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.
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