Image by wendy CORNIQUET from Pixabay 

I see the turning wheels of his unique autistic mind helping him remember each step of the rehearsed blocking and choreography. His eyes, the windows to his precious soul. I marvel at his talent: the strong, perfect-pitched baritone resonating through the small theatre-in-the-round.

Impressed by his confidence, I wonder how difficult performance must be. But he is happy to perform, to concentrate on the next step, the next word, the next song he will sing with his whole heart and his unique autistic mind. His body is big and sort of awkward, but he moves with rehearsed precision, following memorized internal direction.

I watch, mesmerized.

And I hear God say, “This child is mine! I formed him in his mother’s womb, gifted him in this way, and I cherish his manners and methods.”

And I cry inside to realize how God loves the quirky ones. How He’s equipped us all so differently: the gifts, the talents, the ways we help ourselves get through each day, how we find and build community with others who are like-minded, (or different-minded but who complement our quirks). How God unites us with those who accept the steps we need to take to survive a world of quirks.

***

My mind travels to Thursday nights at The Table service. How the poor and homeless come to eat, come to worship, come to sit and sometimes sleep after eating the only meal they’ve had in a while. I marvel at their quirkiness too: the choice of possessions they load in their backpacks and in the discarded wheeling carts they found and repurposed. John sets his plate atop his cart. He doesn’t like to sit, so he eats on the move.

They care for each other with hugs, laughter, whispers…rising to get a cup of hot coffee for someone else. Asking politely if they might take some leftovers to a friend outside who couldn’t come tonight.

Worship begins with sore and burdened arms raised to Jesus, unloading wearisome loads–just for an hour–before they put treasured possessions back in their carts to go out into the night.

And I cry inside to realize how God loves the quirky ones. How He’s equipped us all so differently: the gifts, the talents, the ways we help ourselves get through each day, the ways we find and build community with others who are like-minded, (or different-minded but who complement our quirks). How He unites us with others who accept the steps we need to take to survive this world of quirks.

***

And my mind travels back in time to those moments as a first-year teacher when I cried out to Jesus to help me know what Joe and Jose and Veronica and Elizabeth needed to stop being so nasty and mean to others…to me. How to stop their fighting? How to nurture the art they draw when they’re supposed to be writing? How to convince them they would do well if only they would listen and do their schoolwork? How to get Joe to take off the parka he wears all day, every day, hiding whatever he is hiding.

And the answer God gave to those prayers back then was this: “See their faces!”

And that answer would guide me through years of teaching.

Turns out Joe was homeless, living in his car with Mom and little brother. No wonder he wore so many clothes and never took off his jacket. No wonder he chose to draw instead of listen. No wonder he lashed out in self-protection.

And I cry inside to realize how God loves the quirky hurting ones. How He moves them to those helpers and places where others might accept the steps they need to take to survive this world of quirks and hurts.

***

And, Jesus, I know that is what You do with each of Your quirky, hurting humans:

You see our faces…

You know our thoughts…

You surround us on all sides…

You help us keep track of our assigned blocking…

You inspire our performance…

You care for us with hugs, laughs, whispers and coffee…

You carry the burdens we lay down before You, and You never make us take them back upon our own shoulders… You won’t send us into the dark of night alone…

You give us the drawings that no one else understands…

You help us shed the heavy, stinky parkas we hide inside all day, every day…

You keep us safe so we don’t have to kick, scream and fight…

You bring us out of hiding and help us listen…

YOU SEE OUR FACES.

Thank you, Jesus