Transforming Love and Candor

I have found a long-lost acquaintance on Facebook, and the delightful part is seeing her stepson, Bobby, in photos across the page.

Bobby is a man with Down Syndrome who often visited the Sunday Bible Class we taught for many years. Seeing his picture brings to mind the joy and fulfillment we experienced working with that wonderful group of adults.

Did I mention they were adults with various disabilities, especially what we called Developmental Disabilities?

That means they were at various levels of mental retardation or delay.

I told Husband, “You should see Bobby’s picture. He looks like a version of his Dad.”

“How do you remember those people and their names? I can barely connect Bobby to his Dad, and that is because I knew his Dad’s cousin, Roy.”

“It’s a curse, really. Although there are times when I have to tell people I remember their faces, but not their names.”

“That was a long time ago,” Husband said, taking me back to the original conversation.

“Wasn’t it great?”

“Well, sort of. At least it was for you.”

I looked him straight in the eye. “Those men and women really loved and respected you. They can remember your name much faster than mine, and I was the actual teacher. I did most of the work.”

“Well, yeah, I guess it was my charm.”

“I am convinced it was the way you treated them. You were genuine with them.”

“You were genuine. You really loved that work.”

“Yes, I still love the thought of those guys.”

Husband stared at me. “Can I, can I , can I t-t-t tell you something?” We both laughed because Pat, a member of the class always began his conversation with that phrase.

“Seriously, I want to tell you something. Sometimes I resented those people. It took 15 functioning adults to make one of them look independent. As normal as possible.” He added that last phrase in a mocking tone.

I contemplated that for a while. “Yes, it did, but it didn’t hurt us. Look what God did through us in that class.”

I began to call names, ”Don, Carrie, Dwain, who married Michele, that Campbell girl whose first name escapes me. Lisa, Lisa Campbell. All of them are now deceased, and all went into eternity knowing the God who loved them.”

Husband remembered them all, “What was it Don told you about coming to Sunday School? You asked him if he liked coming and staying for worship.”

“Don said he liked hearing that God loved him. ‘I never knewed that before.’ And he didn’t because he had been abused and exploited. We were there when he prayed to receive Christ.”

As I looked at Husband, I said, “And you were part of it with your matter-of-fact way of working with them.  They loved you for being you with them.”

Husband reflected on our conversation for a few minutes. “It is like you always say. Those people are more like you and me than different from us.”

I recalled a time when we visited one of the group homes, and I began to laugh.

“Do you remember when you walked into the TV room where Rick and some of the guys were watching a movie?” I asked.

“Yes, I remember! It was filthy with all sorts of half-naked women running around with their butts hanging out of their swimsuits. I told those guys they should change the channel. That movie was not good for them to watch.”

“Well, your final comment to them demonstrated what I mean about your matter-of-fact way of being around those people. Rick said, ‘But we like it.’”

Husband turned a bit red. “Oh, yeah. Afterwards I was afraid my flippant remark would cause trouble.”

By this time I was laughing again at Husband’s bluntness.

Yeah, you said, “What do you know? You’re retarded.”