God Lives Under the Bed
I envy Kevin. My brother Kevin
thinks God lives under his bed.
At least that's what I heard him
say one night.
He was praying out loud in his
dark bedroom, and I stopped to
listen, 'Are you there, God?' he
said. 'Where are you? Oh, I see.
Under the bed...'
I giggled softly and tiptoed off
to my own room. Kevin's unique
perspectives are often a source of
amusement. But that night
something else lingered long after
the humor.
I realized for the first time the
very different world Kevin lives in.
He was born 30 years ago,
mentally disabled as a result of
difficulties during labor. Apart from
his size (he's 6-foot-2), there are
few ways in which he is an adult.
He reasons and communicates with
the capabilities of a 7-year-old,
and he always will. He will probably
always believe that God lives under
his bed, that Santa Claus is the one
who fills the space under our tree every
Christmas and that airplanes stay up
in the sky because angels carry them.
I remember wondering if Kevin
realizes he is different. Is he ever
dissatisfied with his monotonous
life?
Up before dawn each day, off to
work at a workshop for the disabled,
home to walk our cocker spaniel,
return to eat his favorite
macaroni-and-cheese for dinner,
and later to bed.
The only variation in the entire
scheme is laundry, when he hovers
excitedly over the washing machine
like a mother with her newborn child.
He does not seem dissatisfied.
He lopes out to the bus every
morning at 7:05, eager for a day
of simple work.
He wrings his hands excitedly
while the water boils on the stove
before dinner, and he stays up late
twice a week to gather our dirty
laundry for his next day's laundry
chores.
And Saturdays-oh, the bliss of
Saturdays! That's the day my Dad
takes Kevin to the airport to have
a soft drink, watch the planes land,
and speculate loudly on the destination
of each passenger inside. 'That one's
goin' to Chi-car-go!' Kevin shouts as
he claps his hands.
His anticipation is so great he
can hardly sleep on Friday nights.
And so goes his world of daily
rituals and weekend field trips.
He doesn't know what it means to
be discontent. His life is simple.
He will never know the entanglements
of wealth of power, and he does
not care what brand of clothing he
wears or what kind of food he eats.
His needs have always been met, and
he never worries that one day they
may not be.
His hands are diligent. Kevin is
never so happy as when he is working.
When he unloads the dishwasher or
vacuums the carpet, his heart is
completely in it.
He does not shrink from a job when
it is begun, and he does not leave a
job until it is finished. But when
his tasks are done, Kevin knows
how to relax.
He is not obsessed with his work
or the work of others.
His heart is pure.
He still believes everyone tells
the truth, promises must be kept,
and when you are wrong, you
apologize instead of argue.
Free from pride and unconcerned
with appearances, Kevin is not
afraid to cry when he is hurt, angry
or sorry. He is always transparent,
always sincere.
And he trusts God.
Not confined by intellectual
reasoning, when he comes to
Christ, he comes as a child.
Kevin seems to know God - to
really be friends with Him in a way
that is difficult for an 'educated'
person to grasp. God seems like
his closest companion.
In my moments of doubt and
frustrations with my Christianity
I envy the security Kevin has in
his simple faith. It is then that I
am most willing to admit that he
has some divine knowledge that rises
above my mortal questions.
It is then I realize that perhaps
he is not the one with the handicap .
I am.
My obligations, my fear, my pride,
my circumstances - they all become
disabilities when I do not trust
them to God's care .
Who knows if Kevin comprehends
things I can never learn? After all,
he has spent his whole life in that
kind of innocence, praying after dark
and soaking up the goodness and love
of God.
And one day, when the mysteries of
heaven are opened, and we are all
amazed at how close God really is to our
hearts, I'll realize that God heard the
simple prayers of a boy who
believed that God lived under his bed.
Kevin won't be surprised at all!
When you receive this, say a prayer.
That's all you have to do. This is powerful.
FRIENDS ARE ANGELS WHO LIFT US
TO OUR FEET WHEN OUR WINGS
HAVE TROUBLE REMEMBERING HOW
TO FLY
~Author Unknown~
Top of Page
thinks God lives under his bed.
