Seeing

To blog this or not to blog it … I’m having trouble deciding. In an effort to foster understanding of special needs … and basic human kindness … I think I might.

I took Ben to an event tonight. I typically drop him off and pick him up, but tonight I went in with him because I needed to talk to some folks. The event hadn’t started yet, so he was wandering around the room. A couple of times he came up to me to tell me he was bored and wanted to leave. This is very unusual for him, because he usually loves it there. The second time he came to me, he had tears in his eyes … not the fake ones … and I started to sense that this was more than boredom. I sent him away to go talk to other kids, and I watched as he awkwardly navigated the room. There were groups of kids scattered around doing their own thing. He didn’t fit in to any of them. He came to me again, begging to go home, and I had him sit down while I talked to my friends. Rather than talking, though, I flashed back to a playground some 35 years ago ….

I was probably the only kid in elementary school whose least-favorite class was recess. I was not coordinated. I wasn’t fast. I didn’t understand the rules of most of the games. When we had free time, as others headed for the monkey bars and teeter-totters and merry-go-round, I would head for the swings. That was my favorite, because it didn’t require a partner. A friend. It was understood to be a single-player passtime.  I felt like I stuck out like a sore thumb … like everyone could see how alone I was. But at the same time, I felt invisible, because no one noticed how lonely I was. I don’t know if I felt invisible because I was alone, or if I ended up alone because I felt invisible. Either way, I hated recess.

I refocused on my son, sitting slumped in the chair, while kids laughed and sang and chattered all around him. He’s not like them. They don’t get him. And I don’t blame them. I don’t often get him, either. But I silently begged just one of them to see him. See him. He may not be like them, and he may be difficult to understand. But he feels loneliness and rejection just as anyone does. I told myself later that it isn’t their job to include him. They shouldn’t be expected to sacrifice their time together to invest in him. It takes effort … trust me, I know this.

One boy, bless his soul, did come up to Ben and say hello. I wanted to tackle that boy with a hug, and I am not a hugger. He looked terribly uncomfortable, but he did it. And I was so grateful. But because it’s difficult to get past “hello,” with Ben, the boy moved on. I can’t blame him.

Over the past year, I’ve tried to be more deliberate in how I care for people. I would sometimes think, “Oh, her sweater is pretty,” but it didn’t occur to me to say it. The Lord would bring someone to mind, and I would spend time praying for them, but I wouldn’t let them know I was thinking of them and praying for them. But somehow, over the past year, it became important to me to say the things I’m thinking. Because people need to know they matter. They need to know we see them. That’s what I wanted on that playground years ago, and truthfully, it’s what I still want today. I think it’s what we all want.

And while it’s easier, maybe, to be intentional in our love for the pretty people, the cool people … what about the different people? All of us matter to the Lord, and we need to know that.  I just think it’s harder to believe that God in heaven loves us when we don’t think the people around us even see us. A dear friend once gave me a print that says, “Yes, I almost forgot, but you reminded me … God still whispers my name.”  I want to be that person who sees and cares for the folks around me, so that I can remind them that as much as I may care for them, the love of God far outshines mine.

So what did I do tonight? I took Ben home with me. Was that the right thing to do? I have no idea. But I couldn’t stand the thought of leaving him there, feeling the way I felt on that playground. I wanted to show him that I see him, and I love him. That he matters. Is he difficult? Yep. Does he often leave me pulling out my hair? Uh huh. Does he matter? Absolutely. He is the Lord’s creation, and He has a plan for Ben’s life. That makes him matter.

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