, do not keep on babbling like pagans, for they think they will be heard because of their many words. Do not be like them, for your Father knows what you need before you ask him.

- Matthew 6:7-8

We have been in the process of launching new inclusive small-groups where homes are opened to people of mixed abilities; sharing meals around a common table, learning more about God and each other; praying, living, serving, celebrating life together; and partnering with other small-groups in community initiatives and externally-focused service opportunities.

This week I met up with one of our small-groups with another pastor of our church. This pastor loves joining any of our events for the affirmation that he gladly receives, after another debilitating week of criticism leveled at him from all directions. We walked into the room with everyone waiting for us. Their faces lit up with boundless joy, and they all burst out into the celebration of recognition, for the simple reason that we were there. They were so happy to have us we could have been forgiven for the mistaken assumption that their group could not exist without us.

At the end of the evening we sat down in our wide circle of friendship and listened to each other's requests for prayer. One man was quick to stick up his hand and asked that the group pray for myself and the other pastor. Another lady was just as quick to volunteer to pray for us. 

"Lord..." she prayed with serious deliberation, "they are good guy's", she paused and then continued praying with deep concern, "but they need our prayers", she paused again, carefully crafting her words, "well, I really don't know why they need our prayers", and then collected herself, "but Lord, they need our prayers". I couldn't hold in the laughter any longer, as one of those it's-so-honest-it's-funny moments got the best of me. We laughed until it hurt.  

Afterwards, our ministry assistant observed that this lady's straightforwardness is what prayer is all about: simply lifting others up to God. We don't need to explain it all to God, when after all, He knows us best, and we can trust that He has our best interests in mind. The power of prayer can't be explained away by our babbling. We need each other's prayers, though I don't usually know why, but Lord, there's not a doubt in my mind, we need you now.      

      

A Personalized Letter

You yourselves are our letter, written on our hearts, known and read by everybody. You show that you are a letter from Christ...written not with ink but with the Spirit of the living God, not on tablets of stone but on tablets of human hearts.

- 2 Corinthians 3:2-3

We were privileged to have five people with developmental disabilities stand up in front of our congregation and share with us the "Father's Love Letter" (www.fathersloveletter.com). One lady painstakingly memorized her lines while the others read assuredly of God's unfathomable love for us. 

A hush swept over the sanctuary as they shared line-for-line: We were created in love, purposed in the image of God and under His watchful care where no detail is left unnoticed, "even the very hairs of your head are numbered." (Matthew 10:29-31)  We are loved personally - intimately - as if there were no other, even chosen from on high for this very purpose, "You were not a mistake, for all your days are written in my book." (Psalm 139:15-16) 

God loved us into being, "I knit you together in your mother's womb" (Psalm 139:13) with an everlasting, extravagant love, "And it is my desire to lavish my love on you. Simply because you are my child and I am your Father." (1 John 3:1) Jesus has stretched out his wounded hands to us in crucified, self-surrendering love, reaching out to us with God's extended grace and cross-shaped heart, suffering with us in solidarity with the human condition;  "Jesus died so that you and I could be reconciled.  His death was the ultimate expression of my love for you. I gave up everything I loved that I might gain your love." (2 Corinthians 5:18,19; 1 John 4:10; Romans 8:31, 32)  

When they had spoken the last word, inviting us to receive the Father's love, "My question is...Will you be my child? I am waiting for you. Love, Your Dad, Almighty God" the members of the congregation erupted into applause. In two out of our four worship services this weekend they received standing ovations. It was obvious to me as I unreservedly rose to my feet and praised God for this love beyond belief, that people were not moved by a showcase of condescending pity ("those sweet and special disabled people up front") but by a genuine take-your-breath-away move of God. 

God moves in as many ways as there are moments in time, but I couldn't help but wonder, at this time, if we weren't being moved to a new way of experiencing God, a new way of seeing each other and being church. With a church our size we have developed high standards of professionalism, but I wonder if, at times, over-professionalization has a way of dominating and stifling the Spirit. 

To be sure, we need to challenge each other to give God our best and raise our standards, but at the same time, our normative standards should not be unquestioned and unquestionable. If our standards are defined by productivity and the ability to achieve, if those standards are disabling by excluding those with disabilities who can't measure up to our unattainable standards, maybe it's time to put those standards into question. Here's a question: do you need to be a professional to lead others in worship? Are we offering a performance or leading others into the presence of God?  Is it normal for most of the congregation to assume their inability to lead others in a place of worship, at any capacity, due to their inability to perform?  

Is it possible within our worship settings for God to "(choose) the foolish things of the world to shame the wise" when, after all, if we were all to be entirely honest with ourselves, "God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong" and to emphasize the point, "He chose the lowly things of this world and the despised things - and the things that are not - to nullify the things that are" (1 Corinthians 1:26-28). 

We were not only cheering for the message, God was speaking to us through these uncomplicated messengers, conveying our belovedness and choseness and togetherness, writing to assure us that God loves us with an everlasting love (Jeremiah 31:3). It's written all over their faces.

At the end of the day, thank God for the professionals, thank God for abilities and achievements and standards of excellence, but let's not forget that simplicity is reproducible. Today we were cheering for the multiplying simplicity of community - a community we can all fully participate in, even the non-professionals among us. And those five individuals, simply loved by God and response-able to God's call, were cheering for us - if we can stand up in front of you and share God's love letter written on tablets of tender hearts, why can't you open your hearts and join us in re-writing out the story for all to read?    

The Everyday Life of Thanksgiving

I thank my God every time I remember you.

- Philippians 1:3

This Thanksgiving weekend has had less to do with Turkey and Stuffing for me and more to do with our life together.  One of our community pastors rephrased Thanksgiving today as "Thanks-living" and the word was embodied and alive as I prayed together with a few men after our worship service. One man asked us to pray for his new girlfriend. As we settled into our time of prayer he lifted his heart to God:

"Thank you God for my new girlfriend. And thank you that I'm her boyfriend - every day - tomorrow I'm going to her place for Turkey dinner and then Tuesday I'll take her out for lunch and then Wednesday we'll see each other again, and next Monday will be the start of a new week to see each other again. So thank you God for my new girlfriend.  And thank you that I'm her boyfriend - everyday." 

