A Blue Rose

Having four visiting family members, my wife was very busy, so I offered to go to the store for her.

I scurried around the store, gathered up my goodies and headed for the checkout counter, only to be blocked in the narrow aisle by a young man who appeared to be about sixteen-years-old. I wasn't in a hurry, so I patiently waited for the boy to realize that I was there. This was when he waved his hands excitedly in the air and declared in a loud voice, "Mommy, I'm over here."

It was obvious now, he was mentally challenged and also startled as he turned and saw me standing so close to him, waiting to squeeze by. His eyes widened and surprise exploded on his face as I said, "Hey Buddy, what's your name?"

"My name is Denny and I'm shopping with my mother," he responded proudly.

"Wow," I said, "that's a cool name; I wish my name was Denny, but my name is Steve."

"Steve, like Stevarino?" he asked. "Yes," I answered. "How old are you Denny?"

"How old am I now, Mommy?" he asked his mother as she slowly came over from the next aisle.

"You're fifteen-years-old Denny; now be a good boy and let the man pass by."

I acknowledged her and continued to talk to Denny for several more minutes about summer, bicycles and school. I watched his brown eyes dance with excitement, because he was the center of someone's attention. He then abruptly turned and headed toward the toy section.

Denny's mom had a puzzled look on her face and thanked me for taking the time to talk with her son. She told me that most people wouldn't even look at him, much less talk to him.

I told her that it was my pleasure and then I said something I have no idea where it came from, other than by the prompting of the Holy Spirit. I told her that there are plenty of red, yellow, and pink roses in God's Garden; however, "Blue Roses" are very rare and should be appreciated for their beauty and distinctiveness. You see, Denny is a Blue Rose and if someone doesn't stop and smell that rose with their heart and touch that rose with their kindness, then they've missed a blessing from God.

She was silent for a second, then with a tear in her eye she asked, "Who are you?"

Without thinking I said, "Oh, I'm probably just a dandelion, but I sure love living in God's garden."

She reached out, squeezed my hand and said, "God bless you!" and then I had tears in my eyes.

May I suggest, the next time you see a BLUE ROSE, don't turn your head and walk off. Take the time to smile and say Hello. Why? Because, by the grace of GOD, this mother or father could be you. This could be your child, grandchild, niece or nephew. What a difference a moment can mean to that person or their family.

From an old dandelion! Live simply. Love generously. Care deeply. Speak kindly. Leave the rest to God.

"People will forget what you said, People will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel!" ANON.

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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, a nd 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 hav e 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.. FRIENDS ARE ANGELS WHO LIFT US TO  OUR FEET WHEN OUR WINGS HAVE TROUBLE REMEMBERING HOW TO  FLY