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Stories and Essays

My brother Kevin thinks God lives under his 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
his bed, 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 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,
returning to eat his favorite macaroni-and-cheese for dinner,
and later to bed.

The only variation in the entire scheme are laundry days, 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 is 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. I don't think Kevin knows anything exists
outside 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. He recognizes no differences in people, treating each person
as an equal and a friend. 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
Christ, 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 with my Christianity, 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 submit them to Christ. 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 the Lord.

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 lived under his bed.

Kevin won't be surprised at all.

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