As he thanked the Giver of every good gift, with economic turmoil looming over us, communities threatening to fall apart, divided and divisive nations calling for war, I joined him in thanking God for faithful relationships, our families and loved ones first on our minds and closest to our hearts. Yes, thank you God for your everlasting faithfulness - everyday.   

Almost Famous

In this way, love is made complete among us so that we will have confidence on the day of judgment, because in this world we are like him. There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love.

- 1 John 4:17-18

I was walking down a hallway of our church when I met up with a faithful member of our church and a core member in the Volunteer Work Experience Program of our Special Needs Ministry. He's a conscientious worker in our cafeteria, week in and week out, and is especially gifted in customer service. Right then he was finishing up his day cleaning the windows with focused attention, but as I crossed his path his welcoming eyes called out to me with the kind of contact that unusually draws you away from a world accustomed to averting glances of withdrawal and rejection.  

I introduced myself as the new Lead Pastor of our Special Needs Ministry. "Oh" he said with a deep breath of exhilaration. "You're the new pastor!" eyes growing wider with each carefully pronounced word. We cheerfully talked about his work and contributing roles in the life of our church, and he was full of enthusiasm as he shared how he was participating in the mission of God. He will be joining our Short-Term Missions trip to Mexico, giving his time to advocacy work for people with disabilities, which will include some public speaking engagements. 

The director of our Volunteer Work Experience Program had dropped in on our conversation and asked him, "aren't you afraid to speak in front of others?" He looked a little puzzled by the pointless question. "No" he said unquestioningly, changing the subject, perhaps not realizing that most of the world is more frightened by the prospect of public speaking than by death.

Though, perhaps, it's not public speaking so much as public "judgement" that threatens us, which is why he lacks the fear that plagues most - he doesn't cast judgement and generously assumes others hold the same "do not judge or you to will be judged" ethos, after all, "in the same way you judge others, you will be judged, and with the measure you use, it will be measured to you." (Matthew 7:1,2)

Later that day I bumped into our Director of Food Services. "Dallas" he said with a smile,"he (the man I had met cleaning windows) just told me, 'Guess who I just met? The new pastor!'" Our laughter filled the air and grounded me again. "I thought he had just met a rock star" he said, shaking his head. "How's that for an introduction", I thought to myself. 

 

I had been trying so hard to earn people's trust and approval with my new leadership position. This would be a year where I could prove myself, I was told. Interestingly enough, it was that pressure to succeed that was holding me back. Shouldn't he also evaluate my core competencies first, before rolling out the red carpet? After all, what if I let him down and fail this ministry. 

That may be the spirit of the age and how the organizational structures of the world operate, but his unconditional acceptance reminded me that's not how how God calls His adopted children to relate to each other as a much-beloved family. The fear of failure, betrayal and judgment hadn't even crossed his mind, apparently. On that note I made my decision and accepted his invitation to celebrate our life together amidst God's gracious and inviting love. 

A Deep Current

Jesus answered, "Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks the water I give him will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life."

- 1 John 4:13, 14

Today in our Children's Class we acted out the Bible story of the Samaritan woman at the well. I invited a couple of boys to be the disciples, a Samaritan woman we draped with a shawl, and another girl to play the role of Jesus, much to her delight. 

In that age, Jews did not associate with Samaritans, let alone a "godless" Samaritan woman, and so I encouraged the boys to frown and growl at her, arms crossed with as menacing an expression as they could muster. But the Samaritan heard a different voice when Jesus spoke into her life, attending to outcasts, Jesus loved the marginalized Samaritan woman, sat down with her in her space, listening and engaging her in conversation on her terms...well, actually Jesus happened to be circling the room right then, while the Samaritan woman sat disengaged at our makeshift well, a blue blanket and a water jug with a ladle.

As I narrated the story, the Samaritan woman bent down with her ladle, burdened by a past which haunted her, and scooped out some imaginary water out of the water jug, lifting the ladle to Jesus. We all motioned for Jesus to come, and when she was finally convinced of the relevance of the gesture, she walked up to the Samaritan woman, took the ladle with laughter and drank deeply of life, out of the deep well of emotion.

I narrated the words of Jesus, with Jesus still circling the room aimlessly and the Samaritan women still smiling in the moment, sitting quietly at the well, "Whoever drinks the water I give him will never be thirsty again." One of the disciples looked at me in astonishment, "whoa...living water!"  

Still narrating, I prompted the Samaritan woman for her dramatic exit, "And the woman ran and told everyone she knew about Jesus and His kindness to her." She looked up at me, still sitting, still smiling. I knew there was no reason to run. We paused, let the love of Jesus sink into our hearts, and then shouted the only word that came to mind at that moment, "hooray!" Hooray for eternal life, hooray for forgiveness, hooray for grace extended and received today - as simple as receiving a gift and giving thanks in return. 

Maybe we were all sitting at the well right then, soaking in the refreshment of the Spirit who gives life - the replenishing life of God. We all sang at the top of our lungs while the river of life rushed on, "I've got peace like a river...I've got joy like a fountain...I've got love like an ocean in my soul."

Messenger of God

The Lord's messenger, gave this message of the Lord to the people: "I am with you," declares the Lord.

- Haggai 1:13 

This morning I popped in on one of our Special Needs Ministry adult classes at church. One of the ladies excitedly informed me that she had a note she had written for my wife and I, promising to give it to us later. I thanked her sincerely, but with the rush of the day her promised note had slipped my mind.

Later in the day, Chieko, my wife, opened up the folded paper she received and laid it out before us. A simple message was neatly printed on two lines of a long sheet of paper, "God Love U You" and underneath was plainly written, "Frank" (our last name). 

"It's such a simple message", Chieko said, "but we forget the most important things so easily." I thanked God for His messenger today bearing Good News, putting first things first, communicating in her own simple way: I'm so happy you're here - happy to be with you - and don't forget God is too.    

