When Noah was about 5 and still pretty non-verbal for the most part, I had one of my first revelations that there was more there in Noah than it often seemed. The previous year at school had been hell. By October they were telling me that Noah was, quite probably "unable of cognitive thought and reason". In November, they came to me with a catalog for straight jackets and helmets and announced that they were in favor of moving him to the "behavioral unit" because he was unable to learn. They told me he was functionally retarded.
Now a lot of people who look back on this say, "I always knew Noah would be alright." Well, that must've been nice because I didn't. In my heart of hearts I didn't know if he'd be okay or not. But I fought anyway. After contracting a TON of work with Standard that winter, I hired an educational consultant (to the tune of $115 per hour) and had a $700 IEP meeting to get him out of that particular school and into a special ed kindergarten. Just as I was breathing a sigh of relief, VBS rolls around.
The theme I'd been pimping myself out to ALL WINTER LONG was "Trading Places - Make a Difference with Jesus". I'd preached it in 6 states. By the time it actually got here I was on auto-pilot most of the week. I did my song and dance, led worship at least 3 sets a day, and taught a couple of lessons all about how we can "make a difference" with Jesus. But, there was Noah to deal with...
He had absolutely no tolerance for all things associated with VBS. He hated the music, the assembly, his class, the crafts, the t-shirt - all of it. I remember thinking, "if you knew me preaching this stuff for the last 6 months had saved your scrawny butt you'd like it..." Somehow we got through the week. Then it was VBS Sunday. Now, if I do say so myself, nobody can plan and execute a children's worship like I can. I am a PRO-fessional. I had it all planned out. I had skillfully picked 6 songs, taught the kids 5 verses (all with hand motions) and each group of kids had something special to do, say, sing or recite. It was going to rock it. And to be sure not to leave the little people out, the preschool had 2 songs to sing. This is where it hit the fan.
There songs were very simple. I know how to select the best music for each age. Their songs were uber-repetitive and had the cute factor too. Those kids could've peed on the walls of the sanctuary. but as long as they were singing those songs people would eat them up. The problem was, you guessed it, Noah.
I knew he hated worship, so I wasn't going to press it. If he didn't want to wear his shirt, I was going to let it go. If he didn't want to sing, no big deal. I figured he could sit in the Nursery or under the sound board with Duane. That morning he put on his shirt (I probably promised him it was the last time he'd ever have to wear it), and I timidly asked if he was going to sing with us in "big church" that morning. He didn't make eye contact, but nodded "yes". Trying to hide my shock and joy I said, "Noah that's great you get to sing 'I've Got Joy' and the VBS theme song. You'll do so good and then you can go have goldfish and juice." It was at this moment that things turned ugly.
He turned on his heel and said, quite clearly I might add, "No. I sing "Make A Difference in Me". I couldn't even figure out how he knew the name of that song since he'd been refusing to come to worship all week but, trust me, that was NOT his song. That particular song was beautiful but had been the most difficult song I'd ever taught children. It was wordy (beautiful but wordy) and had American Sign Language that did all kinds of developmentally inappropriate things. Hell, half the adults I had in VBS couldn't pull that song off. Plus, it was the sweet, slow song and I had it saved out for the last thing before Communion. That way the kids were wound down and the energy of the service became focused on Christ. It was masterfully done...seriously.
So, I respond to Noah's declaration with: "Oh sweetie, no. You sing the first two songs and that is all." Noah's juice cup hit the kitchen floor as he said, more loudly this time: I SING MAKE A DIFFERENCE IN ME. To which I replied, "No you don't." This went on for more than a few moments as I tried to clear up this communication glitch we were having. Soon half and hour had passed. By this time Noah's arms were folded and so were mine and it was a stand off. In the back of my mind I thought, "I'll show you. I'll park your little fanny in the Nursery and you'll miss the whole show but you are NOT screwing with MY worship little buddy! This is going to function beautifully to show the church as a whole that we are converting from the childcare model to the children's ministry model and you will not throw down in the sanctuary today!"
We weren't speaking to one another as my husband Duane drove us to church.
I hastily explained to a friend my problem with Noah and she said he hated crowds so much she really didn't think he'd even go in the sanctuary but not to worry because she was "on it". With a deep sigh of relief I went ahead and readied the children to dazzle the church. Everything was in place early and I got to feeling guilty for not speaking to Noah so I went down to the preschool hall to patch things up. He was glad to see me and I asked him again if he was going to sing, he said, "Yes. I sing Make A Difference in Me." At this moment, something in me snapped and I actually said, "Holy cow! What is the deal with you and this stupid song? Why does it have to be this song? You don't know that song. That song is WAY to hard for you. Anyway, it is the very last song and there is NO WAY you can make it until the end. Trust me Noah, you can't do this. Just sing the first two songs and sit down for Christ's sake and mine too!"
He put down his juice cup and stared at me for half a moment and then his eyes filled full of tears. Before I could even feel bad he screamed, "Because Jesus make me different Mama. I broke - but Jesus make me different! I want be different Mama. Jesus make me different." And he began to weep giant tears.
I was completely devoid of speech or thought. The only thing that I could even conceive was: the most unlikely kid got it. I had just told him myself what I'd been fighting others for saying for months - that he wasn't able to learn the message. But Noah learned the message behind the message: not only that we can make a difference in the lives of people by giving them Jesus, but that by doing so, he makes a difference in ours. Noah had grasped the transforming love of Jesus Christ better than anyone had that week. He had become different because he believed in a man named Jesus.
I took his little hand in mine and we walked up the stairs with the rest of the preschool children. Their songs were first in the order of service and Noah dutifully stood there on the back row with his hands over his ears while they sang them. When the rest of the children went to have goldfish and juice, Noah sat quietly with my friend Kay. We sang the next 3 songs and I had the congregation convinced that these kids were the best thing since Jesus Christ, but I don't remember very much about it. All I remember is what happened next.
I handled the transition between the next-to-last song and "Make a Difference in Me" the way I had all week long. The usual "trash talk for Jesus" that brings everyone to a point of focus before the best part. The children stood on cue and as the first measures of music began to play the servers came forward to retrieve the trays. it was then that I saw a little blond head bob and weave it's way through the crowd. Noah quietly made his way to the front row of the choir loft and waited for the song to begin. Then in perfect American Sign Language far too developmentally advanced for his crippled little hands Noah signed:
Make a difference in me, make a world of difference,
from the inside out, let it show.
Make a difference in me,
make a world of difference. Change me so the world will know.
You are the potter, I am the clay. Mold me and make me:
this is what I pray.
Make a difference in me, make a world of difference,
from the inside out, let it show.
Make a difference in me,
make a world of difference. Change me so the world will know.
I signed along with the children but was unable to sing. As tears poured down my face and wet the collar of my well worn VBS t-shirt that read "Jesus Makes a World of Difference" I had my Damascus Road moment. I had missed the point for 6 months in 6 states. I wasn't making people different by sharing Jesus with them - he was making me different. He was changing me so the world could know him. And he was so gentle about it, he used a 5 year old autistic boy with his daddy's eyes and my grin. And that day, I began a journey of knowing what Hauerwas means when he says, "To be disabled is to be forced to have the time to recognize that Jesus is the inauguration of a new time constituted by prayer. To be disabled is to begin to understand what it means to be an infant vis-à-vis the kingdom brought by Jesus."
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