All God’s Children
by Chamie Delkeskamp

This essay is, in some respects, a Lenten “teshuva.”  I was inspired by my husband who wrote a personal Advent “teshuva” as a way to prepare for Christ’s birth.  In Judaism, “teshuva” is a means of confessing our sin and returning to God.    As I reflect on my relationship with “all God’s children,” I must confess that I all too often have missed the mark.  In regards to people with disabilities, I must confess that I have let myself succumb to embarrassment, saddened confusion, or frustration.

I imagine that most of us, if not all of us, have experienced a red-faced moment when our children have commented upon a person in our midst.  One such person frequents the coffee shop by our house.  I remember the first time we saw him.  Jude stared.  Then, in typical preschool fashion, Jude asked (in what seemed to me at the time an extremely loud voice), “Hey, Mom, why is that man so little?  See him, Mom?”  Jude pointed to make sure I noticed.  I longed to hide my face along with the intrigued gaze of my son.  Without looking in the direction of Jude’s pointing finger, I tried to change the subject.  Couldn’t we have this conversation later?  However, Jude, The Observant, does not wait to ask questions, “How did he get here?  Can elves drive cars?”  Oh, dear God, he said the word “elf.”  My face felt flush in discomfort.  I chose to look only at the coffee menu and nonchalantly say to Jude, “I don’t know, honey.  Now, did you want a hot cocoa?”

If embarrassment doesn’t get me, saddened confusion may come into play.  Several years ago, we were Christmas caroling with people from our church.  We sang at the homes of many homebound members of the congregation.  Our last stop was a group home for people with cerebral palsy.  To see the apparent joy and Christmas spirit the caroling brought to the residents was something for which I was grateful.  But the whole way back to the church, I wrestled inside of myself.  In the last weeks, there had been conversation about the church doing more frequent ministry with this group home.  Could I?  Did I want to?  I felt guilty for the parts of me that didn’t want to go back.  It wasn’t the people themselves.  The problem was that the experience opened up a hole inside of me.  I was sad, angry, confused.  Why, God?!?!?  That was my overriding sentiment.  Seeing people so crippled opens up a whole host of theological questions.  It can make us wonder if God is, indeed, “All-Powerful” and if so, then why do these people have something “incurable”?

If embarrassment and saddened confusion doesn’t get me, frustration may come into play.  In the nineties, I worked at a Bible camp which hosts thousands of children each summer from various churches.  The camp strives to serve all, but it is not a camp that is specially equipped or trained to deal with children who have mental or physical disabilities.  Nonetheless, the camp staff was informed that we would be receiving a camper for a week who needed special care and extra attention.  We were told that unlike the soft, gentle demeanor of most children with Down’s Syndrome, “Kate” had a strong temper and cussed frequently (a trait, we heard, that she had learned from her brother).  She also liked to wander.

Staff were assigned “Kate-Time” where we would keep specific watch over her; this was in addition to our “regular hours.”  As she was roaming along one day, me near her side, a mosquito bit her in the leg.  Kate slapped the bug while shouting, “Shit!”  She then looked me, her head tilted, a question in her eyes.  “Shit?  Shoot?  Shit?  Shoot?”

“We say ‘shoot,’ Kate,” I replied.

“Shoot!” she shouted as she beamed, proud of her accomplishment of using the “appropriate language.”  Then with the joy and pleasure of learning oozing out of her, Kate exclaimed, “And no more ‘f-you!’”

Though Kate had brought me smiles from her pure innocence, the extra work made the week more tiring and challenging.  In my tiredness, I felt frustration.  My frustration turned to guilt when I heard the news that Kate could not be found.  Our constant little wanderer had finally made her way past our heightened supervision.   As darkness took over camp, people searched.  One staff member finally heard the sound of crying near the lakeshore.  Her heart beating with fear that Kate may have been hurt, she followed the sound.  Kate was safe with neither a scratch nor a bump.  She was, however, curled up in the fetal position at the foot of the large cross that rose out of the sand.  In tears, Kate kept repeating, “Jesus died for me.  Jesus loves me.  Jesus died for me.  Jesus loves me…”

Kate grasped what many people never grasp their whole lives… the great and wide and mysterious love of God.

During this season in which Jesus takes the sins of the world upon the cross, I confess my sins of hiding in embarrassment and shame, of letting tough questions cast out action, and of rolling my eyes at the time, frustration, and challenge.

May we hear words of forgiveness.  As we “turn around,” may we hear the call to care for “the least of these.”  In Matthew 25, Jesus says that when we care for the hungry, the thirsty, the naked - “the least of these” - then we are caring for Him.  I believe that this also means that when we engage in warm and honest conversation with "little people" (or midgets... the debate seems to continue as at the appropriate definition), sing at a group home for people with cerebral palsy, or follow a wandering Down’s Syndrome children through the woods, we are following in the footsteps of Jesus.

In an attempt to help our children and ourselves grow in understanding and grace, we were grateful to include on our sabbatical journey a night’s stay at Special K Ranch in Columbus, Montana.  The ranch was one of the many stops of our cross-country road trip where we were exploring “family spirituality.”  We met several of the residents who are 18 years or older but have mental retardation.  The ranch has six homes and in each home, there is a married or single person, some with children, who live in the home as well as provide care for approximately six people who have special needs.  During the day, these special needs residents work on the ranch, including growing tomatoes and flowers in the 40,000 square foot greenhouse.   The residents were proud of their work and eager to give us a tour and show us how they grew and picked tomatoes.  It was a place of dignity and respect.  I was inspired by the families who took more "children" into their homes. 

Hearing and experiencing the story of Special K Ranch opened us up in new ways.  Maybe that is one of the keys.  Whether we find ourselves more removed from a daily life of living with a person or persons with special needs or we find ourselves immersed in it fully, I would argue that we need to share our stories with one another, be honest with one another, and work together in creating that peacable kingdom where all of God's children feel dignified, respected, and most of all, loved. 

All God’s Children Mulling Questions

1.  What feelings, thoughts, and/or confessions to you bring when considering people with disabilities?  Have you had times of embarrassment, anger, sadness, or frustration?

2.  What blessings and joys have you received from people with disabilities?  What lessons have they taught you?

3.  Do you have someone in your family who has special needs?  What would you like people to know about you and your family?  How would you like the church to respond?  What are your prayers, hopes, and dreams?

4.  Read Matthew 25:31-46.  How might people with disabilities fit into this passage?  You may want to read this in the ancient practice of “lectio divina” (or “divine reading”).  First, read the scripture more than once slowly, deliberately.  Then meditate on the words.  Next, pray over all that comes up inside of you; have a conversation with God.  Finally, rest in God’s presence, picking, perhaps, a word or phrase that you hold with you.

5.  Who inspires you in loving and serving people with disabilities?

All God’s Children Action Opportunities

1. Learn or volunteer with a respite program that provides families a break from caring for their special needs children. 

2. Provide a learning opportunity for families to hear from someone who trains dogs to help those in need.  A book that we love at our house is The View from Under the Pew by Diane Winters Johnson.  Pastor Diane, who is legally blind, tells the story of how her dog accompanies and helps her each day of her pastoring.  The book is illustrated and geared for young children.

3. Visit a group home and sing, tell stories, or play games with residents.  You might also consider also making and delivering Easter baskets.

4. Sponsor a “disability awareness” event in your group or at your church or faith community.

All God’s Children For Further Insight

If you would like to read books to your children to help them grow in understanding and awareness, the organization Nathaniel’s Hope provides a reading list at Nathaniel's Hope.