Heart of Prayer

Therefore confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed. The prayer of a righteous man is powerful and effective.

- James 5:16

I've (clumsily) stepped into the role of Lead Pastor of our Special Needs Ministry at our church, and as exhilarating as a new position and an unexpected turn in the journey can be, I am also, admittedly, overwhelmed. A dark cloud of doubt had filled my mind this weekend and I found myself debating with God in the prophetic tradition of Moses, Ezekiel and Jeremiah: Lord are you sure you've called the right man for the job? There must be some kind of mistake here.

This morning I met up with a group of men with developmental disabilities at the entrance of our church sanctuary. We briefly caught up with each other, breathing in shared laughter and the joy of being together, and then walked into the sanctuary as the worship service had already begun, all ten of us smiling to ourselves with one of those so-wrong-that-it's-funny-moments, and sat down about as indiscreetly as ten men waving and shaking hands with strangers can be. 

I settled down into familiar comfort and conventionality and found myself going through the liturgical motions of worship: stand up, sit down, sing, listen - all properly staged and managed - but I found my doubting heart far removed from the heart of God. 

The man sitting beside me fumbled through the chair pocket in front of him until he found what he was looking for: a "communication card" to welcome newcomers to our church. He carefully wrote down his name, then wrote down "Mom" and scribbled "Mom" one more time to emphasize the point. He looked over at me, leaning in front of me until he was sure that he had caught my attention, pointing vigorously and smiling widely - I nodded in turn to his satisfaction. He began pointing at me next. I looked at him foggily, and then finally caught on that he was asking for my name on paper. I took the sheet and wrote my name under "Mom". 

With another big smile he took the sheet from me again and copied my name, slowly, painstakingly, letter by letter, "D-A-L-L-A-S". When he was finished, his eyes lit up with an ever-brightening smile, and pointed even more assuredly to my name. I smiled back again, but somehow I felt compelled to take a closer look at the sheet, perhaps it was the inner prompting of the Spirit or maybe just his eyes that happily refused to let go of mine, I can't be sure now. 

I assumed he was merely scribbling names, but this was a much more meaningful exercise than writing practice. I realized then that he had written my name under the category "Prayer Requests". He was communicating something God wanted me to hear that day: I'm in his prayers. This time tears filled my eyes as we smiled together.  "Thank you brother", I thought to myself", "I need your prayers now." He stuffed the "communication card" into his pocket, smiling again with quiet, inner confidence in God - almost knowingly of the prayer breakthrough I had just received. 

God answered my doubt, as He always seems to do, in the least likely and most unexpected places. Am I inadequate for this job? Of course. But the question is also irrelevant. All my inadequacies faded into irrelevance under my friend's prayer coverage, as "(God) stretches out the heavens like a canopy, and spreads them out like a tent to live in" (Isaiah 40:22b).  

Defining Limit

Jesus looked at them and said, "With man this is impossible, but with God all things are possible."

- Matthew 19:26

We were back at the Fitness Centre for our weekly exercise routine. One of my clients had been eyeing the stationary exercise bikes featuring individual T.V.'s and remote controls to mindlessly surf channels, taking one's mind off the excruciating pain. I asked if this week he would like to give the bike a try, in which he nodded his head enthusiastically. 

We waited our turn, as fitness buff's clad in fitness gear to call attention to their celestial fit bodies pedaled vigorously until their taut, muscled legs could take them no further. A man got off the bike slowly, but with a steady swagger, and wiped the seat down with the spray bottle and rag provided. I wheeled my client forward - he looked up dauntingly at the high seat of the bike from the inferior position of his wheelchair. 

A fitness instructor approached us and asked me if my client would like to use the bike. "Well", I tilted my head, "do you think it's possible?" She replied confidently, "anything's possible!" We maneuvered his wheelchair next to the bike, but as she turned over some of the possibilities in her mind, she had to face - literally face-to-face - his limitations, conceding, "Oh. That might not work. Maybe you could try some of the other equipment on that end" pointing with an extended finger to the other end of the facility.

Feeling a bit defeated, as though he'd been overstepping one's place, I pushed my client's wheelchair over to a pulley he could reach. His upper body strength compensates for his legs weaknesses, and with sweat streaming down his face, he beamed at his herculean efforts, as able-bodied and attractive athletes passed by unmoved in self-absorbed dreaminess, with inconspicuous glances at any surface reflection their wandering eyes could find. 

I called to my other client who was socializing with bodybuilders pumping iron and sculpting muscles, "Why don't you try the leg press?" 

He sauntered over and took one look, "No." 

I raised an eyebrow, "Why not?" 

"I can't. I get nosebleeds in this dry room." 

"I think you can do it" I smiled encouragingly. 

"No, I can't, my mom said that I have to be careful with my shoulder." 

"You're using your legs with this exercise", I pointed out with my hands raised in exasperation.

"I can't" he said more defiantly, "I might fall and twist my ankle."

"Huh?" 

Pausing to smile he sat down and put his legs to work.  At the end of the day he proudly told my co-workers that he was able to pump "5 lbs." Their laughter dripped of sarcasm and a mocking look of astonishment. I corrected him, "No, that's 50 lbs." "Oh" he said with indifference, smiling again in the glow of small victories and the irrelevance of weights and measures. 

At the end of the day, my client who was excluded by restrictive barriers from use of the exercise bike sat down with a drink and talked about his day. He turned to me and asked, "Dallas, is there anyone in your family who is handicapped?" I thought to myself, "Well, we're all handicapped in some way." He paused, then as if to wipe my sloppy sentimentality right off, continued his line of thought, "Yes, I have another cousin who is in a wheelchair..." He clearly wasn't convinced by my romanticization of "disability", and to be honest, in spite of my hidden disabilities that invisibly haunt me, I don't know if I was either. The hollow ring in my idealism came back as empty rhetoric. Thomas E. Reynolds, author of the profound and moving book, Vulnerable Communion: A Theology of Disability and Hospitality, observes:

"Claiming that 'we are all disabled' is only a partial truth; it overlooks the concrete forms of physical and emotional suffering that may accompany certain impairments and also sweeps away the realities of exclusion and oppression faced by persons whose impairments preclude participation in a world designed by and for non-disabled people."

