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.