Allison
It is 2:59 a.m. The full moon is shining silvery-blue into my window, which is probably why I can't go back to sleep, but I hate to waste such beautiful light on closed shades. So here I am--I've been awake for an hour, and it doesn't feel like I'll be sleeping anytime soon.
I am a firm believer that trying to go to back to sleep is a surefire way to stay awake, so I try to let my mind wander and not stress out about the fact that I have to get up in 6 hours (now 5 hours)--sometimes I enjoy the half asleep/half awake day (or night) dreams that are completely disconnected but somehow run seamlessly together.
Is that Molly's (the dog) paws I hear clicking in the hallway? Kind of a cool rhythm, actually--next time I go to Morocco, I need to get Kim one of those drums--I wonder how Ana Michelsen's doing?--Is it cold in England right now?--should I wear the denim or the khaki skirt to church tomorrow?--it's too warm for boots and the denim would look better with my sandals--what did I wear last week when I visited my parents' church?--
You get the idea. This went on for about 20 minutes or so, and then, for some reason in the stream of thought running through my head, I thought of Allison. Wonderful, sweet, Allison. I thank God that she is in the world.
Allison and I are about 2 months apart in age--I was born in June, she in August. My grandparents went to the same church as her family when I was a baby, so I saw her at least the third Friday of every month, at fellowship supper. She and I went to kindergarten together--her mom was my teacher. In my seventh grade year, my parents joined the membership at Loyall Methodist Church, so I saw Allison really regularly after that, until I moved away.
Growing up, I remember that in Christmas plays, Allison was usually Mary--a part that was perfect for her because it didn't require alot of memorized lines or movements, but it did require a certain sweet, pure spirit that Allison didn't have to practice to get right. In Easter plays, she always would lift her hands up dramatically when we got to the chorus of "Up from the Grave He Arose." She didn't always remember the tune, but Allison sang with all her heart, and looking back, I think she was the best part of the show. We should have all raised our hands with her.
Allison hasn't really "grown up" in the sense that we usually think of it. She is older, obviously, but because of damage from a brain tumor when she was very young, she is still in many ways a small child. She lives at home with her parents and goes to school with her mom, helping a different teacher out each year. She has a hard time seeing, and understands most things on a pretty basic level.
I love Allison. She is wonderful--not just in a sappy Hallmark made for TV movie kind of way--she is really wonderful. When I think of all the people I actually know who are truly great people , she has to be on the list. Here are some of the things that I love about Allison:
She loves Jesus. I really can't explain it better than that. You can see it on her face. You can hear it in her voice. In 24 years, I have never had a conversation with her that He hasn't been brought up, and she is always the first to mention Him. At the sound of His name, her eyes twinkle, I kid you not.
She cries for people. Sick people, hurting people, people who don't know Jesus, people who are lonely or sad. She doesn't just feel sorry for them and worry about what we as the church should do or get angry about the need for social justice. She cries for them without being told she should.
She prays. Allison prays alot, and when she says she'll pray for you, you know you're in good hands.
She tells me I'm beautiful. Everyone in my parents' church has known me since I was born. Most of them have known my DAD since he was born! So when I go home, I hear a lot of the compliments that people who have known you your whole life give. They are sincere, I'm sure, but too often I don't really listen to them. But when Allison tells me I'm beautiful (which is every time she sees me), for that moment in time I am beautiful. Inevitably, as I talk to her my smile widens and I sit up straighter. I feel beautiful. I really believe her.
She asks to sit next to me in church. In a church where families have had their own pews for generations, Allison sits where she chooses. I love it when she sits next to me.
But my favorite, absolutely irreplaceable thing that Allison does: She holds my hand. When she sits next to me in church, she reaches over and grabs my hand, pulls it into her lap, and holds it--sometimes with both of her hands. And she really holds it--not just a nice gesture, but like she really means it.
The first time Allison held my hand was over 2 years ago, when I was raising support to come to Spain for the first time. I was a recent college grad who, while on the outside was confident and ready to conquer the world, on the inside was scared of what the future held and what on earth I was doing in my life.
I'm a social person, but I like my personal space as well--I couldn't remember holding anyone's hand in a long time. So when that Sunday morning Allison grabbed my hand and pulled it close to her, my first instinct was to pull away, but for some reason I didn't, or maybe I couldn't. I sat there uncomfortable for a few minutes, and then the tears started silently rolling down my cheeks. I was so scared. I wasn't ready to grow up. I wanted to forget responsibilities, go back home, and curl up in my bed for the next 10 years. And the tears fell.
And Allison held my hand. Strong, secure Allison. It would be alright. God had me in His hand, and I could trust Him.
I don't remember what the sermon was that week, but I remember that Allison held my hand.
Since then, whenever I see Allison, I secretly hope that she'll ask to sit next to me, and that she'll reach out and grab my hand. And she always does. Last week again I was sitting at Loyall Methodist Church, and Allison sat next to me, and held my hand. And again I fought tears as I struggled with insecurity and fear. But she held my hand and didn't say a word. I can study a thousand different books on who God is and why I can trust Him, but when Allison holds my hand, I trust Him.
I thank God for Allison. She ministers in a way that all the training in the world could never teach. I don't know why she popped into my head tonight, but I wanted to stop and say thanks to God for giving Allison to the world.