When possible I avoid defining the people I work with by their disabilities, because a definition is by nature a self-imposed limitation, and their personhood - like every other person's - is irreducible to neat and tidy categories and clearly defined labels, the lowest common denominator. That said, I am not "disabled" in the same way my clients are, as if all disability is cut from the same cloth. 

So. Who defines the limits? Nothing is impossible for God, after all. My client underlined something of defining significance for me today: we are all limited in our human creaturliness, but the power structures of our world are still defined by the fit, strong and healthy to separate those defined as other - the disfigured, powerless and useless - from full participation. 

Reynolds again; "God is free, able to bring transformative possibilities to even the most impossible of situations."  

Sovereign Lord, the source of genuine freedom and from whom nothing is impossible, we try so hard to impress others with our appearance, and by doing so exclude those who don't quite measure up, but we can't appear presentable to you, much less impress you, for you see the true shape of life as it is - just as we are - stripped of all pretense: pour into our hearts and shared space the limitlessness of your love, open up new possibilities in which all are welcomed to participate in, all differently-abled, regardless of how we define our mixed abilities.  

  

Inheriting the Promised Kingdom

If you show special attention to the one wearing fine clothes and say, "Here's a good seat for you," but say to the one who is poor, "You stand there" or "Sit on the floor by my feet," have you not discriminated among yourselves and become judges with evil thoughts?

Listen, my dear brothers and sisters: Has not God chosen those who are poor in the eyes of the world to be rich in faith and to inherit the kingdom he promised those who love him?

- James 2:3-5

After computer class my client and I took the elevator back down. The elevator doors opened and I pushed him into the cramped boxed-in casket, we caught our breath and squeezed in. He leaned over from his wheelchair to push the ground floor button.

"No, no, the 'B' button is for the basement, 'G' is for ground floor" I lectured sternly.

He laughed generously at himself, and tried again, doubled over in laughter this time. The elevator stopped at the fourth floor where the medical offices are located. An elderly lady cautiously stepped in accompanied by a younger lady - presumably her daughter - we wiggled over to make room. They spoke rapidly in Mandarin with a look of concern etched across their anxious faces. 

My client's eyes widened, making space for the newcomer, he welcomed the elderly lady, "hi!", gesturing invitingly with his hand clenching and unfolding repetitively. She nodded her head in response. Looking for reassurance he repeated himself, "Hi!" She nodded again but this time with a responsive smile. My client continued to engage in small-talk in the only way he knows how, "Hi! Hi! Hi!" The elderly lady, who clearly couldn't speak a word of English, responded in kind, nodding her head affectionately, laughter spilling out and smiling ever more brightly with each extended greeting. The elevator doors slid open and light flooded out. 

The elderly Chinese lady stepped out side-by-side with my client while I pushed his wheelchair shuffling behind, observing two strangers who had nothing in common but their broken English and the shared experience of being ignored by their disability, crossing the lines of communication into the communion of indiscriminate love.  

Hungering for Heaven

Here I am! I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and eat with him, and he with me.

- Revelation 3:20

With a long shadow cast over the course of a day, there's certain conversations that take me by surprise with joy and unexpectedness; all the hopes and dreams of heaven concentrated in the ordinariness of an out-of-the-ordinary word or two. We were coming back from a day at the park, singing out my client's favourite worship choruses together with delirious joy; "Praise the name of Jesus / he's my rock / he's my fortress / he's my deliverer / in him will I trust". We sang soulfully and with a "joyful noise", when almost out of nowhere, the bottomlessness of heaven dropped, like a hidden longing that could no longer be contained:

"I look good today, don't I?" he observed.

I replied without hesitation; "Yes, you certainly do!" 

"What does that mean: I look good today?"

It was a fair question demanding an honest answer; "Well, I guess that means that we all like you."

He nodded his head earnestly.

"You know, I'm 42 now" he continued wooden-faced. "That means next year I'll be 43."

There was no denying it; "You know, you're right", I replied, as he looked at me intently with stoic resignation. 

"Next month is August. That's my roomate's birthday. He's 48 right now. That means he'll be 49 next year."

"Why, that means he's older than you"; I stated the obvious.  

"What does that mean: He's older than you?" he asked. 

"Well, I suppose it means that he's had more birthday's than you." We fell silent. Then I added; "We'll have to have birthday parties for both of you next year."

"Then what could happen?", he asked rubbing his hands together expectantly. 

I knew where this leading question was taking me and so I played along dutifully; "Well, maybe we could put up balloons and birthday hats."

Clearly not satisfied he pressed the matter further; "And then what could happen?"

"Oh, I don't know, then maybe we could have birhday cake?"

He nodded his head again in all seriousness.

Caught up in his childlike candor I continued, "Then we'd have to clean up and get ready for next year's birthday party."

His face brightened with boundless wonder, "Then I'll have a birthday again and again and again." 

"Uh huh" I faintly muttered, as if to myself. 

"Then what could happen?" he asked. 

I was sure-footed up to this point in our meanderings, but now I had to admit I had lost my way; "I'm not sure? What could happen next?"

"Then I'll go to heaven" he said with clear-sightedness. 

I could only add my amen, "Yes, I couldn't agree more." 

His eyes met mine, "And in heaven I won't have to worry about my diet!" (He has Prader-Willi Syndrome characterized by the obsessive consumption of food, which can lead to high-risk obesity).

With laughter I replied, "Yes, I suppose you can eat as much as you want in heaven".

"Yeah!" He shouted and danced around me. 

Where do people get the misconception that in heaven we will be joylessly perched in the clouds while plucking a harp (no offence to harpists). My client takes another view: heaven could only be the most unimaginably satisfying place, beyond the humdrum of finite, fallible, and faltering words.  

