holding a hand

The old cliche says the best things come in small packages.  Daniel, at six, has a body barely bigger than a two year old.  His sandy hair never finds a correct place to lay.   His eyes hold a blue hue so strong you'd swear they had been painted on by a master artist.  Daniel shares his name with a Biblical hero known for strength and bravery.  Standing up to lions and kings was child's play.  Some people I know call that a shame that  little Daniel finds it difficult to stand at all.

They call him frail and weak.  Some whisper behind his back about how odd he is.  Some speak their derision directly to him, figuring he must not be able to understand.  Some fail to ever see him at all. Daniel wrestles with severe developmental delays.  He deals with gigantic stomach, bone, brain and neurological issues.  Something as simple as holding a book or a ball proves astronomically difficult.

Daniel's nerves lacked a component present in most that helps them fire and connect correctly.   This missing ingredient causes a  sort of perpetual short circuit.  It makes body movement difficult to control, or even muster in the first place.  After years of intensive therapy,  he is able to move, and even walk, if he holds to a trusted hand.  Without that contact, he remains locked inside his body, as a prison of brokenness.  With that connection, he enjoys a measure of freedom.  Something about that familiar touch allows those nerves to stretch and fire that much harder.  As long as he holds a loving hand. he could walk the mall,  or feel grass between his toes.   With a hand he can experience the autonomy of choosing the swings over the slide.  Without the boost from that touch  he  sits lost in himself.

We live in a culture that idolizes independence.  We champion complete autonomy and freedom  at every turn.  Our educational system strives for self-sufficiency.   Our movies applaud the self-made man.  We isolate ourselves so we can have the pleasure of accomplishing things all by ourselves.  A friend pointed out to me recently that one of the most popular songs at American funerals is "I Did It My Way".

Not only will Daniel never sing that song, he will never possess that independence we are swimming in.  He will work harder than most of us could relate to, while celebrating smaller gains than most of us would notice.  Some will pity him.  Some will mourn for him.  Some will choose to look away.  Still, others may see that by embracing a life of dependence, we too, cast off some of that brokenness.

 We often equate freedom and independence.  What is true on Forth of July, and in Armageddon movies stands ultimately false.  William Inge writes, " Christianity promises to make men free, it never promises to make them independent."   When we can stop chasing after a go-it-alone mentality we can follow the One who constantly seeks relationship.  Taking up the cross requires laying down our independence and the masks of self-sufficiency that accompany them. Walking with Christ means we hold to that trusted hand, never letting go.

I lift up my eyes to the hills—
       where does my help come from?

  My help comes from the LORD,
       the Maker of heaven and earth. 

                                     Psalm 121