celebration

He doesn't say much.  In fact, his only completely intelligible  word is "no".  When I first met him, that is all I would hear.  Often.  Emphatic.  Painfully loud.  NO!.  The tantrums that would follow could literally shake walls, break blood vessels and stop traffic.  He always made his point.   It might involve laying on the floor and throwing himself around with a force greater than that of three (large) grown men.  It would absolutely involve screaming unmatched by any wild animal on record.  Anything to make his point.   Sometimes he made it for hours, just to be sure we were clear on the matter.

Honestly,  I can't blame him.  He lives a tough life.   Things didn't make sense.   Here he sat:  Ten years old in a completely new place.  Very little family.  Zero friends.  School had not mattered up to this point.  Talents? Unexplored.  Walking, and thinking are challenging.  Talking and writing-- next to impossible.   While he has little IQ, he has plenty of fear.  Who among us would not want to scream, "NO!"in his shoes?   We are taught when those outbursts  are and are not appropriate.  In the best of situations, we are given alternate ways to express ourselves.  At ten years old,  he had never been offered such dignity.

What could he celebrate?

 The day after I met him, people I work with began to talk.  I heard things like:  When will she quit? When will she be moved to a portable building?  What medication was I in favor of using?  (for him and for me)  How long before they kick him out of here?   How long will it take for you to "fix" him?

What could I celebrate?

In the beginning,  I  celebrated the ready availability of of prayer and ibuprofen.  I also reveled in the ability to close the door to critical eyes and unfair judgments. 

Along with the questions came the suggestions.  Suggested courses of action.  Suggested other schools.  Suggested medication (still for me and for him).  Suggested behavior plans or punishments meant to irradiate undesirable behavior.  No one suggested what I actually did.  In the midst of prayer and ibuprofen,   I celebrated him.

I stood in amazed at his lung capacity.  I wondered about his ability to stick to something.  I sat with him and began to notice more and more  to celebrate.   He was a hurting an confused boy, not a problem to be solved. He was crossing my path.  He was communicating the only way he know how, not trying to be hurtful or disruptive.  He was reaching out to me.

He was created in the image of God.  Creative.  Persistent.  Determined.  Enthusiastic. 

Weeks have passed.  He still doesn't say much.  Life still doesn't make sense .Still very little family.  Still very few friends.  Walking and thinking are still challenging.  But, my friend has leaned something.  He can celebrate.  Instead of being greeted the with violent defiance,  I get a kiss on the hand, and a  1000 watt smile.  Instead of three hour fits of rage, I see unbelievable kindness, and effort. His chocolate brown eyes sparkle with delight.  He throws his arm up in a glorious way, and the grunt that accompanies is soulful with the perfect touch of glee.  The boy can PARTY.  He can bark with "Who Let the Dogs Out?" .  And there is dancing.... sweet dancing.   He can count to three.  You and I may take that for granted.  Oh, no.  Every time (after every number) we erupt in momentous sidesplitting laughter.  One.        Two.        Three.

Don't miss your chance to celebrate.  In celebrating we find the parts of our humanity that reflect the image of God.  In celebrating, we soak in the grace that we were created to enjoy.