We squinted out into the sweeping expanse of the ever-widening Prairies, with only the jagged tips of the Rocky Mountains puncturing its big sky, off of the Foothills and into the horizon. I thought about the already-here-but-not-quite-yet tensions of heaven and life as it is.  It's difficult to imagine heaven now knowing that disability will no longer exist then; the only life I've lived, the only world I know. But in that slant of light, I could imagine a glimpse of heaven looking back at me.

"Yes, you do look good today."

Encourage One Another

I long to see you so that I may impart to you some spiritual gift to make you strong - that is, that you and I may be mutually encouraged by each other's faith.

- Romans 1:11-12

It was a slight criticism, insignificant enough to cause uneasy embarrassment by my senseless exaggeration if I were to write it out on paper for others to read, laughing the words away, word for worthless word. Still, the biting criticism stung my pride, pretense, and, yes, respectability I assumed was due to me.

I was bearing wrongs with a self-assured sense of rightness - my pettiness only punctuated by my clients constant questions, "Dallas, I've done a good job, haven't I?" I looked down at his craft project and realized that the paint was running down the glass surface, pooling into a mess on the table. "Yes" I mechanically replied, "You're doing a great job", while wiping up the mess feverishly, as if I could wipe the lingering, fault-finding memory right out of my mind. 

I looked up at the clock reminding me that it was time for my other client to complete his garbage collection routine. We picked up our garbage bags and went rummaging for garbage in our facility, as I continued to dwell on the garbage-in-garbage-out remains running through my mind. My client promptly handed me the garbage bag and dumped another waste basket of its contents, when he spilled out the question: 

"I did a good job today, didn't I Dallas?" 

I looked at him foggily, "what did you do today?" 

He shrugged his shoulders, "I don't know." 

"You know what, you did a great job today!"

I returned to my other client's murky pool of mixed paint, still feeling the dogged heaviness of negativity. After cleanup we changed tasks, working on some small-change accounting. We rolled out the coins on the table and counted together; "10...20...21...oops...30!" Balancing the account ledger, he turned to me and beamed lightly; joyfully; "With all this money I'm making, I'm going to be a millionaire!" I caught my breath - at that moment the cloud lifted and every loose ray of the sun shone through; "Yes, you're richer than you'll ever know", so very rich in faith!

There is a spiritual richness in the poverty of spirit they inhabit and fill with affirmation, changing a hostile atmosphere into one of grace, supporting and boosting heavy spirits. There's no place for false humility with my clients, they just freely invite us into the spirit of encouragement - ready or not - and by doing so vulnerably open themselves up to rejection and ridicule. 

Regrettably, many of the clients I've worked with over the years have been fed a steady diet of rejection, and so they hunger for affirmation. It's difficult for me to appreciate just how under--appreciated my clients are. If they're not being ridiculed then they're being ignored by the world; tolerated; but "tolerance" is often another word for indifference. Yet, it's out of that deep spiritual hunger, and not shallow self-satisfaction, that gives them the readiness to share the gift of encouragement with those who could use some spiritual uplift.

To be sure, as we grow and mature we lose our dependency on others flattery, but I hope I never outgrow the place of genuine encouragement. I guess it's for that very reason that I long to see them each day, as each day the gift is imparted, stirring my sluggish spirit with the magnetism of encouragement.

The craft project doesn't need to be neat and tidy, the work may be as unglamorous as picking up other's garbage, the money no more than a scattered roll of coins - all of it diminishes when we're mutually encouraged by a faith lifting us above ourselves. 

On Saying Grace

Devote yourselves to prayer, being watchful and thankful.

- Colossians 4:2

In my opinion, the emphasis at Special Needs Summer Camps should be placed squarely on special, and not on the campers neediness. This year was no exception - as special as ever - and "special" is no tired cliche when the word is applied to these exceptional campers.  

All the conventional elements of a summer camp were there: water fights, campfires, horseback riding; contending with mosquitos, sweltering heat and the irritabilities of rubbing shoulders with people who don't always see things the way you do. Then again, there is nothing conventional about the way God gets through to us, and especially at camp, away from the T.V. and Internet, with only each other to occupy time; and at the end of the day, the wonders of God: Dragonflies circling the evening sky with the late sun behind us. Damp with sweat and sticky hands glued to roasted, spongy marshmallows, we sang around a blazing campfire, "My God is so big / so strong / and so mighty / there's nothing my God cannot do / FOR YOU!" our faces catching light close to the flickering flames of fire; we flexed our muscles with exaggeration, swinging rythymlessly with the song actions. 

Grace was evident everywhere this past week. Since grace is a free gift - unearned and undeserved - the only suitable response to grace is gratitude. In that case, there must have been as many ways to say thank you as the moments we shared. 

The last evening was set aside  for our awards ceremony. Clients won awards for a variety of achievements; such as the "most vocal" award (well-deserved recognition for her ear-splitting vocalizations all week), or the "best kitchen helper" award (always willing to lend a hand and give a bear hug to the kitchen crew, lightening the load of a thankless job), and of course, the generic "participation award" (the recipient received her award as if it were the Nobel Prize). 

One of our client's was called forward. Her staff signed to her that it was her turn to receive her award - she opened her mouth wide yielding joy, jumping to her feet with raised eyebrows. She ran to the front, grabbed hold of her certificate, and threw her arms around the camp director, holding her tightly for a good minute - holding so tightly we didn't think we could peal her away. She was moved to tears, throwing her head back in disbelief; and in response to her expression of gratitude, every eye across the chapel was bathed in a baptism of tears. Using her eccentric sign language, while still clutching her certificate, she signed more than words could ever say; the body language of gratitude; "Thank you...Thank you...Thank you!" hand to mouth and back again, like a celebrity blowing kisses to the adoring crowds. 

It's simple moments where the specialness of Special Needs Camps shines through. This year for me it was the understated prayers of "saying grace" before lining up cafeteria-style for our meal times in the "Mess Hall". As clients led us in prayer, meal after meal, a diverse patchwork of soul emerged, yet with common threads: simplicity; sincerity; God-responsiveness. There is a certain fittingness about their way of praying with immediacy; unburdening their hearts to God with heartfelt devotion.  

