People are drawn to miracle stories. At least I am. A one pound baby who beat the odds, an autistic boy who made six three point baskets in a high school game, a dwarfed piano player with four fingers, a young man with a speech disability who sings beautifully, a skinhead who escaped hatred. These are people I will never meet. Yet the connection is genuine. 

 

We are all facing struggles, yet some problems are anonymous. They do not fit into a category like blindness, or depression, poverty or abuse. It is hard to drum up sympathy when your troubles have no brand. 

 

Yet the invitation is there. If a friendless boy can find his voice, or a young man can rip free of racism, maybe we can climb out of the hole with no name. 

 

The irony is that if the people we are straining to love had a diagnosis, mercy might be easier to come by. If someone is deaf, it is less of a stretch to forgive them for not hearing. If they stutter, our expectations for declarations of affection wane. 

 

Yet sometimes people are hobbled by hidden bonds, that make listening painful, or loving words out of reach. Maybe compassion can be contagious. If I watch enough testimonials about premies and rescued kittens, perhaps I will learn how to forgive people whose disabilities are invisible.

 

 

Photo by Brita Conroy

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