My Angel Sarah

I have this little pain in my heart and tears that swell behind my eyes that have come and gone for years.  These little feelings pop up on days that my darling Sarah comes flying down the stairs from her bus after school with bandaids up and down her legs and her glasses askew. They're there on mornings when I drop her sweet little girl self off at school, or when I go to meet her at lunch and plop down on the lunch room bench next to her.  You see, there's usually quite a bit of room-- always a space between her and the other children.

That little pain was unmistakingly very present just the other morning as I pulled up into the Intermediate School parking lot.  It's a familiar feeling when I let her climb out of the car alone and watch her do her bouncy walk on the balls of her feet right over to where the other Math Camp kids are waiting to be let in the front doors of the school.  She always bounces right up to the other girls and I can see that those girls want to act right--probably try to be a friend, but just like me 20 years ago, just don't know quite what to do or say.  They sort of stop talking and have to shuffle a little to have her not so uncomfortably in their personal space.

My heart and eyes sting.  I may be grateful that there is much more understanding of special needs in the world today and yes, there are so many wonderful accepting kids out there, but the sting is there.  When I drop her off there isn't the same kind of other children running up to greet and play with her like my other children.  It's just different.  In so many ways a wonderful kind of different.  Justin and I are so aware as her parents that these little hard moments are surrounded by really wonderful, special moments with this unique daughter of ours but our hearts do get pricked by this familiar sting all the same.

So, yesterday we were sitting at the dinner table eating, chatting, talking.  Sarah looks at me and in her very loud voice starts to tell me about a girl in her special education class.  Lets call her Kate for the sake of privacy.  So, Sarah says: 

"Kate has no friends, Mom.  I be a friend.  I sit by her.  I play with her.  I eat lunch by Kate.  She no like other girls.  They not nice.  I be her friend!"

I tell you what,  my heart swelled with an overwhelming love.  A complete love that brought different kinds of tears swelling from behind my eyes.  What an angel!  My heart stings at times because other children aren't there for my girl and now today she tells me how she's that angel friend that this other special child needs.

She's like that you know.  My darling Sarah may not be aware she's in your space, may yell way down the street at you that you need to be at church, might hug your preteen boy til he's so red it's gonna stay for a year, might stop and touch every person in a wheel chair, might ask when your baby will be born even though you don't have a baby in your belly, ask you a million questions over and over, but one thing is for sure...she's an angel to people around her.  

She's aware of you...aware of everybody.  She loves everybody that surrounds her.  She really loves them and knows that everyone has something to be curious about.  We may think she's not very sensitive socially but I think she has a innocent sensitivity that ends up being the angel that particular people in her life seek.  No wonder that miracles have kept her on this earth.  

painting courtesy of this website

President Thomas S. Monson, the prophet at this time in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints spoke these following words and described this beautiful painting above:

"Children’s hearts are tender. They long for the companionship of other children. In the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in London hangs a masterpiece on canvas. Its title is simply Sickness and Health. Depicted is a small girl in a wheelchair. Her face is pale; her countenance reflects sadness. She watches an organ-grinder perform while two little girls, carefree and happy, frolic and dance.

Sadness and sorrow at times come to all, including children. But children are resilient. They bear up beautifully to shoulder the burden they may be called upon to endure. Perhaps the lovely psalm describes this virtue: “Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning."


Last night, I saw "joy" in my Sarah's eyes as she told me about sweet "Kate" from school.  I told her thank you for being a nice friend and she just beamed back at me.  I asked her how she felt inside and she said:

"I be a friend. It make Jesus happy I nice to {Kate}!"

Yes, Sarah.  It makes your parents happy.  It makes Jesus happy and look how happy it makes you!