Benjamin could pass for a raccoon. The strength with which he slams his head into the nearest surface is frightening. The outbursts come on suddenly, and there is no lead time for calming him down. 

Last week his noggin had had enough. The internal bleeding began slowly, seeping into his eye sockets and the bridge of his nose. By the third day his eyes were mostly swollen shut and it was time for a trip to the ER.

Because God is merciful, there is no permanent damage. But he still looks scary. The church community where he feels at home has gone to great lengths to accept him, and their compassion was palpable when he walked up in his Sunday suit for a turn to light the candles. 

As it happens I was leading music that morning, and had good reason to sing my heart out.  John was preaching at another service, on a subject he had picked at random.

The topic was not purely theoretical for him, given the events of the week. He described how our words are an inadequate vessel for ferrying our deepest longings to God. In fact, they fall away somewhere  between earth and heaven, like the shell of a walnut. It is only the longing of the heart that makes the full journey. John suggested that sometimes the answer to prayer is more subtle than we are anticipating. It can be a slender sense of hope sliding in like the first morning rays that chase away the darkness. Other times it is the acceptance that this is what life has brought us, and wishing it away is not in our spiritual best interests. In fact God is not listening to those pleas. 

I thought about the times in labor when I cried out to my midwives to make it stop. But they were focused on the tuft of wet hair and paid no mind.

Good thing.