They pray as effortlessly and naturally as breathing. In fact, they make public prayer seem so simple that one wonders why "normal" people freeze up lifelessly at all, when invited to pray out loud with others. The first night of camp a client stood in front of us with spirited readiness to talk to God, then spoke slowly; contemplatively; "Thank you...Thank you..." and with a booming voice that took everyone off guard, "THANK YOU!" 

And all God's people hollered back, "Amen!" It's all grace. 

The Gift Of Rust

So from now on we regard no one from a worldly point of view. Though we once regarded Christ in this way, we do so no longer. Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come!

- 2 Corinthians 5: 16, 17

My client and I were waiting for the bus with time to kill. He loves to talk on a wide variety of topics, from politics to church history. If "knowledge is power" then, for all I knew, he could have been wielding the seal of the pope today. 

"Did you know, Dallas..." I braced myself for a lecture, "I noticed that your car has rust on it. That means in one or two years your car will die and you'll have to replace it." 

I shrugged my shoulders, and pronouncing every syllable (he's deaf but reads lips) I conceded, "It's old, isn't it?" 

 

He nodded at me encouragingly; "Did you know Dallas, my sister has a new, shiny sports car." His eyes widened brightly, "The thing that I like most about it is its Surround Sound radio" (he's obsessed with the latest technology of Sound Systems, though he can only faintly feel the beat). "And there's extra space to put groceries in the back"; then as if to hammer the final nail in the coffin he pounded his fist down; "but best of all, it's all new!" 

I nodded back at him dismissively, trying to remove the finger firmly pressing on my open wound, but before I could change the subject he leaned forward in his wheelchair and with deliberation remarked, "Did you know Dallas, if your car rusts anymore it will look like a MONSTER"; his voice boomed with mocking laughter, adding insult to injury.

I turned my face - now he had gone to far - did he not realize the financial sacrifices I had made to work in this field, my family dragged into poverty with my vocation? A torrent of humorless, self-pity washed over me, my self-righteous indignation grew, and like a pin to a balloon, I snapped at him, "Hey, we're poor you know; we don't have money to buy a new car!"

"Oh..." He paused, obviously stunned, and sat back in his wheelchair thoughtfully; "Did you know Dallas, even though your car is old, it's still a good car, because I have an interest in old cars."

The next day we were out driving in my old rust bucket. Happily pointing out the make of new, flawless cars on the street, he stopped abruptly in mid-sentence, and turned to me with a relaxed smile; "Did you know Dallas, your car is an antique because they don't make this model anymore." I looked out the window and laughed out loud, as the shiny new sports cars rushed by with a puff of air.

The paint continues to peal off, and the rust furthers to show; highlighting the irreversibility of decay and death; but with meticulous attention to detail my client took note of something else at work in the evolving monster - overlooked with an untrained eye - the promise of antiquing; signs of great age and the wear of a rare collector's piece; precious in the hands of our Maker, who beneath the well-worn rustiness, is still imagining; recreating; making all things new.

Counting Our Blessings

Give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together and running over, will be poured into your lap. For with the measure you use, it will be measured to you.

- Luke 6:37-39

With our hands covered in icing, we had left a trail of fingerprints in the kitchen, identifying our sticky fingers. We opened the oven, steam lifting as we stepped back, carefully placing the wobbly tray of cinnamon buns down. We closed the oven door with a push and a sigh of relief - drawing breath again.

My clients decided that they would like to bless the participants of our day program by baking for others - not grudgingly - but because they instinctively knew that it's more blessed to give freely than to receive a forced "gift" with calculating duty.  

With one client manning the freshly brewing coffee, another client of mine took down orders with a makeshift menu in hand ("cream and sugar with your coffee?"). After he had written down a few names I realized that, aside from his own name, he had only memorized "Santa" over the years of faithfully writing his Christmas wish list, and so Santa's name was scrawled out all over the page. I broke each name down for him ("John...that's J-O-H-N); his face lit up with joy, spelling out life itself.

The timer rang, we pulled the cinnamon buns out of the steaming oven, breathing deeply with head tilted into the fresh aroma of cinnamon and coffee - smiling with deep satisfaction. My clients brought the orders out on serving platters ("oops...you wanted cream with your coffee, right?"). They couldn't hold their happiness in, moving the people they served with laughter that fills the eyes with tears; though if we were asked the reason for our unrestrained laughter, we would have all fell self-consciously silent.  

People slowly ate their cinnamon buns and drank their coffee contentedly; still laughing and savouring the moment together; lingering in the nourishing presence of generosity and good grace.  "God loves a cheerful giver" (2 Corinthians 9:7), and so the love of God spread like an emerging sunrise - the stretching first slant of warm, golden light dawning on their glowing faces - we were bathed in the radiance of God's presence, and soaked it all in. 

Tying Up Loose Ends

But Jesus called them together and said, "You know that the rulers in this world lord it over their people, and officials flaunt their authority over those under them. But among you it will be different. Whoever wants to be a leader among you must be your servant, and whoever wants to be first among you must become your slave. For even the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve others and to give his life as a ransom for many.

- Matthew 20: 25-28

It was a cloudlessly perfect day for a picnic. The air hummed with birdsong; shading our eyes with cupped hands, squinting in the glare of sunlight. A group of clients tossed a frisbee with me, wildly swinging their arms and throwing it wide of the mark  - splash - they mercilessly laughed at me as I reached out to grab the floating frisbee drifting in the wading pool. A few of our clients had rolled up their pants and - supported upright by their staff - stepped into the refreshingly cool water. We brought out the watermelon, orange slices and popsicles, everyone sucking in deep breaths of summer. 

We headed over to the open field for a friendly match of soccer.  The ball was kicked in every direction - often the wrong way - tripping over our heels with laughter at every turn. We had lost count of the score, when at the goal line the ball was passed to a client from my team; but instead of comfortably shooting the ball into the net, got down on his knees at the feet of his friend - a member of the opposing team - and tied up his shoes. 