And thank you, Allison, for holding my hand.
I am a firm believer that trying to go to back to sleep is a surefire way to stay awake, so I try to let my mind wander and not stress out about the fact that I have to get up in 6 hours (now 5 hours)--sometimes I enjoy the half asleep/half awake day (or night) dreams that are completely disconnected but somehow run seamlessly together.
Is that Molly's (the dog) paws I hear clicking in the hallway? Kind of a cool rhythm, actually--next time I go to Morocco, I need to get Kim one of those drums--I wonder how Ana Michelsen's doing?--Is it cold in England right now?--should I wear the denim or the khaki skirt to church tomorrow?--it's too warm for boots and the denim would look better with my sandals--what did I wear last week when I visited my parents' church?--
You get the idea. This went on for about 20 minutes or so, and then, for some reason in the stream of thought running through my head, I thought of Allison. Wonderful, sweet, Allison. I thank God that she is in the world.
Allison and I are about 2 months apart in age--I was born in June, she in August. My grandparents went to the same church as her family when I was a baby, so I saw her at least the third Friday of every month, at fellowship supper. She and I went to kindergarten together--her mom was my teacher. In my seventh grade year, my parents joined the membership at Loyall Methodist Church, so I saw Allison really regularly after that, until I moved away.
Growing up, I remember that in Christmas plays, Allison was usually Mary--a part that was perfect for her because it didn't require alot of memorized lines or movements, but it did require a certain sweet, pure spirit that Allison didn't have to practice to get right. In Easter plays, she always would lift her hands up dramatically when we got to the chorus of "Up from the Grave He Arose." She didn't always remember the tune, but Allison sang with all her heart, and looking back, I think she was the best part of the show. We should have all raised our hands with her.
Allison hasn't really "grown up" in the sense that we usually think of it. She is older, obviously, but because of damage from a brain tumor when she was very young, she is still in many ways a small child. She lives at home with her parents and goes to school with her mom, helping a different teacher out each year. She has a hard time seeing, and understands most things on a pretty basic level.
I love Allison. She is wonderful--not just in a sappy Hallmark made for TV movie kind of way--she is really wonderful. When I think of all the people I actually know who are truly great people , she has to be on the list. Here are some of the things that I love about Allison:
She loves Jesus. I really can't explain it better than that. You can see it on her face. You can hear it in her voice. In 24 years, I have never had a conversation with her that He hasn't been brought up, and she is always the first to mention Him. At the sound of His name, her eyes twinkle, I kid you not.
She cries for people. Sick people, hurting people, people who don't know Jesus, people who are lonely or sad. She doesn't just feel sorry for them and worry about what we as the church should do or get angry about the need for social justice. She cries for them without being told she should.
She prays. Allison prays alot, and when she says she'll pray for you, you know you're in good hands.
She tells me I'm beautiful. Everyone in my parents' church has known me since I was born. Most of them have known my DAD since he was born! So when I go home, I hear a lot of the compliments that people who have known you your whole life give. They are sincere, I'm sure, but too often I don't really listen to them. But when Allison tells me I'm beautiful (which is every time she sees me), for that moment in time I am beautiful. Inevitably, as I talk to her my smile widens and I sit up straighter. I feel beautiful. I really believe her.
She asks to sit next to me in church. In a church where families have had their own pews for generations, Allison sits where she chooses. I love it when she sits next to me.
But my favorite, absolutely irreplaceable thing that Allison does: She holds my hand. When she sits next to me in church, she reaches over and grabs my hand, pulls it into her lap, and holds it--sometimes with both of her hands. And she really holds it--not just a nice gesture, but like she really means it.
The first time Allison held my hand was over 2 years ago, when I was raising support to come to Spain for the first time. I was a recent college grad who, while on the outside was confident and ready to conquer the world, on the inside was scared of what the future held and what on earth I was doing in my life.
I'm a social person, but I like my personal space as well--I couldn't remember holding anyone's hand in a long time. So when that Sunday morning Allison grabbed my hand and pulled it close to her, my first instinct was to pull away, but for some reason I didn't, or maybe I couldn't. I sat there uncomfortable for a few minutes, and then the tears started silently rolling down my cheeks. I was so scared. I wasn't ready to grow up. I wanted to forget responsibilities, go back home, and curl up in my bed for the next 10 years. And the tears fell.
And Allison held my hand. Strong, secure Allison. It would be alright. God had me in His hand, and I could trust Him.
I don't remember what the sermon was that week, but I remember that Allison held my hand.
Since then, whenever I see Allison, I secretly hope that she'll ask to sit next to me, and that she'll reach out and grab my hand. And she always does. Last week again I was sitting at Loyall Methodist Church, and Allison sat next to me, and held my hand. And again I fought tears as I struggled with insecurity and fear. But she held my hand and didn't say a word. I can study a thousand different books on who God is and why I can trust Him, but when Allison holds my hand, I trust Him.
I thank God for Allison. She ministers in a way that all the training in the world could never teach. I don't know why she popped into my head tonight, but I wanted to stop and say thanks to God for giving Allison to the world.
And thank you, Allison, for holding my hand.
posted by kelly_w at 4:00 AM
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