At least that's what I heard him
say one night.
He was praying out loud in his
dark bedroom, and I stopped to
listen, 'Are you there, God?' he
said. 'Where are you? Oh, I see.
Under the bed...'
I giggled softly and tiptoed off
to my own room. Kevin's unique
perspectives are often a source of
amusement. But that night
something else lingered long after
the humor.
I realized for the first time the
very different world Kevin lives in.
He was born 30 years ago,
mentally disabled as a result of
difficulties during labor. Apart from
his size (he's 6-foot-2), there are
few ways in which he is an adult.
He reasons and communicates with
the capabilities of a 7-year-old,
and he always will. He will probably
always believe that God lives under
his bed, that Santa Claus is the one
who fills the space under our tree every
Christmas and that airplanes stay up
in the sky because angels carry them.
I remember wondering if Kevin
realizes he is different. Is he ever
dissatisfied with his monotonous
life?
Up before dawn each day, off to
work at a workshop for the disabled,
home to walk our cocker spaniel,
return to eat his favorite
macaroni-and-cheese for dinner,
and later to bed.
The only variation in the entire
scheme is laundry, when he hovers
excitedly over the washing machine
like a mother with her newborn child.
He does not seem dissatisfied.
He lopes out to the bus every
morning at 7:05, eager for a day
of simple work.
He wrings his hands excitedly
while the water boils on the stove
before dinner, and he stays up late
twice a week to gather our dirty
laundry for his next day's laundry
chores.
And Saturdays-oh, the bliss of
Saturdays! That's the day my Dad
takes Kevin to the airport to have
a soft drink, watch the planes land,
and speculate loudly on the destination
of each passenger inside. 'That one's
goin' to Chi-car-go!' Kevin shouts as
he claps his hands.
His anticipation is so great he
can hardly sleep on Friday nights.
And so goes his world of daily
rituals and weekend field trips.
He doesn't know what it means to
be discontent. His life is simple.
He will never know the entanglements
of wealth of power, and he does
not care what brand of clothing he
wears or what kind of food he eats.
His needs have always been met, and
he never worries that one day they
may not be.
His hands are diligent. Kevin is
never so happy as when he is working.
When he unloads the dishwasher or
vacuums the carpet, his heart is
completely in it.
He does not shrink from a job when
it is begun, and he does not leave a
job until it is finished. But when
his tasks are done, Kevin knows
how to relax.
He is not obsessed with his work
or the work of others.
His heart is pure.
He still believes everyone tells
the truth, promises must be kept,
and when you are wrong, you
apologize instead of argue.
Free from pride and unconcerned
with appearances, Kevin is not
afraid to cry when he is hurt, angry
or sorry. He is always transparent,
always sincere.
And he trusts God.
Not confined by intellectual
reasoning, when he comes to
Christ, he comes as a child.
Kevin seems to know God - to
really be friends with Him in a way
that is difficult for an 'educated'
person to grasp. God seems like
his closest companion.
In my moments of doubt and
frustrations with my Christianity
I envy the security Kevin has in
his simple faith. It is then that I
am most willing to admit that he
has some divine knowledge that rises
above my mortal questions.
It is then I realize that perhaps
he is not the one with the handicap .
I am.
My obligations, my fear, my pride,
my circumstances - they all become
disabilities when I do not trust
them to God's care .
Who knows if Kevin comprehends
things I can never learn? After all,
he has spent his whole life in that
kind of innocence, praying after dark
and soaking up the goodness and love
of God.
And one day, when the mysteries of
heaven are opened, and we are all
amazed at how close God really is to our
hearts, I'll realize that God heard the
simple prayers of a boy who
believed that God lived under his bed.
Kevin won't be surprised at all!
When you receive this, say a prayer.
That's all you have to do. This is powerful.
FRIENDS ARE ANGELS WHO LIFT US
TO OUR FEET WHEN OUR WINGS
HAVE TROUBLE REMEMBERING HOW
TO FLY
~Author Unknown~
Top of Page
Labels: Jesus loves the little children
posted by conservative~by~nature at 11:37 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home