I envy Dylan. My son Dylan thinks God lives in the T.V. room. Or so it seems as I watched him play and laugh with the “invisible” friend in the T.V. room.
I giggled softly and tiptoed off to my own room. Dylan's unique perspectives are often a source of amusement. But that night something else lingered long after the humor. I realized yet again the very different world Dylan lives in.
He was born 20 years ago, mentally disabled as a result of a duplicate gene in Chromosome #1. Apart from his size, there are few ways in which he is a young adult.
He reasons and communicates with the capabilities of a 1-year-old, and he always will. He will probably always believe that God lives in the T.V. room;
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 often wonder if Dylan realizes he is different.
Is he ever dissatisfied with his monotonous life?
Up before dawn each day, off to school, home to eat snacks, dinner, and the hectic activity of his family, and later to bed.
He never seems dissatisfied.
He lopes out to the SUV every morning at 7:35, eager for a day of simple schoolwork.
He wrings his hands excitedly while the water boils on the stove before dinner…it may be “the same ol’ thing”, but pasta’s just as enchanting for Dylan as if it were the first time.
And so goes his world of daily rituals.
He doesn't know what it means to be discontent.
He doesn’t cry.
His life is simple.
He will never know the entanglements of wealth or 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. He’s never learned how to doubt! That’s right…doubt is a learned behavior. Probably based on expectation. But all Dylan knows is that if he’s hungry, his father feeds him…if he’s cold…his father clothes him…if he needs anything at all, His father is right there to make sure his needs are attended to.
His hands are diligent. Dylan is never as happy as when he is working. When he drops marbles into a bucket, or plays with a skipping rope, 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, Dylan knows how to relax.
He is not obsessed with his work or the work of others. His heart is pure. I imagine he believes everyone tells the truth, promises must be kept, and when you are wrong, you apologize instead of argue. I believe he’s never sinned.
Free from pride and unconcerned with appearances, Dylan is not afraid to cry when he is hurt, angry or sorry. He is always transparent, always sincere. And I believe he trusts God.
Not confined by intellectual reasoning, when he comes to God, he comes as a child. Dylan 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 He’s Dylan’s closest companion.
In my moments of doubt and frustrations with my faith, I envy the security Dylan 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 fears, my pride, and my circumstances - they all become disabilities when I do not trust.
Who knows if Dylan comprehends things I can never learn? After all, he has spent his whole life in that kind of innocence, maybe praying in the 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, I will realize that God heard the simple communication of a boy who believed that God lived in the T.V. room. But Dylan won't be surprised at all!!!!
He hasn’t a voice…at least not with words. But I have become his voice. His impact on this world has been profound, if only served by the fact that I’m his father, and he’s my son.
Let me use this example that struck me after I heard the news of Dylan’s diagnosis: It’s like we had airline tickets to Paris….you know…the trip of a lifetime….returning to the city we loved so much…familiar…and the great anticipation of “doing Paris” one more time. But when we’re landing, the pilot comes over the speakers, and says, “Ladies and gentlemen, in about 15 minutes we’ll be landing in Amsterdam”. I become agitated and indignant, and say out loud, “What? Amsterdam? We didn’t buy tickets to Amsterdam! We are going to Paris. This is totally unacceptable! I didn’t pay for a trip to Amsterdam, I paid for a trip to Paris”! We land, and disembark, and I’m livid…and heartbroken….we had planned for months for this trip. As we leave the airport, ALL I can think about is Paris, and my unbridled anger that we are NOT there. Then, as we travel away from the airport, and begin to drive through the lush and beautiful countryside of Holland, I see the fields of tulips…the rosy cheeked children playing….the awe striking beauty of this unexpected destination. I am resolved. This place is beautiful. It’s not what I paid for….not what I planned for….not what I wanted! But it, too, was beautiful. Paris was NOT going to happen on this trip….we were blessed to be in Holland, and the beauty here was to be learned and appreciated.
