God Lives Under the Bed
My brother Kevin thinks God lives under the bed. At least that's what I
heard him say one night. He was praying out loud in his dark bedroom,
and I stopped outside his closed door 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 the bed 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, and later to bed.
The only variation in the entire scheme are 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 have 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 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. 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 religion, 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, 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 lives under the bed.
Kevin won't be surprised at all!
-Author Unknown
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