In a world of one-upmanship, where people step over others to get their own way, he bent down in the humble posture of a servant to wash the feet of his friend. 

Opening Blind Eyes and Closed Hearts

As Jesus and his disciples, together with a large crowd, were leaving the city, a blind man, Bartimaeus, was sitting by the roadside begging. When he heard that it was Jesus of Nazareth, he began to shout, "Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!"

Many rebuked him and told him to be quiet, but he shouted all the more, "Son of David, have mercy on me!"

Jesus stopped and said, "Call him."

So they called to the blind man, "Cheer up! On your feet! He's calling you." Throwing his cloak aside, he jumped to his feet and came to Jesus.

"What do you want me to do for you?" Jesus asked him.

The blind man said, "Rabbi, I want to see."

"Go," said Jesus, "your faith has healed you." Immediately he received his sight and followed Jesus along the road.

- Mark 10:46-52

There is a dear elderly lady at our day program who often flatters her staff: "you look nice today!" she'll say, and with praise on higher ground she might add, "you look like me!"

We always smile at her embellishment in a flattering light, for the simple reason that she is blind, and can't see us at all. Still, she has a way of seeing things with striking clarity that I'm often blind to; and the more I listen to her flattery the more I see how she calls forth a beauty hidden deep, something wondrously beautiful within. 

In the Gospel story above there are two astonishing miracles that take place: the opening of blind Bartimaeus' eyes, but perhaps even more remarkable, the opening of the crowd's hardened hearts. 

The crowd had closed their ears to the cry of Bartimaeus' heart, endeavoring to silence him. Bartimaeus' disability was repulsive to the crowd; dismissed as a "waste of time", his unwelcomed voice disturbed their smug self-satisfaction; all except for the ears of One who heard this blind beggar's heart cry and was moved with compassion. Jesus called Bartimaeus, overlooked and underrepresented, to the centre of their attention, where all could see him clearly and their own unrecognized need. They found themselves in the same company as his blind beggar, crying out for mercy. 

And there he was, the centre of attention - in the centre of God's will - Jesus' gesture of invitation opened their closed hearts, seeing Bartimaeus in an entirely different light, a light thrusting through even the hardest of human hearts. In a surprising turn of events, they cheered him on, as Bartimaeus jumped to his feet and ran as fast as his legs could carry, stumbling toward the inviting voice of Jesus, the One welcoming him into the house of love with a view beyond words - the human face of the revealing God staring compassionately at him - still adjusting his opened eyes to what must have been overwhelming, blinding light.

Though the world had made every effort to convince him otherwise; Bartimaeus responded to a generous voice calling out for him personally; a stirring voice that spoke deep and called forth the deepest longings of his unwanted heart: a voice of recognition. Jesus saw past cosmetic superficialities and social standing, past the attractiveness and abilities the world renders useful; Jesus saw right past outward appearances - the only thing the crowd could see - because "the Kingdom of God is within" (Luke 17: 21). Jesus saw something in Bartimaeus the world refused to look at - receptivity to his voice - giving Bartimaeus the faith to cry out with an irrepressible voice of his own. 

I no longer listen to our client's flattering words with skepticism, but with a heart of welcome and  wonder; if only offering a glimpse into what she is seeing with spiritual in-sight; momentarily turning us inside out from her point of view; unearthing the beauty within. You are beautiful to God - beauty to die for - and though the world may not see it; Jesus is always listening; ever perceiving the way of the heart.  

Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!

How great is the love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are! The reason the world does not know us is that it did not know him.

- 1 John 3:1

I always look forward to routinely informing my client every Monday that I will be working with him that day. It's become procedure now, but I never tire of the inevitability of his reaction, as if I had told him for the first time. His eyes widening with wonder; his entire body bursting with joy; even the frame of his wheelchair, coextensive with his body, seems to shake animatedly; his voice quivering with delight, "Oh Yeah!" Today with exclamatory flourish he enthused, "Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!"

So many people in our tired world feel they are a disappointment to their families, loved ones, work place, themselves, and even to God if that were possible; as if the world would be better off without them. The Bible offers a welcomed corrective - God has lavished his unfathomably great love on all His children; and my client's lavish affirmation - step by step, week after week, mystery upon mystery; attaches legs under that truth and walks with me in my unbelief.  

Today we made use of the C-Train to go downtown for a computer class. We entered the crowded train entombed in a dead atmosphere of drowsiness. As we were traveling downtown-bound my client pointed excitedly to everything he could see, face pressed against the window; "Oh! Wow! Truck!" Or: "Oh! Kewl! Zoo!" And as the train ascended up the ramp over the Bow River he peered down at the world racing by; "Whoah! Goodie!", pealed with laughter, giggling to himself the whole time. I don't always know what's so funny in his world, but he manages to find the humour in everything. With a spirit of hilarity, he refuses to let us take ourselves too seriously.

I looked about the train packed with commuters, heads hung drowsily, bobbing up and down with the monotony of sameness. Like the other lifeless commuters, my client had been on this identical train route many times before, but somehow the landscape didn't have the same deadening effect on him. His spiritual alertness is extraordinarily rare among those who have given up on themselves and the monotonous world they inhabit; a readiness to lavishly affirm the mundane; an extravagant love the world, lulled into sleep, doesn't know.  

Wonderfully Flawed

I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;

your works are wonderful,

I know that full well.

- Psalm 139: 14

For we are God's workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.

- Ephesians 2:10

Today in our worship service the worship leader invited a beautiful boy of Middle Eastern descent with an endearingly sweet presence to come out onto the stage in his motorized wheel chair. Slowly but deliberately he shared with us that he is in Grade one and loves to sing songs to God in the bus on the way to school. With his captivating smile he also added that he is learning more about God in the Children's Ministries at our church.

He had memorized two verses from the Bible (cited above) and while the words had a difficult time getting out at first, with his head turning back and forth, God's Word began spilling over with an open heart and spirit of tenderness. 

