I met a man named Joey

On a bright not quite summer day I met a man named Joey; it was divine. Sometimes it’s difficult to explain the ways I hear God, it wouldn’t make sense to anyone but me, I guess those moments are too special so they are just between us. This experience is obvious. I’ve put off writing about it for at least two months, and even longer to post it. I haven’t written anything because it’s just been so darn busy, and when it hasn’t I’ve taken full advantage by doing nothing.

Anyway, on this gloriously sunny day I found myself leaning on the hood of my van barefoot at the Marina, after walking approximately 6 miles with a good friend. I happened to lock my keys, phone, toddler, and shoes and socks in my car. Luckily, my walking buddy was there and offered to drive (like a racecar driver!) to my house to get my spare keys. Thus, leaving me awkwardly sitting on the hood of my car barefoot. As I waited, a big white van pulled into a handicap parking space near me. I watched as the driver unloaded the passengers and walked them over to the playground. I immediately recognized this group of adults as special needs. I watched them as well as the other people walking by me in between worrying about my kid locked in the car and the fact that I looked crazy for standing here with no shoes on. I hoped nobody was calling the police for either of those reasons. Despite the number of people out enjoying the weather, not one person said anything or looked twice in my direction. I checked on Cooper multiple times, and waited, waited, waited (what felt like years was actually only 45 minutes). I watched as the group split up; one was off to walk the path around the marina, while the other stayed at the playground. I wondered if they were in a day program, although it seemed like they were in full-time care. The thought made me suck in a deep breath; I avoid thinking about these places. My mind is flooded with questions… Why? What about their families? Are they happy there? Was that the best place for them? Would this be Keegan some day? On one hand, I would be thrilled for him to be walking or playing like this group. On the other hand, what happens when he is an adult? What if he stays just the way he is, except heavier, and is an adult? This is not a thought I like to think about, and I can’t let it go any further than that. I like to think I have come a long way in accepting Keegan being on his own path and not following typical norms and that some things may never happen, but I’m not all the way there yet. These guys seem happy enough to be outside, soaking up a quiet afternoon at the park.

I switch back to worrying, wondering how long I’ve been standing here, surprised nobody’s asked if I am ok/need help/where are your shoes/is there a child in there? For all anyone knows I am trying to steal the van I am leaning on and periodically peeking into. As I am staring (and scanning for the familiar car to the rescue) off into the distance, I notice one of the guys from the park walking towards me; at this point he is about 50 feet away. I start to panic slightly; half hoping he isn’t wandering off, half hoping he isn’t walking toward me. Why am I afraid he is walking toward me? Because, I don’t know. I’m slightly socially awkward, a shy extrovert. Because I don’t know him, but I know he is different. He’s wearing a hat and sunglasses. I wonder if he is blind, or at least partially. He’s getting closer. Please don’t talk to me. I’ve spent all this time wondering why nobody acknowledged me, but really I don’t know what to say to you. Isn’t it funny that I have a child with special needs, and I still get uncomfortable around other people with special needs? I don’t know why. I am ashamed. It’s the not so pretty truth. It’s not them as much as it is me. I don’t know how to respond, I don’t want to hurt anyone. Okay it’s obvious he is walking to me, he’s 10 feet away. Smile. He says hello, and I smile and say hello back as he extends his hand to shake mine. He says his name is Joey; it takes at least 3 times for me to understand. This is what I don’t like, I wish I understood, I hate that I don’t. I mostly try to smile and nod as he says something else I can’t make out. I see a glimpse of his eyes behind his glasses and they look milky. He isn’t blind obviously, he saw me. I tell him I am waiting for a friend to bring my keys, notice him look toward my feet and laugh when I mention my shoes in the car. Then he says “I want you to know that I care.” Pause. “I care.” Whoa. I understood that just fine. Smile. I say “thank you, I will be fine.” Keep smiling, don’t cry. Just then, the other group is returning and the woman in charge calls Joey over scolding him for wandering and smiles to me apologetically. I sit leaning against my van, stunned. It is no coincidence in the rush to get everything loaded into the car I ended up locking myself out.

 It was only moments after my friend left that this white van pulled up. Just in time to come face to face with one of my biggest fears. Not being able to take care of Keegan, having to make the decision to put him in a facility to care for him. Being confronted with an ugly truth. As well as dismissing a lie, I frequently believe, feeling like I was invisible to the rest of the world. All because Joey walked up to me to tell me that he cares. Whoosh, I was flooded with emotions. Most people probably don’t even know how often I’ve felt invisible, like nobody notices, nobody cares. All those times I am struggling, drowning, desperate, and people go on about their day around me. God intervened to let me know that he cares, and sent a sweet man named Joey to tell me so.

Psalm139

O Lord, You have looked through me and have known me. ² You know when I sit down and when I get up. You understand my thoughts from far away. ³ You look over my path and my lying down. You know all my ways very well. ⁴ Even before I speak a word, O Lord, You know it all. ⁵ You have closed me in from behind and in front. And You have laid Your hand upon me. ⁶ All You know is too great for me. It is too much for me to understand.

Shortly afterward my friend pulled up with my keys. My kiddo was perfectly fine; I couldn’t believe he didn’t cry once! I thanked my friend for racing to and from my house… It was record timing, even if it felt like years. I left the marina with an odd feeling; I kept running the encounter with Joey through my mind. Repeatedly “I care.” Simple enough, yet two words I don’t hear or feel nearly enough. If I don’t hear them nearly enough you probably don’t either. Know that I am reaching out to you through this jumble of letters and surrounding you with love. We care, God and I.

Thank you Joey.

With that example we are starting a little challenge (we’ve already posted it on FB, but maybe after this, it will take off)! Feel free to share your experiences on our Facebook page.

Challenge #1 Grab a pack of post it notes and write encouraging love notes to friends, family, and/or strangers. Let someone know YOU CARE. Be creative! You never know how much a simple note like that might mean to someone! I'll let you in on a little secret... I do this myself, I keep post-it's in my car and leave anonymous notes for people, especially when I see a friend's car parked somewhere. I am challenging myself to do this more often… Maybe daily. How ‘bout you?