It dawned on me, as I looked across the rows of flawless people impeccably dressed and immaculately done up, that there were many among us - as is the case of so many airbrushed models of the world - who could see nothing but their blemishes carefully concealed from everybody else. There would be many who embodied the ideal of "perfection" but whose bodies were inhabited by the fear of exposure, the fear that those invisible disabilities would be left undefended for all to see.

And here was this little boy confined to a wheelchair, about as visibly disabled as one could be, absolutely convinced that he is "wonderfully made", a meticulous work of art, "God's workmanship", and no one could convince this boy, beloved of God, otherwise. He was lovable because he knew he was dearly loved. There was a light within him that refused to go out, because he refused to take the givenness of life for granted. As one of my clients so often reminds us at work, "It's always good to be yourself!"

"From the lips of children and infants you have ordained praise" (Matthew 21:16); such as this little, disabled (?) boy today, marginalized by the world as disfigured, but reconfiguring our relationship in belovedness, created for a purpose of Divine magnitude - flaws and all - persuading us that we really have nothing to hide, as long as we are hidden in Christ. Heaven is full of surprises.

A Window of Vulnerability

For there is nothing hidden that will not be disclosed, and nothing concealed that will not be known or brought out into the open.

- Luke 8:17

Many of my clients rely on me to remember all that they need to maintain their daily routine (i.e. medication, transportation bookings, fee assistance cards, etc.). Sometimes in sorting through the mental files I keep on behalf of my clients, I forget my own necessities. A caregiver often neglects to care for oneself.

Case in point: I got into a cab with my client for the day, sat back and sighed deeply with satisfaction, as we were all set up for a swim at a leisure centre; but halfway there I realized that I had left my own swimming gear back at our agency. His disability requires that I stay close by him in the pool and so without my swimsuit he would also have to miss out on a swim. 

There was no turning back now. How could I explain this to his guardian? Moreover, how could I explain this to myself? I know how my client carefully prepares his swimming bag the night before and leaves it at the door with anticipation for his "swim day". 

We arrived at the leisure centre and I decided I would ask the front desk staff if they had a spare swimming suit. Sure enough, they had a used swimming suit in the Lost and Found compartment. I swallowed my pride and took the used swimming suit with gratitude. The woman behind the front desk turned to my client and with good humour accusingly pointed her finger at him; "Did you forget your swim wear today?" He smiled graciously and turned to me with a look of uncertainty. I laughed nervously, averting eye contact with reflexive denial. With my head hung low, we walked away quietly into the locker room.

With no voice of his own to defend himself, my client is vulnerable to abuse wherever he goes. I knew that, in his defenselessness, I had manipulated him to protect my reputation, and it was difficult to look him in the eye for the remainder of the day.

His vulnerable openness - weaponlessness - brings to mind a phrase coined by NATO for strategic military purposes; a "window of vulnerability"; and I think this military jargon also serves to describe the day-to-day lives of my clients. In military strategy one's window of vulnerability needs to be concealed and the enemies window of vulnerability exposed; but my clients hearts are laid bare; unprotected; none of my clients vulnerabilities are concealed - they don't have the strength to close the window on their own - all their broken windows of vulnerability are disarmingly flung wide open.

Because they are open they are also vulnerable to abuse in a world armed for confrontation. Consequently, they need our protection and advocacy; but I see now that their vulnerability is also a gift wielding gentle power -  powerful enough to change a life, and open a heart. 

A faint reflection of the soul held up against the light; mirror-like; pointing back to my stubborn instinct for self-preservation. I saw myself a little more clearly that day - through the window of my own brokenness - and confessed my willing self-deceit in a spirit of repentance. My window of vulnerability had been sealed shut with insecurity and self-protectiveness, but now light broke through concealment, as a gentle breeze blew through the room. 

The Scribe of the Soul

These things I remember

as I pour out my soul:

how I used to go with the multitude,

leading the procession to the house of God,

with shouts of joy and thanksgiving 

among the festive throng. 

- Psalm 42:4

Ever since we hosted a floor hockey tournament for our day program, one of my client's has been wearing his hockey medal daily for the last few months. Every time I see him now, with his shining medal draped around his neck like a medaled war veteran, the imagination is stirred and I am flooded with memories and feelings. 

Everyone had a contributing role that day; the opening ceremonies began and each team walked in with their team's banner and logo flying high; one of my client's sang the Canadian national anthem as we patriotically faced the Canadian flag; another client prayed that God would watch over us and give us a "fun time together"; still others served as colour commentators and statisticians. And, of course, we were all there to cheer each other on.

At the end of the tournament we shook sweaty hands and celebrated with an Awards Ceremony. Every member of each team was awarded a medal to commemorate their valuable contribution to the making of a historic tournament. 

Funny thing, as I remember it now, this client who tirelessly wears his medal doesn't really care for hockey all that much. In fact, I wonder if he recollects how his team lost mercilessly in the playoff round, or how the ball would roll past him as everyone shouted, "shoot! shoot!" and still he stood with a puzzled expression on his face, as if to suggest that everyone was making a big fuss about nothing.

The memory, of course, was much more significant than how many goals he scored (none) or how many games his team won. "Memory", according to Aristotle, "is the scribe of the soul". Serving as a scribe of sorts, he's been narrating the history of our community; the texture of our soul. He was a member of a team participating in a story with a Divine scriptwriter, writing out the history of the broader community. He wore that medal as a visible expression of his inner life, the raw material of the soul, which re-presents the past and gives direction to our future.

Like the psalmist who lamented and "poured out his soul" as he looked back and remembered better days, we need visual reminders to give us concrete hope on those days when we inevitably grow disappointed with others and disillusioned with life in community. We need each other to make sense of our lives. 

His medal calls us to re-member, as each member of the community gathers together to share our collective memory and narrate our lives to one another. The act of re-membering is essential to the life of the church, and sometimes it's the most broken and bruised member of the body of Christ who invites us to join together as many-limbs-to-one-body, revisiting the memories that shape us as a faith-community. 

With his medal still decorating his neck, he approached me today with a sense of urgency; "Remember Dallas...I like you", he said again. I won't forget.